The Florida Keys are perfectly situated geographically to enjoy the best weather in winter, no frost and much weakened cold fronts blasting down across the continent from Canada, such that they have lost much of their force by the time they get here. In summer, conversely the Keys enjoy a much milder climate than that suffered by mainland South Florida. Where heat and humidity builds inexorably over Miami and Fort Myers, in the Keys a gentle breeze usually wafts its way across the islands. Nevertheless it gets hot without air conditioning, and guess what...
That low budget unit (thank you Dean) installed by the previous owner of my home (Dean) in the year 2000 has bought the farm. It has stopped working. This is a dead parrot (to misquote John Cleese) my air conditioning is no longer functional, it has ceased to exist, it has evaporated its last droplet of humidity. My house as a consequence is HOT. Everything inside the home is hot and rather than present you with a tedious list check out the lovely leather couch ignominiously covered by sackcloth. Hot leather is hard to sit on:
And in the bedroom all the fans are going, all four of them, moving the hot sticky air around:
Each of the ceiling fans spins silently. Usually they are busy moving cold air down from the a/c vents. Right now I'm glad to feel any air at all moving against my sweaty skin. And outside the sun shines white, like pure heat:
Did I mention its hot out there? Hot and dry. The salt ponds across the street from the house are looking parched and this is supposed to be the beginning of rainy season.
You could cook an egg on the plaque put up by the Nature Conservancy to honor the Spottswood family for taking a tax break and donating 90 acres of mud to the county. I'm glad they did because I'm guaranteed a westward view as long as I own the house, uninterrupted by development. Meanwhile my water cistern has run out of water. It's been 18 months that I've survived without falling back on aqueduct water, but this drought has run me dry. My pumps are turned off:
And I had to switch the cistern off until it rains again.
Those are Dean's marks on the wood, and though he never used the cistern I love using rain water. And though they seem rather crude they work. I hope it rains soon. I never used to wish for rain in my previous lives because I lived in places where rain meant cold, mud and being stuck indoors. In the Keys most rain comes in the hot season and rain means refreshment and variety and a delicious smell of crisp ozone lingering in the air. Besides the rain comes and usually goes and usually doesn't linger in the form of endless drizzle.
We're not even seeing thunder heads building. Its just blue sky day after boring day. Which in the ordinary course of things suits me just fine but the aqueduct water tastes of chlorine and the jug water I buy costs money. On the subject of money I can't wait to get the bill to refill my hundred gallon propane tank which has sunk to almost empty:
Good Lord! It's all happening at once! Suburban will be out next week and my a/c company has promised my brand new $4,000 unit will be installed and cooling my house by next Tuesday evening. I can't wait, I have to admit we've survived without climate control, though cooking anything in the kitchen is out of the question, any exercise not involving swimming is impossible and I hate to think what the humidity would do to my books, clothes and furniture if we went for a long time without a/c. 
And still the drought persists, and the mud shrivels and my cistern remains as dry as an English sense of humour. Gotta be tough to hack it in the Keys. I need some whine with my cheese.
It happened that I was in town in the car because even I have not yet figured out how to haul 4 cases of mineral water 26 miles to my home from GFS, the bulk food store, on the back of a Bonneville. So I was forced to park the car on Elizabeth Street, the street closest to Duval without meters, and walk, which is anyway a pleasure. I saw a few interesting little things that I recorded for posterity. The cleaners on Elizabeth street for instance, that I find reminiscent of an earlier time, the terrazzo floor, the big fan whirring and the couch for the customers!
I am one of the few in Key West that really enjoy the summer heat that is upon us. I like the bright white light of summer, I enjoy the sheen of sweat that comes so easily to one's limbs, I like breathing the hot sticky air as I walk, I feel as though I am swimming underwater. I took a picture of the ATM at Bank of America which shone bright white in the sunlight 
On Fleming Street the city wants to remind people that bicycles have to follow the rules of the road, and I rather liked this sign so I took a picture for no particular reason:
For some people its getting too warm to use their bicycles so they park the in the garage during the heat of the day. This is a typical Key West,Old Town garage:
Or, if you rented an apartment in Old Town you might have a flight of stairs to climb, a long one too, like Jacob's Ladder. It looks romantic but imagine a 600 square foot apartment with uneven floors and funky cupboards cooled by a noisy expensive window air conditioner blowing cold air in one spot. And for all this at the top of these stairs, or any others like them, you could be paying $1200 a month. 
