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| Photo: Ileana Johnson Oct. 2015 |
I am so enchanted by the sparkling emerald green waters of
the Gulf of Mexico and its white quartz sand beaches. I must have been a mermaid in a previous life,
living in the aqua blue crystal clear waters.
Even though I am not the best of swimmers, going into the
ocean has been a fascinating dance between excitement, apprehension, velvety
sand, and elation driven by charmed curiosity. I am lured by the crashing waves, the
marine life swimming about, and that exquisite sea shell in which a tiny creature
finds its temporary home. Sometimes the strong undercurrents try to pull me
further out to sea.
The ocean is glassy and fluid – I can see clearly to the
bottom floor. Tiny white sand sharks swim slowly around my feet, while an
occasional flash of silver streaks fast in front of me, chased by pelicans and
sea gulls, eager to dive around me in hopes of catching a tasty meal.
The days are perfect. The sun shines with few white clouds
on the horizon. The days are balmy 80s, the water is warm, and the waves are
too small for the impatient surfers and occasionally even placid like a
stagnant lake. The undercurrents can be
seen in the wavy sandy bottom that resembles little sugary dunes.
Photo: Ileana Johnson Oct. 2015
I trudge my chair, towel, and water cooler to the water’s edge
to relax in the ocean surf sounds and the salty aroma of the spraying mist. The sea gulls appear suddenly when I open the
cooler top to get a bottle of water. They’ve learned quite fast that those
marvelous little boxes contain food. I brought chips in hopes that an injured
sea gull I spotted the day before would show up again. He was dragging one foot
behind but was still able to fly. I wondered if he could still hunt for fish to
survive.
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2015
Not even a painful encounter with a small nesting stingray
dampened my desire to enjoy the most beautiful beach in the U.S. I stepped on
the creature in thigh-deep ocean. I was treading water instead of shuffling
through the bottom like the locals have told me to do. Normally shy creatures, the
vibrations cause the stingrays to swim away from humans.
Photo: Ileana Johnson Oct. 2015
Surprised, the stingray shot its tail with barbs into my
right heel. The toxin caused instant excruciating pain and bleeding. The ER doc
told me later that I was lucky – it missed my Achilles tendon and the X-rays
showed no barbs left inside.
Every so many seconds, toxin-driven pain shot through my
entire leg in spite of pain meds and soaking in very hot water. I did not fuss much – I treaded in their world
and disturbed their tranquility. Stingrays bury in the sand 3-10 feet from the
water’s edge and usually nest from April to October.
I cannot complain, after 36 years of going to the Gulf’s
beaches, this is the first time I was stung. Mims was joking that next time, I
might encounter Jaws. Considering all the sandbars so close to the shore, it
was a distinct possibility.
Siesta Key
Photo: Ileana Johnson Oct. 2015
The edge of the beach was protected habitat where turtles
nest and native flowers, bushes, and weeds grow wild and undisturbed. When dark
falls, it is really hard to see anything. Ambient light is very low, street
lighting is banned, and most homes have no outdoor lights on.
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| Photo: Ileana Johnson Oct. 2015 |
Not to be outdone by the atheist crowd that plasters
religious COEXIST bumper stickers on their cars, environmentalists have come up
with a Coexist t-shirt that sports an endangered animal marine species for each
letter. Under a shady grove of palm trees and other tropical plants, a sign sponsored
by atheists and secular humanists urged beach goers to protect their environment
by adopting a park. Politics is ever present even at the beach.
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2015
Many stores are shuttered for the winter season. The local
hangouts are busy and the dimly lit Walmart is open 24 hours. We loved it so
much, we went four times. It was fantastic to hear nothing but English spoken
in every store and to see American waiters, store clerks, and medical personnel
trained in the United States.
The bookstore chain did not disappoint with its liberal
staff. An elderly employee, with a Brooklyn accent, asked for my “teacherdom
I.D.” when I purchased a book on Florida’s history. I had asked him about
Donald Trump’s and Michael Savage’s books due out any day. He shrugged his
shoulder as if I spoke a foreign language and, with a dumb grin, directed me to
a helpful and more professional person.
Even though the beaches and water are perfect for a late
October, the town is semi-deserted of tourists, save for small groups from France
and Germany. I could hear their animated
conversations around me.
A few string-bikini clad young American women were strutting
at the water’s edge, proud of their impropriety. The notoriously nudist
European women were surprisingly subdued. But some of their men were letting it
all hang out in string-bikini speedos, leaving nothing to the imagination.
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| Photo: Ileana Johnson Oct. 2015 |
What a great place to walk on the beach, watch sunrises and
sunsets, admire pelicans and seagulls dive for fish, read a book, or fall
asleep under an umbrella, lulled by the constant roar of waves crashing against
the sugary-white sandy beaches.
Leaving this Floridian paradise, going through two beautiful
airports in Tampa and Miami, where TSA agents were actually nicer to us in
their freedom-robbing attempt to keep us “safe” from invisible terrorists, and
returning home to cold weather and crowding in northern Virginia and to the
dingy, smelly, and dilapidated Reagan National Airport, I cannot help but think,
what a metaphor this is for all that is corrupt and dirty in Washington, D.C.
