Key West 2011

Back in SF after a spin around Florida. Visited family, friends, and fish.

In Gainesville, I started at home for a few days with family. My nephew is 14 years old now. And taller. Much taller. He'll very likely be looking down on me in a few years.

Next, I went to Tampa and stayed in the pinkest girlie pink room you have ever pink set your pink eyes on pink. And pink. Rachel very kindly let me stay in her pink palace, since the family had a full house over Labor Day weekend, and the guest room was full.

Did I mention pink?

Thanks again, Rachel!

There was more than just pinkness. Francine, Rachel, and I went for a stroll by one of Tampa's park/piers.

It was like a little taste of the South Florida I used to know, with mangroves and these little purple flower heads we used to pop off the stem with our thumbs, chanting "Momma had a baby and her HEAD popped off!"

Children not named Rachel are gruesome.

Next up, I drove to Miami to pick up Z-Man. This was an unfortunately stressful part of the trip. I'm an experienced, seasoned Florida driver, which means I've basically driven through hurricanes and on I-95. However, this trip down the west coast saw some of the worst rain and visibility I've ever had to deal with. Happily, my fellow drivers were all being impressively sane, driving slowly, lights on, and even hazards blinking. I could mostly follow behind, although at one point, there was no one in front of me, and trying to find the road was a bit terrifying.

But that's not all. After the storm cells passed, I was in the flat part of I-75 that goes through the Everglades. Rain stirs up insects, which the tiny native Everglades birds love to eat. This means that for the next 17 miles, I had suicidal/homicidal hungry birds dive-bombing the road in front of me, trying to get their fill of bugs. Of the 193 close calls, one bird will not be passing on its genes. I said a little kaddish.

I was very glad to be in Coral Gables at the Biltmore, honestly one of the finest hotels I've ever stayed at. Z-man and I could probably make a vacation just there, doing nothing. Gorgeous, fantastic service and amenities, and check out my view.

We were only there for 2 days, and both pretty exhausted. We didn't do anything the first day, and the second night, I braved a trip over to South Beach.

It's still pretty, but it didn't quite have the same vibe that I remembered (although still keeping up a good level of douchiness). I'm probably just old now.

These are a bit blurry, but they're for my sister.

Then after a much more relaxing, uneventful trip down US-1, we made it to Key West!

One night, Z-Man and I took a sunset cruise out over the water. Gorgeous day, as you can see.

Hoist them thingies!

This is the Western Union, another schooner with whom our ship, the Jolly II Rover, has a friendly rivalry of sorts.

Hello, Mallory Square!

Ah, there's the sun. Wonder if we should worry about that haze...? Nahhh.

A shipmate "priming" his "cannon." Commence innuendo.

Ahhh, look at that water. Hope those clouds'll get out of our way.

Oh, look over there! Much nicer! Fort Zachary Taylor, everyone! Pretty!

(I posted a few panoramic shots, which get kinda scrunched up, like this one)

The Western Union attempts to engage the Jolly II Roger. Boy, sea battle is really slow.

Fire cannons!

Ha! We chased off those yellow dogs! Yearrr! Take that, ya bilge-suckers! You're a . . . you're . . . hey, where are you going?

Oh, crap!

It was at this point, the crew of the J2R hauled ass to get the rigging down, and then we hauled ass back to port. Look at those skies!

At that point, it commenced raining with tropical vengeance. I wasn't particularly alarmed that I'd be paying Davey Jones a visit (no, not the Monkey, nor the Bowie). The seas were much frothier, and there was some spectacular lightning, but it was quite a show, and it was quite something to see. Sunsets happen every night, but how often do you get caught in the middle of a genuine Carribbean squall? Totally worth it.

The next day we opted for some sunshine and another boat ride, gluttons for punishment that we were. I've never been to Bahia Honda before, and I'd heard that it's supposedly a first-class beach. I'm happy to report it easily lived up to this reputation.

We took a snorkeling expedition from Bahia Honda to Looe Reef, named after an English sailor who had to ran aground on it. Another boat ride, but this one much less eventful from the ride standpoint, although at one point a silly tourist lost his hat in the water. The crew kindly fished it out, but did so not realizing when we'd turned about, we'd tangled a lobster trap buoy around the propeller of one of the engines. Z-Man and I were in the back, and I saw the buoy first and let the captain know. He was much more concerned that it was an engine problem, so when it turned out to be this, there was much relief. He sent in his mate to cut it free and we were on our way.

Unfortunately, beautiful as the reef was once we got there, we were beset by moon jellyfish. Not the worst kind (like a box jelly), but not fun to be around. They'd apparently had a fertile year, and were much worse earlier in the summer. Sea turtles eat them, which is another reason you should like turtles.

Jellyfish pretty much just go with a current, so once I figured out which way they were coming and which way they were headed, it was a bit easier to dodge them, but it still was like Hartsfield Airport during rush hour. Z-Man, brave little trooper that he was, lasted less than two minutes. He was a little freaked out at being surrounded by so many fish, and he felt like he wasn't strong enough a swimmer to avoid the jellyfish. We'll have to start somewhere simpler for him, like, say, our bathtub.

