Brazilierissimo!

Sit on the porch of the Ximenez-Fatio museum in St Augustine and enjoy a sunny day, while contemplating 19th century life as explained on the tour you just finished. Then get hungry and figure someone must be selling food on Aviles Street, the first Euro-street mapped in the future United States, and named for the founder of the longest continuously inhabited town in the aforementioned USA. Take that Jamestown.

Restaurant and Cafe Del Sol has no website and online reviews are mixed. We liked it. A lot. And itbwason Aviles Street right around he corner from our tour. We had previously tried some food at Nonna's an Italian joint up he street but they were only serving sandwiches for lunch so we branched out and settled in under the blue and free flag of Portuguese America. Very comfortable it was too.

It was the pope who split the Americas between Catholic Kingdoms with the simplicity and infallibility of Solomon. Portugal got Brazil and Spain snagged everything else. The British singed everyone's beard from time to time and the French did their best to keep up. I know very little of Brazil and my wife who went there years ago could not accurately remember the food, but if modern Brazilians eat like this I need to plan a trip there. We started with asomethingbthat vaguely approximated a Cuban Mojito, Caipirinha made of cane liquor sugar and strong limes. It was delicious yet not intoxicating. We had two each to prove the point.

Our plan was to order several appetizers to get a cross section of Brazilian good and we naturally went a little bit too far. Being creatures of the south we decided to eat indoors and look out at Aviles Street.

In Brazil apparently they call empanadas pastel and quote delicious they were too. We had meat and cheese and like the other dishes we chose the food was lightly and balanced, the flavors were mild yet pronounced. I found it captivating.

This madness which I attempted to photograph below, sold me on Brazil as a food destination. Call me provincial but I have never heard of a mashed potato sandwich and now that I have tried this appetizer version I am sold. The only other type of tuber sandwich I had previously heard of was fried potato sandwiches sold in England to the laboring classes as "chip butties" where a butty is a Northern slang for sandwich, more or less, and chips are of course freedom fries. These Brazilian contraptions layered mashed potatoes studded with vegetables with shrimp or ham or salmon on top and a cheese flaked strawberry to finish off. They were extraordinary, not subtle yet mouthwatering and very filling.

Ground beef in breadcrumbs lightly fried thus moist and crisp and heavenly. Taken with fresh salsa it was utterly superfluous and delightful.

We skipped pudding, paid the fifty dollar check and staggered off to digest lunch as we picked up our patient dog, snoring in the car and took her and ourselves for a stout walk. Soon enough lunch time fluids made themselves felt and we sought out some public loos. My wife is incorrigible and found the fanciest possible in the lobby of the Casa Monica. Very satisfying.

I guess my experience with lunch reinforces my pleasure in seeking out my own experiences while leaving the Internet grumblings of the unhappy at the door.

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Go Fly A Kite

It's not Kitty Hawk but it is a view of the beach at Anastasia State Park on the barrier island protecting St Augustine. We had our handy annual State Parks Pass and we used it to get in, and though tame Labradors aren't allowed on the beach we took a stroll on a boardwalk to check out what we don't get to see at home, and that is a magnificent sandy strand.

A cold front was passing overhead, strong north winds blowing thick black clouds south, leaving blue skes and weak sunshine to the north. On the cusp of this line stood a man in a broad brimmed hat holding a piece of string.

He said the Fat Albert overhead was twelve feet across, wing tip to wing tip and in the following fifteen minutes I learned more about flying a kite than even the movie The Kite Runner could teach. He couldn't stop talking so my wife snuggled below the fence line out of the wind and I gave up seeking escape and listened to the flood of heavily accented words.

he was from Lynchburg Virginia and retired a shad subsequent to retirement given up flying model planes as they don't travel well in his twenty six floor RV, kites it is then, and they provide an excellent upper body work out and an opportunity for hours of meditation.

