March to Florida, part 1

Waiting for a Plane

March 16, 2012

I haven't seen a dolphin in a year, so I'm at Newark Liberty waiting for a plane to Atlanta. After a three-hour layover, another plane will take me to Sarasota. 

The weather outside the terminal here is foggy and wet. Not rain exactly, but a thick mist. Very moody and lots of fun. It's the kind of weather that makes you want to put on your trench coat and pretend you're French.

Even so, I am looking forward to the sunshine over Anna Maria. Also the blue-green waters. I expect my primary activities during the next few days are to pedal a bicycle, paddle a kayak, and drink beer. 

It feels great to be on the move again. I haven't been out of state since last month. (New York City doesn't count. They pay me to go there.) And better yet, it's Florida, which is very strange. It always feels like being out of the country. Maybe it is.

And I haven't been out of the country since January. 

So far everything is going without a hitch. I didn't need my passport, which makes me think that Florida may not be outside the country. I remembered to toss my folding knife into my checked luggage. I didn't put another one in my vest pocket. 

I am wearing a vest with a buckle in the back. It shows up in the scan as an alarming square in the middle of my back. This happened once before, in Los Angeles on my way home from Thailand. Metal collar stays, by the way, don't show up at all. 

Delta representatives at the gate are starting to talk to us.

It is just about time to shut down and climb aboard.

Hello from Anna Maria

March 16

I got a little more seasoning as a traveler today: There's no need to get anxious because it doesn’t get you there any sooner. 

The flight was about an hour and a half late getting out of Newark this morning. According to an announcement on the plane, the fog and wet were to blame. I think there were people who missed connecting flights. I wasn’t one of them, so I can’t complain.

I still had plenty of time for the connection in Atlanta because the original schedule called for a layover of three hours. I also remembered Amsterdam, standing in lines for a day and a half because there was little else to do. I was chemically mellowed then. I think it has not quite worn off. 

We sat for extra time in the plane. I got up to stretch and let my joints creak at one point, took a couple of deep breaths, and was fine.

My first adventure of this trip was in the in-flight magazine, an ad headlined “The smartest investement you might ever make (and eat),” complete with typo. It’s for FoodInsurance.com, which offers freeze-dried foods that the ad assures us will retain their gourmet taste for 25 years. The hook is the Halloween blizzard that brought down trees and power lines. The highlighted product is a backpack with a two weeks’ food supply for $199. If there is ever an October snow storm in the next quarter century and you have that, you are good to go. Or stay, as necessary under the circumstances.  

When I got to Atlanta, there was plenty of time. So I was able to have breakfast there around 12:30--a sandwich and a couple of beers. One was Stella Artois, and the other was a locally brewed pale ale called Sweetwater.  Stella is always good. The pale ale had a nice edge, kind of spicy, which I always taste in a good ale.

They were pushing the wines hard. There was a card on the bar describing the spring wines. Chenin blanc was “Tropical fruit, guava, and melon aromas. Crisp and bold sweet citrus backed by refreshing acidity and minerality.” The Pinotage, “A modern style of pinotage. Backed with full red berry flavors, touches of cinnamon, spice, and toasted marshmallows.” Toasted marshmallows? All right, what do I know? I was drinking the beer.

The plane out of Atlanta was also late. About the time it was scheduled to shove off, people from the previous flight were still filing in through the gate. Delta turned it around fast, and we were taxiing out at most a half hour behind schedule. After two beers, I slept most of the way to Sarasota.

                            Flying maize at the Delta gate in Atlanta.

Jamy and Bob met me at the terminal. My bag made the transfer and here I am. We stopped at the Cortez Clam Factory, where the raw oysters may be legendary for all I know. I have first-hand knowledge that they should be.

We stopped at a Publix supermarket, which had a surprising array of beers and ale. I haven’t tried the Sierra Nevada stout yet, or the bottled Blue Point toasted lager, which are cooling in the refrigerator. I’m drinking Sierra Nevada pale ale now, because that was available cold.

The sky is getting dark. I am sitting at a table outdoors behind Jamy and Bob’s apartment. There are palm trees and other living things, maybe mangroves or whatever. (I hope to find out what they are.) They are all around me. There is a mild, refreshing breeze from the Gulf of Mexico.

The yard is covered in white gravel. I hear the asymmetrical drone of the neighbors’ air conditioner. Today’s photo is of Jamy and Bob on the patio of their apartment in Anna Maria.

I am somewhere else. I have a mild buzz on. I am happy.