St. Auggie's a tasty casserole layered with 500 years of Spanish history, iced Atlantic and our AirBnB rental cut-and-pasted from a Nicholas Sparks beach flick.
The core of the oldest city in America is St. George Street, a lanky lane of limestone shops selling handmade leather sandals and jewelry, sea shells, thin crust pizzas and brew pubs. We shuffled the bricks for hours, egged on by Kilwins honey-roasted pecans and a tall latte. Curls gave in to a Japanese silk bracelet, Pigtails a lead paint mood ring. I poured another bag of sugar pecans down my hole.
Florida's a sticky hot mess, we needed a cold treat to whack the humidity. The web guided us to The Hyppo, fighting sweaty armpit rings with flash-frozen popsicles made from natural fruit juice. I sucked a spicy-cool mango habanero, the girls did strawberry basil and key lime.
What possess a full grown man to ride a pair of back-pocket bedazzled Silvers? Does not compute.
Next door is the Lightner Museum, another relic of show-off-pants Flagler. We opted out, instead squatting outside feeding koi in the courtyard shaded by palms. Bit-by-bit Pigtails lobbed morsels at the sloshing swimmers. Holy happenstance, we didn't realize in a few days she'd help lay the same scene on canvas in an art gallery hundreds of miles away along the Gulf of Mexico.
Like a boss.
Marked our territory with umbrella and boogie boards, then set out for a barefoot 6er. Ran 100 yards, the sand was granulated concrete, so I spun back, laced up the Asics and got it done.
Pigtails was entranced by the ocean, Curls doesn't know how to swim, I returned from the trot coated in hot grease and dove in straightaway. Sucked air at waist level as the cold water shriveled my boys into ovaries.
We brought along a plastic shovel and bucket from the buck bin at Targhetto, Pigtails filled it with shells and all sorts of wet treasures.
Wide open sand and no tacky high-rise 'tels jacking up the horizon, I'd like a second helping, please.
The thunder rolled in mid-afternoon, we were okay with leaving since a five hour sun-broast on our pasty Iowa skin was enough.
seen the outside, here's the innards of our rental:
Refreshed and hungry, we trounced on St. George St. for din', bubbles and fort Castillo de San Marcos.
Next post, we'll drive over to Sarasota along the west coast of Florida.