Destination: St Louis/St Charles
Travel day September 24, 2012

I leave the hotel at 515. I really want to get through Atlanta before their rush hour starts. I violate my “one a year” rule and get coffee from the McDonald’s next door, along with a plain English muffin.

Interstate 75 is already busy. It’s busy with crazy people. Aggressive people. Speeding way above what’s reasonable people. Tailgating people. It’s almost as frightening as driving through those sudden rain storms. I emerge at the other side with a sudden understanding as to why NASCAR is the favourite sport down here. It’s the same way they all drive, but the pros are faster, and safer.

I enter some beautiful hills that border on mountains. The vegetation is lush, green, and the views lovely.

By 715 I’m passing through Chattanoga without a choo-choo in sight. That's a musical reference for those of you under 30. I like the look of the town. Nestled on a river and surrounded by mountains I find it a “comfortable” skyline view. At least what I saw as I made way off I-75 and onto I-24 looked nice.

I fuel up in Manchester, Tennesee. I also try to buy a six pack of Land Shark to throw in the chiller bag, but it’s against the law to sell beer before 9 in the morning. I know as I move further north my beloved Land Shark will be harder to find.

Along the way today I pass over the Ohio, Missouri, and Mississippi rivers. Here’s a little tidbit of useless trivia for you. Once you cross the Mississippi River the first letter for call signs of media outlets (TV & Radio) changes from W to K. It’s been that way since the earliest days of radio. K Stations to the East and W Stations to the West. That's one of the little things that my father told me when I was but a small lad.

The way through Nashville is more frightening and dangerous than Atlanta.

 

It takes thirty adrenalin fuelled minutes of speeding in construction zones, narrow lanes, short on/off ramps, quick lane changes, and nearly throwing up the coffee and English muffin that was breakfast, to get out of the hellish nightmare. In my day to day life I drive a large truck in addition to my other duties. In essence I can be considered a professional driver. In the same essence, drivers in Nashville can’t even be considered licenced drivers. I got the impression that even if there were laws surrounding driving, nobody cared enough to obey them. It takes me nearly an hour to calm down.

I have changed Interstates and numbered roads so many times that I can’t keep track. Mostly, I blindly follow the Nav instructions as we make our way through Tennessee, Kentucky, and Illinois. The scenery changes from the lush and lovely hills of Georgia and Tennessee, to the rolling and visually entertaining farmlands of Kentucky, to the dull and boring flatlands of Illinois.

 

I do eventually make my way into the annoying state of Illinois. The speed limit  drops to 65. The mountains and hills have dropped away to cultivated farmland. At the new speed limit I have a lot of time to watch the scenery go by. At 1230 I stop at McDonalds in Vienna, Illinois (ever notice that Illinois rhymes with annoy?). My back is hurting and I need to stretch it out more than usual. I stand in the parking lot and eat a couple of cheeseburgers. They’re like a dollar each so my food budget isn’t in any danger of coming up short.

Somewhere along the way I have also changed time zones. Out of Eastern time to Central time.

I arrive at tonight’s hotel by 245 Central time. I made a conscious choice to not stay in downtown St. Louis, but rather in historic St. Charles, 21 miles west. I have chosen a Quality Inns and Suites. After checking in I get a look at the hotel and realize that it might have more history than the historic town it’s in. It’s badly in need of a makeover, and when I check at the desk for dining options, the jack hammering of renovations is in full swing.

I take the clerk’s advice and walk across the parking lot to the Texas Roadhouse. It’s an Anheuser Busch chain. All they serve is Anheuser Busch products, at least for beer. I have to be a bit firm with the girl at the front. She doesn’t seem to understand that a party of one wants to sit at a table, not at the bar. One of her co-workers understands and we walk away leaving the poor girl a bit flustered. I’m sure she’ll go far as a hair dresser or in makeup sales. The rest of the staff are just delightful especially my server, Sam I Am. She has a beautiful sounding southern accent that is neither cloying or affected. She also has a great sense of humour. I order a pint of Stella as there are no local options. Sam I Am however makes a really salient point. It’s St. Louis, most beer is brewed here, so really it’s all local.

I enquire as to the size of the rib serving. Since the Corky’s experience I have made it a point to ask. So I order a half rack, baked potato, and fresh vegetables. Finally some broccoli and carrots!! The ribs are nicely coated with a sweet and thick sauce that doesn’t overpower either the flavour or texture of the meat, and are fall off the bone perfectly cooked. It’s a perfect comfort food meal to finish up a horrific driving day.

