We pulled into the station only about 30 minutes behind schedule and a few minutes ahead of our ride. Stepping down from the train onto the barely-shaded platform, the Florida heat hit like a giant fist wrapped in steamy towels.
Florida boasts 4 Köppen-Geiger Climate Zones. A small square of south-east coast real estate qualifies as bona fide Tropical Rainforest. The patch surrounding it is Tropical Monsoon; Miami just makes the geographical cut. The far south is Tropical Savannah (think Everglades and Keys). Everything north of these zones is Humid Subtropical.
Tampa and St. Petersburg, sister cities that sit across from each other on either side of Tampa Bay,
fit neatly into that last climate category. Frankly, the place felt tropical and humid. The water-laden air, pounding sunlight, lush vegetation . . .
Tampa is a major business center also renowned for its museums, Busch Gardens (a collection of native flora and a bit of native fauna when my mum took us there in 1964; now an African-themed amusement park with thrill rides and animal-viewing areas), the Ybor City neighborhood (founded by Cuban and Spanish cigar-factory workers at the turn of the 20th century), fine dining, and exciting nightlife. St. Petersburg has museums as well (the Dalí Museum, Museum of Fine Arts) and is home to the Florida Orchestra, but it’s real claim-to-fame is its waterfront parks, golfing, boating, fishing, and beaches. St. Pete is officially “the Sunshine City” of the Sunshine State.
My family was in Tampa Bay in ’64 because Hurricane Cleo, a Category 2 storm with winds of 110 mph, had derailed our Miami vacation. The pic below is of the Deauville Hotel, but the Castaways, where we were bunking, fared no better.
photo by Ray Fisher/Miami Herald
©The Miami Herald
Nothing daunted, my parents packed us up, drove us to the other side of the state, and we finished our holiday in a plush resort on Tierra Verde Island. Tierra Verde is too small to show up in the map above; it’s a speck of land at the southern tip of the western spit that forms the gateway to Tampa Bay. A gorgeous speck of land.
Decades later I returned to Tampa Bay for a Jimenez family wedding. We stayed in a fabulous house right on a canal, we were introduced to Ted Peters Famous Smoked Fish (soooo good), and we partied hearty at the reception.
So, yes. I’d been here before. I knew what to expect weather-wise, and I had done my best clothing-wise. Unfortunately, my best was but a feeble gesture in the right direction. With 1 suitcase, 8 destinations, 1 dress-code weekend, and 5 Zones to cover [Warm Summer Continental (Schenectady, Lee), Humid Subtropical (NYC, Tampa-St. Pete, KCMO), Tropical and Subtropical Steppe (Denver), Continental Subarctic (Frisco), and Mediterranean (Victoria) – dang, I love these Köppen-Geiger classifications! check out your zone HERE], no way could I pack for all contingencies.
To make matters worse, my wardrobe reflects my preferences (dark colors, especially black; if I’d been a child of a different decade, I’d have gone Goth), my work (backstage theatre – again, black), and my home-base (temperate – semi-cold/wet winters and pretty-hot/dry summers with cool nights, guaranteed). I don’t own a pair of shorts. I never buy white clothes because I invariably ruin them with permanent stains on first use. I shun flow-y linen pants for heavier, more structured leg-wear. I flat don’t own Florida attire. Florida attire? I don’t even own travel attire. Virtually everything in my closet is delicate-wash/line-dry. And I certainly didn’t have the time (or funds) to purchase an entire new wardrobe prior to departure.
So I’d packed some light, some heavy, some casual, a few accessories to spiff up the casual to semi-fancy, and 3 pairs of shoes (flats/walkers, sandals, and flip-flops for poolside and taking showers on the train). I figured I could borrow essential items at the two extremes – Gulf Coast and Rocky Mountains. And I wasn’t a total idiot about it. I’d brought my sun-hat, and I’d bought a bathing suit expressly for this leg of the trip. Ta-da.
