I know Florida well. Still, something always surprises me. This time, it was just me, Baru, and Ester. For Baru, it was her second trip to Florida; for Ester, it was her first, a gift for her eleventh birthday. We booked hotels, flights, and a car six months in advance. I don't know if it's still more advantageous to do so. Years ago, it definitely was.
We take off on time. London is hell. We have less than an hour to transfer, not enough time to even use the restroom. Only Baru manages to. We checked our carry-on luggage. In return, we got a better boarding position. We're already taking advantage of this and are well-prepared for it. We have the essentials in our backpacks. In front of us, two arrogant men are getting free beers. The entire flight. The flight attendants are kind the whole way, we admire their patience. Ester didn't want to sit in the middle. She protested. She sat in the middle, and I sat by the window. My things fall behind me, and the person behind me always hands them back. Baru wanted to sit in the aisle to be closest to the restroom. I decide to write. I pull out my notepad and pen. The pen falls next to the seat. By the window. I go to the restroom. Baru squeezes into the space under the seat. Good thing she's flexible. She retrieves the pen.
Two suitcases arrived. We waited for Baru's for half an hour. People gradually left, a few unclaimed ones still going around. Baru was already planning what she'd buy with the compensation. Just then, the suitcase arrived. She felt a mix of joy and disappointment.
We're standing outside, it's hot, waiting for the shuttle to the car rental. The girls are annoying, they're thirsty. I go into the hall. Right past the entrance, I find a restroom and a water fountain. I only allow a quick visit. They're there for ten minutes. The shuttle loaded our suitcases and wants to leave. I run to get the girls. They're having fun, drinking and examining a vending machine full of goodies. I yell from the doorway, and it wouldn't be the last time that day. The whole hall turns around, both of them run terrified to the minibus.
We had reserved a car from a cheaper rental agency. I suspected there would be a catch – a car is the most expensive fun on trips. A semi-literate man sat behind the counter and claimed he had nothing to do with that rental company and that we should sit down because it wasn't working. At first, we didn't understand what wasn't working. I asked if we had a car, he said yes, it just wasn't working. After an hour, he sent us to the back. There was only a monitor and a video call with someone from Turkey, who was struggling with the signal. It kept dropping, disappearing, returning, so it took us almost another hour just to connect. Once we did, an insurance offer came up. Then another. We declined all extras; we had car insurance from the Czech Republic. The connection dropped again, a new person came, and the explanation started from scratch. In the end, he insisted on insurance and still charged a high deposit, which exceeded the limit on my credit card. Without a credit card, there's no chance for a car, but the limit couldn't be increased. Finally, he agreed to payment from a debit card. I screamed at him. Baru joined in. We called Noemi to make sure we truly understood everything. The fatigue was intense. The man gave up. We immediately declined the toll box – we'd drive where tolls weren't charged. The best option in Florida, as long as we didn't make a mistake and enter a toll section. The rental company would certainly make us pay for that.
After two hours, we finally held the keys, taken from a box that opened when we scanned our driver's license and cards. Before we got in, one last task awaited me. Using a QR code, I had to photograph every single part of the car, exactly according to the instructions. But it was raining, the car was squeezed between others, and there was nowhere to re-park, so I was trudging through mud, taking photos of what I could. Certainly not what was supposed to be there. My shoes slipped on the pedals. I drove barefoot.
We stayed in a house, in a rented section. We met the owner when she regularly pottered around the gate that separated us from the pool. The gate was locked. She mostly talked to us about herself. We even petted her dog through the bars. The pool gleamed, with beautiful, clean water within reach. But for us, it was unattainable. In the evening, the lady didn't close her blinds. Baru complimented her paintings on the walls in the morning. After that, she closed them even during the day.
In the morning, I wake up earlier and go to sit in the garden. I almost sit on a frog. We sit there together; I can show it off. Baru names her Milena. Baru is bitten by mosquitoes in the morning. A notification comes through Booking that we must close the house door in the evening when we're sitting in the garden. We don't understand why she didn't tell us through the bars.
We have a problem with street parking. Almost everywhere there are only apps, QR codes and confirmation SMS, but we only had Nomad with internet, so the SMS was always sent to our Czech number, which we didn't have active. In the end, we mostly parked in garages, where we could pay by card. More expensive, but certain.
