Showing posts with label beach. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beach. Show all posts

Friday, April 18, 2025

Only in Florida

On our recent five-day adventure in South Florida, we packed all the fun activities we could drive to without being killed or seriously injured on the roads and interstates crisscrossing Broward County and Miami-Dade. And we found ourselves time and time again repeating the phrase, “only in Florida.”

Only in Florida people drive 100 MPH, crossing lanes faster than NASCAR drivers, chasing each other in sleek and expensive cars, like disappearing banshees and people react as if it is the norm.

Only in Florida we see no police officers giving tickets to speeders and bad drivers. Florida car owners, with and without driving licenses, are in a class by themselves when it comes to speeding. Driving rules and road safety are just ordinary and laughable suggestions to them.

Only in Florida highly confident women of all shapes and sizes go out dressed like other people do when doing hot yoga, showing as much skin as possible without being nude – after all, the beach and the ocean are not that far away. A tiny string bikini with a see-through cover or not, is good enough to wear grocery shopping, strolling, or to the mall. The idea that clothes are made to cover the body for reasons of public decency seems to escape them. Fluttering their butterfly or tarantula eyelashes, with perfectly coiffed hair and full makeup at the beach, men adore them for their “easy on the eye” beauty.

In Florida, only foreign visitors and cruise goers speak English. If you speak English, that is too bad because South Floridians are not going to help you. Without Spanish or Spanglish, you must bring a translator in tow.

Only in Florida the culture is so Hispanic-diverse that Broward County and Miami-Dade areas might as well be granted to Cuba, El Salvador, Puerto Rico, Colombia, or Jamaica. Non-Hispanic Americans are only tolerated so long as they spend money on Cuban food and tip generously on top of the automatic 18% service fee.

Only in Florida the sun shines for five straight days, the sky is bright blue, and no airplanes spray the sky with chemicals, turning it into a milky grey mass, covering the sun to mitigate global warming. Those of us unlucky to live elsewhere in America forgot how beautiful the real sky used to be.

Only in Florida can you find Ed’s Castle, an out of this world creation of a Latvian man who built his coral rock castle with primitive tools, imagination, and a labor of unrequited love, in hope that someday the love of his life, who rejected his marriage proposal before he left Latvia, would someday show up and visit his castle.

Only in Florida does a Muscovy duck build her nest next to the entrance of a remarkably busy hotel, unafraid, and incubates seven eggs and guards them like a good and caring momma.

Only in Florida a restaurant takes a yummy red snapper, fries it too long in lard to an unchewable crisp shape which the chef (I use the term loosely) then decorates it (the remaining skeleton) with wilted onion strips, two tomato slices, 2 lemon wedges, and undercooked and inedible rice, all for the price of $67. And tourists pay because other locals recommend the place and the dish as the height of Cuban cuisine.

Only in Florida you find iguanas, an invasive species released into the wild by bored people who dumped their exotic pets outdoors when they tired of them or they grew too big; or possibly proliferated from the Miami Zoo after it was torn up by hurricane Andrew which released all species from its collection into nature where they exploded in population. With their orange, green, and grey skin, iguanas of all sizes appear in the most unlikely places, falling from trees in wintertime in a hibernating and catatonic state.

Only in verdant and colorful south Florida diverse ethnicities have their own delicious cuisines but Cuban food is the king everywhere.

Only in south Florida women of all ages, young and old, dress up like teenagers going to a party.

Only in south Florida air boat tours on the Everglades display as the main attraction a few exemplars of the 200,000 gators, old relatives of dinosaurs who are a nuisance elsewhere in Florida, in swimming pools, in ponds, and on golf courses.

Only in Florida the air wafting from every corner, car, park, boardwalk, and even the beach stinks of marijuana, the unmistakable and unpleasant odor of skunk.

Only in Florida can you drive on the lonely alligator alley and find the occasional gator catching the sun’s rays on the side of the road, unafraid of the cars zipping by.

Only in Florida there is such paradise on earth, the sandy white beaches, the teal blue ocean water, the surfing waves, and the verdant flora and dinosaurian fauna, so amazing and beautiful that you want to go back as soon as you board the plane to go home.

