Clearwater 2007

Today I head for the sun and the sand.  Or something like that.

Last year, when Ace and I traveled to Clearwater, we were charmed to find our trip to Florida really felt like a trip South.

The Atlanta airport features a looooong row of what must be 50 identical white rocking chairs. 

Every one was in use.

In the Tampa airport, instead of having "Women's" and "Men's" rooms, the washrooms were designated thusly.

Oh, I do declare.

Clearwater itself is an interesting place.  The town itself feels like a grungy tourist trap - as I've been looking for a place to stay for this weekend, the reviews on various travel sites overwhelmingly talk about dingy dumpy divey motels with swayback beds, careless managers and roaches.  The restaurants were expensive, with uninspired, fried food that was doubtless trucked in from elsewhere.  It's the home of Hooters. 

We liked the place where we stayed, but the cantina next door kept us awake at night and construction traffic rumbled us awake early in the mornings.

But all of these criticisms seemed beside the point when you got to the beach. 

The beach was amazing - white and delicate as superfine sugar.  It wasn't necessarily warm in November, not because the sun didn't shine, but because it was extremely breezy. 

As a result, an industry of cabanas exists. 

Brightly colored half-shell tents that block the wind blasting in from the coast are sprinkled around the beaches like jimmies on a vanilla cupcake.  In their shelter, it feels like a warm day at the beach, and you peel down to shorts and a bikini top.  As soon as you step to one side, though, you quickly have to put on a sweatshirt and a jacket.

Unfortunately, the cabanas are not a service of the city, as they really ought to be for tourism purposes, but are $10/hour operations run by (it seems) local establishments (like hotels who have their own) or just individual entrepeneurs, who drive out in the morning with a truckload and load them back up in the evening.

Anyway, my trip this year is just a quickie, I'll be home Sunday.  Wish me luck. 

Comments

[Vaguely Urban]

Be safe, have fun, kick some iron ass with your iron feet. i love you!