 

I savour a second beer as I write up some notes about the day. I find it’s been another day that's light on pictures. I rather enjoy the surroundings they’re comfortable and welcoming. The wooden décor, the neon beer signs, the NASCAR driver caricatures over the bar. It’s about half full even at 530 on a Monday with a mixed crowd of families and couples.

I spend a quiet evening typing up some blog preliminaries, and reading. I also contemplate my journey, and how far I have come in more ways than can be measured in miles. See what cold beer, a bright and funny server, and broccoli and carrots can do for you? Philosophy Lite!

Tomorrow it’s the journey to Sioux City, through Missouri and Iowa. I’ll need to be well rested to make it through Iowa. Yawn!

Destination: Atlanta
Travel Day: September 23, 2012

I’m on the road at 645 after a lobby breakfast of scrambled eggs and a sausage (maybe) patty, with an English muffin and strawberry jam.

Along I-75 there is fog, heavy in some places, but it doesn’t block a slow and gentle sunrise. It actually adds some texture.

The itching is now under control. I am certain that this Benadryl anti-itch cream is a gift from the divine. The person who invented it will probably never win the Nobel Peace Prize for Humanity, but they should. To alleviate so much human suffering with such a simple product, is worthy of such recognition.

 

 

By 10 I cross the Georgia State line, and by 11 at a gas station in Tifton called the Magnolia Plantation. Modeled after a classic southern mansion right down to the shutters, it’s the best looking gas station I have ever seen. It’s almost the same size as Graceland. Inside it has a about an acre of jams, jellys, barbeque sauces, and relishes. Most of them are made with Georgia peaches and Vidalia Onions. I buy a jar of the onion BBQ sauce for my brother. He’s always experimenting with new sauces. Sadly I fail to take a picture.

The soil is now turning a great shade of red. The famous red Georgia clay. Today I am so focused I don’t take any pictures, which surprises me. The “unconscious machine” is distracting my thought processes. It happens from time to time. It’s normal, or so I’m told. The road is like that. Heading, focus, destination, and a tendency to lose all mental track of the serendipity and luck that guides a lot of my life.

I get to the Atlanta hotel by 230. Tonight it’s a Best Western Plus, out by the airport just off I-75. The online write up said it was close to the airport. It didn’t say it was slightly north and just across the railroad tracks from the active runways. As a plane lover I don’t find it to be a problem.

As I check in I do the usual "ask the desk clerk about dining options" routine. I add a slight disclaimer about not including the IHOP across the parking lot. She suggests Delaine’s right next door. They serve real "down home Southern cooking" and "on Sunday’s they open at 4:30", she says.

By this time it’s just after 3, so I head for my room, and transfer the beer from the cooler bag to the fridge. It doesn’t take long, there isn’t that much beer left. I walk across the hotel parking lot to a gas station and buy some tall,cold cans of Corona. Back in the room I fire up the computer, listen to airplanes landing  about every four minutes, and type up some blog posts. Increasingly I’m falling behind.

At 445 I am trying to get in the door at Delaine’s but it’s locked. I inquire at the front desk and the guy there tells me that they won’t be open today. The cook is sick. I ask him about dining options. He says there’s a Mexican place a couple of blocks over, and a Chinese place next to that. Or there’s a business district a half mile down and over the tracks.

I get in the car, check out the closer places, and quickly decide neither looks appetizing. I cross the tracks and drive a mile or so west and examine those options. Except for some fast food places and a divey looking “beach bar”, everything is closed. I pretty much have the road to myself too. Let’s say that my Atlanta dining experience is not quite working out as well as other stops on my trip, except for maybe Sioux Falls. And it’s Sioux Falls that provides the answer. I finally stop at Pizza Hut, order a medium Super Supreme to go, hand the lady $12, and sit on a bench to wait. I can’t believe I just paid $12 for a pizza that costs nearly $20 at home. While I sit there I contemplate why Atlanta isn’t open on Sunday’s. It doesn’t do me any good; I don’t get even a sniff of inspiration. So much for serendipity.

Later, in the hotel, the planes quit landing fairly early. I’m in bed about the time they quit. Tomorrow is another very long day. I have to get from Atlanta to St Louis. I want a really early start to avoid Atlanta’s notoriously bad rush hour.

