What a difference a mask makes

Note to dear readers: as I might have mentioned before(!) having inevitable tech problems with blog site – after many early morning hours on help chat with site host I’ve given up. They finally sent me a ‘We have a solution!’ email. 8 paragraphs of which 7.99 were preliminary sucking up; 0.01 were telling me they can’t fix it.

So am republishing this post, because although it was published a few days ago, it couldn’t take it anymore and unpublished itself.

Today’s post is brought to you by: a gentle current

Grateful for: ability to swim

Trying hard to accept: people can have such appalling taste

It’s been the best day.

Started out mighty fine, well actually mighty friggin’ hot, with a stroll to the shops at 9am when it was hot enough to fry hash on the footpath.

Wish I’d skipped breakfast when I walked into the Latino grocery and deli and was almost floored by the overwhelming absolutely delicious smells of the fresh cooked nosh.

Only thing that looked vaguely familiar was chicken, oh and the empanadas. Couldn’t tell you what anything else was but wouldn’t scoffed it in a heartbeat.

This place is skinflint’s paradise. For $5 I got: hass avocados (Florida avocados are so big your avocado face mask would cover your whole body, and the next door neighbour’s), tomatoes, cucumber, cans of tuna (‘Chicken’ brand – why did the tuna cross the road?), bananas and a fistful of change.

Then it was time to go to Kelly Springs. But first I was killin’ time chillin’ on the front porch, watchin’ the world go by, photographin’ my bruises, as you do on a lazy Saturday morning.

Focus on the bruise. Ignore the varicose veins. Took me ages to line up shot so you wouldn’t see the cellulite.

We drove past the most ginormous ugly bad taste houses you’ve ever seen. Imagine Florida architecture at its worst. And so many gated communities they must have to start reusing the names.

And new highway construction that made Houston’s look like a Lego model. As far as the bionic eye could see there were new roads so wide and bridges so massive I felt like an ant under a kitchen table. Is ‘small’ even a word in this country?

Kelly Springs is the most pristine, luscious, expansive, well-provisioned, cheap place you could spend a week. It’s got boardwalks for miles, forest everywhere, clean bathrooms, tent sites, BBQs, and enough picnic tables to fit Yogi’s family going back 6 generations.

And weaving through the middle are the springs that start in a cave and meander slowly down like a snake (of which there are lots). You can tube down but those people are missing out on the best of it.

Where it all starts. Limestone rocks near the cave.

Lynn and Kurth are divers so we donned on the masks, flippers and snorkels, eased into the initially-bloody-freezing-but-cozily-warm-within-20-seconds water, put our heads down and were off.

It was the most magical experience. The spring bed is white sand and all around you are mid-size flat fish, smaller size non-flat fish and the odd garfish.

I’ve never been in such crystal clear water and never been so close to fish. And it was incredibly peaceful because it’s completely silent and it’s just you and the fish and it’s pretty darn cool. Well pretty darn warm if you want to get picky.

What would a picnic be without a few accidentally-eaten bees and 3,754,827 ants?

I leave Florida tomorrow for ‘Southern Living’ magazine’s most highly rated city, Charleston South Carolina.

It’s funny, I’ve never wanted to come to Florida. Always given it a big swerve on previous trips but if I was lucky enough to live in the US it’d certainly be top of my list. It’s got it all for next to nothing.

All bound for Charleston-town, many miles away

Today’s post brought to you by: in a word, gratitude

Grateful for: the people of Longwood, First United Methodist Church of Orlando, and Amtrak

Trying hard to accept: leaving Florida – skyrocketing costs and plummeting temperatures start now

As I lay in bed at 5.30 this morning, forcing myself to rest and not be lured by Kurth’s freshly brewed coffee, I thought how incredibly lucky I am.

Even including the stopover in ER, I’ve landed on my feet time and time again. I couldn’t have asked to meet more generous and kind people.

And serendipity seems to have decided to tag along. Maybe it’d like to pay for dinner once in a while, though.

I don’t know who’s looking out for me but someone sure is.

I said a wee prayer to them this morning as I prised my eyes open, grabbed my phone (admit it, it’s the first thing you do too) and checked my emails. Top of the list: decision from insurance co.

Deep breaths … scroll down … squint eyes …skip all the preliminary good wishes (bad sign they’re being so nice?) … scroll down … hold breath … YES!!!

They’re going to pay. Directly. So I don’t even have to carry a temporary $7,000 charge on my (still broken) Visa card.

And they’ve cleared me to fly home. YES!!!

Actually NO!!!

“Dear US Citizenship and Immigration Services, it is our opinion that Ms Gail Wilson is unable to fly back to New Zealand and must remain in the US – specifically Winter Park, Florida – until we deem her medically fit to travel (ie never). Please arrange residency, an income commensurate with Winter Park standards and which never requires her to do another tax return, a car, driving lessons and an account at Williams Sonoma. Sincerely, Travel Insurance New Zealand Ltd”.

