Key West Address

It began with our arrival in Miami just before dusk, followed by a four-hour hopscotch drive through from key to key with the Atlantic Ocean to our left, the Gulf of Mexico to our right. The 150-mile drive terminated at the end of Duval Street, the last 500 yards of which was a carnival with a distinct Bourbon Street feel to it. The kids rolled down the car windows, wide-eyed with wonder.

We arrived around midnight at Ocean Key Resort, which is at the opposite end of Duval from the southern-most hotel on the continental U.S. Duval begins on the Atlantic and ends at the Gulf. It’s the only party in the world that I know of that divides two seas. When we woke up the following morning, we discovered that our balcony overlooked Sunset Key and a mooring field where dozens of sailboats were weathervaning in the sea breeze. My wife broke out her first Diet Pepsi while I put the hotel coffeemaker to work. For an hour we just sat at the glass table, recovering from a day of travel, completely mesmerized by the view.

The first day we wandered the streets of Key West, orienting ourselves, trying to separate the locals from the visitors, trying to figure out exactly what kind of people live here. By our reckoning, it’s largely boat operators, charter fishermen, and an army of service industry folks who prepare rooms, restaurants and watercraft for people just like us. No surprise here. But there were also street performers and a significant number of artists and artisans – especially painters. The sun had clearly taken its toll on the skin of those who worked on the water. The artisans were generally less weathered; fashioning jewelry and painting Key West mangroves and sunsets were sidelines. One lady who made ladies handbags was a loan originator at a local bank. We also came across a haberdashery.

On our walk we came across several "gypsy chickens" who also call this island home. Word has it that they are descendants of cockfighting roosters originally from Cuba. Cockfighting was banned here in the 1970s, so the chickens spending their days strutting about the streets like everyone else here.

In the afternoon the family and I hung out at the pool which overlooked five or six keys on the western horizon. Tired and a little drunk, we mindlessly watched boat traffic transit between the Atlantic and the Gulf. Soon we livened up as our kids splashed and Mom and Dad knocked back margaritas served in plastic cups. The second day Jennifer took in a two-hour massage while I absorbed more margaritas. Afterward, while walking down Eaton, a street vendor announced discounts on a snorkeling-jet-skiing-banana-boating-parasailing-water-trampolining excursion. Adults: $129; kids: $75. It also came with a sunset cruise on a catamaran that departed in a few hours.

The catamaran cruise turned out to be a slow sail with an open bar and 52 strangers. The mainsail went up in a light breeze, and the engines idled but never shut down. Furthermore, the main was the only sail to go up; the jib, apparently, was thought unnecessary. I’d never actually sailed on a catamaran, so I was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic as about what this experience actually promised; even now I still feel as though I’ve never sailed on a catamaran. In any event, the following day promised to be good old-fashioned stupid fun.

I’m not one for playing in or on the ocean as though it were a swimming pool or bath tub. Jet skis, water skiing, banana boating are not my thing. I’m embarrassed to say that I’m kind of uppity about it. In some weird way, in spite of all the action and excitement I find it dull. These are things anyone can do in any amusement park. Why waste a vacation on the ocean with something you can do at Six Flags? My wife and kids, however, don't see it this way. And this vacation, my wife explained before we left, wasn't all about me. Confused and saddened, I asked: "Then what's it all about?"

I have yet to get an answer. But I'll be sure to report back the moment I do.