On the road again...heading south on Highway 19 to meet with some fish of the inedible kind.
The open bits of US Highway 19 are better than a freeway, because lacking the Interstate designation they are less traveled and thus much more relaxing, even if the views are hemmed in by trees and an absence of altitude. The bits in between the open stretches are fairly ghastly, classic absence of zoning and absence of architecture agglomerations of stores:
Here as elsewhere the notion that "slower traffic keep right" goes by the board and vehicles cluster in little clumps traveling at three miles per hour below the legal limit in both lanes, which is tedious in a state that only allows for written warnings for speed violations five miles per hour above the limit. I like driving, not as much as I like riding, but I like to pay attention to the road and to be surrounded by people fiddling with their GPS units, or text messaging or fumbling with sandwiches while they try to control their two ton machines freaks me out. I'd rather speed and find myself a quiet piece of roadway between herds of heffalumps not paying attention to their driving. With all that highway commotion arriving in Weeki Wachee was a pleasant change.
My wife has seen several films, Full Grown Men being the most recent, featuring the bizarre attraction and she wanted to see the mermaids in person. The last show was at three, according to her iPhone so we were driving to get there and we failed in our mission. It's true the park was closing as we arrived. We flashed our State Parks pass which normally would get us a 33% reduction on the $13 admission fee but because there was essentially nothing to see they let us in for free to wander around (and spend money at the gift store). 
For those men who weren't breast fed in infancy and thus have a breast obsession in old age, there are topless women everywhere in Weeki Wachee State Park. Yes indeed, the Sunshine State took the park over in 2008 and it is no longer a private attraction. It operates quite nicely under government auspices too, and you get free parking courtesy of the Great State of Florida.
The origins of the mermaid myths are lost in time, but those historians of a practical bent suggest that sex-starved sailors saw manatees (in the Far East they are called, alluringly, dugongs) and mistook them for mermaids. Which has prompted the rather tart remark that for a man to confuse a manatee for an attractive woman-fish suggests the sailors must have been desperate. But who are we to judge.
The mermaid theater was closed but we could hear the rather peculiar strains of music emanating, and they sounded like a 1950's soundtrack played on a Theremin. Clearly we will have to return to see the show and my wife has decided we will have to see the 1:30pm Underwater Spectacular, whatever that is.
With an empty park before us we had time to goof around and stretch our legs. I found the photograph above to be rather disturbing and include it for reasons I cannot recall. August in Central Florida is water park time:
I suppose the advantage of a water park is that the water is supposed to be sterile and there aren't any animals in it for the comfort of the faint hearted, but I cannot but feel that a state with so much extraordinary coastline isn't well served by these artificial watering holes, even one called Buccaneer Bay which suggests bloodletting on a grand scale.
Weeki Wachee was a post World War Two invention of a former Navy diver who used the aqualung techniques developed during the war to stage a spectacular underwater show using the new breathing techniques. Self Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus was a French invention known by the rather more romantic appellation of aqualung rather than the modern acronym of SCUBA, and I expect that seeing beautiful young women swimming around like fish must have looked miraculous, and I dare say it was a pleasant relief from using aqualungs to blow up things. Nowadays the trick is known and the spectacle continues. The park itself is as cheerful and corny as the mermaid notion itself. Perhaps I am too suggestible but I find the empty black hole where Neptune's face should be, rather creepy:
Mermaids generate trash by the bagful apparently on a more down to earth note:
They also generate weddings by the bagful apparently. I thought this was a mermaid cage for air transport but my wife poked me and told me not to be silly, it's for brides to pose in:
And some people just like to be photographed at Weeki Wachee. I'll bet there are bags full of pictures all over the country of people posing.
Then there is the main photographic event, meet the Mermaids:
I daresay you could meet a mermaid-like young woman, lithe, blonde and with a vacant smile at any number of almost bankrupt shopping malls but here they are on display with tails for feet much to the delight of parents and their offspring:
It almost restores your faith in human nature that people with 500 channels of cable TV can enjoy the simplicity of a world dreamed up in 1947 and keep it alive and well and full of fun. Of course you can take the mermaid theme too far in my opinion. A sign like this brings up all sorts of physiological questions in the mind of a curmudgeon like me. I wonder how parents reply to the questionings of eager young minds:
But the gift shop alas isn't the place to find a reply to the burning question of how do mermaids pee, because this is the land of dust catchers and good cheer. My wife went shopping and I went outside to see how the mermaid photography was progressing:
An altogether entrancing State Park, not to be missed by anyone traveling US Highway 19 north of Tampa/St Pete:
It was night when we took a room at the Hampton Inn where a helpful clerk told us to that the top floor was where we needed to be if we wanted to see the Bok Tower. This is the view which my wife thought was splendid so I figured I'd better take a picture to record the immortal moment. It was 7:30 when I pulled the curtains aside on our $110 suite and checked on the presence of the tower. Sure enough, so we filled up on a copious free breakfast of eggs and sausage in the lobby and drove along a meandering back route to our last destination but one on the Grand Florida Tour of 2009. 
