One Wild Ride

Sanibel Island is an idyllic place. Its beaches feature porcelain white sands, an aquamarine colored ocean, thick emerald colored foliage. In town, residents and tourists pedaled on bicycles to cute, quirky destinations like the Lazy Flamingo, the Island Cow or She Sells Sea Shells Down By The Sea Shore. There is a museum dedicated to shells. Driving through the small town last week with my parents, I remarked that the place seemed to have appeared out of storybook. 

To get this picturesque place, my parents navigated down Florida's maze of highways, turnpikes and interstates. Waze, an app on my parents' phones, cheerfully narrated the trip - a female robotic voice  announced stalled vehicles, police cars and when to turn or veer to right or left. 

Once at the island we walked the length of one of the beaches before reaching a capsized sail boat. The vessel was broken and battered by the waves. Walking in the other direction, we encountered crowds of seagulls and fellow human beach goers. 

Returning to the car, we were sticky with sunscreen and salt water. The sun was shining at full blast, which made us sweat. Sitting in the rear of the car, we guzzled water and ate cheese and crackers and grapes before turning on the car to head back to Boca, where we were staying. 

The drive back was uneventful until a fellow driver honked at us and shouted through the window that it looked like a wallet had fallen off our car's roof. After filling the car's tank with gas, my father left his wallet on top of the car and it sailed off as we raced back into traffic.  

So my father circled back and while my mother hopped out to investigate the gas station for the lost items I studied the asphalt on the road's shoulder. Seeing a small square of brown leather flung out on the road, I scrambled out to collect it and its contents. 

I can only imagined what I looked like - a grown adult wearing flip flops, an old t-shirt, swim shorts and a floppy hat - frantically picking up scattered credit cards and billfolds on the side of the road. Drivers were beeping their horns at us. 

With the wallet's rescue a success the next debacle was whether to follow Waze's guidance to get back home or my father's. At some point the app on each of my parents' phones kicked into operation and a choir of robotic voices were telling us what to do. My father insisted on ignoring both of them and to follow his navigational instincts instead. My mother and I pursed our lips in skepticism but in the end my father had the last laugh as we turned into the parking lot of the condominium where we were staying. 

An eventful day to be sure but it ended on a sweet note. In the evening we drove to Delray for gelato. Sitting outside the ice cream parlor, eating our dessert, we watched pedestrians pass by as a guitarist, perched on a stool, played Beatles songs. When he moved on to Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" our fellow gelato eaters joined in on singing the chorus. 

This is what I love about vacation - it can be a wild ride but totally worthwhile because along the way you will see beautiful things and eat some really good ice cream.