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Searle's Sack of St. Augustine, FL, March 2010
(Photo: Mission)
Chapter 8th - Of the surgeon's journey in Shay's BMW Z3,
packing and farewells, returning to the Taberna (which is Spanish for
'Pat O'Brien's'), hanging around with the estimable Patrick Hand and
Shay, meeting Ru from Sweden, a tour of the Pirate Haus hostel,
Shay's method for finding places in St. Augustine, dinner at a
multi-national French restaurant, wandering the streets of St. Augustine
with a merry crew, a no-ghost encounter, and some other bizarre
things.
Note to self: remember never to give your camera to Willie Wobble. He had it because I asked him to take a photo for me. Instead he took several of himself as you can see. I'm not entirely sure how he even managed to take the photo you see below left.
(Photo: Mission)
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(Photo: Mission)
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Today I woke early and was ready before Shay arrived. I spotted the little green BMW Z3 coming up the road from my hotel window, but that couldn't prepare me for Shay, who appeared at the door in short order in nothing more (that I could see) than her white shirt and blue socks! I threatened to take a picture, but, alas for you, dear reader, I didn't. So use your imagination. (Someone - I think it was Patrick Hand - said they had seen a brief flash of Shay as she scurried out of camp thus clad.) Shay stepped into the bathroom to use the shower while I sat at the desk and typed something or other about island fashions on the Pyracy pub at my laptop.
(Photo: Mission)
Shay wanted to put the top down for the trip back, which was fine for me. I
felt slightly like James Bond with my shades on, riding in the passenger
seat for the scant 1/4 mile to the Fountain of Youth in the BMW
convertible. (If only it were steel blue instead of dark green, we'd have
a bingo.) The camp was in the usual sad state of affairs that such places
become on the last day of an event. People were packing their tents and
gear, loading their cars and debating the various hug styles (Kate
Bagley, Salty, Melissa at left.) Actually, I think the whole
hug discussion was for my benefit... Michael, Kate, Callenish and Salty
had just finished loading the Bagley van for their 14 hour ride home,
Mooseworth and Kelly were packing up their auto-box on wheels and Red Jessi
was rolling up her sleeping bag in preparation for her 6 hour jaunt. I
dutifully hugged all the women and shook hands with the men and was sad
that all my pub friends were leaving as soon as I arrived.
(Photo: Ivan Henry)
Jess and I chatted with Ivan Henry and Kelly Elizabeth as they were
packing up. They had a bumper sticker on his window that showed a series
of symbols: bike + beer bottle =
Road 34. This
turned out to be the emblem for a combination bike shop and bar
which was located somewhere near them. Between the two of them, they told
me that they have 14 bikes - including mountain bikes, cruisers, road
bikes and apparently some other bike types that I didn't even know existed.
I told him about my goofy Softride road bike that I never rode because it
flats out too often. Jess told them about her experiences street (motor)
biking on the most winding, elevation-changing road in America, which is
apparently in Tennessee if I remember it rightly.
Sometimes, when you're sad about leaving your pirate pals like Mooseworth is at right, it's best to just take out your emotions on Lob, Yosemite Sam style.
(Photo: Mission)
The crew hauled out breakfast, which looked as good as everything else that
had been prepared this weekend. Of all the events that I have attended, this
has to be the best food event I've seen yet. Alas, the veggie
entrée had bits of meat in it and, as yesterday attests,
my stomach is just not up to such a challenge, so I started getting ideas about
going back to the hotel for scrambled eggs. (Note to all you readers who THINK
you know what this means - you're wrong. In addition to what you've read, I
just happen to like scrambled eggs.) Shay generously offered me the keys to
the BMW, so now I could REALLY play James Bond and drive the thing. I took a
little impromptu tour of St. Augustine , managing to find the worst parts
of it with amazing rapidity. Fortunately, no BMWs were harmed in the making of
this Surgeon's Journal.
Left:The Dread Surgeon Mission, compensating...
(Photo: Mission)
Say what you want, it was awful comfortable.
I tooled back to my hotel, feeling very smug and suave as I pulled into
the parking lot and proceeded to crack a plastic cowl in the back of the
car while putting up the convertible roof. Shay later told me that it was
already cracked, but I think she was just trying to make me feel better.