Destination: Tampa/Brandon

Travel Day September 22,2012

I’m up early, at 5:30. No real reason other than today I want an early start and early finish. It’s day one of the marathon to get home. Well not really a marathon. I’m trying to enjoy the journey after all, so I map my route home to take advantage of shorter driving days. Most days will be between 7 and 8 hours, with one day at just over 9. Today’s drive will be just over 5 as I make my back to Tampa/Brandon. I want to start out easy to get my driving legs back under me.

I grab an Awake tea from the small bistro in the lobby. It’s really a place that serves some Starbucks product, but it’s not a true Starbucks. At least they have real tea. I also grab a chocolate croissant, and have a momentary flashback wishing it was a beignets, and the tea was café au lait, and the place was Café du Monde. A fond memory, quickly made, quickly left behind, sadly.

I fuel up at the Shell station across from the hotel and hit US 1 North at 7. It’s dark and a light rain falls as I move further north towards Homestead and Florida City. By the time I hit the eastern outskirts of Miami it’s raining in Biblical proportions. It gets darker as I move further north, but that doesn’t seem to slow people down. I consider myself a hazard so I turn on the 4-ways, and slow to about 20 below the limit along with a bunch of other sane people. And we put ourselves in the far right lane and hope for the best. I’m praying that nobody nails my slow moving behind.

The driving horror lasts about 30 sweat filled minutes, and at 845 I find myself parking the car at the Starbucks I found on the way down. Remember the one where I finally got a fruit and cheese plate? That one! I grab an Awake tea, and just for fun and thrills, a fruit and cheese plate to help get me back across Alligator Alley.

The heavy rain starts up again and I get soaked walking back to the car. I am once again thankful for my quick drying travel clothes. The rain doesn’t choose to ease up until I hit the Everglades toll booth.

The drive across the Everglades is far less frightening than it was a week ago. I am thankful that I see no wildlife at the side of the road. I am also thankful for a new car that won’t leave me stranded.

I roll on through, digging on the radio for something different. I try to find the public traveller information stations I found on the way down but have strangely bad luck. I do find a station out of Naples that plays a format I haven’t heard before. They call it Modern Easy Favourites, and it’s WAVV 101.1. I find it just offbeat enough to keep on listening until it fades out an hour south of Tampa.

Have I mentioned the itching of these mysterious little insect bites? They are driving me crazy. I have one on the arch of my right foot, and one on my big toe, along with another eight or so across my ankles, and a truly agonizing one on my left Achilles’ tendon right on the shoe line. I think I can adequately suggest that this would be fine form of torture. Forget waterboarding, and forget drilling kneecaps, forget sleep deprivation. For the most part I am fairly well held together mentally. I say for the most part because everyone has something that makes them off center. The itching is making inroads on my long term sanity. I feel like my feet and ankles are becoming the center of my consciousness. It is beginning to define the very center of my being, my entire chi. I am not happy about this. At all!

I return to the mall in Brandon where I had dinner once. It’s huge. I park the car on the outskirts of the parking lot. I learned my lesson last time to not park in close. I wasted 30 minutes of my ever shortening life to get out of a parking lot. I walk into the mall, consult a “you are here” map and find only one of the stores I’m looking for, a Radio Shack. I head there to buy a cheap computer tool kit. I need to remove the hard drive and memory out of my old one before I get rid of it. I ask the guy in the store about a pharmacy. He’s not sure. Imagine working in a mall and not knowing what other stores are there? To be fair it could have been his first day. I ask the perky mall concierge, and she looks at me blank faced. Then she seems to think really hard, the screwed up intense look on her face is convincing, and suggests there might be something on the highway outside of the mall. But she’s not sure.

As I walk back across the Rhode Island sized parking lot I see that a Walgreen’s or CVS is at the entrance to the mall parking lot. Really?? At the entrance to the parking lot? I can see me missing it, but people who work there every day? I'm not sure which it is because I'm losing my ability to concentrate.

By this point my feet and ankles are itching so bad and causing me such great discomfort I must look like I work for the Ministry of Silly Walks. I try to prevent my feet from touching the ground, I twist my ankles to try and avoid putting pressure on my soles, twisting and flexing my knees, and rolling my hips. The bites along the ankles and soles of my feet are flaming up and they’re swelling against the side of my shoes. Ever had blisters on the ball and sole of your foot and across the back of your Achilles tendon all at the same time? Do you get the general idea? I’m feel bad and I must look demented, or worse yet, a hop head looking for a fix!

