Key West, FL
There's a storm on its way - at least that's what we're told by friends and family on Facebook. Apparently Florida is being lashed by a weather front to the north of us and it's heading south with all its might. Considering we're seeing this news whilst having breakfast on a sun kissed terrace with a warm breeze gently swaying the palms it seems a little unreal. All is still calm by the Tranquility Pool.
We decide to make the most of the sun and sit on wicker rocking chairs by the lagoon reading the papers wondering if we should get on the road right away before thunder and lightning start lashing the Keys. We check out as required at 11am with not a sign of trouble ahead, but aware that there's a couple of hours between us and Key West, and the famed Seven Mile Bridge to negotiate across the sea - which is not something we want to attempt in stormy weather.
But as we've discovered, this drive is hardly the dramatic wonder of nature we've been promised. First up comes the islands lumped together as Marathon Keys, as unlovely and bland as any American strip-mall and next comes Bahia Honda State Park, the supposed jewel in the Keys crown. We pull over to enquire about its glorious beaches and the chance to snorkel its famed reef but the park warden, a woman of indeterminate age who has gone to the Jackie Stallone school of plastic surgery, tells us that all trips are off due to inclement conditions, and from what we can see, the State Park doesn't exactly seem up there with the likes of Yellowstone or the Mojave desert.
We continue on waiting for paradise to reveal itself but the repetition of occasional reed-based idyll and more frequent gas station/fast food forecourt becomes wearyingly predictable so it's a welcome relief when, two hours after leaving Duck Key, we finally drive into Key West and discover the Historic Old Town. A simple left on Duval Street leads us down the final five blocks of the USA to the Southernmost Hotel, which as its name suggests is the most southernly point in the entire continental United States. Across the road is the sea and 90 miles due south lies Cuba.
We've come to the end point of America, the tropical home of Key West; a land of its own rules that proudly calls itself the Conch Republic and once tried to secede from the mainland by declaring war on the US, calling a ceasefire 60 seconds later without firing a shot and then asking for billions in postwar redevelopment funds which unbelievably the American government agreed to, turning it into the tourist mecca it is today but allowing it to become the libertarian home for hippies, misfits, artists and general weirdos, making it the most diverse and tolerant city in America. Amazing!
This time our room is ready and we park right outside it; yep, this is a glorified motel with our room door opening out on to the parking lot. Still, it makes for an easy transfer of luggage and seeing as we're here for three days we can unpack everything and settle in.
The sky outside is darkening somewhat and the receptionist warns us a Tropical Depression is passing through bringing with it a heap of rain, "but don't worry boys, it won't last long!"
We decide to make the most of the remaining dry moments by wandering up Duval Street, the main strip that runs the length of Key West from east to west with vantage points for spectacular sunrises and sunsets at either end. It's very quaint full of pretty wooden shutter-board buildings, art galleries, clothing stores, bars and restaurants. Totally geared to tourism it's a mile-long tropical, relaxed hippysville.
It also houses a couple of eye-watering stores designed for a particular kind of gay man. Some of the underwear choices are jaw-dropping and leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.
We make it about a third of the way up the street before the first drops of rain start to fall and so we pop into a nearby restaurant, Blackfin Bistro, for lunch. Within moments the heavens open and unleash a torrent of rain upon the island. Dramatic flashes of lightning illuminate the air and huge thick tropical raindrops splash onto the street, causing tourists to dash for cover. Fearsome winds start bending the palms and massive booms of thunder crack above us, with vast explosions in the sky.
As we gaze in wonderment out of the window all of a sudden the lights go out and the music that had been gently playing comes to an abrupt halt. In the midst of the power cut's silence our flirtatious waiter wanders over to promise, "Don't worry, I'll protect you!!" with a rather intimate stroke of our arms. Seems to be a theme for Key West as moments later a police car cruises past with a butch but very smily officer winking at us and the slogan 'Protecting and Serving Paradise' emblazoned on his vehicle. With the amount of bars on Duval Street I think the only thing we'll need protecting from is ourselves.
Once the worst of the weather dies down we walk back to the hotel, huddled under a totally inadequate umbrella and decide to have a siesta until the rain stops. Within moments we're both fast asleep and it's gone 7.30 before we emerge again into a warm evening with a gentle breeze whistling through the trees.
Duval Street at night is a different entity, a salacious and wicked place of sinful pleasures with an innocent grin upon its cheeky little face. It's reminiscent of Bourbon Street in New Orleans with joints pumping out live music and drag queens trying to entice punters into their establishments.
We walk past an Adult Entertainment Center where a hooker in a dressing gown is sweeping the sidewalk while another hollers from the porch at two very straight guys ahead of us, "Hey, I wanna get naked with you and my girlfriend." The guys snigger and one responds, "We'll be back later."
"I'll be hot for you sugar," promises the fifty-year old in her boob tube.
We peek into antique stores and galleries whilst weighing up the options for dinner and finally opt for the Old Town Mexico Cafe which has twinkling multi-coloured fairy lights illuminating its verandah. Coman has a veggie burrito and I have grilled chicken in a beautiful spiced chocolate mole sauce. It's quite fantastic. To finish we opt for the Key Lime Pie again and are promised this is, "Just like your grandma used to make". Not in sleepy Devon or rural Roscommon I'm afraid.
To walk off dinner we continue along Duval Street and pop into a little boutique where the owner is charm personified. After much banter including telling us, against our protestations, that we're locals and own a home here, he manages to persuade us that we really do need the shirts and trainers we've been looking at.
"Sure you live here!!" he continues. "You guys qualify for the special discount that residents get. It's 20% off everything and no tax right here in the Conch Republic! See, I'm bagging your stuff up already."
Bless him, we'd already decided we were going to buy the stuff at full price but he shaves of nearly $40 and insists on celebrating by pouring us shots of Grey Goose vodka which we all knock back in celebration. You don't get that on Oxford Street.
So we stagger out into the night and roll back to our hotel with a bellyful full of pie, a skinful of vodka and a few bags of shopping to boot. I think we're going to like it here!
