Since we arrived on Amelia Island, FL last Saturday it has been nothing but work, work, work!  In fact the toil began that morning when we left Hilton Head Island, SC and first headed to St. Simons Island, GA. After some consternation we succeeded in locating our preliminary destination, The King and Prince Beach and Golf Resort, an historic hotel reminiscent of 1930s splendour:

Celebrating over 75 years of hospitality
The King and Prince Club opened as a seaside dance club in 1935. Six years later, on July 2, 1941, the main hotel building opened to the public as the King and Prince Hotel and was immediately praised for its modern features and magnificent ocean views.

During World War II, the hotel served as a naval coast-watching and training facility, reopening in 1947 to resume its popularity as a favorite island resort with its gracious Mediterranean architecture. The hotel enjoyed extensive renovation and expansions in 1972 and again in 1983, becoming a member of the prestigious Historic Hotels of America in 1996. In 2003, the Resort’s cherished core–the historic main building–underwent a stunning restoration and enhancement project, resulting in 57 new guest rooms and signaling a new era in the guest experience. In 2005, the Resort was named to the National Register of Historic Places. Throughout the many changes over our 76 years of service, one thing has remained the same: we provide our guests superior service, outstanding accommodations, and unrivaled Southern hospitality.

Our luncheon of local seafood at The King and Prince was fitting compensation for our jarring GPS conundrum, setting in motion what we hoped would be an equally pleasant experience in the ten days to follow before our return to Canada.

Buoyed by a fine example of southern hospitality we trundled off to Amelia Island which is only about an hour and a half from where we were.  Our distracting challenges reignited here almost immediately.  Upon checking into our villa at the 1,350-acre Omni Amelia Island Plantation Resort we discovered two problems: there was no heat and no internet service, amenities which we take for granted and the deprivation of which we do not suffer happily.  When the maintenance crew arrived within the hour they confirmed that we were not imagining either of the complaints and they proceeded to do what they could to repair the systems.  We were told however that the engineering team would have to return the next day to repair the heat problem (and of course we meanwhile debated whether we would go to all the trouble of relocating ourselves but decided against it).  The internet problem was repaired.  We put our day’s work behind us and went to dinner at Verandah Restaurant which conveniently was within short walking distance. Our meal there was superb!  We started with a dozen fresh Cape Cod oysters on the half-shell followed by local catches for the main course.  And the most exquisite Key Lime Pie for dessert!  His Lordship started it all with a Bombay Sapphire martini worthy of its own short story!  Even the corn and yeast breads were exceptional.  This good fortune was made all the cheerier when we returned to the villa to find the heat reinstated.

The next morning we deferred our resort duties only long enough to put on the nose bag at Sunrise Restaurant where they serve a very acceptable buffet including raw honey from their own apiary, in-house croissants and homemade strawberry jam, along with all the usual choices of fresh fruit, breakfast meats and made-to-order omelettes.  After breakfast the first item on our agenda was to arrange for bicycle rentals. The rental agency managed to turn us against them when they informed us their policy did not include delivery of the bikes to the villa.  We were spoiled by the experience on Hilton Head Island where delivery and pick-up is standard fare.  When we attempted to explain to the clerk the extent of the inconvenience (because the villa was at least a mile if not more from the shop), she was unmoved. Fortunately another young male staff member was in attendance and he volunteered to deliver the bikes on a golf cart to the villa.  We took him up on the offer and rewarded him accordingly.  Subsequently we have learned that we could easily have availed ourselves of the complimentary tram service provided by the resort but surprisingly the supervising clerk never thought to mention it at the time.

As one day passes to another on these resorts it is impossible to recall the details of what happens and when.  I know however that apart from bicycling around the extensive acreage of the resort and purchasing some clothes at the golf shop we also enjoyed a steam bath and swimming.  Somewhere in the mix we encountered further problems with our internet connection.  We thought the matter would have been corrected upon our return from yet another first-class dinner but not so.  All told we had contacted the front desk no less than three times about the faulty internet service.  When at last a maintenance clerk arrived late last evening he informed us that he had rebooted the modem.  This appeared for the time being to correct the problem.  But by three o’clock this morning the internet service once again failed.  This was the limit!  Both of us are accustomed to having internet service at our fingertips at any time to the day, not the least of which is very early in the morning when I for example often compose my literary pieces.  This recurrent internet problem, along with the initial heating problem and other problems (which I have not so far mentioned) relating to faulty drapery tracks and screeching sounds when the shower is in use, compelled me to make a call to the Front Desk at 3:30 a.m. this morning.