I head directly for the pain relief aisle. I find products I have never seen before. The best one I find? Benadryl anti-itch stick. I like the idea that the same product, the only product, that stops my spring time allergy symptoms has a topical application. I buy it without hesitation, along with a six pack of Land Shark. If one doesn’t work I’m pretty sure the other will. An anaesthetic is an anaesthetic.

I head to the hotel to check in. I liked the one I stayed at on the way down, so I’m staying there again, a Hampton Inn. I immediately take off my shoes and socks, and apply a liberal dose of the anti-itch. Within moments, the suffering is over. Brain structure and function begins to return. I can begin to feel other parts of my body, apparently my back isn’t too happy, but that’s OK. One pain at a time.

I also seem to be hungry. It’s a Saturday night, every person in Tampa and surrounding area will be out eating, lineups will be long. I figure that pizza’s a good idea. I search the internet for inspiration and find a lot of local places are closed, permanently. I figure it’s going to be a Pizza Hut night and find a listing for one a mile or so away. I plug it into the Nav and go on my way. I am increasingly clear minded as the anti-itch stuff works its magic. Reaching the address is easy, but the Pizza Hut isn’t there. A bar that seems to be quickly fading away on its reputation is the only eating place in the strip mall. The large number of gentleman casually standing outside the front doors, in leather vests with motorcycle patches on them, suggests to me that discretion is called for.

I drive back over to the area around the mall, and cruise the eight lane street looking for new inspiration. All I can find that has potential is KFC. I’m crushed that I have come so far, eaten such wonderful fresh food in some fabulous places, and all I can find here that is halfway appealing is KFC.

I take the chicken back to the hotel. It’s not as bad as the stuff at home. More pepper, less salt. At some point I am sure my blood pressure will thank me for that, but I’m also sure it won’t be today.

My back is tender where it spasmed quite painfully in July. I am just a bit concerned, but I also brought my heating pad, just in case. I don’t want to wind up flat on my back for a week like the last time.

I take an Extra Strength Robaxacet, according to my friend you can’t buy it here so I brought some along, type up and post a blog entry, check some e-mail, and catch some AC360 on CNN. Then it’s bed. Tomorrow is a very long drive day to get to Atlanta.

Destination: Key Largo - A Day Off

I have a problem. It may be nothing, it may be serious, but either way it’s a problem. Since the day after I got to Key West I have had little bites on my ankles and feet. At first I thought mosquitos, but now I’m not so sure. They are very itchy, and red, and some are quite swollen. I have been putting anti-biotic and pain killing cream on them to keep the itch down and to fight the possibility of infection. I am thinking I might have become the victim of bed bugs, but after several bedding (I do this in most hotels I stay in these days) and luggage inspections, I can’t find any evidence of them.

However, I am concerned enough to take some proactive steps. I go to K-Mart and buy a cheap suitcase set ($40) and some green plastic garbage bags. I leave the new suitcase in the car and take the plastic bags to my room, place all the clothes in one, and then pack the old suitcase in another three bags, alternating end openings, and seal it up using scotch tape. I will leave it in the room with a note saying it’s a broken suitcase and its garbage. I can’t find an accessible dumpster or I’d throw it out myself.  I take all the clothes to a Laundromat next door to the hotel wash them in warm water, and then dry them on the highest heat that the fabrics will take. Only then do I place the clean clothes in the new suitcase. I can’t be sure this will work but I have tried everything I can think of to prevent cross contaminating the clothes and the suitcases.
This whole process takes nearly half the day.

And now the vacation narrative continues.

I start my day with new bites. They itch. It’s also raining lightly. The storm of last night has passed through but left enough rain to drizzle most of the morning, and to cloud over most of the day.
At 9 I am sitting in Harriette’s, a breakfast place on my list. It’s about 4 miles south of Key Largo right off US 1. It’s a yellow roadside diner with middle aged waitresses who smile and laugh and make you feel welcome with just a look. The food is great. I finally get some sausage that have a robust meat flavour and not of starchy filler.
On my way back to the hotel to begin today’s adventure in bug control, I stop at Shell World, a large roadside souvenir store, to pick up some t-shirts and stuff.
I miss the K-Mart shopping center entrance. Believe it or not the whole place is practically hidden from the road by trees. Imagine a shopping center that doesn’t want to be seen? I am actually impressed, but not by driving 4 miles too far north and having to turn around.

