A gentle day
October 30, 2009

Perdido Key was a convenient stopping spot on the road home, but was chosen for one reason only: The Floribama. Leslie told us last year we must stop there to eat; however, she failed to mention what road it was on, only that it was at the juncture of Florida and Alabama. This year, we were armed with a more specific location and found this nice RV park within walking distance. What a great score: we shall return to this area and most likely this park for sure in order to spend lots of time enjoying the attractions.

Primary among those are the miles and miles of barely used beaches with the most beautiful sand I’ve ever seen: soft, cool, white, powdery - really lovely. The surf is good for swimming, water temps are terrific and the beaches are open for the entire length of the key, evidently, and we have the place nearly to ourselves.






















A walk across the road is all it takes for us to get to the superb gulf surf, and the Perdido River is almost right outside our door the other direction. The park has a private fishing dock on the river. Chris fished there this morning and I found the lure (pardon the expression) irresistible so joined him in the endeavor. Just beyond the park’s nice little lawn, gardens and patio, we sat and enjoyed the breeze and sights as a dolphin swam lazily down the river in front of us. A great blue heron joined us on the dock, waiting patiently until we caught a fish to throw to him. A second one joined its counterpart down the gullet. He allowed us to approach within a few feet of him, have never seen a heron act like this.

Surfside called and we answered, took our chairs, books and binoculars and relaxed away the remainder of the afternoon, going into the water occasionally, mostly watching the surf in its mesmerizing repetition. Walked some on that great sand, watched tiny clams washing up onto the beach by the scores and were fascinated when, before the next wave came, they turned on one side and magically disappeared under the sand.

Hunger pangs finally got the best of us and good sense was shunted aside as we decided to try out a Mexican food restaurant, the first for months. Surprisingly, it was excellent by Arizona standards. Which brings me back to the Floribama, a shanty-like conglomeration of upstairs, downstairs, open air, barroom with live music and covered deck overlooking the gulf. Hurricane Ivan was not kind to the structure and local zoning conflicts have not allowed it all to be rebuilt, but there’s plenty of space and areas to still enjoy the fare. And enjoy it we did.

A singer/guitarist of a name unknown to me was exceptional, said he played for years with Waylon, one of my favorites. A friendly fun place with good food - what more could a person ask. Oh yes, there was the matter of decor. There seems not to be square inch of the interior that is not autographed by those who have visited, and I mean ceilings, beams, walls, plasticized windows. But the best is the display of brassieres: a multitude of them are draped from the ceiling beams a la men’s ties at some steakhouses. Alas, we did not witness any bras being shed and draped, but I confess a certain relief at that. Perhaps that’s best left to the Saturday night crowd. The evening was topped by a peaceful and beautiful walk along the beach with the moon showing its face occasionally between scudding clouds.

Just before sundown today, we drove along the National Seashore, a stupendously beautiful spit of sand between gulf surf and river. The siren call of home is strong indeed to induce me to leave this place after one day’s sample.