The long and short of it is that thanks to the understanding and initiative of Jessica of the Front Desk we’re now in a room in the main hotel.  Here is a photo I took from our balcony around nine o’clock this morning:

Too bad Mr. Apple has not yet discovered how to include the sound of the Ocean surf  with the photo;  it is alluring!  Anyway this business of moving from the villa to the hotel was not all fun and games.  Apart from having to repack, remove and transport,unpack everything we also had to arrange to collect the bikes and relocate them.  We have nonetheless assuaged the labour and annoyance of the affair.  For my part I spent several hours by the pool, swimming and lounging in the sun:

His Lordship meanwhile cultivated a thoroughly relaxed afternoon including some wine and cheese compliments of the Front Desk.

We have now regained what we expect to be the leisure of the resort.  Our dinner reservation this evening is at Oceanside Restaurant where the menu includes Oysters Rockefeller in addition to creative turns on local catches.

The Island Car Wash on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina is not a plain-vanilla car wash.  I can say this with some authority as I regularly take my automobile to a car wash, usually once (sometimes twice) a day every day of the week, every week of the year. I like a clean car. I am the first to admit to an obsession; it may even constitute a psychological aberration of some description in the New England Journal of Medicine. But considering the inconsequential nature of the crime I am not about to renounce the fetish.

Over the past 39 years I have owned about 18 automobiles. I have a thing about cars.  And I take care of them. I have tried car washes of almost every description.  Car washes, like just about anything else, come in graduated varieties extending from the very basic to the most luxurious.  Granted there is not a great deal of breadth between the lowest and the highest rendition of a car wash. Yet even within the minimal parameters the differences are both significant and desirable.

The primary distinction among car washes is whether you wash the car or whether you watch the car being washed.  The latter experience might include a bunch of hysterical high school students washing your car on a Saturday morning as part of a fund raiser.  This however is not something to which I have ever been privy.  In fact it is the last place on earth I would care to watch my car being washed.  The risk of unintentional damage – not to mention the likelihood of an entirely unsatisfactory execution – is too much for me to bear notwithstanding the object of the charity. Accordingly the primary distinction I intended to draw was between a self-help manual car wash and an automatic car wash with or without additional manual labour by others.

The self-help manual car washes are generally not worth the effort.  The best that can be said for them is that they remove obvious layers of dirt (assuming there is no need for the application of elbow grease – or else you’re bound to use a mop rigged with a water nozzle).  The manual washes do however serve an especially useful purpose for people who live in a snowbound climate where road salt and slush are common.  In that circumstance, justing getting rid of some of the film is an improvement though it is customarily an ephemeral one as the condition is destined to recur within minutes after leaving the wash (unless the temperature is so cold that everything just freezes including the remnant drips of water on the car).  Almost by definition, the manual car washes do not usually involve cleaning the interior of the car.  This is so even with those automatic car washes which do not have that added level of attention from staff after the car exterior is washed.

Before leaving the generic automatic car wash it is important to note that they are not all created equally.  Many of the automatic washes end leaving residue of suds or other oily layer and frequently the lower end automatic car washes have singularly poor dryers.