In the morning, I was the first to get up, woke the girls, and planned the day. Artificial intelligence helped me with the planning. Every day we were by the ocean, the car in our favorite garage close to the beach. Our base.
We waded into the ocean through a swamp with a full-body scrub. There were algae everywhere. It stank, but you could swim. I noticed them when we landed, but I didn't know what they were then. We only got rid of the algae on the west coast.
We bought an umbrella on site, like every year. Baru just ran to Publix to pee while we waited for her in the car. She returned half an hour later with a full bag and a beach umbrella. Unfortunately, she didn't buy a sand screw for the umbrella, it was too expensive. On the very first day, it flew away, and we chased it down the beach. Ester had her handbag from Ross. She wouldn't go out without it. She carried it to the beach, to the gallery, to the market, everywhere. Wherever Ester went, her handbag went too.
The girls are swimming, and I am under the umbrella. There's a thunderstorm. Strong wind. The girls are in the water. They ask themselves why they are afraid of the rain when they are wearing swimsuits. They cheerfully swim for an hour, even though the rain is hitting their faces. I am constantly under the umbrella. Then they come to me and realize that I was holding the umbrella so that it wouldn't fly away with the things hanging on it.
On Miami Beach, we happened upon a celebration of 250 years of American independence. Flags everywhere, and in the evening, fireworks over the ocean. One rule applies on this beach: no one is afraid to show off their body in eccentric clothing. More means more here.
In the morning we stopped at the Freedom Tower, a building from 1925 nicknamed "the Ellis Island of the South". Ester is sitting like a bum on the steps, exhausted. We were on our way to Bayside Marketplace, full of boats, speakers and stalls selling things no one needs but everyone buys anyway. Then we stumbled upon the FIFA Fan Festival for the World Cup in Bayfront Park. We competed too, and brought home small winning prizes. I almost stubbed my toe, but Ester saved the family's honor, just missing the hole where the ball was supposed to go.
Every day we walked along Lincoln Road, where we bought coffee at Starbucks in the morning. It's almost impossible to avoid it there; it's on every corner. Then we visited Wynwood Walls, where a developer transformed abandoned warehouses into a street art gallery for artists from around the world in 2009. We parked in an empty parking lot, nobody around, just us. Baru left the seatbelt between the door and the seat, and the door slammed shut. I'm freaking out about it. I've been hot since we arrived. Baru isn't good with navigation. We bought iron-on patches and trinkets at Design 22.
We wanted to go to Little Havana, but heavy rain started, and our raincoats were in the car again. We sat in front of Publix and ate sushi on the steps. Then a car arrived and stopped right at the garage entrance. A theatrical performance began. Cars honked, but a woman with a shopping cart calmly loaded her groceries. Then she pushed the cart onto the sidewalk, it started to roll back, she quickly jumped in, and the driver tried to drive off. The cart caught up and hit the back of the car. She didn't stop.
We head to the Metromover, returning to the car. Ester is having an experience, standing at the front. The downpour continues. We wait at the stop. A homeless man walks by, both hands full of bags. He doesn't want to put them in a puddle, his pants fall down. We cover Ester's eyes, someone pulls them back up.
We decide to run through the puddles to the garage. We're low on gas. We look for a gas station; I pull into a police one. A beautiful policewoman stands by the pumps with a gun in her hand. I ask if I can refuel there too. She says only if I'm a policewoman. We go to look elsewhere.
We go to Little Havana the next day. We park for free on a side street by the church. Music plays from the windows; old men sit at tables. A piece of Cuba transplanted to Florida. In Domino Park, only people over fifty are allowed at the tables, a rule over forty years old. Younger people just watch. Roosters and hens everywhere.
Baru drags us into a car museum for free. We mistake a mechanic for an artist. He has a ladder ready and looks up at the sky. Instead of a brush, he pulls out a tape measure and measures the gutter. After a few hours on one street, saturated with Cuba, we return to the car. The girls would never find it again, they don't want to believe I remember the way to it. Rubell Museum. Again, we park for free in a poor neighborhood, a block from the museum. The museum cools us down and feeds us art.
And then the Holocaust Memorial, where there is a huge bronze hand reaching towards the sky. The silence there is of a completely different kind.
Lincoln Street again, Ross, we shop and run to the car with our purchases.
