A Balcony, A Bagel, and the Florida Breeze
Somehow, even after all these days in Tampa, I’m still waking up like clockwork at 8:00 a.m. Not a groggy grumble in sight – just wide-eyed and ready for another sunny slice of Florida life. There’s something about this air – thick with humidity and mystery – that’s working wonders on my sleep. Honestly, I could bottle it and sell it to insomniacs back home in Blighty.
The morning kicked off as many have: parked on the balcony with Helen and Brian, the dynamic duo of morning chat and sun-lounging excellence. They were already well into their second cup of something caffeinated when I joined, bleary-eyed but determined. Michele made a slightly more stylish entrance around 08:45, fashionably late but forgiven as she brought with her a fresh breeze of laughter and gossip.
My breakfast – no surprises here – was the usual. A hot coffee, a bagel, and an unhealthy smear of cream cheese thick enough to cement bricks. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?
Reading, Relaxing, and Sticky Shirts
With Helen and Brian deciding to hit the town in the mighty GMC (a vehicle that could probably double as a small flat), we opted to hold the fort. “The fort” in this case being our beloved balcony – unofficial HQ for lounging and low-effort luxury. While they were off shopping – undoubtedly buying something either delightfully kitsch or totally unnecessary – we nestled into our books and let the hours melt away.
Now, I must say, Florida had turned up the heat today. Not in a “Oh how lovely” kind of way – more in a “My shirt is clinging to me like a needy ex” sort of way. A sultry blanket of humidity wrapped itself around me as I attempted to stay motionless enough not to sweat. Spoiler: I failed.
I’m still gripped – absolutely glued – to Killing Floor by Lee Child. If Jack Reacher were any more rugged, he’d be sandpaper. The story’s got more twists than a bag of pretzels and is the perfect escape while surrounded by palm trees and sticky air. I might be melting, but I’m melting in style.
Dolphins and Dreams: Off Up the Coast
By 14:00 sharp (a rare display of punctuality, I’ll have you know), Helen and Brian were back – laden with shopping bags and gossip – and it was time to swap reading glasses for sunglasses. Today’s main event? A boat trip up the coast in search of wild dolphins. Yes, actual dolphins. Not the inflatable kind.
With our sunscreen slathered and our excitement levels suspiciously high for adults, we headed north along the coast, making our way towards the waiting boat. The captain, who had clearly given these safety instructions a thousand times before (and with about as much enthusiasm as a sloth on sedatives), gave us the lowdown: lifejackets, don’t jump in, don’t feed the dolphins, don’t be idiots.
Instructions absorbed, we set off. The boat gently pulled away from the dock, the salty air whipping our hair into frantic tangles and the sunshine glinting off the water like sequins on an overenthusiastic Strictly costume.
Pods, Pelicans, and Pure Joy
Now, I was expecting maybe a glimpse. A tail here, a distant splash there. What we got instead was something straight out of Blue Planet. Within minutes, we’d spotted our first pod – sleek, silvery shapes darting just beneath the surface before erupting into joyful acrobatics. Five separate pods throughout the journey, each seemingly putting on their own watery West End show.
The dolphins were playing, catching fish, and living their best aquatic lives, completely indifferent to our gawping faces and endless photos. It was magical. Absolutely magical. One even did a little spin mid-jump as if to say, “Yes darling, this is my good side.”
But the show wasn’t over. As we glided further along the coast near Anna Maria Island (more on that dreamy place in a moment), we spotted a group of pelicans diving headfirst into the sea in search of lunch. Watching them plummet from the sky like feathery torpedoes was nothing short of impressive – although one did miss and came up looking a bit sheepish. We’ve all been there.
Property Porn and Hurricane Warnings
As we cruised along the coastline, I couldn’t help but gawk at the homes dotting the shore. I mean, these places were the sort of beachfront mansions you see in films – sprawling terraces, glimmering pools, and the sort of glass windows that scream “I don’t mop floors, I hire people for that.”
Anna Maria Island itself is gorgeous – a slice of paradise that practically begs you to retire early, wear linen all year round, and drink margaritas at 11 a.m. Of course, the trade-off is the occasional hurricane, but honestly? It might be worth it. I’d happily trade drizzle and damp for the occasional gusty tantrum from Mother Nature.
A Feast Fit for a (Sunburnt) King
After docking back at shore – windblown, sun-kissed, and smugly satisfied – the next priority was food. And where else would we go but Olive Garden? Yes, I know it’s a chain, and yes, I know the food snobs would tut disapprovingly, but let me tell you: the shrimp linguine was absolutely divine.
Large, juicy shrimp – the kind that make you question everything you ever thought about supermarket prawns – nestled in perfectly cooked pasta with a garlic butter sauce that could probably raise the dead. Paired with one of their ridiculously fluffy breadsticks and a chilled drink, it was the sort of meal that makes you close your eyes and quietly mutter “oh yes” after every bite.
Balcony Beers and Bliss
Now, as I sit back on the balcony (yes, again – it’s practically got my name on it at this point), I’m sipping on a cold beer, my limbs pleasantly achey from the sun and the boat and the excitement. The air is still warm, the stars are beginning to prickle the sky, and there’s a gentle hum of insects serenading the evening.
It’s one of those nights you try to press into your memory like a flower in a book – the kind of evening you’ll summon in the dead of a British February when everything’s grey and your socks are damp for the fourth time that week.
Here’s to dolphins, decent weather, and shrimp that change your life. Tampa, you’ve done it again.
