After our cultural shock at dinner, we scuttled back to our Sprinter Van and and the state park. The next day, we headed out, hoping to make it to St. Augustine, Florida.

We made it to Charleston around 11am, so it made sense to stop for something to eat. We ate at Virginia on King’s treating ourselves to some more southern cuisine. The Country Benedict, with its Tabasco-infused Hollandaise sauce hit the spot.

We didn’t spend too much time in Charleston; we weren’t able to find a spot to stay for the night as it was the weekend, and with the dogs, it made it even harder as Squishy was too scared walking on a leash through crowds and Buoy, in his excitement, would pull our arms out of socket.

Driving out of Charleston, it definitely had a hipster vibe going on. There were plenty of LuLulemons pants (I am not knocking Lululemons by the way, I have several pairs) and bachelorette parties to be seen. The homes were cute and quaint. Signs of gentrification could be seen even in the visibly poorer areas of town.

It changed pretty quickly after crossing the Ashley river as we headed more inland. I knew what the phrase “The other side of the tracks” meant, but I have never seen it so drastically represented as I did in the towns we passed through less than 30 minutes out of Charleston. Gone were the quaint houses: This was the part of South Carolina that the tourism board didn’t want to advertise. Driving through the streets, I could see these were predominantly black neighbors, forgotten by their wealthy neighbor to the east.

We joined back up with I-95 and had a pretty uneventful trip through Georgia. We made it to the St. Augustine by later afternoon, but decided to go to a campground a little south of the city on Flagler Beach. All the state parks were fully booked up so we had to book a private one, site unseen, but at least it was by the water.

In St. Augustine, we pulled into a Home Depot to grab some supplies that we needed. I waited outside and walked the dogs in the parking lot. A young man approached me and asked about our van and how he could follow us on social media. He said that he was working on an Airstream to live in and loved the idea of van life. Ted thinks he was just trying to get my contact info.

I still think it was because we liked our van.

It was nice to get off I-95 again and drive along the coast again. The beaches south of the city were postcard worthy, largely empty with white sand and blue ocean lapping against the coast. The air and water was much warmer and it felt like we were finally getting closer to what we had been looking for this whole time.

The park that we pulled into was interesting to say the least. The median age in the park seemed around 70, but these weren’t your average retirees: these men and women were here to ride motorcycles and party. What Ted and I would later find out when we went out to eat is that it was Daytona Bike Week.

We ate at JT’s Seafood Shack just up the road. It was a brief meal because again, there was no outside seating and plenty of people walking around the place without masks on. Luckily, we arrived later in the evening so most of tables were empty, although it meant that a lot of the dishes were 86’ed. This is when we learned about bike week.

We woke up somewhat late having slept well with the crashing of the wave just yards from where our van was parked. We took the dogs on a quick run on the deserted beach. It was a gorgeous morning, although many of our fellow park residents were oblivious to it. It had been a long night at the Iron Boot Pub across the road.

We set out and drove down A1A for as long as we could before having to join back up with 1-95. This meant we made it to Daytona Beach, which much like all the other touristic towns along the coast we had driven through, it was one concrete block resort after another.

We stopped in Sebastian to see a friend and someone who I have done work for in the past. Chris and his wife, Karin, operate a high-end travel company called Luxury Charter Vacations. The pandemic had essentially stopped their business, but they told us that it had picked back up and they were super busy again. I had thought about them a lot during the worst of the pandemic, wondering if their business would survive. I was relieved to see them back at it.

After our wonderful hour with Karin and Chris drinking freshly squeezed orange juice, we set off for Jupiter, where a friend of ours, Molly, offered for us to stay the night.

I’m not going to lie, it was bliss to take a shower in a real bathroom, where I didn’t have to worry about spy cameras and COVID-19. We had met Molly back in 2019 and had spent a lot of time with her during the beginning of the pandemic, socially distanced and outside of course. As it is for most people, it is such vivid memories seared into my brain of the first month of lock down; the uncertainty, the fear, the almost end-of-days atmosphere that surrounded us. I remember going to a grocery store back home during last March and seeing everyone masked, it just made me want to cry. I am not sure why. Maybe because it made me realize that all our lives had changed forever.

After a great night catching up with Molly and a good night sleep in a real bed, we set off for the Florida Keys, but not without a quick detour through Miami to pick up some Cuban sandwiches and a cafecito at Versailles.

