After arriving on this continent from Germany, I lived for two years in Florida. It was 1952 and I was 11, an impressionable age. I had to learn English, joined the Boy Scouts, and loved the simple life and nature that Florida offered then. We lived north of Eau Gallie with two-lane US 1 between our house and the Indian River. Our air was conditioned by day and night breezes and the fishing was only a few yards away.
Today, our former house is gone, replaced by a bridge across the Indian River. US 1 is four lanes surrounded by ugly development. Eau Gallie has been swallowed up by Melbourne and is no longer on the map. Gone is the Oleander Hotel where my parents went dancing on weekends while I listened to the crackling of the high voltage of the neon signs and watched the bugs get zapped. Only the elementary school and the Ice Plant remain and fortunately, the memory of those times.
Florida has become the playground for developers. I drove on several six lane roads to nowhere beckoning developers to develop the surrounding land, often orange groves and cattle farms. Most of the seashore on the east and west side of Florida has been developed into one glob of faceless communities.
Route A1A must be the richest stretch of road in the US. It is also the most relaxing to drive at 25, 35 mph, if you’ve got the time. The alternatives are the crowded, stressful 70 mph interstate highways chock full of trucks and ex-New Yorkers. Most main roads are bordered by seemingly endless alternations of decaying and new shopping centers.
The Orlando area reminds me of Los Angeles in its traffic. Though if you live in the old part of town where friends John and Anna Scolero live, life seems more livable and less hectic with much variety. Why, it’s downright vibrant (for those following the Columbia downtown development). The new downtown Orlando, however, seems like a mini Manhattan.
Miami Beach seems to have avoided the out-of-place 50 story condos visible in some communities north of it. New condo buildings in South Beach are more limited in height. Most importantly, the Art Deco neighborhood remains and keeps attracting admirers who want to walk, shop, dine or just swim in the clear ocean waters near a clean beach. East coast beaches, in general, if not cleaned periodically are full of plastic and beverage container litter. Our old college days spring fling destination, Jupiter Island, though still little changed, now has a disappointingly littered seashore.
On the west coast I visited old college buddy Julius and good looker and cooker wife Steffi and was given a real-estate tour in their area. I was amazed at the fine construction quality and low prizes compared to Howard County. I also learned from first-hand experience how it is to listen to your house and boat getting damaged while hurricane Charley passes overhead.
After pitching my tent in a state campground on the western end of the Everglades on a Thursday, I proceeded to the restored old part of Naples in search of some food. What a surreal scene I found: busy streets of pedestrians listening to musicians in six separate locations, dozens of outdoor dining opportunities, a parade of upscale cars and a homogeneous white crowd of average age 65. Was this a Disney Land for the upper income AARP crowd?
Friends and interesting hosts, Carolyn and Owen Thompson, recently retired, showed me their housing choices in Indian Rocks north of St. Pete Beach. This area is a pleasant mix of old and new but surprisingly more expensive than Punta Gorda. Of course being near your children is priceless.
A real disappointment was the planned and much talked-about community of Seaside near Destin. I thought that it was a real community but it turned out to be a second home community with ½ of the 600 homes, rentals and only 15 year-around residents. The houses are small, cute, and closely spaced and start at 1 million ($s that is). At least the beach and the ocean are ideal.
So what’s good about Florida? It still has great, if not as abundant wildlife, a great State Park system, and many clearly marked or separate bicycle lanes. It may be paradise for some, but I’m still looking.
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