I had scrambled eggs and cheese grits, which is something you just can't
get in Michigan without going to a lot of trouble. (The grits, not the
scrambled eggs. We're not savages.) Then I put the top back down to engage
my inner Bond and drove the 1/4 mile back to the park.
There I mostly sat around and watched people work. You must do the things you're best at, after all. It was warm and sunny and I eventually deposited myself in front of Shay's tent to chat. Shay invited me to lie on her bed rather than on the ground, which I thought was a good idea. (The sun was hot and my head was in the shade and she just had a very comfy mattress.) Several inappropriate jokes which I'm sure I do not recall were made, the best of which came from either Doug or William. They suggested that I write "Mission slept here" on the wall of Shay's tent. (This is actually a historical joke, but you are invited to read it however suits you.)
(Photo: Mission)
Within an hour, the camp had been broken down for the most part (meaning
I had to stop dozing in the warm bed) and Shay, Patrick and I agreed that
we would meet at the little period tavern Taberna (which is Spanish for
"Hooters") in historic St. Augustine. Shay wanted to go there
because they served Woodchuck Cider. Although the BWM Z3 had every possible
open molecule filled with Shay's gear, she did agree to haul Patrick's massive
amount of gear (left), if not Patrick. So he and I
walked back to town together with the intention of meeting her there.
Left: Patrick's Gear (Not to Scale)
Patrick and I arrived at the Taberna (which is Spanish for "Fat Tuesday") at about 3:30, the agreed upon time. Shay wasn't there yet, so we had a drink. (It was a tough choice, but we went ahead and made it.) We quickly finished that and...no Shay. I wondered aloud if we should try and find the Pirate Haus, the hostel where Shay and (eventually) Patrick were staying but, in typical Prince of Pirates fashion, Patrick said she would be along soon and we might as well have another drink. So we did. She appeared sometime near the end of that round with a charming young blonde girl in tow. This was Ru. (I later learned that they had done a bit of clothes shopping on the way over which explains the delay.)
 (Photo: Mission) Your Author and Ru at Taberna (Spanish for "Bar") |
 (Photo: Mission) The Estimable Patrick Hand and Shay of the Keys |
(Photo: Mission)
Ru was here from Sweden on a 3 month visa. She was staying at the Pirate
Haus in the community girl's bedroom with Shay. (For $20 a night, who
wouldn't? Well, me....) She arrived in New York the week before and gone
to...Virginia?...for a bit, then on to Atlanta (to see the 1st street in
America that allowed African Americans to open businesses) and then St. Augi.
Her future plans seemed nebulous, although they were confined "mostly to the
east coast," along with New Orleans, Texas, Washington State and California.
Whew! I always find such adventurousness in lone girls admirable so we had
another round.
Questions arose. "Why come here?" Everyone asked her that. She thought America would be an interesting place. "Did it meet her expectations?" She had lots of 'wild ideas' on the plane, but had dismissed them all once she arrived. "What did her parents say about all this?" They had told her to be safe and have fun and occasionally called her. "Did she know about the Winnie-the-Pooh character Roo?" Her name was spelled differently, but she said she was named after Roo and said the character was really cool because he did what he wanted, like swimming in the creek. Well! A girl named after Roo. How cool is THAT?
(Photo: Mission)
(Photo: Mission)
Somewhere during this time, a pair of guys in period Spanish outfits
arrived in the tavern with a guitar. They started playing Spanish tunes
which Shay knew (naturally - being a piano player/singer at a club in
Key Largo) so she joined them for a few songs. A couple came in and sat
at the musicians table and were serenaded. Then a group of young girls
arrived, to whom the Spaniards made a successful pitch and they all
joined them. Shay returned and confided the secrets of attracting women
to Patrick and me which were (as far as I can remember them): 1) play a
guitar and 2) be sort of brooding and mysterious. It seems to me that
there was another one, but I don't recall it. Looking over at the
Spaniards, I guessed she was right.
(Photo: Mission)
Shay insisted we all go from there to the Pirate Haus hotel that Conrad
owned so that I could see it and Patrick could get himself checked in.
Unfortunately the outside was being re-done so there was scaffolding all
over the place. Beneath that, it looked interesting. Upon entering,
we were greeted by a stairway with some form or revised
lyrics to the "Yo Ho" song (left) written on it. At the top was
a green door leading to the phone booth which naturally contained a
skeleton (below left). To the right was the check-in window
which had to be seen to be understood (and you can see it below.)