I was in my coolest duds as I stepped off the Silver Star – sun-hat, cotton skirt, spaghetti-strap cotton top, scarf/shawl (for my shoulders), and sandals. It would have been fine on a hot day in Sonoma. It was all wrong for Tampa. The black skirt and scarf and the dark purple top soaked up the sun’s pounding rays like sponges soak up water.
Even if I’d been clad in classic Florida whites and pastels, NYC’s brisk, bustling pace would have been out of the question. I slowed to an amble from platform to station, then sat quiet in the relative indoor cool,
while Roy went solo into the baking day to wait for sister Carla. She arrived momentarily. A few quick hugs, we loaded our stuff, hopped into a comfy, climate-controlled vehicle . . . and suddenly all was right with the world.
As a fan of rain, fog, and wool sweaters, I find it hard to understand why anyone would voluntarily choose to live in a place that’s hot and muggy. A quick car-tour of Carla’s and Jim’s St. Petersburg ’hood, a leisurely stroll through their amazing home,
and the answer was plain. Hot and muggy can be absolutely gorgeous. Tampa-St. Pete – with its salty breezes, beaches, sparkling bay, Gulf access, coastline-culture, tropical beauty, nifty architecture, and arty/intellectual things to do – is a massive, jungle-esque, waterside/water-fun playground. For those who live and work in air-conditioned environments and have the wherewithal to support their marine-oriented pleasures, it’s paradise.
Comfort is key. When we are comfortable, life is good. When we are very comfortable, life is great. When we are uncomfortable, life sucks. In Tampa-St. Pete and other urban centers of the South, there is AC in most homes, cars, workplaces, and public buildings (though, notably, not in Tampa’s Union Station). Urban laborers who can’t easily escape the heat, (I’m thinking service professionals – gardeners, roofers (omg), red-caps) and the urban poor . . . well, when describing their local weather, “paradise” might not be the first word springs to mind.
Hawaii and Mexico are the usual tropical-fun destinations for Californians. Americans who live in around the Great Lakes and north of the Mason-Dixon Line (the Maryland/Pennsylvania border), fly south in great numbers to winter in Florida, and have done since before flying was an option (they used to take the train). When their jobs no longer tie them to Philly, Chicago, Boston, or the Big Apple, many opt out of the annual migration and make their southern nesting grounds their permanent home. California contains the most elderly people, but ranks a lowly 45th in percentage of senior citizens. Florida tops that list with a whopping 19.06% of its population over 65 years of age.
While I love seaside Florida’s balmy nights, luxuriant waters, infusions of Caribbean-culture, breath-taking flora, and abundant and exotic fauna, I’m less fond of Florida’s sticky, over-bright days (only bearable if I’m on or in the water), giant bugs, endlessly flat view, and politics. Politics is a real sore point. Historically a racist state, Florida’s party demographics have changed over the years; the influx of immigrants and baby-boomers give the Democrats a clear majority. So, with 400,000 more Dems than Reps on the voter rolls, how does Florida manage to be the “ultimate battleground state”? The explanation seems to be racial. Not only is Florida’s population 61% white; restrictive voting regulations effectively suppress ¼ of the state’s black vote.
My unease regarding Florida’s terrain, climate, and politics keeps it low on my vacation-spots Wish List. Luckily, we’ve got family to lure us down there. Over-the-top hospitable, generous, socially progressive, politically active, incredibly accommodating, up-for-anything family. Our hosts in St. Pete (Carla and Jim), our Tampa tour-guides (Anita and Gary), big-hearted nephew Sam, and Sam’s incredibly adorable son Isaac made our stay brilliant, beginning to end. Yep. It was another Jimenez family mini-reunion – and a good time was had by all.
Carla and Jim didn’t put us up in their guest room. They put us up in their guest house. I mean . . . yeah. It was really, really nice. Here’s the view from our digs.
This luscious pool lies between the guest house and the big house. (For this, at least, I had packed the right costume.)
Our first evening we had fresh fish at the Backfin Blue Café on Beach Blvd. South in Gulfport. Wandering down the street to the dock and back up again after dinner highlighted everything I love best about this part of the world. With no overbearing sun to fry me, I found the night delicious. The scent of the water, the lights reflecting on the waves,
the breeze in the palms . . .
