Along the “Lowcountry” a stretch of sea islands and coastline is deeply effected by the sweeping tides. Our RV is bouncing along, winding up the coastal waterways, following the lazy yet pristine water along miles of undisturbed marshes and acres of natural woodlands. This area is teeming with wildlife, and larger trees, commonly Live Oak and Bald Cypress with their Spanish Moss, long graybeards dangling low.  There, a lovely picturesque town of Beaufort (it’s pronounced BE-YOU-FERT) sits alongside the Beaufort River.  Charted in 1711, it is the second-oldest city in South Carolina, behind Charleston.  Also, it is one of the few cities with its entire downtown designated by the National Trust for Historic Preservation as a historic district.  No wonder several major motion pictures, including Forrest Gump, The Prince of Tides, The Big Chill, Forces of Nature, and the Great Santini, just to name a few, were all made here.

We enjoyed walking all over the oak and moss lined streets and especially the charming Henry C. Chambers Waterfront Park.  From one of the numerous large bench-sized swings there, overlooking the Beaufort River, we went swinging wildly like children all over again ~ whee!

From Beaufort, about 20 miles southeast along the Sea Island Parkway, we discovered an amazing gem, the Hunting Island State Park and its 1859 Lighthouse. We scored a beachfront campsite about 30 feet from the breaking waves and soothing ocean roars for two wonderful nights.  This was fortunate, as it is the most popular state park in South Carolina, even during the the lowest attendance month of the year.  On the first night under a brilliant half-moon with its piercing Jupiter, I went out on the beach and noticed that the lighthouse in the near distance was actually rotating its light toward the ocean ~ what a treat!  Before sunrise, I took a quick walk down the beach toward the lighthouse and noticed a veritable graveyard of trees lying unburied on the wide expansive beach.  This island suffers major beach erosion yearly, ranging from 7 to 15 feet of land lost yearly to the sea. Since 2000, 50 to 250 feet of land lost means houses, roads, campsites and forests have been washed away. A 16-year annual camper at this park, pointed out that her favorite site likely would be the next one lost to the ocean, along with the road providing access to our site….thus the large tree graveyard there. They used to bring in sand and rock to provide erosion relief, but now allow nature to have her way, as we know she will in the end.

Approaching the end of our first 6 month of travel, we left Florida, appreciative of the abundant wildlife, warm springs, cuban food, and friends and family we got to see during 6 weeks of travel in this large state. We also left with colds, fatigue, and briefly, with a loss of enthusiasm for travel. We realized this as we ran through St. Augustine and Savannah without any real savoring of the museums and history, taking few photos, and failing to chat up the locals as we usually do. We weren’t savoring much of anything except the food. It was clearly time to …just…stop…moving. We rented an affordable room for a week near Hilton Head Island, in an airbnb.com house on a golf course, with a tennis court and pool across the street, and a movie theatre and restaurants within walking distance. It included 4 hours of plein air watercolor instruction by the artist/owner Gert Palmer (her work featured) and use of her studio. Our plan: no driving for a week.

 It then rained non-stop for 3 days, forcing us to stay in the cozy house, sleeping late, reading, watching movies, drinking tea, playing with Lety, taking hot baths, and….not driving. Often, the simplest things provide the greatest pleasure. Happy Valentine’s Day, all ya’ll!

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than dreaming”. -Dr. Seuss

This is how to plan a small city: fill it with art and culture so it entertains like a big city, preserve the past, and keep it walkable. Most importantly, assign a full block every 2-3 blocks to a park covered with large oaks providing deep shade, fountains, seating, and amateur musicians.

Surround these 21 parks with gorgeous old homes (many open for tours or used as museums), build the Telfair Museum in 3 parts for antiquities and modern art, and offer a day a month (lucky it fell on our one day in Savannah) when all museums are free.

Add to that the “Central Market” with blocks of live music and outdoor dining, and a thriving waterfront….and you have a nearly perfect small city. The fact that it is also walkable and friendly makes it…a magnet for mannerly tourists of course!

