Someplace in America, some poor slob wakes up to gray skies. Takes thirty minutes to layer up against the bitter cold and biting wind. Another thirty minutes to shovel snow off the driveway. Assuming the car starts, off for a miserable day at the office/factory/shop. Same thing every day until about May. Yup. Pretty much sucks to be that dude.
However, here in Marathon, Florida, we also have it pretty tough. We also wake up to the same scene from our porch everyday. The same water. The same palm trees. Mostly the same boring sky-blue sky.
Plus, sometimes the wind blows. And the water isn’t always this smooth. And on a couple of days there were a few more clouds. And Doug misplaced his sunglasses and the sun seemed really really bright until Dana found them in the cupboard with the dog treats. And the other night the temperature dropped to 63. Nobody should cry for us though. We’re of hardy stock. We’ll manage through whatever hardships winter boat life in Marathon may throw our way.
We’ve also come to grips with the whole iguana thing. Iguanas are to Marathon what LCBOs are to Ontario: everyplace you look.
We’ve come to know the family that lives in the tree at the marina entrance. Dana is about to start naming them. Speaking of iguanas, we now know where the babies come from. Our finely-tuned deductive reasoning skills weren’t even necessary. Our buddy Fred called it retiree porn.
Marathon also has chickens. We literally crossed the road to get to this chicken. Then we both giggled.
A couple of days ago we tried Key West again, this time with Charlie and Robin (The Lower Place). Never made it to the museums and historical sites, but we did eat and walk around. Waaaaaay too many people in Key West. Our attempt at a sunset from the famous Mallory Square turned into a photo of other people watching the sunset from the famous Mallory Square.
No worries though. We’ll probably give it one more shot before we head east/north.
A local on the dock assured us that the Marathon Airport doesn’t prevent droning so Doug has been logging some flight time. We found a dude who recorded a song about Marathon so we’ll put some footage to music at some point. Maybe next post.
The Turtle Hospital is just around the corner from Faro Blanco, and is way cool.
They rescue and rehabilitate sea turtles from around the country.
This is Lady Bradley, who arrived in critical condition.
Hey jackasses. Stop releasing balloons. Stop littering. Recycle your plastic bags or don’t use them. Anyway, we strongly urge anyone in Marathon to stop by the Turtle Hospital. Make a donation. The turtles need protection.
Know what doesn’t need protection? Pigeons. They’ve just shown up like swallows returning to San Juan Capistrano, but grosser. Much grosser. Faro Blanco should try out those contraptions we found at Queen’s Cove. Just a few tweaks might do the trick.
Also right around the corner—actually just across the road—lurks danger camouflaged as an innocent retail establishment.
That’s right. Those money-sucking bastards set up shop right where Doug has to pass daily. Mostly he’s resisted the siren calls, but that still means stopping by every few days just because (1) it’s a West Marine and (2) it’s only about 500 feet away. Anyway, we REALLY needed a handheld depth gauge, and fenders for Mini Pearl, and holding tank pods, and a new battery box for Mini Pearl, and some other stuff.
Some of the older neighborhoods around here kind of remind us of older neighborhoods around Phoenix. But then we see the weird stuff, like Dr. Seuss trees. We acknowledge of course that the technical name for this thing probably isn’t Dr. Seuss Tree, but it should be.
Marathon also attracts some weird people. For example, this morning we heard a 60-something woman say she had never eaten a fresh blueberry. WHAT? She was talking to a dude who seemed to be her husband, so there wasn’t much reason to lie. But that’s insane and borderline unbelievable.
So Marathon has iguanas and chickens and odd foliage and a West Marine and odd people. What Marathon apparently doesn’t have is a building inspector. Basically every building around here looks like something Gilligan built. Without help from the Professor. Or even Dobie Gillis.
However, the seafood is fresh and delicious, and nothing has fallen on us yet.
One of many good things about lazing around Faro Blanco is we have time to discuss the future. The question we get asked most is “What are you going to do after the Loop?” Ok maybe that’s the second-most-asked question we get, right after “What the hell were you thinking when you sold your house and cars and moved on a boat?” Anyway, ideas are germinating. One intriguing option is the Downeast Circle.
We should cross our wake in D.C. right about the time Mallory graduates from Georgetown. From there we’d follow our same basic track up to the Erie Canal, stopping at places we skipped the first time. Then up to the St. Lawrence, but this time we’d take it all the way past Montréal and Quebec City to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Then around the tinier provinces and down the Atlantic coast back to New York in about September. For years Doug has been fascinated by the SS Mont–Blanc explosion in 1917. This would be a great opportunity to explore that piece of Halifax history.
Or maybe something else will start sounding better. Coronado? Greek Islands? Gila Bend? We have plenty more time to think about it.