I mention it as an example, to remind those of you contemplating a move to the coolest city of a possible pitfall. Perhaps the person living in this Paradise pays just $500 a month and monitors the homeowner's cat. You just never know. On the subject of homes I liked the plaque on this porch, not to mention the balloon:
If I lived in Old Town I'd like a brass sign like that on my porch. I'd like friends who sent balloons while i was at work, too, though I have no idea what this is all about. When writing about downtown key West one feels a certain obligation to illustrate the streets with any number of pretty conch homes. Here's one of no particular merit or demerit for the record:
I like the combination of formal frontage combined with the greenery and the delicate porches; Tara meets Conch. There is a ton of them like this around town, you practically can't point a camera without snapping one.
Others embrace Key West's preference for alternative transportation, an embrace that goes back far beyond the first stirrings of high cost gasoline:
Note the black garbage bag for a seat cover, the absence of a left hand mirror and the ever useful basket. These old Honda Elite 50s haven't been built for years but they keep on running. Mine carried me down the Boulevard at 38 miles per hour day after day on my way to work downtown. I regretted selling it when I went for the flashier and unreliable Stella 150. I view all Elite work horses with a certain fondness these days. 
I had no memory of Criss Cross, a 1990 film set in 1969 and shot in and around Key West. I am frequently ready to ditch a movie because I know the location and the plot ruins it, or vice versa I'll watch a movie only because I know the location and the plot is just an irritant. Criss Cross really does show Key West as it was in 1990, and completely recognizable today but the plot itself is entirely worthy if one had no interest at all in the shooting location. In this case the Eden House on Fleming Street, rendered shabby to illustrate the era:
The plot is simple enough, Goldie Hawn's character is divorced from Keith Carradine's and while he mopes in Miami ( they pay a visit from key West illustrated by footage shot on the old Seven Mile bridge:
And very evocative it is too, with all camera angles masking the presence of the modern bridge). 
I liked the local scenes which were integral to the plot and not too outlandishly misplaced. Truman and White Chevron after a summer rain:
And the old Peary Court long since lost to Navy housing. This shot can be placed by the presence in the background of the White Street Armory towers:
And an unusual shot, rendered impossible since 2001, of the underside of the Coastguard Piers:
The plot moves along merrily against the backdrop of the first lunar landing and I found this movie to an entirely enjoyable treat. We shouted out the locations as it moved from place to place and none of us fell asleep. 
As it was earlier this week:
As for the plot, the video store clerk glowered at me darkly and muttered something about hoping I wasn't too attached to the No Name Key bridge as it wouldn't look the same again to me. I slunk out clutching my films hoping I wasn't in for too much gore. I am no fan of horror films. The movie locations made little sense in relation to reality, because in another scene the booth looked like this:
Its actually a love story, boy meets girl kind of thing and the story goes downhill from there. There are a number of unpleasant people lurking around the tollbooth where he works and the gas station where she works, and the bait shop owned by the third leg of the triangle. It's a story in the style of Carl Hiassen involving road kill:
A fear of butterflies (?!) and trailer parks in the stereotypical Florida style:
All of which combines for a bizarre story with a surprising outcome. I rate it as okay, but by its nature a tollbooth is a pretty static location for a plot and the fact that the booth is known to be on a road to nowhere in this viewer's mind makes it a little harder to get stuck into the plot which in any case is not based on a realistic premise. In my estimation it was fun but not exactly compelling. Same tollbooth supposedly looking completely different than earlier in the movie...
Ah yes, but the Keys are always pretty to look at. 