We got onto politics and where I know nothing about kites, politics I do. He said he had never paid attention in the past so I guess his newfound enthusiasm gave him instant expertise, but he did like to think young people today can't do what he did at their age. I supposed his grandchildren were the exception of course, the always are, but laziness and. Competence stalk the land apparently.

When he laid into Affordable Health Care I asked how Medicare was working for him. Funnily enough "free" government run health care seems to work fine for the formerly hard working members of the self reliance generation. I listened and let him carry on, kites, politics or grandchildren he obviously felt a strong need for one way communication and who was I try to dam the flow?

Such was the flow I never did get to ask his name but if you check the first few pictures you will see the next group of captive audience who fell into his circle and the kite talk started again from the top as we slipped away.

One is supposed to nurture eself wit encounters of this type but it didn't do much for me. I wanted him to be thoughtful, a life lived in shades of gray, informed by nuance. Instead he was a mass of clichés, not party political but of the sort that sees all politicians as liars, all kids as lazy and all gardeners as illegal. It's an easy view of the world from a man who looked startled by the idea of driving to Mexico, who preferred to be surrounded by the familiar. That was fifteen minutes of my life I'll never get back.

Cheyenne got her reward later, after a long walk in the woods and a short walk through a parking lot.

On the way home we stopped at Flakowitz in Boynton Beach for lunch, chopped liver (ugh!) for my Jewish wife and egg salad for the goy at the table washed down with endless coffee as we cranked up for the last four hours home. At the next table I noticed some people have figured out how to avoid conversation altogether:

During the drive my wife slept and I had time to think. I came to one conclusion, a cliché of my own, as we pulled up under the tree house we call home.

The more I see people, the more I like dogs.

 

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Change Is Excellent

Last year the Citizen reports the city paid to have tons of sand dumped onto Smathers Beach, seventeen thousand five hundred tons of grains to be precise. This is a regular feature of tourist life in Key West, bringing sand by barge from the Bahamas, which islands are over endowed with the stuff, and dumping it anywhere tourists expect to find it. As odd as it may sound there are still a few million people left in the US who come to the Keys for their beaches. The Internet is a great tool but expecting people to use it to get informed is a little much. In order to reduce disappointment the city is going to spend several hundred thousand dollars to keep putting sand this year on a beach designed by Nature to suck it back out to sea. So important is this Canute-like effort the Chamber of Commerce, an organ that regularly calls for reductions in wages among the city's working class, is chipping in a few hundred thousand of its own to keep the tourists misinformed about the quality of Keys beaches. All of this is weird but absolutely true.

A small picture on the same page shows a cheerful smiling middle aged woman and she should be happy because a recent election brought her back to Key West from exile in Central Florida, as Ocala is where Key West natives go to live when the cost of living gets too much on the island. Catherine Vogel knocked the incumbent out of office in the Democratic primary and has been sworn in as the county's new chief prosecutor known in Florida as a State Attorney. Driving past the Sheriff's headquarters on College Road on north Stock Island (part of the city of Key West as it turns out) we see a new Sheriff posted on the signpost. They didn't waste a minute- he was sworn in the afternoon before and Bob Perryam is history, buried and gone, retired after four quiet years in the highest county law enforcement office.

After years as second in command Ramsay got a massive picture on the front page of the paper when he got sworn in as top dog after an election giving him two thirds of the vote. I am a skeptical soul by nature, and the number of notes I get requesting pictures of tits and ass annoys me. But it seems sex sells, or at least I've heard that rumor. The Citizen has too, as you will notice our unmarried new Sheriff had his bible held by his photogenic friend in the sundress. So, ask yourself why the Awesomely Powerful state attorney doesn't get a photographer but the buzz cut Sheriff does.

Best of all I saw this bumper sticker currying favor on a car registered in New England of all places. Isn't it funny how non residents want to claim the privilege of residence without the daily aggravation. If this car's owner cast a vote for Ramsay this car is illegally registered, officer. If they didn't cast a vote why is it sporting a sticker relating to our election? Bugger off and get your own.

