Road Trip: Tamiami Trail & Overseas Highway No. 1
Like most kids who grow up on this continent, my first travel adventures were road trips with my family during the summer holidays. Now, as an adult, road trips have become few and far between.
So, for that reason, I was excited to include a coast-to-coast road trip on my recent visit to Florida. Coast to coast? Yup. That would be from the Gulf Coast to the Atlantic Ocean.
Now, there are two ways to get from Tampa (on the Gulf Coast) to Miami (on the Atlantic Ocean). The quick and fast way is over the interstate (I-75). There’s also the more scenic route: the Tamiami Trail (that’s Tampa → Miami). Guess which route I took?
The Tamiami Trail cuts right through the middle of the Everglades. My intent was to stop here and there and do a bit of looking around, maybe take a walk or short hike through the swamp.
It didn’t happen. Because it rained. A lot. All the way from Fort Myers to Homestead, in fact.
So instead I saw a lot of this.
And my motivation to stop and get out of my rental car and do some exploring dwindled the farther I got from Tampa and the closer I got to the Florida Keys.
What I did do was make a mental note to one day come back with my tent and sleeping bag and leave myself enough time to stop over for a couple of nights. Camping in a swamp ― how cool would that be? I was impressed enough with what I did manage to see between swipes of my windshield wipers to know I would enjoy a closer look at the United States’ largest subtropical wilderness.
Enough about what I didn’t see in the Everglades.
I am happy to report that the weather cooperated once I got into the Florida Keys. The sun shone for the entire drive and the temperature hovered around 80°F for my entire visit. As evidenced by the next photo.
The Florida Keys is an archipelago of more than 1700 islands (called “keys”) strung like a broken string of pearls below the Florida peninsula. Forty three of the keys are connected by the Overseas Highway No. 1 ― a 200-km length of roads and causeways stitched together by bridges. A lot of bridges. A lot of long bridges. This one here is called the Seven-Mile Bridge. I learned that it’s exactly seven miles long by carefully watching my odometer.
Every key has a name. Some are well known (Key Largo, Key West), some are pretty original (Teatable Key, Bahia Honda Key, Sugarloaf Key), and some, well, it seems like they ran out of inspiration (No Name Key).
The keys vary in size and development. The bigger ones are lined with roadside diners, restaurants, and motels, and the odd strip mall; the lack of big box stores and fast food chains made it feel like I had stepped back in time about 40 years. Other keys are so small they have only a few houses, and no commercial development at all. The smallest keys are completely undeveloped.
As you drive along the Overseas Highway, you are never far from the water. In addition to the street address, directions are given as “Mile Marker [fill in a number],” Bayside or Oceanside (with Key West being Mile 0). So, MM 59 Bayside faces Florida Bay, and MM 73 Oceanside faces the Atlantic Ocean. Nifty, huh?
The Florida Keys is known as a destination for fishing, snorkeling, and diving ― none of which I do ― but if you are looking for an idea for your next road trip, I can highly recommend a drive along the Overseas Highway. As road trips go, it’s pretty spectacular.
And Then There Were the Reptiles
Wanna know the No. 1 question I’ve been asked about my trip to Florida?
“Did you see any alligators?”
Why, yes, yes I did.
Although they are not nearly as photogenic as my feathered friends, I found Florida’s reptiles equally fascinating. I suppose the simple reason for that is because native reptiles are few and far between in my neck of the woods.
We do have snakes in Canada. And I saw a snake or two in Florida, which I found somewhat interesting.
But we don’t have geckos, which I found adorable.
And we don’t have iguanas, which I found mesmerizing.
And we certainly don’t have alligators. (In case you can’t tell, all the floating logs in this photo aren’t. Logs, I mean.)
Here’s what one of those logs looks like up close.
What I really don’t get is why people would want to canoe right up to one of those floating logs.
I suppose it’s no different than me sleeping in a tent in the middle of the Rockies knowing full well that bears tend to wander around campsites just before dawn.
Sleeping with bears? Canoeing with alligators?
Bears? Alligators?
I’ll take my chances with the bears, thank you.
Florida: A Birder’s Paradise
Who knew there were so many different kinds of birds in Florida?
Well, that’s a silly statement, isn’t it? I’m sure a lot of people did ― just not me. I learned a lot while I was in Florida by hanging out with some avid birders, and, with their help, I was able to spot 35 different species during my two weeks in the Sunshine State.