I don't have any good pictures from the boat or dive, not wanting to risk my camera, but we did walk around the park a bit more before leaving. The bridge you see in some of the pictures is what remains of the old Flager Railroad that ran down to Key West. A hurrican wiped it out of usability many years ago, and Flagler couldn't rebuild it. It became the foundation for one of the earlier traffic roads to Key West until the new US-1 was built.

Well, it's our last day (already!) and my birthday. So we decided to try a sunset viewing one more time, from land.

The sunset was a bit later than we'd figured, and we had reservations at Hot Tin Roof. Fortunately for us, they had one more outside table for 2 available that overlooked the western sky, albeit the sun would set behind Sunset Key, a private island just off Key West.

So brace yourself for a ton of Sunset pictures . . . now!

Dessert was location-appropriate: Key Lime pie! Anyone who knows me knows that my #1 choice for dessert will always be chocolate and none of your funny white stuff. However, my #2 favorite dessert of all time is Key Lime pie.

This was my first actual pie of the trip, and it was delicious (the palm tree is cinnamon powder). Previously, we'd gone to La Te Da for Key Lime "martinis." I use the scare quotes because, like the snob I am, a martini is gin and vermouth and that's it. But I also acknowledge we're stuck with the term for anything else, and I've made my peace with it. It's especially easy, because La Te Da makes hands-down the best Key Lime pie martini anywhere, ever. All of the bartenders insist it's the Licor43 liqueur they use. It's kind of like Tuaca, without the awful. It's incredibly smooth, to be sure, but in my opinion, theirs is so good because they use just a tiny bit of cream, and the cocktail glass is rimmed in powdered graham cracker. That, and the fact that they make enough for multiple pours, which they strain off into a small cruet that they rest on a bowl of ice to keep it cool. We enjoyed them several nights in lieu of actual dessert or pie, but on my full moon birthday night, at 41 years of age (and seeing my first damn age spots on my hands), only the real thing would do. And it did.

Scolding Weather

Dear Hurricane Irene,

Apart from the indignity of being named after my boss, why must you, once again, threaten my vacation time? Please turn north-east and sputter out at your earliest possible convenience or I shall be forced to subject you to the following video and hundreds others like it -- and make no mistake, I can.

I don't think either one of us want that.

Very truly yours,
S7

Paris, Part Deux

OMG! A post! (Which I just now edited to de-Frenchify it because some of the letters translate to garbage characters.  Sorry, French, I tried to use your diacriticals, I really did, but the fonts! They do nothing!)

I was thinking about my poor blog this morning.  I still have Paris to finish, now that it's not far from going on a year.  Let's see, we las left it on my birthday, at the Buddha Bar.  It was the first time I'd eaten there, and it was not bad.  I think I'd stick to the drinks, in the future.

The next day, Dr. Rogish's last, we went to the outdoor market at Bastille.  I'd say they easily live up to their reputations.  Delicacies, cheeses, meats, salts, ethnic food, breads, fruits, vegetables . . . Paris is great for window shopping for treats from those vendors luck enough to have a shop, and the bakeries and delis are a huge part of what I love about the city.  But the bustling, crowded, everyday-people markets are just as remarkable and dizzyingly immersive and dense with wonders. 

Ah, random street in Paris.  This one was taken close to the market in Bastille. 

In contrast to the high art and market culture, we decided to go to the Museum of Chocolate.  You're required to say this in Homer Simpsons voice. (OH! And speaking of the Simpsons, I did catch it in French at our hotel.  The voices are pretty dead on.  "Va te faire shampouiner!" Yeah, that's French-Bart's version of "Eat my shorts!"  It's "Go shampoo yourself," which, huh, idioms.)

Anyway, the chocolate museum was filled with chocolate parephenalia, history, biology, and oh! Look! Chocolate makes you fat!

I expected to see "Some pig" written in webbing above this bon-bon holder. 

Z-man really enjoyed this museum.

European-style hot chocolate was a huge part of salon culture during its colonial period.  There's plenty of information on its traditional presentation from the Americas, but ooo! Shiny!

Modern!

Good grief! Cleanse it with fire!!!!!

And of course, chocolate-inspired fashion, and fashion-inspired Z-man.  Told you he enjoyed it.

That was, sadly, where Dr. Rogish had to depart back for home.  I'll visit soon!

Now, although I've been to Paris a few times, this is the closest I'd ever gotten to the Arc de Triomphe.  In fact, I didn't know you could go up to the top!

La Defense, as seen from the top of the Arc.

I have a panoramic shot, but it doesn't go well on the blog.  But this gives you an idea of the spot.  The Arc is a hub for something like 12 streets that spoke outward from the circle.

Here's the Eiffel Tower, and I think the left street is part of the Champs-Elysees.  It might not be, it might be over to the left a click or two.

This is definitely the Louvre.  You can see the top of the Pyramid.

Ah, I can show off with  this one.  See that point on the center horizon...?

That's the Sacre-Coeur, basilica, atop the Montmartre.

