Jammin’ in the Cortez Kitchen

The old man’s skin was so wrinkled and weather worn that I could not quite tell if he was black, white or Cuban. But his raspy voice definitely spoke of his years and the slightly French-accent-tinged long drawl spoke of his origins in the bayou. He played some old blues on the guitar that had most of the varnish worn off. Beside him sat an even older gentleman who was attempting to get his violin into tune. The American War Veteran to his right seemed to readily take charge and determine whose turn it was to play a tune.  Us, with our baby and pram, brought the average age of the small group sitting in the circle of wooden chairs down to perhaps the low 50’s.

The Florida Maritime Museum hosts a “Music on the Porch” on the second Saturday of the month. The slightly cooler weather today moved the music inside the old schoolhouse, and the old building with its wooden floors and country music reminded me of similar venues around Valley River, MB (i.e.. Zoria Hall). But we are in Cortez Village, the last bit of the mainland from Bradenton before hopping the bridge onto the island for Bradenton Beach. A small enclave of “old” Florida where the streets are small and narrow running between the clapboard bungalows under the large trees. The village is centered around the Cortez Kitchen, a section of water nicknamed such due to the fact that that you could always go there and get something to eat. Now there’s also a restaurant beside the water of the same name, but it feels like it’s as old as the village, especially at night when a band starts to play and the air gets a bit smoky inside. We sat on the patio by the boats and watched a Great Blue Heron stroll into the fish processing plant next door and scavenge for scraps. The seared tuna was tasty, and the Land Shark lager went down nicely. I snuck a morsel of wasabi to Seb’s mouth and got a fantastic scrunched face as result – but no cry!

The sun started to go down, a fishing boat came in to dock, and the setting was very peaceful. We took a walk on the boardwalk around the water to take in the view. Wonderful. This is the moment. And the air from the restaurant wafted out the succulent smells of garlic butter. Is anyone else hungry?

The Great Drive South

Whatever Google or your GPS says, do not follow its advice. Seasoned veterans who drive south each winter know better – just go straight south as far and as fast as you can! Bad weather often hits Minneapolis and other areas nearer the Great Lakes.

For me, the drive from Winnipeg to Tampa Bay started out ominously: after checking and double-checking the packing list, I left, but forgot my wallet!  Then, once outside the Perimeter of the City, the weather looked like it was stacking up against me. A warm spell (above 0°C!) brought rain the day before, which turned to freezing rain overnight and resulted in fog in the morning. This meant I was passing people on the highway while doing 80kph. Embarking on a 30+ hour journey to discover that the first few hours will be very slow wasn’t heartening. However, the US border brought clearer skies (somewhat) and better yet, clearer roads. In fact, during the entire trip, I only had the sun in my eyes once. An incredible continent-long blanket of cloud seemed to track me.

I made it to Omaha the first day, and by midday on the second day I was already bored of the Interstate. Occasionally something would perk me up, like passing a trucker from a company in Morden, MB. But otherwise, the podcasts and audiobooks were doing their trick to keep me awake.

Just south of Kansas City I decided to veer off course: take the hypotenuse route to Memphis instead of the longer route on the Interstate – the GPS said that both routes would get me there at about the same time. So I took a random exit (at Archie) and headed east. And I’m glad I did! The road I happened upon was curvy and hilly and quite a lot of fun. At some points the hills were so steep that you couldn’t see where the road was going as it dove down away from you. And the scenery here was better too: small farms and classic American Midwest houses.

This route sent me through the Ozarks (hwy 63), a place I’ve never been to. It’s a pretty area, full of big oak trees covering rolling hills with an occasional town in the mix. And I’m pretty sure one of the small villages smelled like garlic sausage.

The hills end abruptly and open up into the flat Mississippi delta; coincidentally a flock of Canada Geese flew overhead and welcomed me to familiar terrain, complete with farm equipment beside the roadway from the rice harvest.

As I exited Memphis and got further south, I noticed that other drivers were now treating the highway as an extension of city roads; wherein slower traffic wouldn’t always “keep to the right”. Down in the Florida panhandle, while driving through heavy rain, I found I could actually go faster in the “slow” lane! Not nearly as organized as I found in California, where each lane seems to have a 5-10mph speed differential. So the final push to get to Bradenton was mildly frantic. But alas, it was worth it, as the Gulf came into view while crossing the bridge over the Manatee River. And then of course, my family was there.

Punched in hard one day, 7hrs non-stop!