In case your only reference to Versailles is the palace in France, Versailles is a Cuban restaurant in Miami that is a must for anyone interested in Miami-Cuban culture. It is palatial and, during non-pandemic times, can seat and serve hundreds of people. It is where news organizations go to cover Cuban-American sentiment, it is where old men gather to talk about the downfall of the Castro family while enjoying cafecitos or cortaditos with pastelitos, a flaky pastry, filled with cheese or guava or both.

As soon as we parked, we saw that Versailles had adapted to our current times by converting part of the parking lot into outdoor dining. The Cuban sandwiches smeared with butter and filled with cheese, ham and pickle were delicious, as well as massive, but what I was waiting for was the pastelito de guayabo y queso.

From there, we left Miami, with a final destination of Key West. We had no idea where we would be staying that night, but we would make it work. We took 905A, passing through the Crocodile Lake National Wildlife Reserve on Key Largo and then on in to the rest of the keys. The bright blue water all around us was the reason we were here. Not that the trip had been stressful, but there had been a certain pressure of being on the road. Now, looking out at a vista that was reminiscent of the waters I grew up around, it was starting to feel like we were truly on vacation.

I called all the state parks along the keys and none of them had any openings, even for a small van like us. I then started with the private campgrounds and the same thing.

While we figured out what we were going to do, we decided to go to Veteran’s Memorial Park, located on Little Duck Key. It was hard to find beaches where dogs were allowed, and this was one of the very few.

We got there and as soon as we stepped on the beach, besides Buoy being minorly attacked by a couple of small dogs, we felt like we had found a good spot.

We had been wondering ever since we adopted Squishy if she could swim. Considering all our maritime activities, it was kind of an important thing to know. Squishy is not one to be forced into anything, so we never did. At this beach, however, she made a bee line for the water and started swimming out to sea.

We spent the afternoon swimming and enjoying the sun. Did we have an idea of where we would be staying that night? Absolutely not. I read online that you could actually be put in jail for camping in a non-designated spot in the keys.

As the sun was getting lower in the sky, we knew that we might have to make a move. A family nearby (whose dogs had gone after Buoy) was packing up and the woman came up to us to apologize about her dogs yet again. I told her I was just glad that it wasn’t Buoy for once causing a scene. She told us that they were staying in their RV on a private property, which even that was illegal apparently. She went on to say that they had tried to reserve a spot in one of the state parks, but that they were booked over a year in advance. We told her of our difficulty to find a place and for second she hesitated, but then told us about this little road that lead to nowhere on one of the keys that she had seen some vans park on and get away with an overnight stay.

She dropped a pin for us on google and we decided to give it a go.

The spot was spectacular. No one in sight, just mangroves, clear, shallow water and a weather balloon floating overhead. We cooked out on our small barbecue: lobster and stone crabs were on the menu. We watched the sun set, the Caribbean breeze blowing away any mosquitos that might have been around. The stars came out, unimpeded by harsh man-made lights, I could see all the constellations that I used to watch for hours as a child when we would be hundreds of miles offshore: Orion’s belt, the Southern Cross, the Seven Sisters.

I wish I could say that we slept well that night. We certainly would have had it not been for the fear of someone reporting us to the police. Thankfully, that did not happen. We woke early, all was quiet except for the gentle lapping of the water on the mangroves.

We made our way slowly into Key West, where a friend had graciously offered us a place to stay while they were away.

The next couple of days really felt like vacation. There was no more worrying about where we would stay that night, or where the hell we were. We were able to spend a few days paddle boarding through mangroves and eating delicious Cuban food from Sandy’s Cafe, El Siboney Restaurant and Ana’s Cuban Cafe.

I got Ted hooked on Cuban coffee. At first I was super proud of myself and him, but then I got a little worried when he was drinking two buchis a day (equal parts sugar and coffee). We had black beans and rice ever day, which did some incredible things to our digestive systems but worth it.

We stayed away from downtown for the most part. We walked Duval Street twice in total, keeping our masks on at all time. It was crowded, and especially so on St. Patrick’s Day. The bars were packed and very few masks in sight. No one on the streets wore masks. It was overwhelming to be around so many people; Something we hadn’t experienced in over a year.

I would be amiss to not mention our incredible dinner at Louie’s Backyard. A friend of Ted’s owns the spot and we knew we would have to eat their one night. It is right on the water, facing Cuba just 90 miles away.

