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David Jones (Not the Monkee) is a singer Jenny and I have known for decades. He was born in England, but has spent most of his adult life in the US. He and his wife Louise Sherman reside in Leonea, New Jersey across the street where Jenny used to work shortly after I first met her. Coincidentally, he also used to work for my father as an engineer at the firm of Crawford & Russell in Stamford, CT long before I met him. David is a wonderful singer, mostly of traditional British songs, and recorded on my first CD. David and Louise also have a winter home in Del Ray Beach, Florida, not far from Fort Lauderdale, and when I learned that, we made arrangements to meet him and Louise during my vacation.
Their Florida house is in a retirement community, where they greeted us on arrival, and treated us to lunch in the community cafe. We looked around for some site to visit that would interest all of us, and decided on the Henry Flagler Museum in Palm Beach, about 30 miles north of their place . Henry Flagler was a wealthy industrialist in the Gilded Age, who made his money in oil, railroads and hotels. He palled around with the Rockerfellers and the Carneigies and such like. His crowning achievement was to build what was thought to be an impossible railroad from Palm Beach down to the southern tip of Florida, and then onwards down the archipelago of the Florida Keys islands all the way to Key West, stretching over 100 miles. He bridged the gaps between the islands with stone arch bridges. He then built luxury hotels all along the rail line, single-handedly creating the Florida winter tourist industry. The Key West line was destroyed in a hurricane in 1935, largely ruining Flagler's tourism empire.
The museum is what was originally built as Flagler's mansion, and is right impressive. It includes his private rail car displayed in what was the carriage house. I took dozens of photos, but alas they are all gone now, along with Henry's railroad. This makes for a less interesting travelogue.
On the way back to David & Louise's, we eschewed the interstate, and poked along Florida Route A1A, a tiny 2-lane that runs along the Atlantic Coast and the barrier islands. It went through a continuous string of elaborate homes, perhaps not up to Flagler standards of excess, but nothing to sneeze at. It was fun to see how the other 1% live. Back at their house we sat in their back yard, which borders on a small pond, and watched as ibises and other waterfowl returned to their nests as the sun went down.
And it was back to the Holiday Inn to pack for home.
Thursday, February 9:
Home
Jenny had a very early flight out, so we were up at 5:00 AM to see her off. The hotel had an airport shuttle, so I was spared the task of getting her there.
I caught a couple more hours of sleep, and then had my last complementary hotel breakfast buffet. I was once again reminded how unsatisfactory such meals are. After scooping out the scrambled eggs from the warmer, putting the bagels in the toaster, pouring the coffee, opening 6 packets of sugar, two of butter, and one of container of half & half, and finding an empty seat at the table, it is impossible for all of those things to still be hot when you finally get to eat them.
I hit the road for the long drive to Sanford to pick up the Auto Train. I left myself plenty of time to get there, which was a good move. I started to get sleepy about 2/3 of the way there, and was able to pull over and nap without fear of missing the train. I would have called the trip uneventful, except that the train ride itself was worthy of being called an event.
It was a very enjoyable trip.