Sunday, October 23rd

The Ugly

I woke up around two with a pounding headache. It was still around and bad when I finally got up half past seven. I had two options. Either go down to reception and ask to have the room for another day or stick to the original plan and drive down to Key West. Over a hot shower, I decided for the latter. It should only be about three hours driving after which I could find a hotel and rest. At least I would be away from the airport, should the headache clear up in the evening.

I also decided to have a hearty breakfast which lead to another travel rule: Do not ever do the breakfast buffet at an American chain’s airport hotel. It is invariably terrible and expensive.

After which, I headed out. Yet the headache became worse. I drove south on auto-pilot, stopping every once in a while for a little nap. A supermarket parking lot, a little rest place beside the road. I didn’t much care for the Keys. Good thing I’d be coming back this way the next day.

Thanks to the frequent naps, it took me five hours to arrive in Key West. I drove around town a bit in search for a nice hotel. The prevalent type of hotel in a dedicated vacation town such as Key West is called a “resort.” Essentially, this means a motel with a pool, some tacky entertainment and double prices. The largest establishment in Key West calls itself the “Southernmost Hotel in the USA” and takes up three city blocks. Given my condition, I was considering their rates, but thankfully a power outage had just disrupted their computer system and a switch somewhere seemed to have given for good. And in the modern world of hospitality, no computer means no nothing.

So I randomly picked a different motel across the street which was still rather expensive but not quite as insane, got into my room and slept for five hours straight.

Around eight I was finally ready to head out for some food. The reception pointed me to Duval Street where all the restaurants would be. This was also where I got my shock therapy in American vacationing. Groups of people, mostly girls for whatever reason, on bicycles drifted down the street and yelled whatever came to their minds at each other. Groups of other people sat on the porches, drank wine or possibly rum and trumped each other in how loudly they could talk. A karaoke bar blasted out the ear-insulting crooning of their stars. How you one could possibly sit in there more than three minutes was beyond me. Yet the place was packed. And this was after-season. What the place must have looked just a few weeks earlier forbids thinking about.

Stands to reason that the only thing missing from the scene was a decent restaurant. Granted, I turned around about three quarters down, so there might have been something. But I had enough and decided to pick something to eat up from a grocery store I had seen earlier.

Party town my arse.