This brings us at last to the thoroughbred strain of car wash – the automatic car wash with staff.  Of course even at this rarefied level there are staff and there are staff.  While this category of car wash is normally passed off as having little or no differences of any distinction, this is clearly not so and undoubtedly constitutes an insult to the likes of the Island Car Wash on Hilton Head Island, but more on that in a moment. The Island Car Wash on Hilton Head Island has the added benefit of being located on a secluded spread of well maintained real estate which is so arranged as to suggest a spa-like atmosphere for its clientele.  In addition to WiFi, a clean water closet and a comfortable interior sitting area (adjacent to an entertaining stockpile of accessory automobile provisions for sale), there is an outside sitting area with parklike benches.  The sweeping drives leading in and out of the complex add to the sophistication of the adventure. The sine qua non is however the dedication and expertise of the staff.  From beginning to end they bring new meaning to generosity, diligence and detail.  After watching them perform one can only privately wonder why in the world anyone would ever consider the fiction of spending a perfectly good Saturday morning washing one’s own car no matter how attached one might be to the thing!  The episode at Island Car Wash is nonpareil if it includes the hand wax polishing!  All in all it is easily accounted as one of life’s small pleasures to have your car detailed at Island Car Wash!

The weather has been wet and dreary for the past two days and it looks as though it will continue the same for the remainder of the week.  We can’t pretend to be disappointed.  It is a welcome break from what has been our relentless bicycling routine for the past three months.  It speaks to the truth of the observation that I slept until almost 10:30 a.m. this morning, something which would normally have been an outrage but my weary body told me otherwise.  In any event we weren’t about to bicycle on our fender-less bikes in the pouring rain. Not to mention that the temperatures haven’t risen above 45 degrees Fahrenheit.

By the time I finished my customary breakfast it was pushing one o’clock in the afternoon.  While spearing pieces of orange, banana and black berries I sipped my dark roast coffee and leisurely answered overnight emails. There is usually some topic to pursue with one or more of my friends (most of whom are no longer engaged in gainful employment).  Later I subjected myself once again to James Joyce’s Ulysses but I have at last abandoned the project.  I have satisfied my life-long curiosity about the book but otherwise I am not much further ahead.

We’re quite happy to kill time until our departure on Saturday morning, four days hence.  The long range weather forecast thereafter is clear and warm weather (70 degrees Fahrenheit).  We don’t feel we’re robbing ourselves of valuable time by doing nothing much.  It takes some time to reconcile one’s self to departure, to settle in one’s mind what needs to be done before we leave.  I canvassed the possibility of having my teeth cleaned for the second time in as many months, to remove the stain of that strong, black coffee I drink every day.  But His Lordship suggested (that’s being polite) I wait until our return when I have already made an appointment for a cleaning.  I deferred.  My obsessive mission to renew is seldom as gratifying in the act as the anticipation.

Given the foreseeable weather we fleetingly toyed with the idea of leaving early.  Why not?  It’s not as though we have any time table to which we are attached though of course there would be some unnecessary duplication of accommodation costs. It wouldn’t however be the first time we jumped ship early. Oh well, we’ll likely just sit tight and relax.  As odd as it may seem, it might be the only time in three months that we just put our feet up.

Meanwhile for lack of anything better to do I have tumbled in my mind what it is that keeps relationships going. Most of the socializing we have done while here for the winter has been long-distance.  The perspective has accentuated the character of my personal relationships.  It likely still remains true that “if she knows why she loves him she doesn’t” which is to say there is no list of prerequisites to a successful relationship.  That said, I am convinced there are signals about the nature of a relationship and it is both wise and desirable that one should understand those clues. As part of my retirement catharsis I am revisiting everything in my past. I am just as prepared to throw away superfluous relationships as I am to let go unnecessary possessions.  Oddly the same rules apply to both. In general terms, if you don’t need it, or you’re keeping it “just in case”, then get rid of it!  I imagine that the separation from the world of business has something to do with this theory of liberation. Besides there is just too much work required to invest in a good relationship to allow it to become a chore.

Aside from bicycling on the beach for the past three months, our next greatest enthusiasm has been eating. This is a dangerous admission as it may engage the frequently unflattering comparison of “gourmet” and “gourmand”:

“Gourmet, a French borrowing meaning ‘a connoisseur of food and drink, a person of discriminating palate,’ is much more in use in English today than its compatriot, gourmand, which sometimes means ‘a big eater and drinker,’ or even ‘a glutton,’ and sometimes simply ‘a heartier sort of gourmet.’ Gourmet has become a cliche for anyone with pretensions to good taste in food and drink, and the adjective today often describes any cook or any eatery thought to be better (perhaps) than indifferent. Gourmand is fading; gourmet is overused.”
(Kenneth G. Wilson, The Columbia Guide to Standard American English. Columbia University Press, 1993)

