Farewell Boston – You’ve Bean Great!
Ah, another reasonably good night’s sleep. The sort that leaves you feeling slightly groggy but not fully zombie – the Goldilocks of sleeps. Just right. We were up and at ’em once more, striding down the now-familiar streets of Boston to our breakfast haven: Berkeley Perk Cafe on Berkeley Street. At this point, we could walk there with our eyes closed (not recommended unless you fancy becoming a bonnet ornament for a Bostonian driver).
Like seasoned regulars, we waltzed in and grabbed our usual corner. I half-expected the staff to start calling us “the usuals” and pour us coffees before we’d sat down. Alas, no celebrity treatment, but the eggs were still cracking, the coffee piping hot, and the banter plentiful. The perfect start to the day before heading to Logan International Airport for the next leg of our adventure: Boston to Tampa.
The Airport Chronicles: Security Shenanigans and Sighs
Booking It to Terminal C
Uber duly summoned (I like to think of it as calling our chariot, but it was a suspiciously fragrant Toyota), and we were whisked away to Terminal C at Logan. Check-in was smoother than a jazz saxophone solo, and we were all feeling pretty smug until we joined the serpentine security line, which had clearly been modelled on Dante’s Inferno – with a side of TSA scowling.
Then came my moment. The security scanner clearly didn’t appreciate the intricate detailing of my belt buckle – or perhaps it was just bored. I was invited aside for a cheeky little pat-down, which felt more awkward than criminal. I was even offered the option of a private room, which frankly sounded a bit dodgy. I declined. If someone’s going to feel me up before 9 AM, the least I can do is offer the public a show.
A Smooth Boarding (With a Plot Twist)
Having survived the frisking (emotionally and physically), we made our way to the gate and boarded our JetBlue A320 bound for Tampa. Row 20 was easily located, and things were looking rather civilised… until Michele’s horror began to unfold.
Two cherubic yet undeniably energetic small children were seated directly behind her. One was immediately pegged as a menace – the sort of child you see in films about poltergeists. And so began the kicking, pulling, wriggling and occasional screams that echoed down the metal tube like a banshee with a tambourine.
I’m convinced Michele channelled the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. I could hear her muttering darkly, “I smell children,” as her seat took another thump from a tiny but determined foot. Credit where it’s due, the parents did their best – armed with snacks, iPads, and the sort of weary patience only acquired through sleep deprivation and lost dreams. But this child was not for entertaining. This child was for chaos.
Three Hours of Turbulence (Child-Induced, Not Weather-Based)
The flight was around three hours long, and I reckon we all aged about five years. I considered handing out medals to the parents for bravery under fire. At one point, I thought about sticking earplugs up my nose just to distract myself from the wailing. But eventually, with sanity mostly intact, we landed in Tampa.
And breathe.
Welcome to Florida: Sunshine, SUVs, and Steak
Tampa’s Warm Welcome
Stepping off the plane was like walking into a warm hug. Not quite scorching, just a lovely toasty embrace from Florida’s ever-reliable sun. Spirits lifted, we trundled off to find our Sixt car hire pick-up point.
We’d booked a GMC Acadia, a solid seven-seater beast perfect for ferrying our crew around. But lo and behold – none in stock. Oh no? Oh yes. Because what we got instead was a GMC Denali Yukon, aka the land yacht of SUVs. This thing was enormous. Like, if Optimus Prime had a cousin who just wanted to take the kids to the beach, it would be this.
It had only 200 miles on the clock, smelled brand new, and had enough buttons to launch a SpaceX rocket. I took the first shift behind the wheel and felt like I was piloting an aircraft carrier through Tampa’s traffic. But hey, at least we were riding in style.
The Sunshine Skyway Bridge (Shout-Out to Sam)
The drive to Anna Maria Island was about 50 miles – a straight shot with gorgeous views, punctuated by our crossing of the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. It’s a sweeping architectural wonder that stretches across Tampa Bay like a giant golden ribbon. And I must give a loving shout-out to my daughter Sam, who has a well-documented affection for bridges. This one did not disappoint – both in scale and scenic drama.
Arrival in Paradise: Anna Maria Airbnb
Settling In
Access to our Airbnb was straightforward – a few codes, a click of a door lock, and voilà: our Florida home for the next stretch of the trip. It was everything you’d want from an island hideaway – light, airy, and just the right mix of coastal kitsch and creature comforts.
Cases were swiftly emptied, and Michele and Helen immediately sprang into action like domestic dynamos, loading the washing machine as if they’d missed it dearly. I, meanwhile, made it my mission to get the Wi-Fi password, crack a cold one, and enjoy the view. Division of labour at its finest.
Dinner Time: Bloomin’ Brilliant
For dinner, we handed over the driving reins to Helen, who took to the Yukon like a Floridian on the school run. We made our way to the Outback Steakhouse, where carnivores reign supreme and vegetables are more of a suggestion than a requirement.
It was here we met our true culinary calling – the Bloomin’ Onion. A deep-fried explosion of crispy oniony goodness the size of a toddler’s head, served with a sauce that should be illegal in at least three states. We demolished it. Our mains (steaks the size of flip-flops) were also excellent. Everything was indulgent and gloriously OTT – just as an American steakhouse should be.
The Great Tuesday Shop (Masquerading as Friday)
On the way back to the Airbnb, we stopped off for what we termed our “Friday night big shop” – despite it being Tuesday. Semantics. The trolley was loaded with all the essentials: beer, crisps, questionable breakfast cereals, and enough snacks to fuel a small festival. We took our groceries home with the triumphant air of hunters returning from the savannah.
Evening Wind-Down: Balcony Beers and Blog Time
Once home, we did what every self-respecting travel crew should do – we sat out on the balcony, clinked open a couple of cold beers, and revelled in the fact that we were finally in the Sunshine State. The breeze was gentle, the sky was pinking up nicely, and the only thing more satisfying than our full bellies was the prospect of not having to fly again for a while.
I sat down to pen this blog entry, beer in hand, grinning like a Cheshire cat who just found a sunbeam and a bowl of cream. Tomorrow promises more island escapades, and I, for one, am ready for it. Bring on the sandals, sunscreen, and possibly some very bad karaoke (not).
Until then, dear reader, may your flights be scream-free and your onions always blooming.