 


Wednesday, August 7, 2019

Beach and the Bikini

Louis Reard and the bikini
Wikipedia photo
I remember the two-piece swimsuits of my youth, hard to find and quite demure by today’s standards but shocking by early 20th century modest attire.  When women dared for the first time to wear a one-piece bathing suit and later a two-piece swimsuit to the beach, it was quite radical and scandalous.

Historically, evidence has been found of bathing suit-style clothing in 5600 B.C. and at athletic events in Rome. The most famous and best-preserved evidence discovered consists of the mosaics in Villa Romana del Casale.

Quite fitting, the Villa Romana del Casale, an elaborate fourth century A.D. Roman villa, was found about 3 km from the town of Piazza Armerina, Sicily, a place bathed in sunshine, resplendent with beaches, and a balmy Mediterranean climate.

Photo: italianways.com

In modern times, women used two-piece bathing suits as early as the 1930s, but the infamous bikini did not appear on the beach scene until 1946, the creation of a Frenchman, Louis Reard, an automobile and clothing designer.

He dressed a nude dancer from the Casino de Paris, Micheline, in a two-piece bathing suit on July 1946 and introduced her to the public at Piscine Molitor, a popular and fashionable public pool in Paris. It happened three weeks after atomic bomb tests were conducted by the United States on the Marshall Islands Pacific atoll named Bikini, so he decided to name his creation “the bikini.”

The amount of fabric used for such a piece of clothing varies today on the amount of covering it offers to the chest and to the bottom area. The most recent swimsuits are just G-strings, exposing plenty of the human anatomy. However, it is still modest by European nude beach rules.

Going to an American beach today is an interesting fashion show both in clothing choices or lack thereof and in artistic tattoos on various parts of the beach goer’s bodies.

Young and nubile women are sporting naked rears, their breasts spilling out of tiny strips and other unmentionables barely covered, stretching provocatively in the sand to the delight of ogling men who enjoy the narcissistic show. One can barely blame them as so much is on display and beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.

At the other extreme, women in full burkas with their kids and husbands in tow, sweating in black, covered from head to tow while their husbands are wearing comfortable American swim trunks. Perhaps there should be a middle ground between the skimpy bikinis and the burka tents.

Older men are wearing tiny Speedos, confident in their athleticism and manliness, with skin so tanned and dry that it looks positively mummified.

Seaside attire is not the only curiosity at the beach. Young women with verbal diarrhea use the English language in a way that would horrify anyone sitting in their hearing range – the F word or other choice vulgar expressions pepper their vocabulary every other word. Drinking like sailors regardless of age and smoking like chimneys on a cold day, completes the picture of our young American progenies at the beach.

So much societal degradation on display makes me sad. Perhaps I am too old to appreciate “progress,” and the new “feminism.”




Sunday, November 4, 2018

Politics at the Beach

Beach road to the left
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2018
I was hoping that I could get away from politics during our vacation and just enjoy the beach, the white sand, the sea gulls, the dolphins, and the Floridian sunshine. But politics hit me in the face in one form or another in this area overflowing with snow-bird Democrats from New York, New Jersey, and Ohio.

Last year NGOs used young, beautiful, and half-clad women on the beach to advocate for legalizing marijuana.  This year we were assaulted by greens urging naïve pedestrians in affluent areas to fill out questionnaires to save marine life. Tugging at their heart strings, it was an easy sell for donations to various environmental and conservation groups. 

Waiters and restaurant owners had replaced plastic straws with paper straws – glossy and expensive signs “educated” us at each table that drinking without a straw each time saved a turtle.

One day a mature and well-preserved lady with her husband was high-fiving an elderly New Yorker wearing a blue t-shirt with her favorite candidate for Florida governor. They told her, they were very eager to vote early as well for the same candidate.

I muttered under my breath the word “commies;” the couple heard me and replied that they hoped I could not vote. Tangling with total strangers who have no idea what communism is or how awful it was to live under the communism they yearn to bring to this country was not my idea of fun on vacation. But I am not one to back down from an argument with useful idiots who argue and vote for their own demise. The rich ones think that the scourge of communism will somehow bypass them only because they are “enlightened-thinking” Democrats who deplore their opponents with divergent opinions as Neanderthals with pea brains.