Although there is suburban and industrial sprawl at the edges, the city’s historic district is pristine. We of course had to eat at ‘The Lady and Sons’, the Paula Deen restaurant, murmuring in our thickest drawls, “C’mon, Ya’ll, It’s time to eat!”, the signature TV welcome by the ‘Queen of Southern Cooking’. It provided a well-priced, delicious hot table, offering black-eyed peas in porcine pot licker, collard greens, and the lightest, tastiest fried chicken we have ever had, truly. Lots of other sides provided that legendary southern starch. Unfortunately, my desire for shrimp n’ grits, and hot biscuits slathered with butter and jam went unquenched as no menu items were available on Sunday. Still, it was the highest quality, hot table ‘Meat n’ Three’ we have had in the South…and that is saying a lot, especially as it was only a little more expensive than less generous hot table restaurants set in small cinder block houses throughout the rural South.

…and the desserts…..I just bet this is one of the primary causes for ‘The Queen’ to become diabetic:

“Ooey-Gooey Chocolate Chip Butter Cake”, the consistency of a warm butterscotch brownie, but chewier and more buttery with strands of bittersweet chocolate punctuating the sweetness. Perhaps the Peach Cobbler and the Banana Creme Pie were unremarkable, or maybe they just suffered by comparison with this signature dessert. My mother is a great cook, watches Paula Deen’s cooking show on TV and encouraged us to visit her restaurant. So Ma..could you whip up a pan of this for us…with a side of  insulin, please?

Leaving Mount Dora, we ambled north through the Ocala Forrest, happy to finally have found a campground in Florida with room for us. Unfortunately, we found out why it was relatively empty when a scary, roaring monster sound made Lety crawl under the front seat and made us flinch, even during daylight hours. We learned from the ranger, who said it terrified her as well until she came to understand the source of the sounds:bombing and strafing practice at the nearby military training ground. We would have figured it out when the equivalent of the Blue Angels started doing maneuvers atop the canopy of the hammock (forest) overhead. I recalled the thrill of those same screaming jet sounds when I was working in a skyscraper in San Francisco, and could see the Blue Angels at eye level. That screeching sound is just a horrible intrusion when you are swimming in a warm freshwater spring, letting your mind happily wander. Between the humidity, mosquitoes (we should have had a clue when the ranger told us the vending machines there dispensed insect repellant), and the intrusive military presence, we were happy to leave after one night to try another spring. Little did we know it would be our last Florida freshwater swim.

Our last Florida warmspring, Salt Spring, was high-walled all around except the opening into a jet ski, speed boater’s paradise; it was not the “small pond in the wilderness”, conducive to lazy wanderings of the mind, so we left without a swim, for the drive to St. Augustine.

St. Augustine, the oldest European settlement in the continental USA, changed hands several times since Ponce de Leon visited, followed by 22 other Spanish missions. The Brits invaded (thus the lovely masonry Fort to repel them) and ultimately colonized it as a British Colony. The USA deeded it back to Spain after the Revolutionary War in appreciation for Spanish assistance fighting the Brits. Ultimately, we took it back, but the Spanish Colonial architecture is dominant, and very well preserved. Lots of live music and tapas were available in the bars and restaurants, where they allow smoking (Aaaargh!) so…we didn’t drink and dine there, but instead enjoyed the Freedom Trail, following the footsteps of Andrew Young who was struck down after just a few steps at this spot in a civil rights march here.

We found St. Augustine, rich in architecture and tourism, comparable to a more sober Key West, with the emphasis on weddings, romance, and retail. We preferred St. Augustine Beach for the excellent Tango class with Honey Burton, followed by a Practica. No signs were barring dogs from the beach, so we had the great pleasure of watching Lety acting like a greyhound, streaking around the beach with the other dogs, right in front of the beachside Tango class. Sweet! For sure, dogs are granted immediate entry to heaven for their generous natures.