It seems to me that squirrels probably get lots of human attention in the parking lot at Bok Tower because this little guy ran up to us and literally held out his paws in supplication. We were stone hearted not least because we had nothing to offer and besides I like it that the Keys are squirrel free, so I don't want to encourage any member of the genus to imagine that life in the Keys is the least bit attractive for squirrels. Iguanas are pests enough for the islands. 
Bok Tower is set in a garden dreamed up by a dude called Edward....wait for it...Bok! Who, just like me emigrated to the US from Europe, Holland in his case, when he was a toddler around 1870. He made a name for himself publishing, of all things, The Ladies' Home Journal a job that suited him so well that he got prizes and recognition for it. He also had the great good sense to marry an extremely wealthy woman so that when he fell in love with a sandy knob of land near Lake Wales, Florida, he had the wherewithal to buy it and turn it into his dream garden. Hence the whole Bok attraction.
Edward Bok's grandmother handed down a saying that is all over this national Historic Landmark -Make you the world a bit better or more beautiful because you have lived in it- and I suppose one has to attribute the tortured syntax to the fact that she was Dutch or possibly that was the way they spake back then. Of course, a man of my skeptical mien likes to think a pocket full of cash is a good way to start if you plan to make the world beautiful. Bok certainly did that with his wife's cash so I'm guessing his grandma would have been happy. We were with our solitude.
We arrived right at opening time and we had Bok Gardens to ourselves at 8:30 in the morning which was perfect. We picked a spot in the vast spacious empty parking lot, ducked the importuning of the squirrels and legged it through the delightful courtyards of the visitor center. This is something how I would like my dream house to look with capable gardeners to keep the vegetation alive for me as I stroll my shady cloisters.
With the sun relatively low in the sky we started walking and the more we walked the better it got. Bok Gardens was designed by Frederick Law Olmsted who turned the sandy hillock into something quite splendid with all sorts of flowering stuff that I couldn't possibly identify:
As far as I can tell Bok Tower Gardens is a private foundation but works with the Ag Extension or some other state agency to preserve and propagate endangered species. I checked their website (do I have to tell you to Google Bok Tower?) but they are rather vague on the subject. We walked among areas devoted to the maintenance of native species that are apparently running out of room in the state at large. They also offer opportunities to sit and do nothing much which makes a change from Florida at large as well: 
Nature stiffed us and we sat in the little wooden hut on a bench and mediated like crazy but bugger all happened on the pond. My wife liked the moment though.
Walking the gardens was a bit of a mind bender as one expected it to be a fresh cool autumnal morning under the oak trees instead it was a blisteringly hot and humid August morning in Central Florida. The silence was delightful.
And as we circled the gardens, slowly climbing the hill the tower kept popping into view between the foliage:
They call this erection the Singing Tower because it has bells behind the ornate windows and they chime in a manner designed to remind Edward Bok of his youth. 
More than just the bells make it a reminder of Olde Europe, it has gargoyles too:
As we sauntered along with the tower as our goal I must confess I really did expect that we would be allowed to get inside the tower and climb the stairs to the top. It seemed quite the undertaking I grant you, as it is 200 feet (65 meters) tall, but I was looking forward to the climb and the view. 
The tower is guarded by a moat, as all good fairy tales advise us, and in the moat there were swans doing what swans do best which is preening. The feathers lying in the grass are evidence of a pretty heavy outbreak of preening and general beautifying right before we got there.
Like the resident squirrel population I'm guessing that the swans are quite used to people because these two just stared at us, happily without feeling the need to beg. I got a sudden attack of Richard Attenborough-itis when I saw this gecko doing it's best to attract my attention with it's overt display of a large orange goiter:
Calvin Coolidge dedicated the gardens and Bok is buried underneath the tower in the manner that rich people seemed to enjoy at that time. The Lick Observatory above San Jose, California has it's main telescope planted on top of the mouldering remains of it's creator as well.
Shortly thereafter all hell broke lose and the Stock Market crashed, and stabilized and crashed again, rather in the manner we see today. The Tower and Gardens are riding it all out all over again. However to climb up the tower takes rather more than just showing up.
Entry to the gardens is ten dollars apiece unless like us you are members of a reciprocating organization, in our case Fairchild Gardens in Miami.However to get into Bok's old studio downstairs in the tower you have to join at the $85 annual rate and if you want to take the tiny elevator up to the bells near the top you have to join at the $1000 a year rate which gets you one visit up the tower. Very funny.