Gulfport’s seaside (well, bayside) charm fast won me over.
I’d have succumbed to St. Pete’s subtropical allure without Carla’s amazing chicken salad (ready-made to welcome us) or all the other extra-amenable amenities of staying with our nearest and dearest. That said, perks like hanging out and watching TV at night, the morning-paper reading ‘bee’ at breakfast in the morning, and anytime dips in the pool may have facilitated the destruction of my iffy attitude toward Florida. Hard not to like a place when you’re having so much fun.
Next day, “like” blossomed into true love. Hearing the wish behind my no-pressure question about his boat, Jim made the first order of business taking us out on it.
It’s a pretty sweet set-up. The boat lives just down the road at a boat-stable, basically. Boat-owners like Jim call in an hour before they want to head out; when they arrive, their vessels are in the water, primed for launch. Load your food, drinks, sun-screen, and yourselves, and you are good-to-go.
I didn’t even have to ask for that white-shirt loaner from Carla; she knew what was needed. Properly dressed in reflective attire, the day was hot at the dock, sure – but the sun no longer clung to me. As soon as we were past the buoys, as soon we were flying over salt spray with the wind whipping around us, tension I didn’t even realize I was carrying simply melted away.
Far from shore, in a bright, clean, cool world of sea and sky . . . it frees the soul. (Cliché, I know, but there’s no other way to say it.) Captain Jim took us across open water and up the river where they used to live –
– and where we stayed at that wedding-time rental. Here’s the place:
My fave thing to do there was go out to the private backyard dock and watch the boats go by. Now I was in one of those boats going by . . . life is so circular . . .
We saw dolphins, diving pelicans, anhingas, ospreys, and tree-islands.
We saw oh-so Florida-esque vistas
and cityscapes.
Then Captain Jim steered us to and all around an island bird-sanctuary. The noise, the flutter, the ginormous avian population – such a treat! Get a short sample by clicking the link: Bird Sanctuary
I should mention that Bruno El Maximo joined us on our boating excursion. I didn’t get a snap of him on the water, but here he is at home.
Bruno is officially my fave diminutive dog of all time; he’s affectionate, clever, and not in the least yappy.
Next day was the big poker party. La familia Jiménez loves their games almost as much as they love their food. They’re all amazing in the kitchen, and Anita is a professional, so the poker fare was semi-divine: terrific sandwiches a lá Carla and pies from Anita, just because she knows how much her visiting brother adores them. I passed on the poker (but not on the food); Carla took me back to Gulfport, where we browsed the beachcomber-themed shops.
On our last day we drove across the bridge to Tampa and checked out Anita and Gary’s very cool place,
on their very nice street (ooh – Spanish moss!).
Then Neets and Gary took us to the Florida Aquarium.
The Florida Aquarium is hands-down one of the best aquariums ever, anywhere. I’ve ooh-ed and ahh-ed at amazing critters behind massive glass walls in San Francisco, Monterey, and Baltimore. What makes the Florida Aquarium special is that the extensive exhibits are designed with minimal barriers. This place brings you face to face with sea otters and ducks,
spoonbills and lemurs,
and all sorts of undersea wonders. Click this link for a glimpse: Manta & More
Post-Aquarium, we sauntered over (hot – gotta move slow) to catch the Water Taxi.
Well done, Tampa – what a great way to travel. We had a bit of a wait for the taxi, though. And like I said, it was hot . . .
Look at the date on the beer glass. This place is an institution.
The Water Taxi ride/tour was delightful, not just because boats are grand and the scenery was terrific,
but because the ferryman/guide’s spiel and impeccable comic timing had us in stitches.
We got off at the last stop and moseyed over to ū·lë·lē (pronounced you LAY lee), a popular restaurant on the Riverwalk, where Carla and Jim met up with us. More amazing fish, super sides, dishes prepared on a barbacoa grill. The place was packed, the meal was great, the company couldn’t have been better.
That feast was our farewell to the Sunshine City. We hated to say goodbye, but it was time for our return engagement with the Silver Star.
