Make 'Merica great again!

Make ‘Merica Great Again, Reflections after a 30 year hiatus

I had the immense good fortune to taste elements of the tapestried American culture as a young adult. In 1994, as a deckhand amongst a ragtag bunch of Antipodeans, aboard an American flagged luxury sailing yacht, we summered with our owner along the east coast of the States.

Forever etched, I retain a vivid memory of a falling dusk and the luminous contours of an unforgettable New York skyline contrasted against the growing darkness. A very special moment.

It was here, aboard sailing yacht Snow Goose in New York City, that indelible memories were formed. A very real, very vibrant, yet edgy city tutored me in lessons of life.

And how many…

Of blurry evenings in Alphabet City on the lower east side bar hopping between live acts. More music on Bleecker street frequenting the Red Lion and CBGBs.

Hustling for a fake ID on West 42nd street

Long walks exploring Central Park.

Being drawn to, and getting lost in, Monet’s ‘Haystacks’ at the Metropolitan Art Museum

Chocolate coated strawberries from Balducci’s deli

A rare but amazing visit to Carnegie Hall

Eating hotdogs whilst witnessing a seventh innings shuffle and Yankee Stadium

A heady time it was.

Let’s skip forward 30 years..

If I said Orlando, you’d probably think of theme parks and Disney World.

I landed here after a marathon journey from Guatemala city via Panama City. For someone who has spent most of his life in Europe the ‘over the top’ nature of Americans when first landing felt like a bit of an onslaught. Being killed with kindness at every turn takes some getting used to. 

Due to a logistical cock-up on my part, I had to spend a night in Orlando before heading north so I took an economical option west of the city for accommodation. A shady motel it was with long term residents on camping chairs soaking up the sun outside their rooms. Precocious kids running riot at the pool.

It was straight out of an episode of ‘Better Call Saul!

I managed to locate an independent wine bar on the nicer side of town and Ubered my way ‘outa Dodge’. Safe in the leafy green suburbs with an Yves Cuilleron Marsanne in my hand and some snacks the edginess receded. But not for long.

I had pledged to use public transport for some elements of my travel in the states so I set my alarm for 4 am. A recently out of work metal fabricating Uber driver in her super-sized Toyota Tacoma got me to the Greyhound Bus Station well in time for my bus.

The Greyhound Terminus did not disappoint and a cross-section of society greeted me. The itinerant ne’er-do-wells who floated around the entrance looking for spare change were the doormen of this gig. Inside, a swathe of students heading home to their loved ones brushed shoulders with older loners with fewer sanded edges about them. Some nervous travellers twittered about bugging the sole staff member at the station waiting area. I’m pretty sure I spotted the local ‘pharmacist’ hanging about too.

After an uneventful bus trip I made it north to St Augustine, Florida to visit a long-time friend from my teenage years. Over a lazy braai (bbq) we reminisced and caught up on each others’ lives. It was a special opportunity to re-engage. I spent the next week soaking up St Augustine and its southern hospitality.

Beach life

The melancholic ’fix me a drink’ tones of Jimmy Buffet waft over the banter and laughter of ‘Snowbirds’ and mainstream tourists at the Beachcomber Beach Bar. The jovial ambience speaks to those fleeing the snow of Chicago or the Twin Cities of Minnesota. Their glee is infectious and I find myself tapping my foot on my bar stool. The sun is out, but the southerly cross-shore breeze is fresh and the locals I’m staying with say it’s been a chilly start to the Spring.

Through my absent stare over my laptop, the dunes and out to sea my ever-smiling barlady catches my eye occasionally. She’s sizing me up. My social agenda, my net worth, my propensity to drink, cause trouble and most importantly my likely attitude on the subject of tipping.

There’s no doubt she’s done her 10,000 hrs. This is evidenced by the way she moves and operates a cocktail shaker whilst upselling her middle-aged customers to the Goombay Smash. A cocktail of three rums, apricot brandy, and a blend of orange and pineapple juice.

She’s an assassin of sorts, but with a conscience you see. I know this as she sees fit not to go for the jugular and suggest lacing the cocktail with 101 proof rum ‘floater’ to the couple who have just seated themselves next to me.

I plump for a Dark and Stormy, endemic to the Bermudan archipelago, its fiery ginger hitting my throat as it makes its way to my head via my stomach. The couple to my left befriend me with some idle chat. Brenda’s not quite retired but in the final furlong teaching elementary school in a neighbouring county of Florida. She’s berating the new incoming political order here as she fears the education system will be on its continued slide. Joe, seems more stoic. Five years retired, and spends most of his days under his 1968 Ford Mustang. I mock him amiably by sharing that I wasn’t aware that they were so unreliable! The bar atmosphere continues to exude relaxed vibes of people escaping the hustle and bustle of mundane life.

Lesser historical facts...

The Spanish colonised this, the oldest inhabited town in the United States in 1565. Less than twenty years later Sir Francis Drake raided and razed the Spanish settlement leaving it in his wake and after many unsuccessful attempts the English finally took control thanks to the Treaty of Paris which ended the Seven Years War. 

With the original Spanish colonisation a contingent of Menorcans from the lesser known Balearic island settled here. To this day their mark is left through the feted Datil peppers which, it is said, came with them. This chilli dots the local spicy cuisine including the itinerant menu appetiser, Menorcan Clam Chowder.

The town is quaint and the ‘powers that be’ have done well to preserve its antique flair. Make no mistake this is a tourist town and the local hospitality businesses are geared towards catering to the masses and by all accounts they do a ‘bang up’ job.

From a nautical perspective the barrier of Anastasia Island offers a natural buffer against the fury of the Atlantic. It also forms part of the ICW (Intercoastal waterway) and if you’re blessed with a shoal drafted vessel you can enjoy safe and easy passage avoiding the unforgiving duo of Cape Hatteras and the effects of the Gulfstream. Having said this, the island is still in the firing line when the hurricanes make their way north or west from the newly named Gulf of ‘America’...

After a week of fun and discovery it was time to move on but I’d be minded to return, hopefully aboard Melisenda in the coming few years.