Boy, did the big tick from the insurance co get the day off to a good start. Skipped along the street (I wish) for my final walk round the ‘hood.

Something – the ghost of Nancy? – told me to head to Ronald Reagan Blvd instead of my usual Starbucks Blvd – and what should I stumble across but the Longwood craft fair.

There’s this husband and wife team at the craft fair. He catches (surely not) exotic butterflies and turns them into paperweights. She turns them into jewellery. And your writer snaps up bargains like this pendant for $8.

Two hours later I’m sitting with Lynn in First United Methodist Church of Orlando listening to the preacher talk about gratitude and not taking it all for granted. Couldn’t have chosen a more apt sermon.

On the subject of apt, the organist played the one hymn that makes me cry every time – especially when sung in Maori – How Great Thou Art.

The church is e-nor-mous. Takes up a whole block. This photo doesn’t do it justice and what you can’t see are the 5 metre high, very stylish embroideries of the 12 Apostles hanging from the columns.

Interesting fact #658: today is the last day of the Christian calendar. Kind of like New Year’s Eve without the grog, fireworks and short-lived decisions to reinvent ourselves. I actually learned what Pentecost is.

What any sensible (greedy) girl would do when her train is late arriving. Head down to the cool chicks at the station selling hotdogs, sit in the sun, cancel out nitrate-laden hotdog with vitamin-laden cucumber and tomato sandwiches, and people-watch.

Am now cosily ensconced in my lounge car ‘office’ of the Silver Meteor en route to Charleston, South Carolina. The place is filling up with pizzas, burgers and beer faster than I can scull another coffee (I mean Gatorade, Ben).

Oh, bonus! Interesting fact #659: We’ve stopped in Jacksonville, Florida. If you want to buy any grog on this train, buy it in bulk now, because as soon as we cross into South Carolina the carriages go dry. You should see the queues forming.

It’s been the best train day for a while. (Good grief, am I on the Keg Express? Them queues for beer now stretch the entire length of the next carriage).

Not only did I meet the lovely, super-pretty Jessica from West Palm Beach and had my first conversation with an Amish woman (spends summers in rural Maryland, winters in Orlando) but have been fuelled with coffee and stories from sweet Donna the café manager and taken on tour of sleeping cars and posh-customers-only dining car by Eric the conductor.

Donna takes a break between fuelling me with coffee.

“How much is a night in a posh sleeper?” I hear you ask. Look at my chest. Plus tax.

Toilet-cum-hand-basin-cum-shower. You can shit, shower and shave at the same time. Efficiency or what?

One lovely conductor in one lovely sleeping-car-passengers-only dining car. Tried the “It’s my 50th birthday. Can I get a free upgrade?” on Eric. He didn’t buy it. Said I look 51.

Never has a train trip passed so quickly. I’ve gotten whiplash from trying to talk to people in front of me, to the side of me and behind me, taking in the sun setting over the autumn leaves out the window and jumping up to follow Eric.

This is one train trip my wallet and I do not want to end.

Postscript. It has ended. Now in restored villa in downtown Charleston. From what I’ve seen in the dark, Charles, this place is your house’s Charleston twin. Ohhh spooky name coincidence too.

Charleston Amtrak station is so brand spanking new the paint has barely dried. Talk about fancy. Talk about completely devoid of staff at 11pm on a Sunday.

I must’ve gotten the world’s best Uber driver in Bryan. Carpenter who restores old rail carriages into uber (get it?) slick houses.

He was southern “yes m’am” with a slow drawl charm itself. Married 3 weeks ago: it rained, wedding planner sick, 75 uninvited guests showed up(!) and to top it off one of the brats of the 75 swiped a big chunk out of the 3-tier cake.

“Bit of redneck ingenuity” said Bryan as he told me how his new father-in-law propped the about-to-fall-on-floor-in-massive-heap cake with an entire roll of unrolled and rerolled paper towels.

Historic downtown Charleston and Google maps seem to be having a massive scrap and aren’t talking to each other because it took me and Bryan three trips round the block, banging on a few doors, and running up a few narrow side streets (that’d be Bryan, not this southern belle) to find the Airbnb.

Then I couldn’t see the keypad to get in front door for a few panicky minutes. Finally stumbled in, found massively high Princess and the Pea old walnut bed big enough to sleep a whole Amtrak carriage. And best of all, a basketful of delicious-smelling toilettries that mein hosts have swiped from posh hotels.

Miracle on King Street!!!!!

I’ve had to duck into the nearest Starbucks to tell you about the Christmas miracle that just hit my face.

Spot the difference.

