Category: Coastal Cowgirl

Coastal Cowgirl: Off-Course in Paradise

On By jeanieelizabethIn Coastal CowgirlLeave a comment

The Girlfriends’ Un-Getaway

I spent four days aboard Margaritaville at Sea Paradise, sailing to Freeport and Nassau in the Bahamas.

This was a girlfriends’ getaway with my friend Bernadette to help her ease into solo travel.

Despite having cabins next to each other, we had a surprisingly difficult time finding one another. We became two ships occasionally passing in the night.

Bernadette had opted against onboard Wi-Fi so coordinating meant relying on chance encounters around the ship.

Every so often our paths would cross. We would sit down, compare adventures, laugh and wander off again.

Complete strangers seemed to have no difficulty locating me.

And that became the unexpected lesson of this cruise.

Solo Is Wonderful. Vulnerable Is Different.

I love solo travel.

There is something wonderfully liberating about deciding when to eat, where to go, what to see and when you’ve had enough excitement for the day and want to disappear with a book.

But solo travel works beautifully until something doesn’t.

A lot of people begin traveling alone after years—sometimes decades—of traveling with a spouse or partner.  Suddenly, the person who always sat beside you isn’t there.

You are navigating airports, hotels, cruise ships, restaurants and unfamiliar cities entirely on your own.

Most of the time, that is empowering. But being alone can also make you more visible.

This was a particularly lightly booked cruise. On a full sailing, a woman sitting alone can disappear into the crowd.

On this cruise, there were empty chairs everywhere.  A solo woman sitting by herself in a lounge was like a lighthouse beacon visible from space.

Meeting people while traveling is one of the best parts of traveling alone.

And ladies, if you’re interested in a vacation romance or one-night hookup, go for it. No judgment here.

The important thing is that everyone gets to decide what they are comfortable with—and everyone else respects the answer.

Because travel can create a subtle illusion:

Companionship begins to feel like familiarity.
Familiarity begins to feel like trust.
And trust should never be issued on an expedited basis.

Especially when alcohol joins the itinerary.

Enter the Floating Lounge Lizard

It began innocently enough on the first evening.

I was sitting alone in Euphoria Lounge listening to the band when a man approached and asked whether he could have the empty chair beside me.

Cruise lounges are usually crowded. People share tables all the time. Without even looking around, I automatically said yes.

Mistake number one.

I looked over as he sat down.

He resembled Drew Carey, the comedian. I never learned his name, so we’ll call him Drew.

Within minutes, Drew was consuming bourbon at an impressive rate.

Then came the chatty compliments.  More bourbon.  And a brief departure to his stateroom before karaoke.

When he returned, I could smell the mouthwash a good ten seconds before the rest of him arrived.  He must have doused himself with an entire bottle.

At that point the red flag went up—and it had a name tag.

When the band finished, I walked upstairs toward karaoke.

Drew followed.

Walking down the hallway, he awkwardly asked:  “Can I kiss you?”

We had barely met.

I stopped walking.

“NO. There will be no kissing. There will be NO touching. And you need to stop following me.”

His response?   “Okay…but can we still hang out?”

“No. We’re done here.”

A reasonable person might interpret this as the conclusion of the evening.

Phase Two: Karaoke Serenade.

I joined a table of women near the stage. They figured out what was happening almost immediately.

“GIRL! He is serenading you!”

“We just met,” I told them. “I don’t know this man.”

They burst out laughing.

Drew returned to the microphone again and again, replenishing his bourbon between performances.

By then, my table had become a live commentary booth.

“OMG! He’s back up there? Girl?!”

To be fair, several genuinely fabulous singers performed that evening and made sitting through the spectacle almost worthwhile.

Almost.

I left midway through song four.

When Familiarity Moves Too Fast

The next evening Drew spotted me again.  “Have you been evading me all day?”

“No evading,” I said. “Just disinterest.”

On another day he took a seat across from me at lunch and admitted he had come on too strongly.

“Well,” I said, “alcohol will do that.”

Without bourbon running the operation, he seemed less like a Lounge Lizard and more like an awkward man who had spectacularly overshot the runway.