We spent seven days in Miami in total, then we packed up and moved on.
Before we embarked on the grand tour, we stopped in Fort Lauderdale for a Cuban dinner with an American family. Food and fun till night. Other friends live directly on a boat, and we dropped by there in the morning. Everyone has a completely different idea of what home really is. Unfortunately, we didn't get to see two families this time; we'll have to next time.
We're heading north on A1A, which I've been nagging about since the beginning. A road where you stop constantly, but it's worth it. We drive all day, then to Blowing Rocks Preserve. There was supposed to be a colorful rock there, but it's flooded. The navigation then takes us to highway 95; it has more sense than I do. If we had driven on A1A the whole time, we would have arrived the next day around lunchtime. We stop at Jupiter Lighthouse, but we don't go inside; it costs money. At Wendy's, there was a creep with a garbage truck parked right behind our car, waiting. Ester was scared, and I had a theory about a serial killer. Baru wanted to have a cigarette. Then he opened the door. I started the car. He waved at us; I waved back, but I stepped on the gas so hard that my phone with navigation fell down. I reminded myself again to buy a phone holder. It costs next to nothing, but we always leave the store with other things and only remember it when the phone flies to the gear stick again. We swim at Bathtub Beach, then shower and get back in the car. We drive alone on A1A. We pee in a secluded parking lot at John Rock Park, and I make everyone take their tissues to the bin. Then Sebastian Inlet Beach. Crabs, fishermen, clear water. An hour before arrival, Baru is already planning to sort and wash laundry.
St. Augustine
We arrived at the hotel late in the evening and had to ring the bell. The woman in the window came to open up and immediately gave us change for the upstairs laundry room. We managed three washes in a week without any problems. Five years ago, Baru discovered Tide laundry detergent and was as thrilled as with the discovery of America, so she bought it on her first day after arrival.
I'm pestering about the lighthouse; the girls call it a "lajthajzl" (a light-housey thing). The room is clean but smells damp. Our clothes are getting damp.
Breakfast in the morning, Ester makes waffles for the first time. We watch a squirrel by the bin. It pulls out half a pizza and disappears with it. It has a better breakfast than we do. I'm pestering about the lighthouse again, luckily it's hot so I don't want to go up, and so we at least shop in the gift shop.
St. Augustine, Florida's oldest city, simply wonderful. Old streets, Castillo de San Marcos, a fortress over three hundred years old that no one ever conquered by force because it's built from stone so soft that cannonballs would rather sink into it than crack it. Ester is rolling in the grass, not understanding how we can manage. We walk with water bottles in hand. St. George Street is full of shops, and on the corner stands the Oldest Wooden Schoolhouse in the USA. At least according to tax records from 1716. Wood joined with pegs and homemade nails, now tied to the ground with chains after the 1937 hurricane. Twenty-one years ago, my daughters stood there.
Baru invites us to dinner, a fish camp, famous seafood, oysters, tuna, shrimp. I'll have a beer, strong, I can't drive. We mess around on the pier before I even dare to sit behind the wheel. In the morning I get up early and stumble upon a Ford Bronco rally, dozens of cars, the same passion in their eyes. I go back to the hotel, we go for an American breakfast, pack our things for the beach. The cars were parked along the beach, for several kilometers. They had some kind of rally. But otherwise, you can usually park directly on the beach here, but only with a 4x4. And we didn't have one.
Evening at Anastasia State Park, a beautiful beach. In the middle of this wilderness, people are camping with large RVs. We drive around and observe the life. We get lost; the navigation leads us to exits that are already closed, we drive in circles. Ester is talking nervously. The park was about to close.
One evening, Ester stayed at the hotel, needing to lie down and watch a fairy tale. Baru and I went back to the center, had a drink, and went for a walk.
The next day I promised a longer sleep and shopping. Baru desperately needs shorts. Another pair. She only has four new ones.
In the afternoon, we head to Porpoise Point Pier and Vilano Beach. We park in front of a luxurious house. On the beach, there are turtles; drunken Russians pulled them out of the water. The turtles aren't afraid of people and let themselves be fed.