Also part of the Freedom Trail, right in front of our Tango class was the place of, “Wade Ins” in 1964 at what had been a beach reserved for “Whites Only”. Images broadcast internationally of peaceful demonstrators being brutally attacked for walking onto the beach, was one of the events that provided the motivation to pass the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

We said, “Adios, Florida..Hasta La Vista, Baby!” after leaving Amelia Island. It reminded us of Captiva and Sanibel Islands with fewer tourists and more high end resorts (Ritz Carlton…$3500/day). Even the federal post office, above, was inviting.We only stopped for a coffee at Fernandina Beach, and a walk, but decided it would nonetheless be a super nice place to anchor off.

We wonder more often now, which places we might like living off the hook on a sailboat. Unfortunately, hurricane season is long (May 15 to November 15) and given the heat and humidity, we wouldn’t likely be anywhere near our “home” if she was hit by a tropical cyclone/ weather bomb/hurricane during the season. So we head north to Savannah, GA with no nautical plans, just dreams.

Having driven across miles of Tropicana’s orange groves, one area in flower, scenting the air deliciously, we joined the local’s joke, “climbing Mount Dora”. Sitting 174 feet above the five lakes, it is one of the “high points” of Florida for many reasons. A one hundred year old village with well-maintained victorian homes and a host of artists, it is remarkably like Mendocino, CA, albeit with seaplanes taking off and landing on the lakefront.

Our favorite gallery: The Painter’s Daughter: Sumptuous! Fascinating! Gorgeous! Natalie Lovejoy, the owner of this gallery, should be staging for ‘Architectural Digest..With Flair’. Unique window styling pulled us in. Then we went from room to room, wanting to touch everything, and take photos of unique sculptures, home display, clothing art, all displayed with such verve; every surface was treated with a detailed eye.

No photos were allowed (that killed me….) other than her gorgeous hair (and self-portrait?) We encourage you to check out her blog coming soon, and visit her boutique: www.paintersdaughter.com. Throughout Florida, artists and merchants have told us that they make their annual income from the “High Season” residents, and then wait out the sleepy and hot, humid summers with reduced hours until the snowbirds arrive once again next winter, we hope in throngs to 331 Donnelly Street.

There was a large, well-respected, annual Art Festival here a week ago, but like many festivals we have ‘just missed’, we were happy to wander the village without the crowds. We spent a really nice day here eating and browsing, with lots of shady curbside parking, parks for Lety to run free, and time to chat with locals. Festivals make that pace impossible, and we are more often than not, happy to miss the crowds.

Sometimes traveling the US, you realize you can get a bite of a foreign country without leaving home. John Ringling of the eponymous Circus fame, collected an amazing amount of Italian Renaissance art, and set it all among classical gardens and a big pink palace, and he made it free on Mondays. He has one of three true copies of Michelangelo’s “David” as it was cast from the original sculpture. Why wait for hours in line at the Accademia in Florence, or see an imperfect replica outside the Palazzo della Signoria, when you can go see his beautifully muscled body at the beach, framed by swaying palm trees?

We were back at the Gulf Coast once again to meet up with our Santa Fe pals, and get a much needed Tango lesson at the Gulfport Tango Milonga. Irene, the beach babe, made us sit in delicious powdery sand at Siesta Key Beach. It is so fine it would feel yucky, like dust, if it weren’t so white. The ocean was about 65 degrees F., a wee bit colder than the freshwater springs we are used to and we had to scuffle our feet to move the sleepy manta rays out of our walking path, but it made for lovely swimming. Perfect weather for bicycling on Siesta Key, where we stayed outside their cottage in the shade of large banyan trees….very relaxing! Perfect for a big juicy kiss American style, too!

My cousin Ed in South Carolina recommended we return to the East Coast by way of the “Ag Trail”. We happily munched our way through the Strawberry Capital of Florida (Plant City) where a large gas tower painted like a strawberry overlooks the biggest sport field complex we have ever scene…Field of Dreams indeed! The Strawberry Festival takes over the county fairgrounds in 2 weeks; when we saw the snaking line dividers being set up, we were so glad we hit the strawberries at the peak of the season, and without the crowds.

We also decided to stay in the Ocala National Forest and visit Alexander, Juniper and Salt Springs to get in our last warmspring swims. Oddly, there were no signs warning of alligators, and every body of freshwater here has alligators we are told. Last week, two inebriated fisherman cast off at 3 AM at Lake Jenkins near here; their boat was found the next day but no remains have yet been found. These alligators really know how to clean up after themselves! Needless to say we not yet launched our kayak here.

