West Palm Beach, Florida

Nashville this morning was cold, windy and rainy with dark ominous clouds. I find a very different scene upon my arrival here in West Palm Beach, FL - bright sunshine over clear skies and 88 degrees. I was not looking forward to the weather on my way here. I think of south Florida as being humid and hot. After leaving the terminal and heading outside, I find it surprisingly pleasant. It’s warm, but in a good way. There’s a breeze that is clean, ocean smelling and refreshing. It’s beautiful.

I’m here for a show at the Cruzan Amphitheater. The weather continues to be great. After a beautiful sunset, the evening stays very pleasant with that fresh breeze still blowing. I happen upon a new food item here for me. It’s an Arepas. It is two yellow sweet corn cakes, like thick cornbread or hoecakes, griddle fried with mozzarella in between them. The lady at the stand says it originates in Venezuela. They can be filled with various sweet or savory fillings. She says they also have them in Columbia where they are called Chapas and are made with white corn. Pretty tasty.

After the show, I head to the Hotel Biba, check in around 11:00 p.m., then head out to find dinner. I drive to Clematis Street. I’ve read that is a popular area in Palm Beach. It’s nice that it’s not crazy or feels unsafe here, just busy nightlife. There is a steady stream of traffic down Clematis Street past clubs booming dance music and people eating at sidewalk tables. Many people walking up and down the street are in their going out clothes. I see lots of “too” outfits: too tight and too short - not always flattering!

I’m on the search for food. I find Pizza Luna, a by-the-slice pizza place open to the street, joining in with their own booming dance music. I get a diet Coke and a slice of bacon pizza so big it hangs off both ends of the paper plate. Grabbing a table on the sidewalk, I sit down to enjoy some great pizza under a beautiful starlit night sky. The palm trees are swaying in the breeze. It’s 73 degrees. I now see why people come here for the winter. It’s like spring in the northern parts of the country.

The Hotel Biba is a boutique hotel that has all of the qualities you would expect in a hip hotel near the beach. It has a small number of rooms and has landscaped courtyards of palm trees and tropical plants with slate walks. The rooms appear to be from the forties with modern artistic furniture and retro colors – seafoam green walls with purple trim in the bedroom and salmon walls with yellow tile in the bathroom.

On Sunday morning, I get going early to have time to explore Palm Beach a little before heading to the airport. After enjoying the continental breakfast at Hotel Biba, with some nice touches like Cuban pastries and Tazo tea, I head north on Olive Street, then cut east on Okeechobee onto Palm Beach. The very large pristine white and sand colored buildings and immaculate palm tree lined streets leave no doubt that I have entered a different neighborhood. The beach is gorgeous. With cooler weather today, breezy and sixties, it’s refreshing and invigorating. The beach itself is a little more rustic feeling than I imagined. It's really nice. A family or two are out enjoying the beach or running their dog. I drive farther down Royal Palm Street to discover the villas, compounds, and mansions facing the Atlantic.

Hotel Biba:

It’s been a nice weekend here in West Palm Beach. It exceeded my expectations. I would definitely return again, especially this time of year.

Portland, Maine

I’ve wanted to return to Maine for some time. I’m hopeful the leaves are still on the trees. One of my most memorable sights was approaching Bangor by air a few years ago in October. The maple trees were brilliant with red, yellow, and orange leaves in the late afternoon sunlight. I’ve never seen anything that brilliant before or since.

Fortunately, even though the prime time was probably two weeks earlier, many of the leaves are still on the trees. A driver picks me up at the airport to take me to the Portland Regency Hotel in the Old Port District. The hotel is a former Armory built in 1895. The rooms are appointed nicely and the staff very professional. A brick street roundabout in front of the hotel along with the surrounding period buildings complete the experience of being in an old, historic neighborhood.

After checking in to the hotel, I have a cab called to take me to the venue. After ten minutes of driving, we arrive at the venue where the show was going to be. I call, get the address of where the show really is and head in the right direction. The driver is a friendly guy who kindly and voluntarily clears the meter and gives me a fresh start. He is typical of the nice folks I meet in Portland.

Following the show, it’s a late night at Denny’s with all of the bands and people from the show eating breakfast and telling stories until 1:30 a.m.

The next morning, I have some explore time before my flight. It’s chilly and overcast, cold enough to need a warm coat and earmuffs. There are nice shops in this part of the city tucked in mostly late 1800’s, early 1900’s buildings. The influence of the French makes itself apparent in some of the architecture. The sea, of course, shows its influence. The weather vane on top of city hall is of a sailing shape covered in gold leaf.

After going up and down the streets of the Old Port district, I head toward the docks to see the real work of the lobster business. After walking down a gravel road between a row of old buildings, I come across this lobster pound. Inside, restaurateurs and chefs shop for seafood, a half dozen men with long knives fillet buckets of fish, and this gentleman is sorting lobsters by weight. Almost all he sorts by sight. Every now and then he’ll set on on the scale that’s too close to call.

After leaving the shop, I head closer to the water. At the water’s edge, I see a light haired sea lion come to the surface and arch back out into the water out of sight. I then look up and see this lobster boat coming in to the harbor.

Both of these fisherman are dressed for the weather:


Loading the lobsters into baskets to haul up to the dock:

It’s time to head for home. A lobster roll bought at the airport is my last taste of Portland. I'm already looking forward to my next trip back here.