Ah well, this is all small stuff. I wonder what on earth there will be to watch in the weeks ahead. Do you suppose I might end up living in a county with a serious, ponderous stereotypically married sheriff? Some sort of Andy Griffiths type dispensing folk wisdom with a crooked grin? Nah, no chance, Monroe County is too modern. Key West is too, far too modern. I like to tell people I can only live in a city where my boss the police chief is gay and far out of the closet. Find that combination in New Hampshire if you can. Then show me the bumper sticker for my Florida registered motorcycle.

 

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Darkness And Light

I deeply dislike television. Television is an instrument of the devil in my opinion and it creates conflict and confusion. If it bleeds it leads is the mantra we have all heard when it comes to television "news." Television news cannot elucidate or explain or take the time to be boring. Television news reports murders and car crashes because they are full of visual drama. As a result anyone who relies on television for information comes away imagining the world is full of violence. Actually the world is full of politics and meetings and important decisions being taken in rooms far from scenes of blood and gore and violence. However these political decisions get no air time because they need to be explained.

My irritation at television's spectacular inability to deliver the promise of the technology combined with its ability to permeate the culture like a virus has been a staple in my life for years, ever since I read the late Neil Postman's book Amusing Ourselves to Death which I read when I was a radio reporter. As the trivialization of information spread from pictures to words I dropped out of radio reporting as my idea of worthwhile information and the bosses' idea of widespread trivialization were clearly on a collision course.

The Florida Keys are ripe fruit for the harvesters of the trivial, a fact that we are bludgeoned with every hurricane season. It is a staple and a joke to see television crews gathered outside La Concha on Duval as hurricanes approach, or threaten or are simply making headlines for want of any other "news" that day. We see reporters standing under the overhangs at the hotel blathering under klieg lights about the storm that wasn't. I have seen the reporting on the weather channel and I soon get irked by the continuous replaying of the same clips of the same waves crashing on beaches and the same clips of the same palms bending in the breeze. Of all the film shot you'd think the editors could at least assemble a hundred different clips to play and reduce the endless mind numbing repetition as the anchors mouth platitudes and offer "tips" which substitute obvious advice for information.

But the TV thing won't go away. Television feeds on cliché so New Years Eve sees CNN in town to "report" the drag queen in a shoe drop down here in Gomorrah by the Gulf Stream. And that fatuous information makes the front page of the paper - all hail! TV was in town! All hail!! Perhaps CNN reports this news because their reporter is gay and wants to drink Mai Tais in the 801. I wouldn't be surprised. Then I read in my venerable local news print that cable television is filming several episodes of fishing guides in Islamorada bitching at each over their lures, suddenly the tedium of casting is fodder for a new reality show. Imagine the excitement in the Village Of Islands - they are going to be on TV! The publicity will be priceless! Even if the publicity is four hoary old anglers gossiping about their clients. Smooth stuff, no doubt.

A few years ago television filmed a show called The Real World on Key Haven and that got all the interest for a while. A lot of people liked how developer Ed Swift's family also got all riled up as the thugs and cameras spoiled the peace and quiet of his upscale neighborhood. Serves him right they said, those sniffy residents who get annoyed by the noise and confusion of Swift's endlessly rotating Conch Train schedules, rolling down the neighborhoods with loud speakers blaring. But hey it was television so all is forgiven.

Taking the long view I should appreciate the fact that I live where television wants to be. The mystical properties of the small screen translate my surroundings into someplace desirable where snowbound middle earth dwellers like to take a vacation to feel like they too can be on TV for a week. The thing is that living in the Keys is more like being the catering crew or the dudes who haul the electrical cables across the set, not Martha Stewart and her family lounging on the beach in Islamorada.

The irony is that many years ago the islands were in fact served by broadcast television, half a dozen local channels networks as varied as PBS and Univision and all the usual suspects were available through rabbit ears in most islands. The towers were paid for by property tax supplements, modest enough as I recall but pretty owners baulked and the towers came down. Which brings us to the delights of monthly cable bills for which I can see no earthly reason as I disdain sports and "news."

