St Mary's Key West

Walking Truman Avenue as the sun was setting I got this view of the complex and it put me in mind of some distant mission, an outpost of the Holy Mother Church in say, Africa, a place where businessmen, missionaries and drop outs went to seek their fortunes from the closed confines of Europe:

But there under the flagpole the scouts were doing their thing. I was a scout once, in England a few decades ago. We were brought up to honor God and the Queen and Be Prepared and we tied knots like they were going out of fashion. It was a simple after school philosophy of being a good citizen. I find the apparent obsession in this country with sex and gays and scouting to be rather odd. I wonder what Baden-Powell would think of it all. Go and build a campfire, put up a tent and don't shit where anybody could step in it was the focus of scouting when I was an English kid. Buggery was not spoken of, and frankly I think it was better. Mind you, B-P was a slightly peculiar fish as it turns out, a subscriber to Mussolini's Fascist principles they say, so perhaps American scouting with its odd obsession with rooting out homosexuality is closer to his ideals of order and subservience to social rectitude. Me? I'd rather go tie a knot in something which was always a problematic activity as I am left handed and knots confuse me almost as much as the rationale for homophobia.

There's lots of history here particularly relating to the War of 1898 when the US biffed Spain and took an interest in controlling some far flung real estate.

Key West is well known for it's bars and alcohol-fueled parties but in point of fact religion has played a huge role in the island's development as well. Jews have had a synagogue in Key West for longer than anywhere in Florida, and not hating Jews on principle was  a mark of tolerance in the bad old days. Catholicism was the religion of the original European settlers from Spain, not a cheerfully tolerant lot in those days and fights between Protestant Europeans  and Catholics were the order of the day. Key West has not been like that and every type of belief has been accommodated without feeling the need to kill each other.

The fact that the Minor Basilica of St Mary's gets to occupy what is essentially a large city block is a mark of how long this church, has been here. In those 19th century days this part of Key West was waste ground on the outer limits of the city which huddled on the northwest corner of the island around the harbor. There was land to spare out here.

 And in some respects there still is.

The expansive grounds feature a recreation of the grotto of Lourdes but in this case instead of medical cures, some people attribute miraculous anti-hurricane properties to this place. In summer when the scientists at the weather service are seeing storms you will see people coming here lighting candles to keep the storms away. 

Apparently they were not enough in 2005 when Hurricane Wilma overcame the grotto and flooded the city to dire effect. But on the whole the track record isn't bad throughout the 20th century which Key West managed to survive after the wrecker of 1909.

There is also an anti-abortion memorial site to the memory of the unborn which sounds like an oxymoron to me. The rather plodding cast of my mind has always made a feeble Catholic out of me. After they stopped saying Mass in Latin I lost interest in the ritual of a sanitized dumbing down of church ritual and my pursuit of common sense puts me outside the world of demons and miracles and mystical stuff that had a home in people's minds before Galileo figured out what was up. I suppose you could argue praying to a plaster cast statue to keep hurricanes away does no harm , but then those same prayers also extend to a belief system that seems to forget that Jesus is quoted as telling people to love their neighbors, not burn them at the stake for being inappropriate. 

The Catholic church may have set aside mysticism and incense but fund raising remains it's strong suit:

I read with some wry amusement this week that the Vatican has rejected the proposed new French ambassador. As usual the Vatican diplomats cloak this decision in mystery but apparently the dapper Frenchman is not only eminently qualified for the job but he is also discreetly committed to living with another man. The Vatican says its not the homosexuality but the lack of marriage status of Laurent Stefanini that makes him unsuitable to represent France to the Holy See. He should  come and open a Consulate in the Conch Republic where there would be no problems. So much for not judging poofs as the Pope tried to claim a while back. 

I like to think the tide of history will sweep all of us forward to a place where bickering about our differences takes second place to the idea that getting along makes more sense. I am forced to  think, especially because I do I read history and pay attention that I am an idiot. Tolerance becomes apparent only under duress. Except in a few isolated pockets among a few scattered populations.

In the midst of what people expect to see in Key West normal everyday life goes on. How the two worlds coexist is hard to figure but humans have long had the very interesting capacity to hold to two opposing beliefs at the same time. When you are angry you call it hypocrisy, when you are in a  good mood you call it tolerance. When you are me you call people inexplicable and just try to to keep making sense of your own life in a town which they say has more bars and more churches per capita than any other town its  size. Sounds likely to me.

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Key West Staycation

During our  recent Spring Break in the mountains of North Carolina I found myself reflecting on the fact that two and a half million people visit Key West each year on vacation. Far too many I sometimes think, but they must be on to something. Then I'd look out of the window at another dank cold mountainous day and ponder the news from my phone that Key West was 82  degrees and sunny -again! 

So when we found ourselves with a weekend off and no chores to do I said we should have a staycation be it but two days long. On Saturday we stayed home, watched movies, ate and drank and swam in the canal even though at the time it felt more like a chore than a pleasure as the water could not have been much over 75 degrees. It seemed like a contrast to indulgent living and made a blanket on the couch feel much more sensible. Then on the Sunday afternoon we left Cheyenne home to get some extra snoring time and we drove the convertible into town.