After finding the suitcase set, and perusing my value options in doing so, I grab some large green garbage bags, and a six pack of Land Shark. I get ID’d by the checkout clerk. I can’t believe it. I asked if my grey hair didn’t give away my age, and she just smiles and says it’s not about me, it’s about her being under 18, selling alcohol, and needing to check as State Law required. It’s about protecting herself. I kind of like the idea.
At the hotel I bag the clothes and drive over to the Laundromat. A woman in late middle age is the attendant on duty. She gives me change, a $10 roll of quarters, gives some bizarre instruction on how to load the machine, and sells me two scoops of laundry soap. I’m really out of my element here. Being in a Laundromat is not on my day to day calendar. I have in suite laundry at home, and I manage to get my clothes mostly clean without ruining them. Though I sometime wonder why my blacks fade so quickly. The music coming through the lady’s computer is from the 40’s and 50’s, and when she feels like it, the lady sings along quietly. Her voice is pleasant and I enjoy listening. As the clothes go around and around, hopefully eliminating all traces of the elusive little biting things (if they even exist), I write up a couple of blog posts, and check some e-mail using the Laundromat’s free wi-fi.
After folding the laundry, actually rolling it up, I place it in the new suitcase and head back to the hotel for a nap. This is not the kind of thing anyone plans for on a vacation. It carries a kind of stress that I really didn’t want or need. On my drive up from Key West I became aware that my breathing and general state was more relaxed, and smooth, and peaceful. I actually like that feeling. It’s beyond a feeling of comfort, it’s more a feeling of what life is supposed to feel like. A life without deadlines, intrusions, role playing, gamesmanship, and political office crap. Only 10 more months and this type of life will be mine full time.
And before I forget, it is election season in America. At least it’s supposed to be. Driving down here, across the breadth of the United States, I saw very few roadside election signs. I was very surprised because normally there are candidate and policy signs everywhere.
And I continued to be surprised until I reached Monroe County, Florida. There are signs on every fencepost for candidates running for everything from Sherriff to Congress to School Board to County Clerk. Believe it or not a guy by the name of Andy Griffiths is running for School Board District 2. And my personal favourite? The folks running for a seat on The Mosquito Control Board! I have never heard of a Mosquito Control Board, or that it requires elected people to oversee it.

After my nap I feel like an early dinner. I drive over to place that came highly recommended for lunch but I’ll try for dinner. It’s called Chad’s, and guess what? It’s also just south on US 1. I walk over to the long take-out counter and ask the obviously new guy behind the counter if I can see a menu? I order the Seafood Pasta with Rasorda Sauce. I had never heard of Rasorda Sauce but it turns out to be a mix of red sauce and alfredo sauce, nicely seasoned. It comes over a bed of Angel Hair pasta, scallops, and shrimp.

 

Chad’s itself is a cozy place with red lacquer tables, wooden seats, and friendly staff. It’s immaculately clean. I mean immaculate, eat off the floor kind of clean. Disneyland, one of my favourite examples of clean, could take lessons! When not involved in other things, I see staff cleaning the windows. I am highly impressed.

While I’m eating my dinner the folks at the next table are chatting with their server about common schools and soccer stories. It’s the first truly normal everyday domestic conversation I have heard since I hit the road. I don’t like to eavesdrop, but this conversation finally gives me an idea of what it’s like to live down here, with a family, and everyday lives. I feel better inside myself for having been able to finally get a connection to normalcy. I get the impression that Chad’s is a family place, and I’m heartened to see that these type of places still exist, and that in some towns fast food places aren’t quite the king of the family dining hill.

When I placed my order I passed along greetings from my friends to Teri the manager, and on my way out we have a brief chat about my trip and the distances, and that her son once drove all the way from Alaska to Key Largo. He wins. I know it’s not a contest, but he wins anyway.

I head back to the hotel to turn in early. Tomorrow I leave Key Largo and begin the journey home.

Destination: Key Largo

Travel Date: September 20, 2012

 

Sitting by the pool I have a leisurely breakfast wrap around 9. They are so good. Scrambled egg, onion, salsa, sour cream, on a tomato herb tortilla makes me crave another one before I’m finished the first.