I spoke to a gardener who was pottering around at the base of the tower and he said he had been up twice and onto the roof itself, which he described as the place where the usual air conditioning equipment and stuff hangs out. But he noted the views are tremendous and one can see either coast on a clear day. All of which made me salivate even more to get to the top. I wondered if he might have been susceptible to a bribe but he seemed young and wholesome and the thought of corrupting a fresh faced youth didn't seem worth it. Even from the base of the tower the views were quite refreshing. At 300 feet (100 meters) this hill would hardly rate a mention in most States in the Union, but in Florida this is the highest point in the peninsula and by the time global warming has it's way in 2100, this place will be a small island.
They have thoughtfully placed a loo under the trees and a place to sit where one can take shelter during a rain storm so I did, take a seat that is, despite the absence of rain, in the company of Presidents and Rich Men:
And there is President Coolidge looking down on the left with Edward Bok all silver haired staring straight ahead, that fateful day in February 1929 when they opened the place:
There is a little video at the visitor's center and I snapped a picture of the bells, and the concerts they play with them, viewed by hoi-polloi (not the thousand dollar sustainers) via video screen placed at the base of the tower:
And back at the visitor center a nice lady docent showed us how the carillon is operated on a mock up:
None of which I really grasped but it was quite unusual all the way round. The bells were cast in England and apparently the original foundry in Loughborough is still in business and stands ready and able to supply parts and replacements as needed. I wonder if in a century Triumph will do the same to whoever gets to inherit my Bonneville. And in inimitable style the Bok Tower people illustrated the size of the largest bell thusly:
Big enough no doubt to justify the appellation "The Singing Tower." This is but a very superficial tour of Bok Tower Gardens, there is a stately home on the premises open for tours and much more to the grounds than I have been able to show. I have no idea why I never came here before even when I was frequently crossing the state on nearby Highway 60. Better late than never, as the cliché has it. 
Which probably accounts in part for the eagerness of some Greek sponge fishermen to emigrate to Tarpon Springs in the period of occupation to build a burgeoning industry in the New World. A red tide in 1947 killed off a large part of the sponges and the industry today is very much a tourist attraction. These are real sponges for daily use: 
Though there are of course ample opportunities for the shoppers in the family to add to their collections of dust catchers:
Language is of course the foundation of a culture and if the young'uns forget their roots the culture is lost:
And the Anclote River continues to be an active commercial fishing port:
Greek is the language spoken by people who operate the restaurants and tourist shops, though owing to the fact that I don't speak Greek I couldn't say exactly what sort of Greek it might be. Italian Americans who think they speak Italian handed down from their grandparents frequently are speaking a minor dialect incomprehensible outside the originators home towns. If it's the same with Greek I would never know.
The current inhabitants of these few historic blocks remember this man as the founder of the sponging trade:
And the way they used to do it was originally free diving and then by clumping around under water in huge diving suits:
Sponge fishing is also carried out in the Keys, by pulling sponges off the bottom with a hook into the boat. When you have squeezed a real silk sponge in your hand modern artificial imitations pale by comparison. My wife is also a fan of Greek food so we stopped off to take a look:
We picked up some camping supplies so the next bunch of people we camp with will find themselves sampling canned Greek food, grape leaves, sardines (yuck!) and assorted olives and peppers. The candy that closely resembles Turkish delight did not survive to make it home I am sorry to say. The wine did and we bought half a dozen bottles after Yanni gave us a taste. Interestingly there was a lot more on offer than pine cone flavored wines one hears so much about. Some of the wines were quite young and too tart for my wife, but there were more refined and smooth wines that can compete decently with modern table wines from the western states or France:
He was a youthful looking 75 year old and he attributes his good health not to genetics but to a nightly sip of sweet Greek dessert wine of which we took home a bottle. Very good it is too and I can quite feel myself growing more spry each day. Interestingly enough I noted he and his granddaughter exchanged commands in Greek so I hope Fisher Price is helping secure the culture for future generations. 
This dude was prowling for pictures. I wondered what he got:
I snagged this guy wondering what he was thinking back in 1945 as he posed on his work boat:
We drove around a bit penetrating into the hinterlands of Tarpon Springs, the regular suburban tracts of ordinary homes and gardens that butt up to the few blocks of Aegean architecture in the tourist district and then we settled for Mama Maria's for a shared plate of Greek food and some rather toothsome Greek beer. 
It's not bad but to me it tends to taste like Italian food gone a bit odd. Most Italians would throw a fit of you presented them with lasagna made of soft pasta filled with unspiced ground lamb or over cooked macaroni mixed in with ground meat and no spicy tomato sauce to be seen. I am less hung up so I can dig in with the best of them and eat grape leaves and lamb patties and odd custard-like spinach pies. Nver having been to Greece I am not completely certain what it is they eat in the modern mother country (McDonald's, too doubtless). 
On the way out we passed this church which put in an appearance on a number of postcards but we were on our way to lake Wales and Bok Tower and the Nissan was urging me on. Ah, the Great Florida Road Trip. It was Monday so it had to be Tarpon Springs. And I had to be at work Tuesday night. 
