Day One: Invasion: Friday
Couldn’t
have arrived in Florida with finer omens. We landed 20 minutes sooner than
predicted (Favorable conditions), the flight was only ¾ full (with NO screaming
brat immediately in front or behind) and the weather was clear and bright
(albeit searing).
The
lady at the car rental counter and I just happened to share a birthdate. That,
coupled with Angie and my politeness and charm yielded us a degree of good
fortune. Immediately sought out by a charismatic gent in the garage, we were
escorted past the rows of Sentras and butt-ugly Chrysler 200s and presented with
a very handsome and classy 2012, gunmetal gray metallic Camry, just washed. Oh
yes, my new garage pal, Greg was tipped well.
With my
trusty Magellan GPS hooked up, we never set a wheel wrong. The car feels as big
as my Buick and soaked up highway miles like a dream. I need a name for this
temporary steed. We bonded quickly.
Florida
drivers are relatively courteous. No doubt a surprise to couple trained in the
take-no-prisoners New England school. This may have something to do with a
State Trooper positioned every ten miles, but whatever, I like the end result.
Other
than a swarm of bugs that had my trusty (and still unnamed) chariot covered in
a gooey glaze of deceased insect parts, the ride was straight and true with my
lovely wife hoppin’ and boppin’ to classic rock, pouring from the unnamed
Camry’s impressive sound system. A quick stop at a gas station for bottled
water and a serious windshield squeegee cleared most of the carnage. A brief
but substantial rain squall took care of the rest.
Since
we were both excited to see the place, the view, the layout (Ok, we wanted the
use of a private bathroom), we headed straight to Jensen beach.
There,
the story got better.
The
place, a corner unit with an ocean-facing deck that can house a couple
shuffleboard courts, came complete with a dining set and a pair of lounge
chairs. I am writing this journal from the table now, soaking in the sound of
surf and enjoying the morning breeze. Too bad if you’re jealous, this is our
vacation/honeymoon.
Tasteful
and roomy inside as well, I can’t imagine a better place to stay for the week.
‘Condo’ doesn’t seem to do it justice, not with a wonderful Bose wave sound
system (already well-used) and three giant televisions (that I have yet to even
turn on). They may have to ply me out of this place with a SWAT team by next
Friday.
Regardless,
the palace did not come equipped with food, necessitating a supply run and
sustenance. I’d stupidly not eaten anything other than a blueberry muffin 12
hours earlier and was ready to gnaw my own arm off. This, coupled with the lack
of vacation/honeymoon beverages, desperately needed to be addressed. This late
lunch (NE Seafood – what the hell was I thinking?) was underwhelming but the
good nature of everyone outweighed the overdone haddock.
Since
we are familiar with the place, a 'super' WalMart cut down the shopping for
items. I was forced to remind my significant other that we are situated on the
sixth floor of the complex, so the services of Sherpa’s may be needed. She
looked at me and smiled, her expression saying “did you think I just brought
you along for your charming company?”
We made
to the room in one trip. My arms are now five feet long but there is beer in
the fridge.
After
unpacking, unwinding and unthinking, we started to explore our beachside
surroundings. Nothing disappointed. That water is warm and the beach is long
and awaits a pleasant walk.
But
first things first. My lovely bride had gone 3 whole days without pizza by
eight pm and was showing visible signs of cheese deprivation. Out of concern
for her well-being, we walked the quarter mile to a small pizzeria with the
obvious name of Surfside Pizzeria Bar and Grill. Two pizza snobs would normally
approach a place like this with some trepidation, but only one of us was
operating at optimal non-pizza starved efficiency.
Looks
and expectations can often be wrong, as was the case here.
The
bartended and part-owner, a charismatic type named Bill, takes an admirable
pride in his pizza and Italian food prowess. As well he should. It turns out
Bill is a displaced New Yorker, a land where a pizza slight can get you killed.
Regardless, the locals seem more interested with less swarthy fare, seeking
gravy covered items poised next to mounds of mashed potatoes.
Bill is
about to have the spotlight of two serious pizza aficionados cast upon him. He
matches our steely gaze, takes our ingredient combination order (which he
admitted had never heard before) and, in the nature of an Italian gunslinger,
came out shooting.
In the
end, it was two NH snobs that had blinked. We ordered green olives, broccoli,
sausage and bacon, FOOLISHLY omitting the one item that would have made this
pie perfect – onions. The barkeep gunslinger was generous in victory, however.
Then, as if an otherwise delightful pizza wasn’t enough, he sunk the hooks
deep.
This
man, 1500 miles away from his native turf, surrounded by chicken fried steak
enthusiasts, had – homemade cannoli. Again the steely gaze came. Again he
smiled knowingly and headed off to the kitchen. Again, out perceptions were
shattered. They were very good (3rd best I ever had) and Bill has
two big fans now.
In
palatial surrounding, relaxed, stuffed, comfy and knowing that very acceptable
pizza is available close by, our long delayed honeymoon had so far been a
raging success.
That
brings me back to the deck, soaking in copious UV rays and wondering what today
holds in store.
I can
hardly wait…
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