But he continued trying to maintain contact, even managing to work his cabin number into conversation more than once.

I declined to transmit my coordinates.

But then, Bernadette finally supplied one additional bit of information. She had encountered him at dinner.

“He told me he’s married!”

I had originally interpreted his awkward mating ritual as a man spectacularly out of practice. Being married would certainly explain the rust.

The problem wasn’t that a man approached me. It wasn’t that he expressed interest. It was the speed at which a stranger tried to manufacture a sense of closeness.

Within minutes, casual conversation had become heavy drinking, followed by a request for physical intimacy and an attempt to continue the interaction after I had clearly said no.

Excessive alcohol can lead to impulsive behavior very quickly.

He is still a stranger.

At home, if someone makes you uncomfortable, you can leave the restaurant, get in your car, and put distance between you.

At sea, you’re still floating together—and likely to cross paths again.

That’s why boundaries matter early.

Predators Don’t Care Which Side of the Table You’re Sitting On

Men like Drew can also make themselves vulnerable. Someone who is extremely eager for a stranger to say yes may stop asking an equally important question:

Who just said yes to me?

Predators aren’t interested only in women traveling alone. They look for vulnerability—fear, loneliness, too much alcohol, or someone so eager for companionship that they miscalculate who they can trust.

I learned that lesson long before I ever cruised alone.

A Lesson From New York

When I was a single woman in my twenties living in Delaware, I met Lily at a women’s conference at the University of Delaware.

Lily was a travel agent.  We shared a passion for travel.  We became casual friends—occasional Friday happy hours, dinner or a movie.

One day Lily invited me to New York. She had been offered a complimentary room at a beautiful five-star hotel in Manhattan.

We took the train from Wilmington and checked in. Later that afternoon a third young woman arrived named Susie.

Lily had met her somehow through the travel business. Susie lived in the Midwest, wanted to become a travel agent, and Lily had been mentoring her long distance.

Almost immediately, something felt wrong to me. It wasn’t simply how Susie looked.

It was what she did.

She repeatedly went into the closet, examining Lily’s clothes and jewelry and commenting on how pretty everything was.

Then she picked up a pair of my leather gloves and started to try them on.

“Those are mine,” I said.

Then, rather directly: “You steal anything from me and I’ll track you down.”

Bold for a 23 year-old, but obviously the product of growing up street-wise in the City.

Susie glared at me, but she put the gloves back on the table.

Later, the three of us went to the Empire State Building.  While waiting in line, Susie announced that she needed the restroom and would catch up with us.

An hour passed and no Susie.  Finally, I looked at Lily. 

“Call the hotel. Have them check the room.”

She stared at me with a blank look on her face.

“Do it.”

About fifteen minutes later, the hotel called. We needed to return immediately.

What followed was a nightmare.

Virtually everything that wasn’t nailed down had been taken from the room—Lily’s clothes, jewelry and suitcase, along with hotel property.

My belongings were untouched. Including the leather gloves still sitting on the table.

The hotel’s surveillance footage showed a male accomplice leaving the hotel with Susie.

Lily’s misplaced trust cost her far more than possessions. There was the financial restitution to the hotel for damages.

And because the complimentary room had been extended through her professional relationship, damage to a business connection she had worked to build.  Lily’s privileges at the hotel were immediately revoked and we were on the next train home to Delaware.

That experience stayed with me. Not because I believe everyone is suspicious.  But because trust can expose more than your wallet.

It can expose your safety. Your reputation. Your professional relationships. Even opportunities you never expected to put at risk.

The lesson was not: Don’t trust anyone.

It was: Don’t confuse friendliness with knowing someone.

Not Every Man Was a Lounge Lizard

This distinction matters. Another gentleman approached me in Euphoria Lounge and asked me to dance.

I declined.

Later I moved to the Hemisphere Piano Bar, where the fabulous Valerie was playing and singing.

A man slipped onto the bar stool beside me and introduced himself as Daniel.

“I saw you in Euphoria,” he said. “That guy—what did he ask you? Did he ask you to go for sushi?”

