Tripping, Part II

[Note: yes, we have pictures. No, they're not into the computer yet--we've barely mastered the art of taking digital photos (or rather, Eva has), but at least to my knowledge we haven't introduced the camera to the computer and let them become friends. This will be rectified tomorrow: I have a Spousal Promise. In the meantime, I have no alternative but to try and peddle word-pictures: a poor substitute, no doubt.]

We arrived at the Pelican Beach Resort in Destin, Florida shortly after two o'clock local time. I thought I had missed the sign telling travellers they'd entered the Central time zone, but as it turns out there isn't one. (???) This was four hours sooner than I'd planned, due in part to leaving an hour earlier than scheduled each morning and in larger part to the braincramp I had designing our route planner, having added a hundred miles to the distance between Birmingham and Montgomery, Ala. (That state is plenty big enough, thank y'all very much.)
Yup, by this point my vowels had started to elongate. My speech was starting to mirror that of the people around me, all of whom seemed to be residents of Tara, and I no longer found the drawl irritating but rather charming. Everybody was friendly, whether they were paid to be or not, and it got me thinking about stereotypes. My own country was supposed to be the friendly, polite one: Canada's routinely caricatured as the country that wouldn't say shit if it had a mouthful. (Well, except in the South Park movie--there, it seems all we do is swear).
But down here in the Soww-th I'm very quickly convinced that we in Canada have a lot to learn about friendly and polite. For one thing, asshole drivers are at an absolute minimum. Even the speed demons are patient speed demons: they're perfectly willing to let you get past that transport you're passing and move over before they whip by you. For another thing, people will just up and talk to you in elevators, on the street, wherever. That doesn't happen in southern Ontario, in my experience--people that friendly are almost always simple-minded. Sad, isn't it?

Dad's resort is a revelation. I can see why my Aunt Dawna and her fiance Barry decided to stay out the season after having originally come down there for only a couple of weeks. It fronts directly on the Gulf of Mexico: the surf is a constant low drone and dolphins and pelicans are daily visitors. Both suites are on the 17th floor (called the 18th: when will the human race get over its aversion to the number thirteen?) and the views are nothing short of spectacular. The hallways are all outside, which means thrills and chills for the height-averse among us, most notably my wife and my aunt.
Pelican Beach is convenient to everything and loaded with facilities: indoor/outdoor pool, fitness centre, hot tub, sauna, steam room. We stayed at my aunt's two-bedroom unit (thanks again, Aunt Dawna!) which has ensuite laundry, two bathrooms, and a huge balcony offering a panorama of Destin and the Gulf. Dad's balcony is practically over the water and you can see the sun rise and set above the surf.
But it's that beach that captivates. The sand is gleaming white and it stretches for miles and miles in both directions.
After three days I can very easily see myself as a snowbird in my later years. The weather is perfect: mostly sunny with highs in the low twenties Celsius and night-time lows around ten degrees. (It can get surprisingly cold down there this time of year: tonight's low is -1). But the pleasant weather is just one small part of it. Notwithstanding the melee out on highway 98, the place is peaceful in the extreme.

The prices down here, particularly in grocery stores, have to be seen to be believed...and sometimes even seeing them won't help. Here's a random sampling of dairy/frozen items (you just had to know I'd be looking). Note that these are regular prices. These items are not on sale.

*1 dozen large white eggs, $1.22
*1 gallon (3.78 L) 2% milk, $3.49...buy one, get one free, every day
*Michelina's frozen entrees, 98 cents
*Philadelphia cream cheese, 236 grams, $1.64
*Kraft Singles cheese slices, pack 24, $1.78
*Haagen-Dazs ice cream, 500g tub, $2.76

I could go on. Many food items retail for about half what you'd expect to pay in a Canadian grocery store.

And then there's the clothing. One chain we visited called Bealls was having a two-day senior's event, for which 15% was knocked off your total bill. Fair enough...but then concurrent with this sale was another one, with many items 30, 40, or even 50% off. And if you wanted even more savings, you could apply for a credit card and get 10% more off. I have a new summer wardrobe thanks (much thanks) to my dad and stepmom.
Oh, yeah: a "senior", as far as Bealls is concerned, is 50 or over. I'm less than fifteen years away.

We had a grand time shopping the myriad stores in Destin, and an even better time relaxing in the suite with Dad and Hez, Aunt Dawna and Barry. It's just plain nice down here, and having them here makes it all the nicer.