As Project Veritas latest video release revealed, there is nothing American about this particular campaign, just a run of the mill progressive (read communist) assault on a “cracker” state as one of the campaign staffers said in the video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=di3WRRHRWlE&feature=player_embedded&fbclid=IwAR20L4DZ4j11AVtvISueOJx6wTl6MONZ5zIum4AAYNjrsNUWNzZPcCvw4-w

Often the longest and most protracted political battles are the local ones. One determined resident managed to get on the ballot the three-year long battle over access to a beach road that had been opened to the public for decades but one hurricane had blocked one small section and that gave the city planners the idea to give that section to a rich developer who was planning on building high-rise condos that could sell for mega-bucks. He mentioned that one nearby condo had sold recently for $4.5 million.

The locals had been up in arms fighting to keep this beach road open to the public. Beach-goers contribute large amounts of revenue to the local economy in the form of tourist taxes, hotels, restaurant meals, and other vacation amenities.

 
Mike's rocky strip where he plans a wooden pier for walkers
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2018
 
A local man, who, by his admission, cannot even afford to live near this beach, had bought a small rocky strip of land jutting out into the ocean. Mike flies the American flag proudly and lowers it every afternoon at sunset in a moving ceremony.  A carpenter by trade, he told me that he had spent close to half a million dollars in legal fees to defend everybody’s right of access to the beach, but especially the handicapped. This particular access is very close to the beach, a few steps to be exact.

 
Mike lowering the flag at sunset with Dave
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2018
 
One single handicapped parking spot is now covered by a mound of sand. That is another minor battle as the mound had been sitting there for a while. The plan was to spread the sand on the eroded beach but turtle nesting season was in full swing and the county was waiting, irritating the nearby condo-owners who wanted an unobstructed view of the ocean.

On October 31, the top layers was spread but the bottom part of the mound would have to be taken away to be used in construction since the scraping of the bucket would contaminate the sand with asphalt thus rendering it unusable for the beach.

In a soft but determined voice, he told me that he used to bring his mother to the beach in a wheelchair every sunset until she passed away. Not having children and a family of his own, he wants to leave this strip of land to the public trust in perpetuity so that people could enjoy the ocean. He plans on building a wooden platform on the rocks to allow wheelchair access to the handicapped and to our veterans. He hopes that on Tuesday, the voters will resolve the fate of the beach road in their favor.

The voters will decide on the charter amendment to preserve county-owned parks, preserves, beach and water access and waterfront vistas (ordinance no. 2018-036). Currently the Board of Commissioners has the authority to sell any county-owned property and to vacate roads and rights of way.

“The amendment would prohibit the county from selling or giving away any county-owned parks and preserves, and prevent the county from vacating any road segments or rights of way along any beach, river, creek, canal, lake, bay, gulf access or waterfront vistas." https://www.scgov.net/government/communications/county-charter-amendment-summary

 
Scooter of the Beach
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2018
 
A local celebrity resident, Scooter of the Beach, has been giving video reports on social media daily for the last three months about the status of the red tide bacteria which killed so much marine life, turning water brown, red, or dark green, and causing respiratory irritation and cough on the beach, affecting tourism this summer on a 100-mile stretch.

“Red tide is a common name for a worldwide phenomenon known as an algae bloom (large concentrations of aquatic microorganisms—protozoans or unicellular algae) when it is caused by species of dinoflagellates and other algae. The upwelling of nutrients from the sea floor from massive storms is most likely the cause of these events.”

But locals blame red tide on individual fertilizer use and others on the discharges into the ocean of byproducts from a sugar plant.

 

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Ray's Road Trip in 1942 America

The roads were “grand” for Ray’s traveling trailer. Driving on January 19, 1942 through Ohio, he was fascinated by the abundance of farms and rolling hills, red painted barns, individual hog pens, and husked corn left on the ground uncovered, easy pickings for any critters or humans passing by. His love of animals was only equaled by his love of nature – his oil landscapes were legendary in the family.

When Ray left the Ohio state line, Kentucky revealed numerous drying tobacco barns and tobacco stalks, and large numbers of stock farms with miles and miles of stone fences. Farther into the state, homes were run down and unpainted. He encountered saw mills from where cut timber was shipped on carts pulled by mules. Ever curious, Ray came upon a large stock sale and stopped to check it out.