I believe however we have erred on the side of gourmet rather than gluttony. In fact my inclination is that we have had superb meals during our winter stay here and that it is the excellence of those meals not the abundance of food which distinguishes them.  I am almost astonished that I am saying so as it isn’t something I had even remotely anticipated. It is perhaps arguable that the observation is nothing more than an admission of the adage, “The best sauce for any meal is an appetite“.  Because we’ve normally bicycled 2 to 3 hours a day on the beach en plein air, and because we customarily have only breakfast before taking our evening meal (with nothing in between), we unquestionably have an eagerness when it comes to putting on the nosebag. I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve had lunch (usually fresh fish at a local beanery called Sea Shack) and we have so sated our appetite that the evening meal (if any at all) is by comparison a mere scrap.  I say this in defence of our sylph-like figures!

Until recently we preceded the evening meals with hors d’oeuvres. Initially the starters were standard things like cheese and crackers, smoked oysters, pickled herring and sour cream, that sort of thing.  Occasionally we succumbed to exotic potato chips. Subsequently we switched to crudités, exclusively pieces of raw carrots, red and green pepper shards, sliced radishes and celery sticks (for a brief period festooned with cream cheese and anchovy), black olives (initially pitted but latterly with the pit still in because they were better) and occasionally some tasty multigrain rice crackers with sea salt. We’ve had oysters on the half shell but only when rarely dining out. The appetizer custom has dwindled with the contemporaneous decline of the cocktail preprandial.  There is a reason those who cling to good clean living regularly dine before seven o’clock – there’s nothing else to do!

As for the main event, we’ve generally had crab cakes (most places here offer prepared crab cakes which are universally delicious), filet mignon (we have yet to have a disappointing cut of Angus beef), fresh Alaska salmon and of course pasta dishes, hot dogs and hamburgers.  The accompanying vegetables have been asparagus and potatoes (white or sweet), sometimes mixed veggies of cauliflower, broccoli, onion and peas. Very recently we’ve opted for a mixed grill of beef, bacon and sausage accompanied by a very reliable cole slaw from Harris Teeter.  On rare occasions we’ve had a pizza.

The desert menu is as ritual as breakfast, at least for my part.  I cannot report what His Lordship prepares for breakfast as I am not awake at that hour – anything from 4:00 – 8:00 a.m.  I have a set menu for breakfast: a bowl of fresh fruit (sliced banana, orange wedges and black berries), black coffee, two eggs “over easy”, ham or roast beef slices, cheese of some description (anything from Laughing Cow to Roquefort) and cherry tomatoes, followed by a bowl of upscale granola (with all the really tasty and fattening things in it). My dessert menu is a bowl of fresh fruit with Greek yoghurt (sometimes sprinkled with either raw almonds or walnuts or a bit of that granola, and perhaps drizzled with organic honey on a good day, assuming we have any honey left which we don’t at the moment).  His Lordship prefers something more elegant for desert – like Whoopie Pie or fancy cookies.  Very early in our tour we stocked magnum jars of Nutella which literally evaporated.  Oh my but it was good!

Naturally no description of food is complete without an account of what is happening in the kitchen.  Here I confess total ignorance.  While some would hasten to call me spoiled (as I have escaped KP duty) I prefer to soften the reprisal by suggesting that I selflessly relinquish my entitlement to such participation by deferring to those who derive the greatest meaning and spiritual nourishment from the experience.  Add to this the much revered proverb about too many cooks and the broth, and there you have it!

The end of our winter sojourn on Hilton Head Island is upon us.  In less than a week we shall be gone.  For now we are winding down with precision.