As I was ticked each species off my list, my photographer gene went into overdrive. And so, here are one or two photos to share with you.
First up are the shore birds I told you last post were so much fun to play with on the beach. The first ones I met were Willets.
Here is a Ruddy Turnstone …
… and this one is a Sanderling. Sanderlings are tricky to photograph because they zip around at warp speed. Not to mention they blend pretty well into the background.
The Royal Terns were my favourite of the terns.
When they turn their heads, it’s pretty obvious why they’re called “royal.”
Here’s a bunch of them in formation: heads turned away from the wind and beaks tucked into their wings.
This one’s a Least Sandwich Tern, which is smaller than the Royal.
One Black Skimmer …
… three Black Skimmers …
… and a whole flock of Black Skimmers.
A Laughing Gull An immature Ring-billed Gull on the beach …
… and a whole row of Laughing Gulls preening themselves on a fence.
I was really happy to meet up with my friends, the Great Blue Heron. I know when they leave Vancouver every fall they go somewhere ― it never occurred to me I’d find them in Florida. Here’s a male …
… and here is a female.
This Snowy Egret was kind enough to strike a pose for me.
The White Ibis (left) is being stalked by a Great Egret (right).
Here’s a better photo of the White Ibis.
These are Roseate Spoonbills. Apparently they aren’t so common and we were lucky to see them. If you look carefully at the beak of the second bird from the right, you can make out its spoon shape.
This bald-headed fellow is a Wood Stork ― the only stork that breeds in North America.
The Anhinga is quite the exhibitionist. Here’s one passing the time of day …
… and here’s one showing off. Anhingas stretch out their wings like this to dry off the feathers.
These are two juvenile Anhingas.
I don’t think a day went by during my time in Florida when we didn’t see vultures circling high above us. This Black Vulture is almost hidden by all the Spanish moss in the tree.
Another frequently sighted bird is the Brown Pelican.
Here is a Double-crested Cormorant …
… a Red-bellied Woodpecker …
… and a Florida Scrub-Jay.
The scrub-jays will eat from your hand if you’re patient enough. (The surge of intense love I felt for this tiny creature as it stood on my hand was electric. No exaggeration.)
This Red-winged Blackbird kept me company one morning in the Keys while I ate my lunch.
And I met this handsome fellow on one of my strolls through Key West. Chickens are everywhere in that town ― and I mean everywhere.
I am sure I goofed up some of the identifications, so do let me know if I did. And, as if I need another reason to travel, I am now thinking that choosing destinations based on their potential for birdspotting is not a bad idea. Not at all.
Sun, Sand, and Surf on the Gulf Coast
I fully expected to spend a lot of time at the beach on my recent trip to Florida’s Gulf Coast; I had no idea I’d be swimming in the Gulf of Mexico within three hours of landing at Tampa International Airport. But that is exactly what happened. (Nothing ― and I mean nothing ― cures jet lag like a swim in the ocean.)
Unfortunately, the temperatures cooled off and the wind picked up after that first day (polar vortex, anyone?), so my friend and I stuck to beach walking for the rest of my visit. Beach walking is good fun and great exercise; the shore birds we played with made it even more fun, and if you keep your eyes to the ground, you never know what treasures you’ll find.
Playing with the shore birds
What’s amazing about Florida’s Gulf Coast is that you can visit a different beach every day of your holiday and still not hit all of them. After we had been to a few, my friend and I decided to rate the beaches we had walked. Her mother suggested (rather wisely, I thought) that beaches shouldn’t be rated, but simply enjoyed. We considered that ― and then went ahead and rated them anyways.
And so, here are my top three of Florida’s Gulf Coast beaches.
# 1: Stump Pass Beach: This beach gets my top rating simply because it is so beautiful and so unique. Scattered along the waterline are the dead stumps of Australian Pine ― an invasive species that the park rangers decided had to be killed off. The stumps have been carved by the surf into artistic lengths of driftwood, which offer terrific opportunities for photographers (see below).
Stump Pass Beach is south of Englewood on Manasota Key. Because it is a state park, it has an entry fee. The parking lot is minuscule, so get here early or come in the late afternoon.
# 2: Siesta Beach: In 2011, this beach was designated No. 1 Beach in America, and it’s not hard to guess why. Its sand is made of quartz so it’s icing-sugar fine and doesn’t get hot. I’ve never felt anything like it ― my toes were screaming in delight.