“No. He asked me to dance.”

“And you declined?”

“Yes.”

He laughed.  “I saw him get declined. I was heading your way, so I aborted.”

Now that was a man who could read a room.

Daniel and I ended up having a fascinating conversation.

He was an engineer who had spent years on the West Coast before relocating to Florida. He talked about growing up in a large family with a mother he remembered as extremely strict. Yet, all of the children had become successful professionals.

“What did she do right?” I asked him. “Look at all of you.”

He became quiet.  Later he came back specifically to tell me I had made him think about his mother differently.

Hours after that, we happened to cross paths over late-night pizza.

“Hey, how are you?”

We laughed. And kept moving. That is one of the wonderful connections travel can create.

You talk. You laugh. You exchange ideas. You go your separate ways.

No barnacles attached.

Nobody requires an evacuation plan.

Nassau: Sometimes a Line Isn’t a Line

After several days of unusually active Lounge Lizard migration, my radar may have become a little oversensitive.

Wandering Nassau port shops, I was overheated and ready for something cold to drink. I stopped to read a waterfront restaurant menu board.

A local man approached from behind. “Were you a model?”

I laughed. “No.”

“You walk like a model.”

Oh, good grief.  Here we go again. What the hell is in the water here?!

After several days of maritime mating rituals, I had begun interpreting every compliment as a bad opening line.

He introduced himself as James, the owner of the restaurant, and asked if I wanted lunch.

When I explained that I was dehydrated, he invited me inside, poured me an iced tea and turned the fan toward me.

And that was it. No pitch. No maneuvering. No attempt to convert kindness into an invitation.

We talked. I thanked him for the cold drink.

He wished me well, and I continued down the boardwalk.

Not every compliment is a pickup line.

Sometimes, respectful communication is simply a pleasant exchange with no expectations attached.

The Travel Tribe

Somewhere amid the Nassau heat and humidity, I wandered into Da Bee Hive Shop and met Bee.

Her family is involved in local beekeeping, but what I remember most is her.

She has one of those infectious smiles and laughs that makes you want to stay and talk.

I wandered away. Then wandered back.

Every time she spotted me nearby, she laughed.

“I see you over there!”

I bought one of her handmade shell Christmas ornaments but will definitely sample the honey products on my next visit.

I asked whether I could take her photograph and explained that I sometimes feature memorable people I meet while traveling.

She lit up.

Then I told her: “You’re part of my travel tribe now.”

She responded with a beaming smile that told me she was officially in.

The People Who Make the Cruise

Thankfully, the cruise wasn’t all wildlife.

There was Priscilla at the St. Somewhere Spa.

I opted to stay on the ship in Freeport and booked a full-body massage.

I returned to my cabin and promptly fell into what can only be described as a massage coma.

I woke hours later wondering what had happened to the afternoon.

That may be the finest review of Priscilla’s work I could possibly give.

There was Vlad at the Hemisphere piano bar who entertained me with a smoky cocktail creation that looked less like bartending and more like a science exhibit involving alcohol.

There was Mario in Euphoria, who spotted me on the first evening and laughed:

“Weren’t you just here last week?”

Close enough to make me feel like a regular.

And there was Tyo, my cabin steward, who quietly made my trip easier every day. When my eyes were irritated – possibly from mouthwash fumes — I asked for ice to make cold compresses.

From then on, he kept the bucket full.

And because excellent cabin service always includes whimsy, he also left adorable towel animals behind.

Cruises may be built around ships, ports and itineraries.

But the experience comes from the people working onboard.

And Then We Tried to Go Home

You might think stepping off the ship ended the field research.

Bernadette and I shared an Uber to the West Palm Beach Brightline station.

I went to the Premium lounge. She went to the regular lounge.

Then my phone lit up.

“OMG SECURITY! I was pulled over by security!!”

Well. That gets your attention.

Apparently, Bernadette had put a blue buffet napkin containing a fork and knife into her purse that morning so she could carry her breakfast and coffee.

Then she forgot about it.  Until Brightline security found it.