The funny thing for me is that there are great stories being told on the small screen. Depending on your taste screenwriting for TV may well be at it's peak. And though I have no television reception I rely on Netflix for my appreciation, a year behind the cognoscenti perhaps, of shows that tell stories of flawed characters and strange situations and inconclusive conclusions worthy of a tall tale told in any Key West bar. That Key West actually starred in a television series of its own, by that name, is a piece of trivia lost on most. Indeed the storylines of that program were no weirder than real life used to be in the Southernmost City. Television made true.

I find myself annoyed by the power of the medium. I wonder at my neighbors who take the time to give a shit about whether or not television is in town to film some stupid thing or other, and I wonder why it matters. I have seen a great deal of adulation of performers, people who have in some measure or other proved themselves as people of talent, and certainly one can appreciate the draw of Kenny Chesney hanging out in town where he is free to be gay in a world that still thinks gay cowboys are objects of ridicule and their troubadours must by extension be ruggedly masculine as well. Oprah Winfrey vacations on Sunset Key. Whoop-de-doo... But here where outward symbols of wealth and status are scorned and the leveling power of paradise is extolled, television rules the roost. Why? I have no idea why anyone cares who is killing whom in Miami, or whose house burned down in Palm Beach or which drug "kingpin" was found on a street corner in Hialeah. But walk the streets of this town at night and you will see the blue screen flickering, drowning out the moonlight filtered through the palms. The sound of monotonous TelePrompTer readings kill the soughing of the breeze across the sleeping town. I cannot explain it but cable, the Prince of Darkness brings the light of false dawns even into Key West.

 

 

 

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St Augustine Revisited

We had planned a drive to Charleston, South Carolina to mark the end of my wife's Christmas Break from teaching. I had four days cleared to go out of town and we calculated a day to get the on I-95 and. Aday back with two days in town. A confused medical appointment in Miami delayed our start by 36 hours putting Charleston out of reach.

That is the reality of life in Key West. True there is an airport but 45 minute flights from Miami can end up doubling the cost of a cross contry ticket, and when you live with a hundred pound Labrador a car is the best way to travel. Besides I hate flying, and I really like driving, even though this is the time of year I-95 is clogged with vacationers. Why, in the name of all that's holy do drivers pass trucks at two miles an hour faster than the vehicles they are passing? But that is a subject for another day. I was not going to let a few distratced vacationers get in my way, especially as we would end up having but one day in the First City. This rapid trip was devoted to the concept of making the most of everything. We did our best.

It is inevitable if you live in the Keys that a town like this will come in for comparisons, not all of them favorable, though I must say the more frequent our visits the better we like this little town. The bad is immediately obvious with a quick glance at the weather records. We were there in bright sunshine but sixty degrees is pretty cool by Key West standards and forty degrees by night is frigid. I suppose one could get used to that. I loved the traffic lights here which switch swiftly between directions in immediate response to vehicles approaching any given light. In Key West a red light dooms a driver to spending a lifetime waiting no matter how costly the gas one is idling away, waiting for someone, anyone to cross the intersection on the green... Then I saw this Eco Sensible parking control vehicle and the question bubbled up....why..? But what's the point? Key West does as it does, no explanations needed or sought and parking control in the Southernmost City use Chevrolets. The air conditioning in summer is doubtless much appreciated..

Key West exudes life where St Augustine offers what appears to be a more measured pace, a more genteel quality of life perhaps. I dare say not everyone seeks oblivion through alcohol in this rather more conservative town. I did see a shopkeeper step irritated into a narrow street fronting his store and express some frustration with a car illegally parked for the second day in a row... A short while later as we returned to claim a table for lunch (essay this weekend) we spotted a police car checking the violation. Some small town problems are universal.

St Augustine is pretty and clean and well ordered. It is set close to the northern edge of the state, thirty miles from Jacksonville which itself is but a similar distance from Georgia. To live here puts a resident beyond the end,ess flat miles of driving required to simply get here from Key West... But this town, as lovely as it may be, isn't home.