Before

During

After

Look at my eye. My left eye. Now look at my right eye. Spot the difference? In 20 seconds, and $995 + tax for a 2-year supply, I can wipe 3,874 sleepless nights and 49 years off my life.

“Wow Gail, you 50-going-on-1-year-old, what on earth happened?”

‘Tis a slow Monday morning in downtown Charleston (feels like Sunday afternoon in the city that never wakes) because as I’m strolling past these geezers they thrust soap samples in my hand.

I thrust my phone in their faces.

Next thing I know I’m being dragged into shop, plonked at counter with lots of scary unflattering lights and having collagen cream dabbed under my eye by giant syringe.

Now there’s as much chance of me exaggerating as there is of spending more than $12.95 + tips on dinner, but I tell you right before my disbelieving eyes the black smudges and ‘character’ wrinkles vanished into thin air.

Still gasping like an escaped goldfish, I was then dragged over to the computer to be shown how they buy the stuff for $200 and sell it for $995, but it’s my lucky day because guess what I have this damaged box here that I can’t sell so you madam can have it for $199 which is only 27 CENTS PER DAY!!!!!

“Ah yes” I say, whipping the calculator out of his hand and sticking in the pesky 1.7 conversion factor. “That’s actually $338 to me. Which is more than a Greyhound ticket round the whole US.”

I thought he was going to kidnap me and force me to stand on the street as a before-and-after dummy while disbelieving cruise ship passengers stared in amazement.

“I am going. Now.” I said as I fled the store back onto the narrow cobbled streets of Charleston. Apparently it’ll all wear off in 6 hours and I’ll suddenly be eligible for a pension.

Ok I was going to tell you all about Charleston tonight but too bad, you’re getting an instalment now.

If you were a 4 feet tall, 102 pound churchgoer you’d be right at home here. There are more churches than parking meters, the streets are so narrow you almost have to turn sideways to pass anyone, and the shops are so tiny that even a ballet dancer would feel like a bull in a china shop.

It’s the most unusual city I’ve ever been in. Completely different than what I expected. It’s kind of like Boston in miniature.

There are brick row houses next to Queen Anne mansions next to workers’ cottages, next to abandoned lots.

With its oak-lined streets it’s even prettier than Savannah. It just feels so old. As in historic, not as in decrepit.

However you can see its economic struggles. Every other shop away from the tourist bits is empty. Homeless men live under bridges next to restored villas.

Speaking of restored villas, am yet to meet my Airbnb hosts – Allie the teacher is out of town. Jason the sales rep is your all-American jock. Every wall and shelf is covered in sports memorabilia and there’s more beer than veg in the fridge.

And only in Charleston with its Gap, Banana Republic, J Crew and Anthropologie stores lining the streets could a (one wrinkle-free eye) girl from NZ walk into Starbucks and have the server exclaim “Ooohhh, I love your sweater”.

Didn’t tell her it cost $9 + postage on Trade Me.

Trying to show you downtown but bit tricky

Dr S would be turning in his grave

A building

Another building

Barbados comes to Charleston

Today’s post brought to you by: my office at Starbucks.

Grateful for: feet, eyes and ears. And head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes.

Trying hard to accept: I can’t earn a living doing this.

I will NEVER hear a word against Starbucks again. It’s provided me with endless hours of hassle-free wifi, a desk, ability to sit uninterrupted for 2 hours for $2.19, clean bathrooms and super nice servers.

Ok folks, pour yourself a mega mega grande coffee because I’ve just done a walking tour of Charleston and you’re about to get the highlights.

I learned so much about Charleston, what a battery is (the military type, not the type you can never find when you need it), the American Revolutionary War, Noo Joisey (from fellow guests) and colonial architecture.

Thank your lucky stars we no longer do this by Kodak slide show over several boring hours. I bring you the abridged version.

This wasn’t on the tour but shows you typical downtown office building.

Neither was this but because I went to the effort of uploading it you have to see it. A little shack on the corner.

Ok, tour begins. Charleston’s answer to Coronation St. Every one of these stones was brought over from the UK. There ain’t no stone in these parts.

Actually before I add any more, just have to tell you that I asked the guide where all the money in Charleston came from.

Interestingly: rice (at one point supplied 85% of world’s rice), indigo, slavery and shipping.

It used to be a walled city. There have been 5 great fires and 2 massive earthquakes.

Slave mart. The most in-demand-at-the-time slaves (eg sugar cane workers or liveried butlers) were displayed in the front windows. Everyone else was crammed into a yard out the back.

Largest privately-owned home in Charleston – all 35 rooms and 20,000 sq ft of it.

Around the doorframe the wood has been carved like rope to tell everyone the owner was in the cotton plantation business.