There was a shared community/TV/game room and a shared kitchen area. It
felt a lot like a pirate-themed dorm. It must be a good recipe because Ru
found out about it by word of mouth after entering the country. Since
there were lots of skeletons I liked it.
 (Photo: Mission) |
 (Photo: Mission) |
(Photo: Mission)
Shay and I had a standing date to go to a French place that Sergeant Jeff
had mentioned to us on the trolley back from the battle on Saturday. I invited
Patrick and Ru to join us. In keeping with the spirit of things, I forget
exactly where we had seen the restaurant. I knew which road it was on and
what direction it was in, but that was about as far as I could recall. Shay
said she knew how to find it, so we all left the Taberna (which is Spanish
for "Cervecería") and trooped to another bar several blocks away
(which was in the opposite direction of the French restaurant). Shay explained
that there was a bartender there that she had met who knew where everything was.
(Who needs mapquest? We have a bartender.) Turns out he wasn't there, but the
replacement bartender knew, so he gave Shay directions (left).
It was quite a hike, but we were all feeling little pain, so we trooped the mile or so to the alleged French restaurant. It was actually more of a 'German and French with perhaps a little Indian' restaurant. Ru assured me that it was in no way European in decor, but the food was very good and the service was great. Ru and I had crepes, Shay had seafood pasta (which was outstanding) and Patrick had chicken curry. Oh, and wine. We had a very good Shiraz. Ru said she wasn't going to have any until she found out it was a Shiraz. (Although this wasn't the real reason she wasn't going to have any. You'll have to wait to learn about that.)
 (Photo: Mission) Patrick and our wise-cracking waiter |
 (Photo: Mission) Ru warily watches the waiter with the wine. |
(Photo: Mission)
(Photo: Mission)
After dinner we went back into town. Much effort has been made to keep
this part of St. Augustine so that it looked historic, so it was a charming
walk (left and right). While we were wandering, looking for
who knows what, I spotted an alleyway that appeared to have no redeeming
features whatsoever. Naturally Shay said that this was the alley to go down.
There we ran into a group of ghost tourers which led to my spouting off
about not believing in ghosts. Everyone else disagreed with me in varying
degrees. Those of you who know me will understand when I tell you that this
led to me providing louder proclamations of disbelief, just as we were
passing a second group of ghost tourers. This didn't bother me. (OK, maybe
I felt just a little bad.)
(Photo: Something Under the Bed is
Drooling, Bill Watterson, p. 75)
After Shay led us down some more blind alleys we eventually found a through
street. At the end was another charming little bar. St. Augustine is
nothing if not chock-a-block full of cute little bars. So went in and had more
hard cider. Well all except for me - I New Castle Ale since they had it on tap.
I really like New Castle Ale; it's a holdover from my trip to England many years
ago. I'm proud to say that Ru approved of my choice.
Ru and I discussed spirituality and philosophy for a quite a while, going from belief in ghosts to belief in God to belief in whether Hobbes is a real tiger or not. She decided I was too stubborn and rational, which are two traits of which I am particularly proud. Out of the nowhere, she suddenly announced that she was only 20. For some reason I thought that this was funny. (This is why she didn't want to have wine in the restaurant. But I guess if you hang around with three people who are clearly not 20, you get a pass.)
Right: Proof that Hobbes is not a real tiger. If he were, he would not be in stuffed tiger mode when Calvin was talking to him in this panel.
After a round there, Shay said that Ru wanted to go to a bar with live music. Not knowing where such was, we went back to the bar on the corner (which was close to where we were) and asked for directions again. (Maybe Shay learned this method while working as a singer in nightclubs.) Unfortunately, we apparently got the bartender's directions wrong because twenty minutes spent walking through the charming streets put us back in front of what I now think of as The Map Bar. Going to ask again, we learned that we had missed the place we were looking for, although, being after 9pm on Sunday, the music was over anyhow. So we all went back to the Pirate Haus where we ran into Conrad. He happily gave me a ride back to my hotel.
 (Photo: Mission) Ru and Shay ask direction while the bartender strikes a pose for me. |
 (Photo: Mission) Shay and the Surgeon on the town. |