I'm worried about the car; I know I'm parking quite brazenly. We find a threatening message under the wiper from the homeowner. On our last day in St. Augustine, we visit the pink cafe; we didn't make it there in the evening. On the way, we stop at an attraction – the Beaver Pump. Ester buys a warm blanket, I buy a leather boot, but only in the car do I realize it's a car air freshener, vanilla. Baru likes the smell, but it makes me and Ester nauseous. The boot goes back into the bag.
NASA and Tampa
We leave Tampa early in the morning. First, NASA. The mere entry into the complex is worth it. Queues for the bus to the launch pads begin to form. They always close it right before us. We are the first to get on the next bus.
At Kennedy Space Center, the rockets look big in photos, but in real life, they are absolutely enormous. Saturn V measures 111 meters, eighteen more than the Statue of Liberty, and weighed almost three million kilograms at launch. This single rocket took people to the Moon. The bus stopped for us at the launch pads, places not usually accessible to the public. We queue up for a rocket launch simulator, which leaves us with shaky heads. The weather was on our side all day, but just before closing time, a Florida downpour started, not a ten-minute one, but a proper one. Our raincoats were in the car again. We ran into the gift shop and suddenly bought T-shirts that they hadn't wanted half an hour earlier. The girls ran to the car with bags on their heads. It stopped raining. We just drove through Orlando.
In Tampa, we stayed at a nice resort with a pool, bar, and a beach more for an evening hangout than for all-day swimming. A pleasant surprise awaited us there: dolphins just ten meters away and a laundry room that worked with a card, no quarters, no counting. Baru beamed with happiness. So we set off to do laundry.
We walked the Tampa Riverwalk after dark in the evening, Ester was exhausted. In the morning, I was up first again, I have my spot on the beach under the palm tree, sitting there with coffee and staring at the water.
The next day, we go to the Henry B. Plant Museum in the morning, which has Florida's very first elevator and luxurious opulence. Afterwards, coffee at Blind Tiger in a luxurious high-rise round building; we search for it for a while, it was supposed to be a hipster cafe. Ester spills coffee on their luxurious carpet.
Today was supposed to be just the museum and then relaxation at the hotel. But I lure them into the historic tram, and it turns into a half-day trip to Ybor City. We have huge ice cream, cigars everywhere. Baru would light up anywhere; she doesn't care about prohibitions, and that's been the case the whole trip. Roosters roam freely in the streets, descendants of chickens brought here a hundred years ago by Cuban immigrants. Today they are protected by city ordinance. I take photos. Baru discovered an art place... paintings, works by local artists, a cafe, and a space for music events. They probably hadn't seen anything like it before. We buy pictures, arguing over who buys which. Baru doesn't have cash, so one eventually belongs to me. Ester eats pizza on the curb next to a sign prohibiting weapons.
As a reward, Clearwater Beach, white sand and sunset. I'm photographing Ester jumping. Great photos, Ester is happy.
Baru still wants to go to TJ Maxx. A message arrives that our rabbit Ludvík has died. Someone poisoned him. I cry. Every day.
The following day we go to explore another beach, Sand Key. We discover the beach where we were with Noemi in 2022 when we drove from Florida to Dallas.
Another beach, another day is Honeymoon Island, almost empty, just birds and raccoon tracks in the sand. The umbrella tried to escape again, getting tangled in the rope lining the beach.
Naples
We're driving to Naples; on the way, we'll stop at Myakka River State Park. It's a completely different Florida again. One of the oldest state parks, where cattle once grazed, and today hundreds of alligators live there. No promenades, just wetlands, birds, and animals. There's also a suspended boardwalk in the tree canopy right in the park, the first of its kind in all of North America. It hangs twenty-five feet above the ground and leads to a seventy-four-foot-tall observation tower, from where you can see the entire park, the lake, and the river. We encounter a bunny, deer, Poles, and Germans.
We descend into Boca Grande, where time stops just past the bridge. No high-rise buildings, no nightclubs; the island has been guarding this for over a hundred years. It's a tarpon paradise where wealthy Americans have always gone to fish, and also a quiet refuge for a few famous people because no one photographs them there. We walk along the beaches, collect shells, slow down a bit. And then the police stop me. I pull out my tried-and-true phrase, "I don't speak English very well," which usually works, but not this time. The policeman just looks at me and says, "I don't speak Czech. You are in America." At that moment, numbers race through my head – how fast I was going, how much it will cost, and how I'll pay for it, because they give you a paper where they precisely check off the speed, and right next to it, you see the amount. They try to prevent corruption this way. You can pay online; I've experienced that before. Last time, Noemi paid for us. This time, luckily, it wasn't about speeding, just an expired license plate. I tell him the car is a rental, and he just says, "Tell them that when you return the car." And that was it; he even waved goodbye nicely. Stop at Port Charlotte, nice Dunkin', they have apple-cinnamon apple spice. Baru is happy.