The soil was red clay interspersed with pine trees. He noticed that filling stations were very far apart. Homes were poorly constructed and never painted. He was shocked to see toilets separate for “colored people.” Going through Look Out Mountain and Rock City, he drove 7 miles to the top on a slow and gradual incline. The shifting foundation had split the large rocks and fashioned rock crevasses 100 ft. or more deep. Large herds of cattle and hogs were wandering all over the highways, no fences anywhere in sight. Large pine forests flanked the highways.

Crossing into Georgia, he noticed that the soil was hued red, blue, and yellow. Miles and miles of peach trees filled the landscape. The southern Georgia countryside was packed for miles and miles with pecan trees. Mules seemed to be the beast of burden just like in Tennessee and Kentucky.

Georgia homes were built on rock piles or posts with no basements. For the “poorer class,” houses had no windows, only “wooden door flaps.” One dead cow had been hit by a car and the carcass was still in the road.

Stopping in the Okefenokee Swamp, Ray walked out into the swamp for about a mile through the quiet and wild surroundings; the silence was only broken by the occasional hammering of a wood pecker and other bird calls. Moss covered trees abundantly and water lilies bloomed gracefully from the swamp; a large percentage of the tall pines were dead, jutting out of the murky black water.

At the Florida line, the landscape changed to acres and acres of slash pines on both sides of the road. Pines were slashed to gather resin from which turpentine was made. The slashes were made by removing the bark on an area of 12 by 36 inches through which a metal rod was driven at a 45 degree angle ending into a funnel shaped catch for the resin draining from the tree.

Arriving in Jacksonville, Ray remarked that the population was mostly “colored people.” The back of the trailer where they parked for the night was a veritable jungle of palm trees and thick pines covered with Spanish moss. Further down the road he encountered palms, citrus trees, flowers, and a Chinese garden with waterfalls and bridges. On both sides of the highway there were cacti growing everywhere.

In St. Augustine, Ray and his family had a drink from the famous well attended by a man dressed in Spanish clothes. “The grave yard of a vanished race of Indians had uncovered graves, showing the skeletons as these burials were made on top of the ground. At one spot, by looking toward the ocean, I could see through a row of palm trees a distance of 3 miles to the open sea; this is believed to be the spot at which Juan Ponce de Leon had landed in 1513 as it was the spot he first sighted upon sailing into the harbor.” A stone monument in his honor is erected to commemorate the location.

Ray and his wife took a sight-seeing tour through St. Augustine on a horse drawn “surrey” at a charge of $1.50 per hour. The drivers were “colored men wearing a long tail coat and a large plug hat.”

The next stop was a fascinating fort with its heavy ramparts. Ft. Marion, the Guardian of the Spanish City of St. Augustine, was built from “coquina, shells taken from the beach on Anastasia Island and mixed with lime,” cementing walls ten to twelve ft. thick. Ft. Marion was surrounded by a moat of water 40 ft. wide.

The interior court, which crammed 2,500 people inside during a 27-day siege, had a dungeon for prisoners, a Catholic church, and a powder magazine. It was so damp that the powder magazine had a hard time keeping its powder dry. The town was burned to the ground several times by the Spanish, the English, and the French, but the fort never fell. The old wall that surrounded the city is still partially standing. The oldest school and oldest house were also located here. The oldest house had been owned and occupied at one time by Napoleon’s nephew. The beautiful Spanish garden in the back had a wishing well.

The old school house boasted eight “pupils” and upstairs quarters for the teacher. A small dungeon served as punishment for students who did not behave properly. Tuition for this school was $12 per year.

After the alligator and ostrich farms, Ray visited Marineland, with its fish, coral, other marine fauna and porpoises, and the portholes through which the movie industry had shot most of their underwater films of that time.

Across from Marineland was a burial mound for various Indian tribes from counties across Florida. Buried in layers, the bottom uncovered were remains of the “Timucua Indians, the forerunners by a good many years of the Seminole. The skeletons were found in shell mounds, mainly oysters. Vines had grown through all openings of the skulls. The people were buried in a hunched or huddled position.”