What it is, in some respects is a living outdoor museum, a place at celebrates the past in a way that is real, and immediate. Key West loves its pirates, characters of fiction who never camped or rough housed in the Southernmost City. St Augustine has history by the wheelbarrow-load and it shows it off, proud of its authenticity. The Matanzas River is named for a massacre of French Protestants who surrendered to Spanish Catholics who promptly decided to save their souls by hanging the Lutherans. Not to worry the French had the upper hand a few years later and returned the favor with pleasure. It's all documented and recorded and celebrated strangely enough, by people who keep their clothes on in public.

The architecture speaks of Spain, reminiscent of Andalusia or New Mexico, not the wooden New England imitations found in Key West. Which you prefer is not for me to say but I wonder how well I might manage in a town where I cannot hide behind men in tutus and the women who love them. It is easy to be normal in Key West. It would probably be harder to hide in strait laced St Augustine.

But if you look at these pictures and realize I swept them up into my smart telephone in the space of twenty minutes or less, on one brief walk with Cheyenne you will understand there is much to see in this very small town set on an island between rivers.

St Augustine has a long history in this formerly uninhabitable state thanks to its mild climate and relativly easy going insect population. Yellow fever was a problem here just as it was in Key West. After the Spanish sold the state to the British who then palmed it off on the new United States the Indian Wars caused A fair amount of heartache apparently in these parts. Southern Florida was marshy, sickly, hot and impenetrable, so much so we saw a map of 1836 Florida which failed to make any mention of what is the second largest body of fresh water in these United States. Lake Okeechobee had not yet been chanced upon in the marshy interior of the state...eight years after Key West was founded!

Flagler's Florida railroad empire started here with his massive hotel as a destination for his travelers. In those days a hundred years ago this climate was a perfect alter active to winter. Of course enough is never enough and the railroad moved south to Palm Beach and passed by Miami to end up in Key West, as we all know. Frankly I noticed a huge difference in the mildness of the weather a d the warmth in the air when we stopped in Palm Beach County for lunch on the way home. But I just happen to like the heat of South Florida.

Cheyenne likes the cool of a winter day padding around the old city of St Augustine. I walked her feet off.

Pedro Menéndez de Aviles is the big historical cheese in St Augustine who founded this continuosly occupied settlement in 1565. He was also the first white person on record to land the next year in Tequesta, as the distant Indian village was called on the shores of the Miami River. Imagine, my wife and I have yet to visit the oldest school house, the fountain of youth or the enormous Ripley's Believe It or Not park. We haven't even got it together to check the interior of the fort overlooking the river. Dogs are welcome to stroll the grass and the battlements outside the main fort but you have to be dog-free to go inside and we just haven't yet got properly organized for that expedition.

We did visit the oldest house called Ximenez-Fatio (fay-show) where we got a tour (no interior photography allowed!) of 19th century American life in a 16th century Spanish colonial home. It was a bargain at five bucks each and amazingly informative. Don't miss it. Apparently a series of three independent minded women took up the boarding house trade in this house, a trade that was possible and respectable for single women of the period. The house has been laid out for a tour of all aspects of life and I could have spent twice the forty minutes allotted for the visit to the various rooms.

I have no doubt we will be back as there is more to see and explore and the city is well placed for a three day weekend. Our dog friendly La Quinta inn is right off the interstate and I can drive the 450 miles from Key West In a comfortable eight hours. That's just life in the Keys, if you want to get off them from time to time it takes driving or flying and I'm proud to say I never got pulled over this trip even though almost all of it was driven briskly on the freeway and turnpike, with all their attendant ugliness and convenience.

I think we were all three glad to get home after our brief excursion. There was no doubt Cheyenne was happy because she slept all the next day and was reluctant to get dragged off for even one walk. My dog is a home body, too bad she landed in a traveler's lap.

 

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