On to Key West

After visiting the Salvador Dali Museum in St. Petersburg, Florida, we head south to the "Keys".

It was raining and overcast for much of our trip, therefore the pictures are not as vivid as they would have been had it been a bright sunny day.

Near Naples, this was what the beaches looked like, mile after mile.


This is what Sandy worried about for weeks prior to the trip.

 

Flying over the alligator infested "Everglades".

95 miles of following the bridges and "Keys".

In the "Keys", everybody lives on the water.


The local tradition is to drink to the setting sun.

Are we to buck the local tradition?

Not!

If you are going to drink, you also have to eat.
Waiting for the sun to set.
As the marker states, this is the southern most spot in the United States.

It is only 90 miles from Cuba.

A few years ago we rode our motorcycle to within 90 miles of Cuba (to the northeast corner of the Yucatan Peninsula, in Mexico),

I wonder if we will ever make it to Cuba?


When you visit the "Key's", I do believe that it is mandatory to eat "Key Lime" pie.

At least that was our rationale.

We rented two high performance scooters to wreak havoc on Key West.

Tom and Julie's scooter was Ducati Red and our was Ducati Yellow.

At least it was a safe color!

Tourist are crawling all over the island with cameras and videos.
The few beaches in Key West are pretty, and are not crowded.

Being as we were on a vacation, we also visited the local historical sites.

This was the fort which protected the Keys during the 1700's and 1800's.

As the sign states, this was the birthplace of Pan American World Airways.

That was back when most of the airlines consisted mainly of float planes.


We also visited the home of Ernest Hemingway.  

He was away the day we stopped by.

This is not the place to visit if you are allergic to cats.

There were 60+ cats roaming around.

Mister Hemingway's "Art Deco" style bathroom.
The guest room.

No, we were not invited to stay.

What's with the rope?

The balconies, which circled the house, reminded me of how homes are built in Hawaii and Costa Rica.
This is where Ernest wrote many of his most famous books.
Julie, scanning the gardens of the home.

Note the light house located across the street from the home.

It, most likely, would have been hard to sleep with the bright blinking light rotating all night long.

It was probably best that we were not invited to stay overnight.

The house.
We found out later, Ernest was out fishing.

The house, from the garden.


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