Ray passed by the famous speedway in Daytona Beach, on his way to comb the fine white sandy beaches for shells. Parking the trailer in Port Orange for a week, three miles south of Daytona Beach on the Halifax River, Ray, his wife, and three-year old blue-eyed Joan enjoyed the Florida sun and the quartz-white beach.

 
The Paul’s River Land Trailer camp allowed them to park 150 ft. away from the crystal clear waters. The trailer park was enjoyable and only cost $3 per week. Pelicans, white herons, seagulls, and ducks landed in the area quite often. A few boys fishing by speared a small sting ray, about a foot long. The drinking water was none too pleasant, it was full of Sulphur and smelled like rotten eggs. “We had to let water set out overnight in order to get the smell and awful taste out of it.”

Driving through West Palm Beach, Ft. Lauderdale, on to Miami, Ray stopped in Jupiter at Shuey’s Trailer Camp for 75 cents per night, parking about 100 ft. from the government lighthouse. They bought milk for 27 cents with a 5 cent deposit for the glass bottle.

“On the drive to Miami, we went along the ocean and saw the fishing fleets out with their motors, sailing in circles; the waves were so high that in between the crest of the waves, the large fishing boats would be out of sight.”

Ray and his family spent three weeks in the Tall Pines Trailer Camp. Three miles south of Miami was the Rare Bird Farm with coral flamingos and other unusual birds. Of the 350 species, five species of blue, green, and white peacocks were fascinating. Twenty-two miles south of Miami was the Monkey Jungle, where “humans were caged in chicken wire walkways and the monkeys ran wild into the tangle of jungle-like trees.” For 35 cents admission price, they saw up close and personal chimpanzees, black spider monkeys, marmosets, mangabeys, capuchin monkeys, and other primates.

Live sand dollars
Photo: Ileana Johnson
 
In South Miami, after visiting the Floridian Coconut Factory, Ray and his family went swimming twice at Matheson Hammock, a beach protected from sharks but not from the man-of-war - “a large jelly-like transparent globe of a wonderful bright shade of blue.”

Next was window shopping in beautiful Coral Gables where jewelry stores sold their wares for upwards of $3,800, a rich sum for those times. Coral Gables was confusing to Ray as the streets were all names and no numbers, especially when the names were all in Spanish.

For $25 a day and fishing gear provided, Ray broke down and rented a boat to go deep sea fishing and caught his very first sail fish which his wife cooked for supper.

Passing by a Seminole village, Ray marveled at the colored patched clothes. An Indian dressed in full Chieftain’s regalia, posed for pictures with visitors for 15 cents each. Parking in the trailer camps in the area was more expensive, $3.25 per week.

Ray crossed the Everglades, driving on Tamiami Trail, the southernmost 275 miles of U.S. Hwy. 41. The Everglades, thousands of square miles, was a vast tract-less wilderness which could only be negotiated by waterways and the Seminoles were the only persons who could do that at the time. The vast tangle of saw grass was sometimes ten ft. high. One could drive for miles through the big cypress swampland.

“Occasionally through the Everglades, there are small villages of Seminoles. They hunt, fish, and only kill what they need for clothes and food. The main Seminole reservation was deep in the Everglades and could only be reached by their waterway canals. Using large and small boats hewn out of large trees, Seminoles numbered 3,000 at one time, dwindled to 200 and are now increased to about 650. They are the only Indians that are still supposed to be at war with the United States.”

 
 
During the rainy season, even the dry spots become swamp land. Of the 16 species of palms in Florida, 13 are found in the Everglades. Forests of bay, live oaks, papayas, and rubber trees grow wild.  In between there are large ferns, gorgeous wild flowers, orchids, air plants, and mosses.

Large burnt out areas could be seen from the road and, as far as the eyes could see there was nothing but swamp and forest, no sign of human life. Houses were miles and miles apart but close to the road. The abundant wild life could be seen from the road – turtles on rocks and logs sunning themselves, turkey vultures, American eagles, wood ibis, blue herons, white herons, egrets, almost extinct sandhill cranes, cougars, alligators, native bears, deer, flamingoes, everglades kite, cape sable, manatees, alligators, snakes, and sea side sparrows. Over 50,000 bird species inhabited the area.