It's not all perfect in what Allan Fotheringham always called The Excited States, mind you. I'm here for NHL trade deadline day, one of the high holy days of a hockey fan's year, and despite there being--last I looked--not one but two NHL teams in this state, hockey is barely an afterthought. I had to watch what seemed like hours of college basketball just so the ticker would come around to a limited selection of NHL scores and news. Not even pro basketball, which I could maybe understand, but minor league college crap.
(Props to the Northwest Florida Daily News, the little newspaper at our door by four in the morning each day. It's tiny, befitting a town of twelve thousand, but there's world news in it, even a story from Canada each day, and lo and behold, NHL hockey scores.)
But it's gotta be hard for a hockey fan to cope as the winter progresses. My dad's best friend Monty, who is also in the same building, really misses his beloved Leafs. He's always the first to know the score, despite the media near-blackout. Well, it's always good to have a member in good standing of Leafs Nation positioned on the beaches of Florida.

Another absence is felt even more strongly. There are a few Tim Horton's scattered throughout a few of the northern states (fewer than there are on one side of my street, for joe's sake!) but none down here where they're really needed. It's puzzling. It seems like half the population of Canada buggers off to Florida every year. The first guy to open a bunch of Timmies in the Sunshine State will be able to buy the Sunshine State in very short order.
There isn't even a poor man's substitute for a Tim Horton's along most of the length of I-75. What, do these Americans not drink coffee?
We did manage to visit one corporate store in Middletown, Ohio, both going and coming. Just doing our little bit, you understand. The large coffee is bigger than an extra-large in Canada, the breakfast sandwiches aren't toasted and--God, it's depressing--both times I went in there, I placed my order, had it filled, and left without seeing a single solitary other customer. Fellow Canadians can attest: that just don't happen here. Coming back yesterday morning, we went in to get our dearly missed coffee fix and found they'd had 00002 winners so far in Rrroll Up The Rim To WIN! By contrast, the Tim's we visited mere hours later, just this side of Windsor, had had 157.

One chain I CAN heartily recommend in the Southern U.S. is Jameson Inns. I will sing the praises of this hotel chain to all who will listen and a few who won't.
We stayed our first night at a substandard Ramada Inn in Middletown, Ohio. Good thing I had found and clipped a coupon in a traveller's magazine, or we would have paid $100 for a lumpy mattress, very few TV channels, and a really horrid bathroom, with no cold water and a light that flickered like something out of a horror movie.
So our second night, in Cleveland, TN, we resolved to do better. Following Dave Hunter's recommendation in Along I-75, we pulled into the Jameson Inn high on the hill. Before we even got out of the car, Eva predicted we'd be paying $120, minimum, for our night's stay. The place just had that aura about it: spotlessly clean and luxurious.
$77.00. After all taxes. For that, we got a room about the same size as the Ramada, with a 25" TV and a full channel lineup. Jameson Inn has "Dreamium" beds, which are damn near the equal of the bed we have here at home, and they come with five pillows. Before I'd even gone to bed I had perused their hotel locator and selected our stopping point for the trip back.
The Louisville, KY room was more expensive--$102--but that got us everything we'd seen in Cleveland plus a microwave, a fridge, and a positively huge work centre, the biggest I've ever seen in a hotel room.
No, this is how unique Jameson Inns are: they have a money back policy, no questions asked, if you are unsatisfied with your stay in any way. Amazing.

Our trip home was done in two days instead of three, saving some time by taking I-65 through Tennessee and Kentucky, but even so the drive blurred. We were dodging serious weather at every turn, having missed the tornado that levelled the high school in Enterprise, AL by about an hour, battling winds and rain for most of the trip and encountering snow squalls once we got back into Canada. Total fuel costs were just over $110 and that counted the fill-up in Woodstock at a ludicrous $105.9/litre once we got back.

Now we're home, reunited with a very relieved Tux and Georgia, who spent an eventful week at Auntie Suzie's place (thank you so much, Sue: we owe you big time). Our driveway was clear thanks to our friends Mindy and Jamie, who also took care of our cats and kept an eye on the house, and a hearty thank-you goes out to them, as well. But the biggest thanks of all must be reserved for my family--you didn't have to pay for everything, guys!--who, never mind the stuff, showered us with love and warmth that was at least the equal of the Florida sun.

Thank you. Very much.

Pictures tomorrow: I promise.