The Official Site of Rebecca Ross Klosinski

Hurricane Honeymoon: The Klosinskis Go To Key West

The Orcutt Pioneer, September 2008

In the nearly two years that I have acted as your devoted reporter I have planned and executed many vacations, from small affairs (weekend trip to Disneyland) to grand adventures (driving Route 66 all the way from Chicago to LA).  But this August brought my greatest challenge yet as I planned the vacation of all vacations: The Honeymoon.

Now, my husband and I were not unaware that August is Hurricane Season in Florida.  Still, dropping my new stepson off to his mother in Orlando seemed like the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone: carry out the traditional end of summer kid exchange, and celebrate our nuptials on a tropical island.  And, always the optimist, I was sure we’d be fine.

So after what seemed like endless hours in the air (did I mention I’m afraid of flying?  I nearly took my mom’s arm off on an hour long flight to Portland) we touched down at Miami International Airport, our son safely deposited at Disney World.  In less that an hour we were sitting side by side on a shuttle that would take us to our final destination: Key West, Florida.

Our fellow passengers on this three-hour trek across bridges spanning a long string of islands and the bluest water I have ever seen were a teenage Texan with a decidedly surfer twang and man riding shotgun who gave us all a minute-by-minute account of an approaching hurricane.

“You may want to find out what the cancellation policy at your hotel is,” he suggested oh-so-helpfully.

Justin and I looked at each other and exchanged nervous smiles.  It hadn’t even reached Cuba yet.  It still had plenty of time to slow down.  Right?

Ben, our toothless, Hawaiian clad driver, assured us not to worry.  Although not technically a native, he could easily pass for one.  He told us a positively endearing story about the last hurricane flooding his house and how this time he was more prepared and “wouldn’t leave fer nothin’”.  Oh good.

Despite the impending doom our spirits were high.  So far things had gone very smoothly and, after all, we were on our honeymoon!

Key West is the last of the Florida Keys and known as the “party island.”  Although no longer part of the college set, we were ready to let our hair down and see what the island had to offer.

After being greeted by an amazing hotel staff and a congratulatory bottle of champagne at the aptly titled Paradise Inn, we began to explore the 2 mile by 4 mile island.  We dressed in our island best and set out for food and fun. We ate conch fritters and local mahi mahi and took our pictures at the Southernmost point of the continental United States (only 90 miles from Cuba).  We took in the amazing architecture which ranged from Spanish to Baroque to Victorian to Southern.  Gables, turrets, shutters, and shingles all added to the colorful mix you would only find in Key West.

Home to Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville, Key West embodies the laid back, tropical lifestyle.  They say it’s a state of mind.  The exotic plant life, the warm breeze, the cool water.  The top destination for treasure hunting pirates as far back as 1513.  Vespas and beach cruisers meander along the streets and people sit at sidewalk cafes eating Key Lime Pie.

The next morning we awoke to a hitch in our wagon.  Slipped under our door was a notice that all visitors were being evacuated due to Tropical Storm Fay.  Paradise cut short!  However, residents of the island didn’t seem in any rush, so we made like the natives and ran through the pouring rain to the Ernest Hemingway House. 

Hemingway was one of a number of famous writers who lived or spent time on Key West.  Among these were Tennessee Williams and Robert Frost as well as President Truman.  The Hemingway home displays photos, letters, and furnishings all belonging to the late author as well as descendents of the original 60 cats he kept on the property (some of which have six toes!).  We learned that he suffered from “deep melancholy”, had many “amorous adventures”, and wrote several novels there including To Have an Have Not and For Whom The Bell Tolls.

Although we were not ready to end our own amorous adventure in Key West, the bell tolled for us and we had to abandon our cushy oasis for a greyhound bus back to reality.

Now, neither of us had ever been evacuated before so it was sort of a thrilling experience being whisked away for our safety.  Neither of us had been searched at the airport before either, although that was not quite as thrilling.

Determined to make the best of our situation, we booked the nicest hotel we could afford (a beautiful place right out of a black and white movie), checked in, ate our complementary warm chocolate chip cookies and headed out into the warm, wet South Beach night.

The cab ride in had provided us with a little history of the area, courtesy of our thickly accented driver.  Our images of South Beach had previously consisted of Cuban men in speedos prancing along the sand and rollerblading women with 80’s hairdos.  But, seeing as the sun had officially retired from Florida, we were left with the uber-chic nightlife of Miami.  The rain did not dampen the partying.

The weather also had little effect on the magnificent art deco buildings that line Ocean Drive, which is apparently the world’s largest collection.  There are over 800 hotels, restaurants, homes, and shops with names like The Imperial, The Majestic, The Beacon, and The Avalon.  The whole district is on the National Registry of Historic Places.

Yet, in this city where anything goes, we were ready to go.  After several days of unyielding rainstorms, a perilous jaunt into the water as we tried not to get swept away by record breaking winds, countless trips to the corner store, a couple of movies and too much TV, delirium had set in and we were ready to put our honeymoon to bed.

Feeling very proud of ourselves for literally weathering the storm, we were more than ready to leave Florida for sunny California.  But wait, what’s that?  There’s a problem with our flight?  We can’t leave?  We don’t know when we’ll be able to leave and our hotel is full? 

It was one of those moments when the only appropriate thing to do would be to lay down on the floor in the middle of the hotel lobby, kick your arms and legs at toddler velocity, and cry inconsolably for your mommy.  We resisted.  Besides, our clothes had been so perpetually soaking wet they would have had to mop up after us.  And we might not have gotten another cookie.

Instead we alternated between hysteric giggles and stunned silence until we were both able to come up with a game plan.  The next phase of our little unplanned honeymoon adventure would take us into Miami where there was nothing left to do but once again treat ourselves to a nice hotel and some pay-per-view.

The final leg of our tour consisted of a series of lobbies, waiting areas, terminals, airplanes, airport fast food, more terminals, in-flight films, slot machines (yay Vegas!), frisking, and finally an airborne roller skate that dropped us off in Santa Barbara.  We finally understood why soldiers kiss the ground when they return home.  Ah, home.  Ah, Orcutt.

Our next trip: anywhere that doesn’t have hurricanes.