Exploring The Florida Keys

The Florida Keys are less of a destination and more of a state of mind that someone accidentally paved over with a long, thin road. Stretching out from the tip of Florida like a loose thread on a jumper, this 113 mile chain of coral islands is where the rest of America goes when it decides to stop trying so hard. If you are looking for high-octane city life, you have taken a very wrong turn at Homestead. If you want to spend four days wondering if it is socially acceptable to eat Key Lime pie for breakfast, you have arrived.

The journey begins on the Overseas Highway. Driving this road is an exercise in surrealism. On either side, the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico compete to see who can be the most impossibly turquoise. Crossing the Seven Mile Bridge is the highlight, a literal leap of faith across the water where you feel like you are driving a car directly into the horizon. I spent most of the crossing checking my mirrors for the ghost of Arnold Schwarzenegger, half expecting a scene from a 90s action film to break out.

Our first proper stop was Key Largo. It is famously the home of the John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park, the first undersea park in the US. Now, I am not a natural born diver. I tend to panic if the bathwater is too deep, but even I couldn't resist a glass-bottom boat tour. Seeing the Christ of the Abyss statue through the floorboards is a peculiar experience. It is a bronze Jesus standing nine feet tall on the sea floor, arms outstretched, presumably welcoming the fish and the occasionally terrified snorkeler.

Further down the road, we hit Islamorada. This is the sportfishing capital of the world, but since my fishing skills are limited to "ordering the sea bass in a restaurant," I went to Robbie’s Marina instead. Here, you can buy a bucket of bait and feed the tarpon. These are not cute little goldfish. They are prehistoric-looking monsters the size of a small canoe that leap out of the water to snatch fish from your hand. I nearly lost a finger to a particularly ambitious one, while a nearby pelican gave me a look that can only be described as "judgemental."

Finally, we reached the end of the line: Key West. This is the southernmost point in the continental United States, a fact they remind you of every twelve feet. The town is a glorious, chaotic mix of Hemingway history and roaming chickens. Yes, chickens. They are everywhere, strutting down Duval Street like they own the place, which, legally speaking, they might.

I made the pilgrimage to the Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum. It is a beautiful Spanish Colonial house, but the real stars are the cats. There are roughly sixty of them, most of whom have six toes. Seeing a polydactyl cat lounge on a world-famous author's bed with an air of complete indifference is a humbling reminder of where humans sit in the global hierarchy.

We ended the trip at Mallory Square for the Sunset Celebration. Hundreds of people gather every night to watch the sun go down, cheered on by tightrope walkers and fire jugglers. There is something deeply human about a crowd of strangers clapping at the sun for doing its job. As the sky turned a bruised purple, I realised I hadn't looked at my watch in three days. The Keys have a way of doing that to you. They remind you that life doesn't always need a plan, sometimes it just needs a decent breeze and a very large slice of pie.