Yesterday we stopped at The Sea Pines Resort Bicycle Shop where we rented our bicycles and arranged to have the them collected next Saturday morning after we’ve left. The pick-up and delivery is a welcome convenience reminiscent of a hotel concierge.  Next Saturday will not be the first time the Bicycle Shop has provided the service.  Not long after we arrived here three months ago we were cycling at the north end of the beach (Sonesta Beach) and one of us had a flat tyre.  Andrew, the mechanic and clerk at the Bicycle Shop, came to the rescue by delivering a replacement bike and hauling away the other.  Later when we moved from our temporary (2-week) digs at Beachside Tennis Villas the Bicycle Shop transported our bikes to our permanent  residence.  We have also prevailed upon the Shop more than once to lubricate the gritty gears damaged by the fine beach sand; and I replaced one bike entirely when its poor gears seemed destined to utter ruin.

After we returned home today from our long and agreeable bike ride on the beach (South Beach at Marker 4 to Singleton Shores at Marker 97) we went to Harris Teeter to buy what we hope will be the last of our grocery provisions. We spared nothing in this final fling, stocking our larder with fresh fruit, meats and cereals for breakfast, and crab cakes, salmon and beef for the remaining five dinners.  And Perrier.  We drink endless amounts of Perrier.  We constantly have bottles of the stuff going at our respective desks, in our respective bathrooms and at both the kitchen and dining room tables.

Next Thursday I have an appointment to have my hair cut; and if the weather permits I shall bring the car to the Island Car Wash for  detailing and polish. They are closed if it is raining. On Friday we plan to disassemble the keyboard and pack it in its new carrying case along with the collapsible bench in the back seat of the car (we’re fairly certain it will not fit into the trunk).  We’ll put the rest of our stuff in the trunk so we’re ready to leave early on Saturday morning. Generally speaking we brought very little clothing with us and apart from smalls and socks we haven’t purchased anything else during our stay.  Until we leave Florida in the second week of March we’ll require only our lighter clothing; but then it will be back to long pants and sweaters, socks and shoes.  It’s a small challenge to arrange our suitcases accordingly, hopefully not having later to unpack the entire trunk just to rearrange things for the three-day drive home.

Before we close the door for the last time on our residence here we shall have to relocate some of the things we displaced upon our arrival, for example a large plastic blotting pad which had been on my writing desk.  We also moved certain furnishings to make it more convenient for our purposes.  Other than that, it’s just a matter of returning the keys to the drop box at the estate agent’s office on the morning of our departure.  We’ve already made a reservation for lunch on St. Simons Island en route to our final destination, Amelia Island which is only about a three-hour drive from here.

I suspect that as we leave the Island for the first time in three months we’ll suffer a twinge of regret.  It is however not all bad news because it is common knowledge that this place is crawling with visitors in the summer and we wouldn’t appreciate having to battle our way through the crowds along the beach and the bicycle paths. Being here “off season” one becomes accustomed to tranquillity.

Many, many years ago when I was fleetingly engaged to be married I was introduced to my fiancé’s extended family members one of whom was especially peculiar. I cannot recall either his name (it may have been Stanley) or his relationship (he may have been the widower of a relative).  What I do recall with some certainty was that he was on his own, one of those chaps who gets invited more out of sympathy than anything else. I suppose in those days (now over forty years ago) men hadn’t learned to do anything for themselves in the kitchen so when the opportunity arose for a prepared meal they were invited  along.

Anyway what matters about Stanley (I believe that really was his name) is that he was as quaint as his name.  There was more than a hint of tender quirkiness about him. I thought that Stanley was holding back, that there was more to him than he cared to share with others.  He was exceedingly shy, I can’t remember a thing he ever said – other than, “Very tasty indeed!” which was his sole utterance at table.  At the time I dismissed the repetitive lack of novelty as indicative of mental distress, imagining that for lack of anything better he simply resorted to that stock comment.  Today I am not so sure.  I am beginning to think Stanley just didn’t give a damn!  And that makes him both unusual and entertaining, even mildly intriguing.

