Dear Hotel,
I slept in your pull out bed once again last night. It was an adventure. Sincerely, Walking Around Like I've Been Pummeled by a Shovel. Today, after several cups of free coffee, I head down to the pool with my little sister, who is clearly ecstatic about this. She is waddling out of the elevator in her striped swim suit with her water toys in tow.
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Ok, so that paradise thing? I could have been wrong about that. For one, the pull out couch-bed was like sleeping on tree bark. Secondly, no-see-ums? They’re seriously nasty little buggers and they’re everywhere.
On the other hand, it’s sunny and eighty five. The palm trees sway in the slight sweet salty breeze that plays off the ocean, and there’s complimentary coffee downstairs twenty four-seven. So I grab a cup (or three), sit on the balcony with my G-2 and notepad, and contentedly wait for my herd to get up. It is fall back home in Maryland. The air is crisp, the foliage becomes one endless stretch of burning sunset, and leaves fall slowly, like first snow, to the ground.
But where we're headed, this season pretty much does not exist. My burned-out, palm-tree seeking family has decided to spend a week away, on a trip to Ft. Myers, Florida, and despite many, many trips to the Techni-color peninsula, I had never been to this neck of the beach. It was said to be a wealthy, tropical, foodie paradise, given its proximity to Naples. (Which had to be as good as its Italian counterpart, right?) At home, expectations soaring, I dreamed of long stretches of cerulean beach, loud, thudding bass lines on the evening streets, beautiful bodies in sunshine, and even more beautiful foods. Sort of like South Beach! But with a Nordstrom. This is what ensued. |
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