Morning feed
Photo: Ileana Johnson
 
Next stop was beautiful Sanibel Island with its famous sea shell beach. It did not have any camp to park a trailer so Ray drove into Ft. Meyers Beach and stayed there for two days at Don Carlos Trailer and Cottage Court for 75 cents, 300 ft. from the Caloosahatchee River. The wind was blowing fiercely all night, rocking the trailer quite dangerously for comfort.

Next morning they drove across the bridge to the Estero Island where the shells were plentiful on the beach – conchs, whelks (a sea snail), sand dollars (a sea urchin), starfishes (marine invertebrates), sea urchins, and scallops. They had to boil the shells as many were still inhabited by marine mollusks. I cannot imagine anyone today on a road trip disturbing nature in this way. But even collecting an empty shell of a dead marine creature is removing an opportunity for another sea invertebrate to find a home inside.

Last stop of Ray’s road trip was Sarasota with the largest trailer city in the country. The parking fee was $2.25 per week and the camp had everything to keep one occupied and entertained – free movies, dances with attendance of upwards of 300 people, a five-piece orchestra, first aid room, men’s card room, ladies’ card room, its own newspaper, post office, community hall, grocery store, six horse shoe courts, swings, slides, 14 shuffle boards, bingo, a sand box for kids, and a different program every day. The trailer park had 600 trailers laid out in streets, with beautiful landscaped areas. The only charge levied was a government amusement tax of 5 cents.

Sarasota of today, with its Siesta Key, has been voted several times the most beautiful beach in the country. Currently suffering from the worst case of Red Tide in its history, the beach has been less than inviting to tourists for the last three months. Dead fish, brown waters, brown sand, and respiratory distress have dominated reality daily. Mother Nature will take its course and will eventually return the sugar white sands and crystal clear waters to Siesta Key.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday, October 23, 2016

Beach Politics and Siesta Key

Siesta Key
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016
The ocean surf, the blue waves crashing onto the sugary white quartz sand, and the lush vegetation and marine life make this beach the most beautiful in the world. Silver streaks sparkle in the crystal clear water carrying crushed sea shells to the shore. A pod of dolphins are playing close to shore at sun rise, to the delight of walkers.

The water is teeming with life, from algae, to sand sharks, to jelly fish, stingrays, sharks, star fish, sea gulls, pelicans, and amazing sea urchins we call sand dollars.

A sudden wind gust picks up a few kites and speeds sail boats gliding on the surface. Fine white sand, skimming like a shimmering shallow river over the ground, covers everything. A brave girl is paddling a board past the sand bars.  The sea gulls are diving for fish in the surf, resurfacing with a squiggly silver morsel.

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016
 
The wind just picked up my umbrella, resting momentarily at the edge of the ocean. I’ve never seen my hubby get up so fast to stop its rolling into the water.

An elderly man is pushing his wife through the shallow water in a wheelchair with large tires. The occasional wave crashes and splashes salty water onto her face; she giggles like a little girl. That sound is the sigh of sheer joy and devoted love.

An Indian family has already brought their mom to the edge of the beach. Her slow gait with the help of a cane is steadied by her daughter who settles her into a folding chair and rolls up her pant legs so she can feel the water lapping at her feet. The daughter brings out a large hat to shield her eyes from the sun.

Siesta Key beach
Photo: Ileana Johnson
 
I seldom see American families bringing their elderly and handicapped parents to the beach; they must be at home or in a nursing home. I feel ashamed and sad.

Clear water and white sand
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016
 
The beach seems more culturally alive this year. I hear many languages around me, Russian, Italian, Polish, German, Dutch, and French. For the first time in 37 years I see a woman clad in a full beige burka, accompanied by a man in cool and comfortable swim trunks.

Jose Jimenez
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016
 
I pass every morning by a homeless man, nicely tanned, reading his paper on a picnic table, surrounded by gallons of water, his worldly possessions in a backpack and a couple of garbage bags; his blue beach bike is leaning nearby. He is always smiling from above his readers, makes eye contact, and says good morning to me.