The last stop that day is Sanibel Island. There's a lighthouse from 1884. Hurricane Ian ripped off one of its legs in 2022, but it remained standing, and a few months later, it was lit again. It was the fourth lighthouse on this trip. The girls finally breathed a sigh of relief that it was the last one.
We arrive in the evening, Ester realizes she forgot her favorite plush bunny in Tampa, she cries. The second bunny this week. Naples is a calmer, more manicured version of Miami. I command that this time we'll walk downtown in the morning. Ester whines, wanting to stay in the hotel after the journey. We go by ourselves and stumble upon true gems. Tin City, a wooden pier where everything smelled of salt and fried shrimp. We only see Naples Pier as a construction site because it's still closed after Hurricane Ian and is being rebuilt from scratch. It's already its seventh reconstruction in 140 years of history, with reopening expected sometime in 2027. I swim in my underwear and bra. We go back to Tin City and buy pizza. It's a ten-minute walk to the hotel. We all pounce on it like wild animals, the best pizza in the world. The next day we take Ester there too. Baru wants to go to a seafood restaurant again, she's inviting us, so why not.
AI finds us discounts again. A museum with free admission, only on Sunday. It's Sunday, so we head off right away, they're just opening, we're among the first visitors. The only thing that makes us nervous is the number of elderly female supervisors per visitor. We are under absolute scrutiny, and on top of that, they all want to chat. But there was air conditioning and a moment of forgetting that it was over forty degrees outside.
After returning, we go to do laundry. But the laundromat wanted quarters. The receptionist was eating something and trying to count between bites how many there were for twelve dollars, but she couldn't. Then she rather said she didn't have that many. We head to a public laundromat with a change machine. At the gas station, we vacuum some sand from the car and fill up the tank. Baru is writing in her diary. I have to help.
A stop at Publix, which never gets old. We buy fruit and something for the road. How many types of one single thing can there possibly be?
And then came the evening of truth. We had intermittently stopped at TJ Maxx, Ross, and Marshalls, always with the initial good intention of "just looking," which never works. So, towels out, booster seat out, half the clothes out, and we still barely fit. My SpongeBob bag, originally bought as a gift for my grandson, saved me, as I eventually stuffed it with everything that didn't fit anywhere else.
I drive the cart to the lobby. We load up.
On the last day, we choose the route via US-41 through the Everglades. In fact, we had no other option, as we had to take a toll-free road. A paradise awaits us, no hotels, no shops, just water, grass, and sky. Along the way, we stop at a Native American village, and within the first few minutes, mosquitoes swarm us. In the store, a toothless young lady is the first to announce that she has no bags. Baru buys perfume, a tester at half price. I buy an alligator for my grandson. A little further on stands a small historic post office, a wooden shack about the size of a shed, in the middle of the swamps. The smallest full-service post office in the entire United States, just a few dozen square feet. It's not in any guide, and that's precisely why it's worth it.
Alligators just lie there, waiting and watching. Mosquitoes have a completely different approach. Repellent doesn't help, I wave my hands, we run from place to place, spraying can after can. Right in the middle of all this, Baru needed to go to the bathroom. A parking lot was found, clean and quiet, but there was no running water. A dry toilet. She didn't sit down, just leaned over, and the mosquitoes got her exactly where she least expected it. A wail came from behind the metal door. When she came out, she looked at me as if I were to blame. I regretted not taking a photo of that toilet... I photograph toilets everywhere.
After the Everglades, we were covered in mud, sweat, repellent, and Baru was covered in..., so we found a shower at a truck stop near the airport, where long-haul drivers wash up in the mornings. For twenty dollars, the lady led us to a clean, spacious cubicle, towels included.
This time we depart on time. For the first time in five years. As soon as we're home, I open my browser and look for tickets for next year.