En route we have found both the Potato Capital of Florida, and the best, yummiest, sweetest, biggest, and juiciest beefsteak TOMATOES, just like a vine-ripened home grown. We had them prepared with arugula, balsalmic vinegar, and fresh mozzarella at Katie and Simon’s. We also just ate them with salt, biting into them like an apple at the produce stand.

It must be the Donkey Capital of Florida as well, as we saw lots of ads at farms we drove by for miniature and full-size donkeys. Hmmm…where is the market for donkeys I wonder?

We are babies in paradise, with gracious Simon pouring a Francis Coppola 2008 Merlot, as we sit by the fire pit, under the towering oaks in the early evening, with stately Sandhill Cranes afoot in this Markham area. Steven’s cousin Katy, along with her husband, Simon, and their family have been wonderful hosts making this a very hard place to leave to continue the road trip. They provide the following: newfound friendship (with family members an even greater bonus!), travel information, new twin grand-babies living here, a hot tub, super comfy accommodations, cocktails, fine wine and delicious meals.  They also provide what I have been craving: lots of shade trees over the top of a mosquito-netted great room containing the pool, barbecue and outdoor living room. We are surrounded by tropical flowers and bromeliads outside and inside the net. How COOL (and shady) is that!  I haven’t been so comfortable since we entered Florida five weeks ago….bug bite free!

We have enjoyed the local farmer’s market, live music at their friend’s bistro that opened a week ago, tennis courts, tennis lessons, free access to the local YMCA allowing lap swimming and tango practice in their mirrored dance room. Although we have been “swimming with alligators” in the freshwater springs in Florida, somehow paddling our kayak out in the middle of a large lake feels a lot more risky in the event of a capsize. We have looked at several launch sites and then…chickened out. We enjoyed rescuing this big tortuga who kept wanting to cross the busy road; after several attempts to divert him, we picked him up and carried him to the other side of the road where he ate his way across the manicured lawn.

Instead of launching our kayak at Wilson’s Landing Park, we spent an hour following working canines, training as “Trackers.”  Daja, a 4 year old German Shepherd, with a Level I Classification showed us how she can track her owner’s scent 20 minutes after the track was laid. Another Shepherd, Spencer, performed at Level II Classification, by tracking a 40 minute old track left by a stranger. The dogs are trained to lie down with front paws on either side of a found object without touching it, in this case a flat piece of wood already handled by the person used to lay the track. Trackers must stay 33 feet behind the dog to avoid influencing the tracking process. Spencer is drug search certified and has a contract with Jet Blue to search the cabins and cargo holds of flights arriving in Orlando, FL from Venezuela.

The closest beach to here is New Smyrna Beach. Bizarre concept…beautiful white, soft powdery sand, the best in Florida, that is given to the highest priority…cars.  Crowd the people into small enclosures behind safety cones butt up against the condos to watch a steady stream of traffic in front of them…and hope their kids don’t get hit once they leave the water. Although 5 miles away in each direction there is normal beach access again, the center 8-9 miles of beach, has lane markers for cars. Free the cone people! Free the cone people!

I thought it would be cool to park on the beach, open our awning so Lety could sit in the shade outside while we played in the waves. We could even shower off the salt after our swim. NOT ALLOWED. No sitting outside your parked vehicle allowed….only driving. So,  we fat, immobile Americans no longer have to walk from a parking space to the beach…we never have to leave our vehicles at all…almost like looking at a video of beach, without the hassle of sand, breeze, sun, salt water, heat, annoying neighbors. Reminds me of the brilliant animated film “Wall-E”, where humans floated around on lounges all their lives, and in an emergency, couldn’t walk anymore from lack of use.  We went out and bought a pedometer the next day so we could be assured we were not becoming too car-oriented. 10,000 steps a day is so do-able, we used to do it just doing errands in the house and neighborhood. We also are bypassing Daytona Beach to find “walkable beaches” where we have the freedom to walk without fear of getting hit by moving vehicles.