It’s the day I leave Key West behind. It’s undone in my mind. I’ll have to come back, but I won’t drive, they have an airport here. At 10:30 the car is loaded and I reluctantly head north on A1A. My Shuffle is trying to send me a message. I always start a new shuffle at the start of every driving day. Jimmy Buffet sings me out with Margaritaville and Twelve Volt Man, and then Chris Botti comes in with “The Look Of Love” live with Paula Cole. The clouds are thickening as I cross the bridge onto Boca Chica, and head north past the Naval Air Station.

The clouds will lift a bit as I head further north towards Key Largo, eventually it will be a hide and seek game between the clouds and sun. It’s a leisurely drive back through Ramrod and Big Pine, across the Seven Mile Bridge, through Marathon, and Tavernier. At one point I spot a large lizard, maybe an iguana about 5 feet long lying belly down in the turning lane for oncoming traffic. Most of him is in the turn lane, his head is in the traffic lane. So far everyone manages to see him.

I get into Key Largo around 12:30. I stop at a friend’s place to check up on it, and to sit for a bit on their upper porch and to savour their private beach. It overlooks the water of Key Largo, and I’m thankful once again for some peace and quiet, and some alone time being on the water. I am feeling the urge to write fiction again, but I know if I start I’ll never make it home before the end of the month. For some reason tropical environments are boons to writers. Sadly my friends are away for a bit so I won’t be able to visit with them.

Reluctantly I leave the peaceful view and head into “town” such as it is. There are businesses clustered along the road side in buildings that could be used for most anything from a restaurant to a machine shop. From what I could gather there is no organized town centre. There are a couple of shopping plazas, one with a Publix grocery store and a K-Mart, and the other with an Office Depot and Walgreens. It’s still too early to check into the hotel, so I consult my list of ”things local” supplied by my friend. It’s a list of places to see and to eat. I wander back down US 1 to the Rain Barrel Artists Plaza.

When I park the car something on the Nav unit captures my eye.

 

I mean, really? Only in America!

You can always recognize the Rain Barrel by the huge lobster out front.

 

 

It’s a collection of small artisan shops filled with local artists and their work.

After a wander through I head back north to have a beer at the Bayside and write up some notes while I wait for check in time. The Bayside overlooks the Gulf side of Key Largo, and the view is quite nice as I sip on a Belfast Bay Lobster Ale. It’s not local, it’s from Portland Maine. Trying to find a local brew is a hit and miss affair down here.

 

 

I wander off after my beer and check into today’s hotel. It’s the Courtyard Marriott. I get a nice Queen Room with a view of the Canal.

 

I take time to deal with some e-mail, some urgent, most not. Even on vacation I find I have to take some time out every day to deal with my “infrastructure stuff”. It’s not huge, but it’s still intrusive on my time. I anticipated some of this because if you are on the road for any extended period of time, and have an active life at home (even though I try to keep mine as inactive as possible), there are always questions that need answers, plates that need twirling, and people that you just want to stay in contact with from day to day.

One of the dining places on my list is Snappers Turtle Club a few miles back south on Highway 1. I find it after making only one wrong turn, having failed to see the rather large sign out front.

I have my instructions, and a hand drawn map of exactly where I need to go to find a seat. Out through the inside restaurant, through the inside bar, and after the outside restaurant to the seaside rail and the most comfortable bar stools I have ever sat on.

 

 

The cloud patterns are building and promising to develop into an interesting evening for storms.

 

I order a Land Shark and sit for a few minutes to ponder the menu, finally settling on something so different for me, but apparently so normal for here – lobster mac and cheese. It’s a piece of fried lobster with mac and cheese on a toasted rye bread. It’s far better than it sounds, a lot better. I gobble it down and nearly choke because it’s so hot. Except for the slightly overdone rye toast, it’s heaven on bread! I love the thing!

 

However, when I come up for air, reluctantly and wanting more, I order another Land Shark and hope no one noticed my horrible table manners while I was eating. I sit quietly just watching the ocean,

 

the mangroves, the birds just floating on the breeze, and loving the artistry of the colourful cloud sculptures.

 

 

Around 7 I tear myself away to peacefully sit on my hotel balcony with a Plymouth Gin and soda as the sun goes down.

 

After the sun sets I turn on the TV and quickly lose interest. I have 75 channels in this hotel. Not only is there nothing on, but that which is seems banal and inane.

I am saved 30 minutes later when the electrical storms begin in earnest. A pounding rain, a steamy wind, a cold drink, and a front row seat are more entertaining and fulfilling, than any corporate delivered content. It’s a fabulous way to end the day.