There was no shelter for the Bonneville so I had to leave it out in the sun, poor thing, while I took off on foot. The signs were faded and illegible but I knew they indicated this as being a National Wildlife area so I wasn't going to drive the Bonneville down the trail:
The path through the mangroves started out in typical style, firm and dry underfoot lined by the pale green leaves of black and white mangroves stretching off to the horizon:
Well, I thought to myself, this won't take long. I strode along in the sun congratulating myself for taking some time on a work day afternoon to knock off this pending exploration. I had sunscreen on my nose and ears and though I lacked water I wasn't going to be gone long as clearly there wasn't much to see. I saw some grass at one point along the trail and it looked unusually pastoral for this part of the world:
I poked around and started to get an inkling that perhaps I might like this place more than I had at first thought. There was a car lurking in the bushes. It had been there so long it was rusted though and it lay sprawling under a mangrove tree that was actually growing through it, impaling it, leaving it with doors flung open and its bodywork brown with corrosion barely visible:
I couldn't help but wonder what it's story was; taken out and dumped ignominiously. Around the corner from the carcass of the car was a gate that screamed Mel Brooks to me:
It sat there bravely guarding its space which was open on both ends. Who knows perhaps it locked the wrecked car inside, those many years ago.
And as if I needed further proof that this was a bridle path I came across these in the crusty dry clay left behind from a rainless winter:
I think this place would be a positive marsh after a downpour, and underneath the mangroves I could spot puddles of water here and there and vast areas of more dried clay:
And then around a corner in the path I found a puddle of epic proportions, deep dark and mysterious. As lakes go it was small, and really outside of the Keys it would probably not rate as a pond, but this is Cudjoe Key so I call it a lagoon of what is, in all likelihood fresh water. I wasn't about to taste it though: 
And I could hear some pretty heavy rustling from the clump of mangroves on the other side of the water. It could have been the light west breeze shuffling the dead leaves...or could it have been...an alligator? Nah, I don't think there's enough water to support a dinosaur out here. Besides the prey would be pretty sparse wouldn't it? Key deer at the drinking hole, birds perhaps and the odd motorcyclist sweating by as a pedestrian in his sneakers...I kept moving briskly.
This giant piece of rubbish was not representative of the trail as a whole because of human trash there really wasn't much at all. I saw a couple of pieces of plywood (?) in the mangroves and very worn tin cans far off the trail but that was about all. It was pristine. Except for signs of vehicular traffic in the mud:
And clearly the ATV riders had some fun kicking up spray into the mangroves as they went by:
By now I could discern marine engines racing, deep throated, up the channel alongside Cudjoe to the east and the breeze seemed stronger the closer I walked to the water, which was still unseen through the mangroves. Except when it wasn't! A finger of salt water pushed through from the middle of the island a perfect canal penetrating deep into the interior. I needed a kayak:
And so I called it a day. On a map I measured the walk at just over a mile and a half, and there does appear to be the possibility, depending on water levels, of connecting by trail to the Spain Boulevard area off Blimp Road. That would explain the evidence of horses as there are stables on that part of Cudjoe.
And so I turned and started on the return journey down the long winding trail of hard packed dirt and mangroves:
I took a break, in the sun lacking shade, and in so doing I observed that which I had been taught in class. Because mangroves flourish around salt water some people believe, erroneously, that they survive on saltwater, but only in a manner of speaking. They absorb the saltwater, but have adapted to expel the salt through their leaves, which die, turn yellow and fall off taking the salt with them. These white mangroves had salt coating their leaves:
I can't remember the ins and outs of all the botanical details, they never stick in my brain, but there it was, salt on the leaves. At this overheated stage I could have used some potable fresh water as the path through the bushes was snug and breeze free.
In winter it is very pleasant to be out on a brisk 65 degree (17 Celsius) day with a strong north wind blowing overhead and to find oneself snug among the leaves and branches, listening to the wind ravish the crackling palm fronds and mangrove shrubs. In the heat of summer it is rather less so. But in the distance the baking summer sun illuminated a few tin roofs reassuring me that the civilization of Cudjoe Key was to hand:
Home, home to air conditioning, ice cold water and shade. Exploration is all very well, but in summer its best enjoyed in moderation, especially when you have a night's work ahead of you.