Beneath the Arc is a memorial to French soldiers.  We caught part of some daily ceremony. 

Ah, this is the Egyptian Obelisk on the Place de la Concorde, aka the Place de la Revolution, aka the execution site of Louis XVI, Marie Antoinette, Robspierre, and many, many, many, many others on the bloodthirsty blade of Mme Guillotine during "the" French Revolution.

There's some debate about whether the obelisk, originally from the entrance to the pyramid at Luxor, was indeed a "gift" and not a "spoil."  There were two, and only one, this one, could be brought from Egypt.  Francois Mitterand "gave" the other one "back."

Apparently Act-Up once wrapped this rascal up in a giant pink condom.

This the tip of the Ile de la Cite where the oldest bridge in Paris, Pont Neuf, connects the right and left banks of the Seine.  The park is frequently filled with couples enjoying life on the Seine.  And snogging.

As we strolled back toward our hotel, night fell, and we passed by the Hotel de Ville, the current incarnation of the city hall and the mayor's office. It's been the site of city administration since the 1300s, but Paris being Paris, it's been burned down at various times.  It's now made of stone, which is easier to clean up, scorch-mark-wise.

More morbidity! I'd never also actually been to the Pere Lachaise cemetery.  It's enormous, much bigger than I expected it do be (I'd only every been to the one at Montparnasse, which is smaller and felt more canopied by the trees).

I was also struck at the diversity of graves. Jewish, Christian, Shinto . . . it was not at all a homogenous place. 

It's also the supposed resting place of Abelard and Heloise those famous, doomed lovers.  This is their tomb.

Jim Morrison's grave, duh.

Edith Piaf.

Lovely mosaic.

I was also taken aback by how many Holocaust memorials there were.  It was . . . unsettling, not because it was a reminder of the not-so-great behavior of the French Vichy government, but by how the monuments, at least one for every death camp, almost seemed to be in competition with each other.  I couldn't help but get a sense of palpable penitence from the way they vied for my attention.

The morbidity wasn't surprising.  Vanitas and Danse Macabre are longstanding features of the culture.  It was, however, very effective.

Ah, Oscar Wilde's tomb.  All the red you see is, I kid you not, lipstick.  There is a superstition that if you kiss his tomb, you'll find true love in Paris, or something like that.  It's like a gayer, more literary Marie Laveau.  Funny how these things seem to cling to French culture.

The columbarium was like nothing I'd experience before.  It's quite large, and I believe there's an actual, if not active crematorium on the premises.  But the scent of flowers as you walked throught the naturally lit halls was powerful indeed.

Balzac! (Tee-hee!)

That night, we made it to the Champ de Mars, the greensward that leads up to the Eiffel Tower.  I had intended for us to go up, but, vive la France, there was a bomb threat supposedly called in because of the impending no-veil law being debated.  Le sigh.  I couldn't help but wonder if there were people up there eating at the 5-star restaurant, though.  I'd like to believe that the French wouldn't let a little thing like a bomb scare spoil a good meal.

The next, and final day, I took us to the Montmartre, which still is a cozy, gorgeous, I-can't-believe-I'm-still-in-a-city neighborhood on the side of the hill.  I think the crepes Z-man is having below at the Maison Rouge (yes, the Pink House) is the Frenchiest thing we did the whole time.

The tragic, fabulous Dalida.

A Moulin, yes, but not rouge.

One of the genuine, remaining Art Nouveau Paris Metro stations designed by Guimard.

The basilica, this time close up, and once described as looking like "nipples for the angels on which to suck."  They have a point.

Heading downhill from the idealized Paris of your dreams, with the street artists and the mills and the ambling, quiet roads, you get back to the grittier urban world of Pigalle, titty bars, the Moulin Rouge, and the Musee de l'erotisme (yes, the Sex Museum, which is, actually, pretty great).  And now for something completely different, a kinky diorama!

And that brings us to our concluding night at Cabaret Michou (warning! site has automatically-playing, terrifying music), which I already posted a ton of pictures for (many of you are still recovering from them). "Moi, Michou!" (warning, again: different link, no music, but translated page)  I'll repost a couple, one for dear, departed Amy Winehouse.

And one more for the more-French (but actually Egyptian-Itlaian) Dalida.

So, finally! Almost my 41st birthday, but at least I did this.  Now I won't feel so guilty about posting other stuff.

Au Revoir, Ti Couz

   One of my favorite spots in San Francisco, and one of the first places I ate at on my first trip here in 1995, Ti Couz, shuttered on Sunday. 

Tworavens is visiting, and we went there on Saturday for a farewell.

While the last Totale and Café Liegeois I'll ever have were great, it was also memorable, alas, because three feet from us, one of the customers appeared to have a siezure, and the paramedics were called.  She was taken off to a local hospital after some initial triage.  It was a little surreal, especially since it was happening right next to us.  I hope the poor dear is okay. 

This is me, saying a tearful farewell after lunch, and attempting to dry-hump it goodye.

No, Really, There's More

Extended multi-month hiatus! Sorry! I really do have more Paris pictures to post.  But here's a terrifying break. There's a reason for it.

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