We parked the Fiat 500 on Windsor and walked a couple of blocks through what is essentially a no parking zone on Olivia (unless you are lucky and enjoy particular favor with the parking gods) to the little white house that is Seven Fish . They require reservations and they startled me with a phone call in the morning to check our six o'clock reservation stood. Yes I said firmly, dinner for two.

I like Seven Fish, an intimate home setting that some complain is noisy thanks to the wooden roof and lack of insulation. I suppose it is a bit noisy but oddly for one who hates noise I find it comforting. I had no trouble sustaining a conversation and the sound of a room filled with happy diners gave a pleasant background to dinner. And it was intimate enough I felt inhibited from taking pictures so their website photo, rather inadequate above, will have to do. We shared a mushroom quesadilla to start and then shared gnocchi and the snapper special main courses washed down with four assorted glasses of white wine.  It was a properly leisurely meal. Seven Fish is supposed to be moving to the former Kyushu Japanese restaurant on Truman but they say there is no immediate schedule and I'm glad. I am fearful restaurants lose their edge when they grow and expand so I recommend Seven Fish before their distant move eventually becomes a reality.

 

The next part of the program was a play at the Red Barn Theater which I had spotted and was quite looking for to.  Set in Ireland of a few years back (possibly) the story concerned a pair of  rural families whose young offspring seem destined to marry eventually though the outcome is never clear. It's a comedy though with the sort of tragic overtones only the Irish seem capable of bringing sometimes to the merriest of situations. The Red Barn is a delightful hang out, just off the noisy 300 block of Duval, yet locked in a world of its own fronted by the expansive brick courtyard with lots of scooter and bicycle parking and vehicle parking for those with particular needs.

I greatly enjoyed the performance of the two elders and the two younger members of the families. Their accents were convincing, which surprised me slightly, the pace was brisk, all over in 75 uninterrupted minutes, and the stage settings were evocative yet simple. I found the characters in "Outside Mullingar" believable and the plot though convoluted, intriguing. Not surprising really if you have heard of the play (and film) called Doubt which was created by the same playwright.

Naturally the staycation had to be prolonged a bit. This involved a stop at my preferred ice cream place- Flamingo Crossing and I include the Trip Advisor link so you can see what others think. I don't buy ice cream for great service, but for great ice cream and they have it. I've never had crappy service either but I know what I want, I ask for it promptly and leave a tip. In an underpaid over stressed town like Key West its not rocket science. I have no idea why you would ask for familiar flavors here, as they have all sorts of tropical fruits and their own take on Cuban Coffee if, unlike me, you like coffee flavored food. I like to get Soursop, which in defiance of its name is soft and creamy and sweet and perfumed. My wife had the more sour passion fruit and guava flavors.

A small boy  in front of me (just out of the frame above) was whining to his father about some unidentifiable human rights injustice and they were clearly British. I leaned over and looked the small boy in the eye and said: "No whinging!" which English-ism startled the child into silence. "See?" his father said smiling at me, "...there's someone else from England here." Thus the ice cream purchasing proceeded in serenity, the small boy staring at me with big round eyes. My wife and I took seats on the deck out front and watched people walk by, the zombie effect of being on vacation and not knowing what to look at nor where to go.

One is supposed to remind oneself from time to time that one is lucky to live where others come to play and all too often the effect is to create aggravation at their inconvenient occupancy of streets, parking, restaurants and stores and everything. A short visit into their world is a useful reminder of why they do it. Consider the staycation a success.

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A Sunday Ride

I am keeping my fingers crossed but with 1,000 crisp clean miles on my old Vespa I seem to be moving into a place of trust with my 1979 P200E. I have been riding it to work, for errands and for fun over the past couple of months and I am finding the scooter to be living up to my hopes for sensible reliable transportation in the Keys.

The idea was to spare my well ridden Triumph Bonneville motorcycle from racking up another 80,000 commuter miles by using a low maintenance , properly restored classic Vespa to ride to work. These old machines have a reputation for reliability when restored properly and not tuned within an inch of their lives for speed. For me, who grew up with these two stroke wonders there is the satisfaction of an old nostalgic itch as well as I bomb along Highway One keeping up with traffic and enjoying an old school ride. Or, as in this case taking an hour to abandon my dog and ride a few back roads through the Lower Keys. 

On Facebook (Michael Conchscooter) the furniture abandoned at the end of the road prompted quite a few ludicrous comments, though I had to confess it never occurred to me to try to step through it and see if I could find a portal back to Narnia, which CS Lewis based on a village near my hometown of Terni, in Italy. I caught this t-shirt in a shop window in Narni in 2013:

No Lions ruling the Keys or Umbria, worst luck, but my Vespa and its 12 horsepower rule the road.

It's the  time of year when the winds honk out of the southeast, blowing cool breezes up from the Bahamas, a time of year when the sun's heat starts to assert itself, winter cold fronts are a memory (missed by some) yet for those of us that live here the heat is not yet close to unberable. Early mornings are cool and during the afternoon the air is not yet saturated as it will be in July and  August into September. I rate this weather as just about perfect and swimming season is just about here.

