THE PRACTICE

Today’s post brought to you by: the city’s light rail – but only just

Grateful for: 1969

Trying hard to accept: there is a Publix in Winter Park

So after I’d made my $2.39 coffee last long enough to publish a post, I left Starbucks, found a table at the most beautiful, manicured park and ate my wholesome lunch. Including a whole avocado (following your lead, Jim).

Then, craving carbs (not following your lead, Jim) I asked Google maps to direct me to Publix.

I know there was a Publix somewhere near where I ended up because I saw the carpark. But do you think I could find the front door? Answer begins with n.

Next thing I find myself outside Wholefoods Market, being lured in by the aroma of freshly sawn Christmas trees lined up outside.

Besides Christmas trees, there are only 3 reasons to enter Wholefoods:

• to buy all those tres-gourmet things you can’t find anywhere else, like a Winter Park husband
• to eat at the free food sampling stations that appear every 7 steps
• to be sung happy birthday to

After eating at every sampling station I completely lost interest in finding the elusive Publix.

Strolled back to the posh shops in the 20-something degrees winter sun having a good ol’ time looking at all the houses and seeing which I could afford to buy. FYI, none.

Now here’s a tip. Do not go into an incredibly expensive gift store and spray yourself with honeysuckle and something body oil thinking it was honeysuckle and something perfume. See what happens.

Not only does this significantly reduce your chances of finding a Mercedes-driving Winter Park husband but it also discourages you from entering the hallowed halls of the Tiffany glass museum.

With 23 minutes till the train was leaving I rushed off to Gap – being the only place in town to buy a t-shirt for less than $89.95.

And blow me down if I don’t find one on the sale rack for 40% off the already 50% off price. And it’s got my birth year on it!

Here’s an interesting fact. Well, it is to me, J-Lo, Jay-Z and Marilyn Manson anyway. Gap opened in San Francisco in 1969. For their 50th birthday they re-released their classic styles. Which means my almost-free t-shirt’ll be worth heaps on eBay in 50 years. Enough to retire to Winter Park.

With 11 minutes till the train was leaving, Gap made its speediest sale in 50 years.

Got to the train ticket machine, inserted debit card. Transaction declined. Tried 7 more times, shoving card in every possible way. Tried other machine. Ditto.

A train ambassador wandered over. “Try it again” he unhelpfully suggested. “I’ve tried 7 times” I said through gritted teeth.

He heard my accent. “Oh, these machines don’t accept foreign cards. You’ll have to pay by cash”.

“THESE MACHINES DON’T ACCEPT CASH”, shrieked a loud, irate NZ accent.

“Well you’ll have to use the machines on the other side of the tracks then”.

6 minutes till train leaves. He must’ve radioed his buddy on the other side (“Warning, irate tourist comin’ your way”) because that guy was quick as a flash to help me.

Then the two of them personally escorted me back across the tracks, like gentlemen-in-waiting (should’ve gotten them to carry my bags) and I got to the train with 1 minute to spare.

And in that instant, my low blood pressure problem was miraculously cured.

Only in Williams Sonoma would you find spatulas with Christmas snowmen, tartan, Harry Potter, your star sign, your name, or beater (get it) still your nemesis’ name.

Note from editor: More middle-of-the-night online chats with WordPress Help(!). I publish a post, it’s live for 30 minutes then disappears into the abyss, never to be seen again. Till they fix it (they WILL fix it) I’m rewriting posts from memory. So don’t be surprised if you see similar posts twice.

Another special post because so much to tell you.

First, more advice. If your name starts with B, G or K, and you struggle to get more than 34 minutes sleep in one go, get in your car, or keyboard, and buy a 2 inch slab of foam for your mattress, and a foam pillow, and you’ll sleep through dogs, shrinks living next door and ride-on mowers. Lynn and Kurth’s spare bed is pure bliss. Who knew the power of foam? Well probably everyone except me.

Ever wondered what happened in the Garden of Eden in autumn?

On the subject of glee, no sooner am I out of the shower than Lynn has whipped up omelette for breakfast and warm brownies. Yes, brownies are on my detox list. Shut up.

Lynn said she loves having guests as has an excuse to cook all her favourite foods that they don’t normally eat. Lasagna for supper.

Then … another spooky coincidence … she lends me biography of 48 year old children’s book writer who sold up to roam the world. Blow me down if it’s not same author who wrote my sister Penny and my favourite childhood book, “More Spaghetti I Say!”, which we still recite today.

Strolled to station to get train to Winter Park, 12km away. Clearly the $3 fare isn’t enough to keep ticket machines working.

First machine got stuck just as the guy’s ticket was meant to be spewed out.

Lined up for only other machine. Woman using said a few cuss words, turned to me and said “This machine is shit.”

Decided it was the better of two options and spent next 5 mins hitting “NO!!” as the “Do you want to cancel?” screen appeared every 2 seconds. I had to quick as a flash hit each button to complete my transaction in between getting rid of the omnipresent cancel screen.

Got half way through, ready to kick the stupid thing, when the English/Spanish announcement tells me the train arrives in 3 minutes. My fingers have never moved so fast. Not even when grabbing free food samples.

Winter Park is absolutely gorgeous. Average household income: $900,000. Three smoothie/acai bowl cafes to every coffee shop. Am about to find museum with Tiffany glass chapel. Well, that’s after I’ve been into every shop and strolled the endless gardens.

Am in Starbucks, only coffee in town. Ooooh, just got up to sprinkle nutmeg, chocolate and vanilla in my coffee and this rich-looking local guy looks up and gives me big “So, come here often?” smile. (“Yes, duh, free wifi”). I’m in!!! Wedding in Tiffany museum in 2 weeks. Send me your frock/pants sizes – 40% off at Gap today.

You know you’re in Winter Park when the coffee that cost you $2.19 in Longwood yesterday now costs you $2.39. To get my money’s worth I took a copy of “The Nanny Diaries” from the Starbucks book exchange.

Charles from Charles Scott Menswear. Gives you an idea of the standard of shopping here. Before you admire my gall at getting him to pose I actually took the photo from the Winter Park promo mag.

Had a(nother) brainwave walking to station. Low blood pressure is 90/60. Mine got down to 74/54 in hospital. Surprised I’m still upright. So need to invent a motorised combo IV drip wheelie thing/luggage trolley to haul my backpack the rest of the trip.

I’m so happy today.

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.

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.

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