Things I do not love about Sanibel:
The food.
It takes forever to get anywhere and you have to take the
same damn road behind all these slow old Florida drivers in their white cars.
It is white white white.
(More on that later.)
One of the big activities to do here is kayak around the Sound
side of the island. There are lots of
mangrove swamps and islands, and you might see manatees and dolphins and other
jumping fish and you will definitely see about a billion birds. If you follow Kristy’s advice, and ask the
old guy at the marina who will confirm it, you will want to find the little
water path into the mangrove swamp on Buck Key, where even more natural
delights await. But you shouldn’t follow
Kristy’s advice when she gives it to you the night you arrive and forgets that
you are staying at the place on Sanibel not the place on Captiva because it
turns out to be like a five-mile kayak, the second half of which is against the
wind in the Sound and during which you are in some danger of being swamped or
swept back into the mangroves and it takes about two hours and you are so
pissed at your husband for blithely following this advice that when he says “I
have three things to say” you respond with “You are not allowed to say anything
unless it is how to find a faster way back.” And he shuts the heck up.
At one point during this odyssey three osprey started flying
along with us (or as Peter noted, just holding still in the air because the
wind was that strong). It was unclear if
they were concerned about us, or were waiting for us to die so they could pick
us up like giant fish and take us back to their nests to feed their young.
My boat-mate Izzy, who was strong and intrepid, suggested
that we sing songs to make the time go and the work easier, and so we went with
the old Civil War lineup – Goober Peas, Battle Hymn of the Republic, Yellow
Rose of Texas, and I’m a Good Old Rebel.
Why didn’t you sing some camp songs, said Peter? The only one I could think of was the Titanic
song, she replied, and I didn’t think that was appropriate.
But we survived and felt that our efforts permitted us to
eat a vast quantity of pretty good fried chicken at the Pecking Order. And now it is a story.
Needless to
say, that afternoon was spent sklathing around on the beach. But later we went over to the Gertsens’ place
in the correctly-named Chateaux Sur Mer neighborhood (we scholars of French
were pleased with the proper pluralization and correct use of accents in street
names like Rue Hélène). There we hung
out with the senior Gertsens (who are looking pretty great), the
soon-to-be-at-Harvard Emma, and Kristy and Gil, and were treated quite nicely
to cocktails and snacks and alligator babies and a really lovely sunset on the
beach near their house. Not to mention
the driving of their 25 year-old golf cart which might be the highlight of
Izzy’s trip. Also, Kristy’s mom Carol
gives us lots of good ideas for things to do, that will surely show us what is
here, here.
The day ends
on a high note as we find a bar with hockey on TV and we don’t feel quite so
far away from home.
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