Now I get to look forward to summer thunderstorms, lashing rain, spectacular lightning at night  and big black ominous clouds by day. I'll have to dig out my waterproofs and see how my reconditioned Vespa does in wet season...

I hope you have an easy reflective Sunday, and gird your loins for the  week ahead. Me and my Vespa are ready.

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Transvestites And Old Bikes, Keys Dress Up

I am Facebook friends with Vickie who as I recall posted these pictures and I immediately knew I had to use them so I said so, and here they are. I loved these pictures because they are so casual and random and so totally unlike the image of drag queens which only ever put them on stage as objects.

Tourists like to give themselves a thrill by heading down to the last remaining block of Key West Gayness, the eight hundred block of Duval Street and check out the three gay bars, straight friendly if you don't dig too deep into the back of the 801, and ready to put on a show. You could go to La Te Da further up the street or try slumming at Bobby's on Simonton but that is just for drinks and stuff that follows from lack of sober judgement. I've been to the cabaret, done that and got bored. It may be that I lack the capacity of imagination, or the ability to step outside myself but watching men dress up as women pretending to be well known performers strikes me as an odd way to spend a vacation. Lots of people love it, and it is all a huge attraction.

Clearly it's not my scene but I am told that Wilton Manors, a suburb of Fort Lauderdale is this geberation's gay scene, good weather, lots of land for cheaper housing, accessible. It's not Key West, but this town is pricing everyone out of it's housing. In the days when Navy sailors attracted gay men Key West attracted men with money taste and culture and transformed this little fishing village. Now it's too popular for its own good and we straight camp followers are doing our best to suffocate the free spirited weirdness that made Key West so colorful. I go to the convenience store for a coke at two in the morning and find myself in line behind a noted grand dame of the transvestite scene, except here she's make up free shopping for stupid daily stuff just like all of us. It's a metaphor for Key West itself, all made up and nowhere to go, and shorn of glamor in daily life. Still, it suits me even if I am transvestite-free...

One thing though, you don't often get to see a variety of motorcycles so when I found an elderly Yamaha from Wisconsin in the parking lot I stopped and stared.

It looked perfect, by my estimate roughly a 1970 first generation of a motorcycle that changed the way Japanese motorcycles were viewed by people who wanted to ride Bonnevilles that were reliable and modern but didn't have four cylinders like much derided "sewing machines." In short it married tradition with modernity and I remember it well.

Naturally old fanatics get all wound up about the details but to me it's just a picture into my past and I loved staring at it.

Of course the human story behind it was much better. It's owner (no name, forgot) collects and fixes Nortons but this bike circulated among his friends, members of his wedding party it turns out and the Yamaha came back to him after passing through several hands. And he brought it down to the Keys for the longer riding season.

Riders of old bikes talk and it was a rare treat. The Vespa is running nicely, for now. So what's next?

 

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Decrepitude - The Sugarloaf Bat Tower

I've stared at this picture quite a bit. I know exactly what this picture looks like in color. But here it is in monochrome, black and white as we ordinary mortals say, and the old wreck of a bat tower looks like anything but a long since abandoned home for mosquito-eating bats. It could be a rocket or some industrial smoke stack spewing misty white poisonous gas. Or it could be a wooden tower built as a bat home almost a hundred years ago.

I love these clouds that are starting to creep up over the Keys. They aren't poisonous gas at all. As they build in rainy season, the summer, they get thick and heavy and dark and threatening. They create drama in our little island world. They burst open and drop tons of cold gray water all over us.

Taking that sense of forboding to ground level I saw an abandoned U-Haul van at the top of a slope. Bear in mind that this being the Keys the slope was not steep and the top of the slope might have been maybe eight feet above sea level, to be generous. I squatted and tried zooming to get the claustrophobic effect I was looking for, but as that didn't work I pulled the picture back and with the help of the monochrome I got the tunnel effect I wanted.

Turning back to the tower the dried mud, made moist by rain or a high high tide especially in summer, caught my eye. This stuff is typical of the Lower Keys, clay-like it dries to a crust with nasty looking scabs of dried mud floating on the surface. In monochrome it looks lunar, and I left the landings of the rocket ship in the background to give it perspective.

One reason I have resisted the iPhone for so long has been the tinting of pictures that comes out of so many cameras. It's so popular it looks like a default setting to me. I tried it here as a transition from the colorless pictures above to the full color pictures below. Besides the washed out look fits with the sense of decay I found in the black white pictures that precede it. To use this filter on sunny holiday snaps seems odd to me but I see it all the time.

Cheyenne starring in her own movie-again. Perhaps this time it's an Ingmar Bergman... Slow, laconic and in black and white.

These are the real life pictures I also took on my Labrador's walk.

I have visited the lace from time to time so there are other posts in my blog about its history. (Link).

The osprey nest on top is of course getting bigger, while the wood below gets more and more decrepit.

There is still no sign this thing exists as you travel the Overseas Highway. Just look for the sky diving sign west of Sugarloaf Lodge.

 

 

 

Time is slowly running out for this unloved home for bats.

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