Thursday, February 16, 2012 – Traipsing to Tampa (and Back)
I’m starting to feel much too at home here at the Ponce. This morning, I caught myself making the bed and cleaning the bathtub. Elliott decided to take a morning nap after breakfast, so I went out for some “alone time” on the streets of St. Pete. Before long, I was sweating in the summer-like temperature. On fashionable Second Avenue North, I stopped by the theater (pronounced the – a – ter, in local dialect) to see what cultural attractions were in town. It was reassuring to find out that I could get tickets to plays by August Wilson and Eve Ensler, or to an orchestral performance featuring Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto. In other words, it’s not a cultural wasteland down here. I was hoping to find some matinee performances, but no such luck. I still haven’t managed to reprogram my inner clock. At evening performances, my eyes close when the lights go out.
A highlight of my morning walk was a visit to the First United Methodist Church on North Third Street. The 1920s building is on the National Register of Historic Places and their sanctuary contains some gorgeous Tiffany-style stained glass windows. The most impressive is a depiction of the Last Supper. The pieces were carefully positioned so that the light shining through the modulating colors creates a vibrant sense of motion. It’s definitely worth a stop if you’re in the area.
I hurried back so that Elliott and I could get started on our drive to Tampa where we planned to meet one of his friends. I steered clear of the interstate (just my personal preference) and crossed Tampa Bay via the Gandy Bridge. Unfortunately, our meeting plans didn’t work out (long story – short version: the friend was sick and called to tell us this morning, but left the message on our home phone). Tampa didn’t look particularly appealing so didn’t linger there. The return trip brought us through miles and miles of uninspired and uninspiring suburban sprawl before we reached downtown St. Pete again.
Elliott finds the heat extremely exhausting. So while he took an afternoon nap, I rushed back out to Hooker Tea on Beach Drive. There, I sought refuge from the sun at an umbrella-shaded table. Given the weather, I ordered an iced Summer Breeze, which is a peach-infused white tea blend. I got out my Kindle and settled into the iron chair for a nice, long read until my tush got numb. Another problem I noticed: the outside tables always seem to be the province of smokers, and there are quite a lot of them in St. Petersburg, especially among the younger crowd.
I chose the Red Mesa Cantina for our dinner tonight. It was a slow walk. Elliott’s new medication, while keeping the pain under control, makes him feel tired and weak. But, eventually, we reached the restaurant. I tried to like the happy hour Margarita I ordered. As far as I’m concerned, whoever invented this drink should have kept working on the recipe. But it didn’t detract from the pleasure of sitting on the bricked terrace and listening to the lively pulse of Mexican music and the splashing of water in the fountain. It was also a great place for people watching. A woman a few tables away from ours was obviously letting her dark dyed hair grow back to its natural white. It looked like a bird shat on her head.
The Red Mesa Cantina is known for its Southwestern and Mexican cuisine. I know it’s not Elliott’s favorite (he can’t tolerate any spiciness), so I was careful to order something mild, grilled chicken and cheese quesadillas, for him. When I asked him how they were, he answered, “Different.” I’m not sure what he meant, but he ate three of the four wedges. My shrimp al mojo had a definite kick from the chiles arbol in the sauce. I’d consider it a three-tissue dish. The heat made me slow down and eat more deliberately, which is not a bad thing.
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