Adopting a disposition of nonchalance is to my thinking enviable.  While it is normally a description of someone who is calm and relaxed – perhaps the more daring state of blasé – I had the distinct sensation that in Stanley’s case it was a case of being indifferent and dispassionate or if you prefer something more international – insouciant.  That is, there was a strong feature of disregard to Stanley’s otherwise quiet demeanour. What redeems his attitude is that it hadn’t the appearance of mere indifference but rather that he had consciously turned a blind eye. This imbued the condition with elevating logic. I fashioned that he had reasoned his way to blissful ignorance of life’s annoyances; that he had resolved to remain unperturbed by the ripples of life’s experiences.  Admittedly there lingers the possibility that Stanley was merely detached and no more stable than someone wired to lithium but nonetheless his conduct stands as a model of behaviour.  It is equally possible that he not only snapped his fingers at the world but also gave the finger to the world!

Telling the world to get stuffed is an etiquette not normally urged upon others. Instead we’re encouraged to accommodate what annoys.  To be entirely honest it frequently coincides with deceit; that is, the adaptation is designed initially to disguise our disapproval (though it may simply stall the instinctive response in favour of more diplomatic posture).  Whatever the stratagem it ignores the very real preference for blunt rejection.  Yet because of our overriding pragmatic nature we’re generally disinclined to give rein to that alternative.

I have lately discovered that there is a more compelling reason for brushing off the world.  As long as you give your attention to the world, you’re ignoring yourself. I concede that there may be practical advantage to the former but the world is a jealous mistress and requires uncompromising attention. The only loser if any will be you. It is at least theoretically conceivable that the drummer whose beat you’ll be certain to comprehend is your own; anything else is both whimsical and risky.  Perhaps the greatest advantage of flouting the external tempo is that it eliminates the yearning to rationalize it, frequently a tiresome and utterly fruitless exercise.  Turning one’s attention inward vaporizes a great deal of consternation.  Besides it has to matter that it is one’s own thoughts which are being assessed; if there is any fault to be found it is surely better to correct one’s own errors before wasting time on perfecting the universe.  In that respect it is a tactic of elimination, always a good strategy in most struggles.  And one avoids the need to evaluate what in any event is beyond control.  It thus simplifies life.  And that has to be a good thing.

The wind was from the north today. Arctic air has been pushing across Canada and into the United States, its effects being felt as far south as Miami, Florida:

“The National Weather Service says cold air is continuing to cascade down from Canada, causing bitter cold and freezing conditions from the plains states to the Northeast and even into the Southern states. Some of the coldest wind chill readings will dip as low as between 25 and 45 degrees below zero.” CBS News

“The most extreme arctic blasts, blamed on a weather pattern known as the polar vortex, were said to have affected nearly 190 million people.

In Kentucky, an escaped prisoner turned himself in to get out of the cold.

Some parts of the Midwest hit -26C (-14F), as low as the Antarctic coast in winter, and much colder than the inside of a domestic freezer.

Temperature records were shattered in states across the US, including Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee, Arkansas, Michigan, Maryland, Ohio, Pennsylvania and New York.

It was -17C (1F) in the small town of Hell, Michigan, prompting online jokes that the weather was so bad even hell had frozen over.”  BBC

As is so often the case with dry, cold air there has also been endless sunshine and that is something I find impossible to ignore.  Yesterday I went for a hurried bicycle ride on the beach, calculated to have the 18mph wind at my back.  It was however a small concession as I wasn’t wearing either a hat or gloves and my fingers became so frozen that I imagined they might break off.  When I repeated the exercise again today I donned not only hat and gloves but also a heavy cable-knit sweater under my cotton shell. On both days, after securing my bicycle at the front of the house, I sallied over to the pool which is sheltered by the surrounding sea pines.  The sun has a perfect avenue directly upon the northeast corner of the pool and this is where I flatten myself on the chaise longue to absorb the rays.  Surprisingly there is considerable warmth from the protected sunshine though occasionally a gust of wind makes its way through the trees causing me to shudder momentarily.  When however the cool air spills onto my uplifted face it is quite refreshing.

It is a commonly known trick to place a swaddled baby in the sun on a cold day.  The sun ensures the child keeps its eyes closed and the fresh air contributes to a healthful sleep.  That’s pretty much the effect it had upon me.  Two hours passed effortlessly before I stirred.  The sun was beginning to dip behind the canopy of trees and some gauze-like clouds muted the warmth of the sun.  Until then however I was in a state of reverie, pleasantly lost in my thoughts, aimlessly slipping from one to another.