To be honest, I can’t remember exactly what we had to eat as we did have two bottles of wine there, but what I can remember is it was delicious: fresh fish, lobster, all while ocean breeze blew in over the verandah made for a very special night. Our server was incredibly friendly and recounted to us how the past year had been. I had no idea that the keys had shut down for four months during the height of the pandemic. Only residents could come in and out. You could tell that she was relieved to be working again, and they were jam packed.

Buoy tired out from chasing fishes in the mangroves.

After several days of enjoying the sun and water, we decided, quite reluctantly to head north. We got ourselves tested for COVID-19, waited for the results and then headed to see my grandfather in Port Richey, near Tampa.

To get there, we drove route 41 through the Everglades National Park and Big Cypress National Preserve. It was one of the scariest drives I think I have ever been on. Nothing crazy happened, it just was so isolated and eery that I wasn’t sure what was scarier: the alligators that lined the side of the road or the large trucks that seemed to be following us for miles (there aren’t many turn offs mind you and it turned out Ted was making it out to be a scene in Deliverance).

I will say that Florida seems to have done a decent job in preserving some of its fora and fauna through its large system of state parks. I mean, you would hope so considering the amount of concrete and plaza upon plaza that you see in the rest of the state. As much as many of us might laugh about the craziness that happens in Florida, it is a beautiful state and holds so many vital ecosystems. If only we all appreciated that a little more.

We arrived at my grandfathers that evening and spent two nights with him. To see him after a year was wonderful and I appreciated every moment of it. I even got to see my best friend who lives not too far from my grandfather.

And then it was time to get back on the road again. We stopped for lunch at Pearl’s Country Store & Barbecue for some delicious chicken, brisket and macaroni west of Jacksonville. That night, we made it as far as the Santee Coastal Reserve in South Carolina. A peaceful park right on the flats of the South Santee River. The Spanish Moss hung from all of the trees, which cast an eery beauty on the area. It was free to camp and there were only a few other campers. It was perfect besides being eaten to pieces by ever single mosquito that ever existed. In the morning, the walls of the van looked like those of an abattoir; a massacre had occurred but much blood had been lost on our end as well.

We left and made it back to our Delaware State Park by nightfall. We did, however, stop for dinner at Nantucket’s in Ocean Beach for dinner first where Ted and I had the best eavesdropping session ever. I think between the two, the couple next to us had been engaged (to other people) ten times. It could have been more. Ted and I didn’t talk the whole meal, we were so fascinated by their conversation.

We slept well next to the spot where we spent our first night on the road. It was coming to an end and it was a tad heartbreaking. I didn’t want it to be over.

It will be a trip that I won’t forget. I recognize how privileged we are to have the ability to have such an adventure. The best part of it all was to be with the person I love most in the world and to have our two crazy dogs with us. They were a pain in the ass at times, but it was 100 percent worth it. As for Ted, sometimes he might not have known, but I appreciated every moment with him. This trip made me fall more in love with him and because of that, I will cling to these memories for the rest of my life.

We had seen parts of America that made us think a lot deeper about our country, our political sentiments and the complexity of this country’s history. One thing it made me think a lot about was what “America” is to all of the people that inhabit its reality.

First of, the word “America” in inherently flawed in the way that it is used in this country. Historically, “The Americas” consists of north, south and central America and even includes the Caribbean. Mexicans are American. Guatemalans are American. Canadians (probably to their chagrin) are American. Dangerous people of influence have created this inflammatory rhetoric of “us” vs. “them” that talks about preserving an “America” that never really existed. Driving through Florida and seeing the landmarks and historical sites of Spaniards who created settlements in this country in the 1400’s (while wiping out the indigenous population) it makes it powerfully ironic the border and culturals issues that we argue about now.

This country is about multiplicity; That is where we get our strength from. The pandemic was a time to strip bare the ugliness of our nature. Of our history. Hard times have a way of doing that. But I don’t think it means we have to live in the ugliness. There are a lot of good people in this country and we need to connect on a human level with each other again. It is easy to hate someone who doesn’t speak the same language as you or looks different, but when we spend time with the “other” than we find our common humanity and hate becomes a lot harder.

Maybe a little bit more traveling, will help cure us all.

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Traveling Again: Part Two