Look how far the feet of this Royal Tern sink into the soft sand at Siesta Beach
Siesta Beach is south of Sarasota on Siesta Key. Because it has all the facilities you could possibly need, it’s the beach I would choose if I were going to spend the entire day at the beach or if I had a pack of kids in tow. It’s also massive ― incredibly wide and long ― so I would think there’s room for everyone, even on the hottest of days. (Let me know if I’m wrong about that!)
# 3: Caspersen Beach: This is the beach where I was swimming within hours of my arrival in Florida, so I’ve rated it third because it was my best swim (well, technically, my only swim) on the Gulf Coast. Caspersen is located in Venice and has something for everyone: swimming, beach walking, trail walking, bird watching, shell hunting, shark-tooth hunting (yes, you read that right) …
Hunting for sharks’ teeth on Caspersen Beach
Fossilized sharks’ teeth millions of years old are so common along this part of the Gulf Coast that Venice is known as the Shark Tooth Capital of the World. And it was at Caspersen where I saw the serious shark-tooth hunters ― the ones with their wire-mesh shovels who carefully sift and sort through shovelfuls of sand, looking for all the world like panhandlers mining for gold in the Klondike. I myself have a shark’s tooth ― my friend’s mother picked it up within minutes of our arrival at Caspersen and handed it to me as a souvenir of my visit.
So, there it is: my top three beaches. My goal for my next visit to the Gulf Coast? To come up with a top ten list.
Through My Lens: Pelicans on the Pier
I have lots of photos to post about my jaunt around the Florida peninsula, but this one here is the best shot of the entire trip. It deserves a post all of its own, I’m thinking.
If only these guys could talk.
Through My Lens: The Sunshine State
Is there a better way to beat a Canadian winter than by flying south? I think not. I’m on my first ever visit to Florida, the Sunshine State, and let me just say that this part of the United States has far exceeded my expectations.
The weather ain’t half bad, either.
Merry Christmas!
English Bay, Vancouver
Happy Birthday, Christ Church Cathedral!
And it’s yet another birthday post, this time for Vancouver’s Christ Church Cathedral. The congregation worshipped together for the first time 125 years ago today at 720 Granville (which, funnily enough, is now the site of a Starbucks) and was made the Cathedral Church of the Diocese of New Westminster of the Anglican Church of Canada in 1929.
Although Christ Church is not the oldest congregation in Vancouver, it does worship in Vancouver’s oldest church building. That would be the stone building standing at the corner of Burrard and West Georgia. It was constructed on land bought from the Canadian Pacific Railway, but for several years the congregation didn’t get much beyond finishing the basement, which was nicknamed the Root House. When the CPR objected to what they called an eyesore, the current building was built in the Gothic Revival architectural style. The exterior is sandstone, its ceiling is cedar, and the beams and floor are made from old growth Douglas fir. The building was dedicated in February 1895.
Christ Church is located right in the centre of Vancouver’s downtown district. In the 1970s, the congregation voted to tear down the existing building and replace it with an Arthur Erickson–designed high-rise tower, but public opposition was so strong that in 1976 the cathedral was declared a heritage building. The building has been renovated six times; its most recent renovation was completed in 2004 with the installation of a new Kenneth Jones organ. The congregation had plans to build a bell tower, but before it had the chance to do so, the city passed a by-law restricting church bells. Christ Church is the only church in downtown Vancouver without a steeple.
A special treat this Christmas season is the almost life-sized nativity figures on display in the west alcove of the church; these are on loan from the Hudson’s Bay and are the same nativity figures that used to be displayed in the store’s windows at Christmas time. They were carved in Italy in the 1950s and belonged to Woodward’s before they were passed on to The Bay. Christ Church Cathedral asked to borrow them this Christmas season as the congregation begins a year-long celebration of its 125th anniversary.
I’ve been to the cathedral for many a worship service ― these photos were taken last night after the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols ― as well as several concerts and author readings for which the cathedral is a popular venue. After arriving very early many years ago to get a good seat to hear Timothy Findley read from his newest novel (and, as it turned out, only months before his death), I eavesdropped while a woman seated behind me explained to her companion that Christ Church was known as the church of lawyers because the funerals for the city’s most powerful lawyers are typically held there. It was one of the more bizarre bits of trivia I have ever heard about the cathedral.