People pass him by as if he is invisible and part of the landscape. A squirrel jumps on the table. There is a short wooden fence behind him, with heavy vegetation and shady trees between the walkway and the beach, and the squirrel runs along the top tier, within inches of his head, as if he is a familiar fixture of the environment, totally unafraid of him.

I make a point to talk to this man and to find out more about him. He is tanned and looks healthy. His name is Jose Jimenez and has been a resident of Florida for 36 years, 20 years in Siesta Key. His English is very good and speaks with a lovely Colombian accent. He greets me every morning with, “every day is a holiday.” This middle-aged man has touched my heart in so many ways; it is hard to put into words. I did not dare ask him if he was homeless by choice or by the vicissitudes of life. He posed for a picture and smiled with his eyes and happy heart.

Live urchins (sand dollars)
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016
 
A few pelicans have flown further down the beach, closer to the rocky pier.  The large boulders flanking the pier have disappeared one day, moved by a construction company, eager to start building more private condos despite the local voters’ vociferous pleas to keep the road and the beach public. The issue will be voted on this November 8.

Siesta Key beach sunset
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016
 
Sarasota across the bay from Siesta Key
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016
 
Paradise on Siesta Key beach
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016
 
The beach is relaxing and soothing, problems and politics seem to fall by the wayside, but do they? There is always an emergency that needs saving humanity from its own demise, or saving nature from the destruction of all powerful humans. Thank God for the anointed few who know what is best for the rest of us and keep the crony government machine well-oiled and running.

Polar bear sculpture that took a man 3 1/2 hours to complete (Siesta Key beach)
Photo: Ileana Johnson
 
This sign appeared all over Siesta Key
Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016
 
I bumped into the “Save the Siesta Sand” project by chance and curiosity led me further.

A barrier island located on the west coast of Florida in Sarasota, Siesta Key was named the number one beach in 2011 and number one in the U.S. in 2016. “With 99 percent quartz as its sand, it truly is the finest, whitest sand in the world. It does not heat in the summer and it feels like talcum powder on your feet.”

The Army Corps of Engineers and the City of Sarasota have produced a dredge plan which “proposes to remove initially almost 1 million cubic yards of sands from the protective ebb shoal of Siesta Key located in Big Sarasota Pass.” The entire plan calls for “the removal of almost 5 million cubic yards of sand. It is so much sand that it could completely bury about four Empire State buildings laid on their sides. Alternatively, imagine 27 large dump trucks removing sand, running every day for 50 years.”

The sand will be used to re-nourish Lido Key beaches and to build a 5’ berm of sand along its shores, which are private beaches. According to Save our Siesta Sand, “A berm made of sand on a coastal beach and only one side of an island will be useless and will not protect St. Armand’s from flooding. In a little more than a year after the dredge, the North Lido beach has almost been lost and no mitigation is planned.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sdwmVatfkYc

“Consider the planned dredge of the protective ebb shoal off Siesta Key. No one can predict whether this same amount of erosion will occur on Siesta beach but it certainly seems likely. Observable facts speak louder than models.”

Following their modeling, the Army Corps is moving on with their plan, ignoring the “repeated requests by environmental organizations and the County Commission to generate an Environment Impact Statement before proceeding any further with their proposal to dredge Big Pass, New Pass, and Longboat Pass. Instead, they are issuing a FONSI (Finding of No Significant Impact) by this massive project of navigation, the environment, and Siesta Key.” http://www.soss2.com/

To protect the Siesta Key beaches after this massive dredging of sand, the government is proposing the construction of “beach erosion groins,” but don’t worry, they will be tastefully decorated to disguise their ugliness.

In the meantime, as I enjoy the lovely Siesta Beach, I worry that in the future, our children and grandchildren will no longer be able to see the beauty of this island, a paradise on earth threatened by a 50-year government project of “unprecedented scale that has had no public hearings and where the proposer cannot show any similar projects that have met their goals. One independent review that was held stated that they were unable to verify the claims of the proposer.”

Politics at the beach are complicated in the best of times. For now the ordinary beach goer and modest business and home owner on Siesta Key are afraid that they may lose their white sand, spectacular beaches, perhaps the beach flora, and their paradise to the Army Corps of Engineers and City of Sarasota dredge plan.

 

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

October Beach Days

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.


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.

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.