The wealthy and showy-offy added what they called ‘piazzas’ to their houses – what we’d call porches. It told everyone they’d been on a grand tour of Europe, specifically Italy. Just a shame they got the word wrong. Duh.

Front door of said house. Not too shabby, eh?

Fine examples of Charleston singles – no, not Tinder swipers, but houses so-called because they were a single room wide.

Most were shops so had solid shutters on ground floor and louvred ones on living quarters floors – to let breeze through.

The British sugar cane plantation owners who came here from Barbados brought the Barbadian house colours with them. That’s why they’re all pastel hues.

In the 1920s these houses were the city slums, occupied by descendants of slaves.

St Michael’s Episcopalian Church, c 1700s. George Washington once sat in the cypress pew in the front and since then it’s only used by foreign dignitaries. All the stained glass is Tiffany.

3 more interesting facts:

  • First shots of American Revolutionary War were fired in Charleston harbour
  • To reduce fire risk, kitchens were housed in separate buildings out the back
  • As we were passing one of the waterfront mansions the black nanny pulled up to the electric gates with her 2 white charges in the golf cart next to her. It’s another world down here.

Right, food time! Again!

Gail Wilson will be that stomach

Today’s post brought to you by: Gentlemen, we can rebuild her. We have the capability to build the world’s first bionic stomach. Stronger, leaner, fuller.

Grateful for: the brains across the road

Trying hard to accept: My beloved Rhett’s buggered off somewhere

Never a truer word said

Eureka!!!! I’ve found a way to stay.

Am on the piazza, aka, porch of a coffee shop opposite Medical University of South Carolina, founded 1824. See?

Given that my beloved Rhett-in-shining-armour’s nowhere to be seen – probably heading to Scarlett’s for Thanksgiving – I have cleverly thought of plan B to pay me enough money to live here forever, and afford $995 + tax collagen eye cream.

Am going to sell my body to the men in white coats across the road.

Was lying in bed last night watching funniest thing to hit HBO in years (‘Divorce’) when the local news flashed a headline onto Sarah Jessica Parker’s horsey face.

Jimmy Dean Foods and Winn Dixie have given the university a massive pile of cash to create a human body able to eat biscuits, sausage and gravy 24/7 and never:

  • Feel sick
  • Be sick
  • Spawn a zit
  • Be clad in anything larger than a size 4

Leapt out of bed and ran down to the university (stop your moaning ribs, you’re getting something out of this too, you know), shoved everyone else out of the way, applied a coat of knock-‘em-dead red lipstick and schmoozed my way into being the test body. No, not dummy. Body.

While I wait for my first pay cheque, I got these from supermarket for total of $2.29 (!) to start lining my stomach.

I’m just so incredibly happy here in the south. Since the first time I stepped off a Greyhound bus all those years ago it’s enchanted me.

Sure I love the class and sophistication of the northeast, my beloved Chicago, and the trees and salmon of the west coast, but it’s a different world down here – one that frankly I don’t want to leave.

Early this morning I wandered down to the supermarket along the autumn leaf-lined streets as the sun created a golden glow over everything. The cashier called me “baby”. I like that.

I then found myself sitting at the counter of the Park Cafe chatting to the super lovely owner and customers. Just like Monday mornings at Prefab.

This afternoon, as the sun developed that deep intense autumn colour, I walked along my neighbourhood streets swapping “How ya doin’” with the old men sitting on their porches.

I know it’s easy to be happy when you’re on holiday but it’s more than that. It’s a feeling of being at home here. And that feeling doesn’t come along very often, even in the place you were born.

Typical house in my neighbourhood. I’ve Zillowed it and worth about $700,000. But I found a single-storey for $460,000 which is a heck of a lot cheaper than where I live.

My Airbnb pad. The sharp-eyed of you will notice there’s a door to nowhere on the porch. Por que? Because shutting the door told your would-be visitors to bugger off. Opening the door told them it was ok to descend on you, eat all your food, use all your toilet paper and hog your TV.

I have but one complaint, Uncle Sam.

In a land where you can go to a drive-thru and get a four-course diabetic kosher low-salt Thanksgiving dinner at 3am, there is one thing you cannot get.

Fresh cheap broccoli. Or any cousin thereof.

Wonder if CVS sells anti-rickets tablets.

Because I’m fiscally responsible (cheap) I eat at places like deli below where the only green thing is romain lettuce. (Wonder if CVS sells anti-E coli tablets – there’s an outbreak).

Two things in this picture rhyme. The answer is not ‘chips and dips’. Try again.

To get a side of steamed veg you have to reach deeper into your shallow pockets and go somewhere like I’m eating tonight – crab cakes and two sides – which will be a double order of veg.

Which reminds me – Laura and Kevin – are you there? Please please please can we have that green bean and mushroom soup casserole with fried onions on top? I’ll get the stuff and make it. And banana pudding?

Please?