But then, I like to think that there are 125 years’ worth of weird and wonderful stories to be told about Christ Church Cathedral. If only its walls could talk.
Armchair Traveller: On Rue Tatin
How many shopping days until Christmas? I think I have time to squeeze in another book recommendation.
This one is by another American cookbook author who transplants herself to France, but she doesn’t write about cooking in the World’s Most Glorious ― and Perplexing ― City. Instead, she and her family live (and cook and eat) in a small village in Normandy.
On Rue Tatin by Susan Herrmann Loomis is part travel memoir, part cookbook. There is one long tedious chapter to get through that describes her history with France and how she and her husband came to live in Normandy, but after that the book picks up its pace. Many pages are devoted to their struggles (and expenses) of renovating the house they bought beside the Romanesque/Gothic village church into a family home. The building was a convent for three hundred years, then an antique shop; I dread to think of what it looked like when she first set foot inside. It is in this convent-turned-home that she also teaches week-long classes at her cooking school, also named On Rue Tatin.
Although the first chapter of On Rue Tatin almost made me put the book down (what was her editor thinking?), Normandy is an underrated region of France and for that reason alone I recommend giving the book a read. I also have to ’fess up that Loomis’s assessment of the amount of rain Normandy is known for made me laugh: as a former Seattleite, she assured her readers it was nothing. That was enough to convince me that I would feel right at home in Normandy. And her recipes are enticing enough that I have already decided my next cooking class will be on Norman cuisine (here in Vancouver, alas, not in Normandy). But I can already smell the tarte tatin I will be baking.
Armchair Traveller: The Sweet Life in Paris
Are you still searching for the perfect Christmas gift for the armchair traveller in your life? Perhaps you could use a suggestion for your own holiday reading. Either way, here’s a book recommendation for you: The Sweet Life in Paris by David Lebovitz.
I discovered David Lebovitz’s writing through his blog called, appropriately enough, Living the Sweet Life in Paris. But even if I had never heard of the guy (or his blog), I would have grabbed the book off the store shelf on the merit of its subtitle alone: Delicious Adventures in the World’s Most Glorious ― and Perplexing ― City.
David Lebovitz is a San-Francisco-pastry-chef-turned-cookbook-writer who starts life over in Paris following the unexpected death of his long-time partner ― a move he describes as “an opportunity to flip over the Etch A Sketch” of his life. Once in Paris, his writing shifts and his books expand from simply recipes to an examination ― centred around food, of course ― of all the ups and downs of living in Paris.
The Sweet Life in Paris is the result. It’s a book of short essays about daily life in Paris, followed by an appropriate recipe. Some of the links are tenuous, like when Lebovitz follows a description of French plumbing woes with a recipe for a meringue dessert called Floating Island. (The connection between the two? He recommends not flushing the meringue down the toilet if it doesn’t turn out.) Others are bang on, like his recipes for Chocolate Mousse that accompany the story of how he discovered the secret to dealing with French bureaucrats is to bribe them with free copies of his cookbooks.
Lebovitz’s credibility shot up when I read his recommendation that, if you don’t like anchovies, be sure to try them fresh in Collioure on the Mediterranean coast. I’ve eaten fresh anchovies in Collioure ― they would convert any non-believer.
But while Lebovitz’s descriptions of food in The Sweet Life in Paris are mouth-watering, as are his recipes, what I appreciate most about this book is his ability to see the funny in the incredibly frustrating idiosyncrasies of Parisian life. I’m with him 100% as he puzzles over why European washing machines take two hours to wash a load of laundry that would take North American machines a mere 40 minutes. Most of all, I wish I’d known his system for navigating the aisles of a Parisian supermarket before I spent a winter in Paris:
I hold [my basket] in front of me as I walk, like the prow of a battleship, to clear the way. That doesn’t always work, as Parisians don’t like to move or back up for anyone, no matter what. So sometimes I hide my basket behind me, then heave it forward at the last moment; the element of surprise gives them no time to plan a counteroffensive, and when the coast is suddenly clear, I made a break for it.
I lost count of how many times I had to sidestep, trip over, or squeeze past Parisians who refused to budge an inch in the narrow aisles of Monoprix or Carrefour. Now I can’t wait to go back and try out Lebovitz’s technique.
Even if you’ve never been to Paris and don’t know the difference between a pastry brush and a pastry blender, pick up a copy of The Sweet Life in Paris. It’s good for the laughs.
There and Back Again 