“You can’t carry a knife onboard.”

Bernadette was genuinely confused. “I don’t have a knife.”

Security produced the evidence: Blue napkin. Fork. Knife.

Bernadette studied it.  “I’m a turkey head.”

Security confiscated the knife and returned the fork.

Bernadette looked at the fork.

Then at security.

“You don’t think I could stab someone with a fork?”

Oh, Bernadette. This would be an excellent time to stop helping security with hypothetical scenarios. 😂

The excitement didn’t end there. A short while later my phone pinged with another message:

“Oh my God, Jeanie. I’m on the wrong train.”

She had followed the crowd onto an earlier train and discovered, after departure, that she wasn’t merely on the wrong train.

She was going in the wrong direction. Toward Miami. We were going to Orlando.

The travel chaos never ends. Some people attract it. I apparently travel with it.

Final Thoughts

Solo travel should expand your world.

It should introduce you to people you never would have met, conversations you never would have had and places you might never have seen.

It should make you more confident, not more fearful.

Talk to strangers. Accept the kindness. Make the new friend. Laugh with the person at the bar.

Just do it with your eyes wide open.

By the end of the cruise, I had stopped wondering why the Lounge Lizards kept finding me.

Then it occurred to me.

Maybe I wasn’t attracting the wildlife.

Maybe I was the watering hole.

Enjoy the scenery. Know the wildlife. Trust your instincts.

And when necessary—

Return him to the wild. 🦎

Part of the Coastal Cowgirl Series

Coastal Cowgirl: Unbridled at Sea

On By jeanieelizabethIn Coastal CowgirlLeave a comment

Margaritaville at Sea Paradise

Earlier this month, my Coastal Cowgirl adventure took me on a four-night escape from Palm Beach to Key West and Freeport.

The ship is older but nicely renovated. Its smaller size is part of the appeal. Just enough activity, entertainment, and dining to keep you busy without the overwhelm of a mega-ship.

Food is typical cruise fare, but I like how the buffet is divided into food-court-style stations, with plenty of additional dining options.

Key West

Key West doesn’t greet you—it ambushes you with pastel charm, loud chickens, and the undeniable urge to buy a tropical shirt.

I wasted no time embracing the local culture. Before 10 a.m., I was standing in line to sample the famous key lime pie. It was there that I met Nick. With my ship sailing later that afternoon, he had until 3 p.m. to show me the best of Key West.

The chocolate-dipped frozen key lime pie truly needs to come with an addiction warning.

Duval Street is an irresistible mix of coastal charm and unapologetic eccentricity.

We walked to the Southernmost Point, stopped at the butterfly exhibit, browsed galleries and shops, and enjoyed Key West’s unmistakably quirky character.

Artful Detours

I purchased a giclée print by Florida Keys photographer Jack Louden titled Rhapsody in Blue. It features a blue heron with ruffled feathers and a slightly disheveled attitude.

Island Vibe

Music spills out of every other doorway along Duval Street. Bars and restaurants feature live performers with that laid-back energy that makes you want to find a seat and recover with a cold drink.

Sloppy Joe’s had a live band playing. It’s not a sandwich shop—it’s more of a Key West personality test.

By night, Nick explained, the volume goes up, and the party spills right onto Duval Street. You’re either walking past it—or joining the fray.

Freeport, Grand Bahama

Freeport had an entirely different energy, so I opted to stay on the ship and conserve mine.

A wise decision. Some of the best entertainment was still to come.

No Rhythm – No Problem

Every cruise ship has its legends.   

On this sailing, they arrived as a matched set.  Two older brothers—gray hair, matching island shirts, and the unmistakable confidence of men who believed they absolutely had the moves.

They didn’t dance so much as stomp grapes. Feet pounding. Arms flailing. Jumping, skipping—trying to keep up with every musical beat.

They had the exact same moves.  It was like watching a comedy sketch in unison.

And honestly, you had to admire them.  What they lacked in rhythm, they more than made up for with enthusiasm.

One brother had a dance partner—a tiny, joyful woman who floated around the dance floor with her arms in the air, prancing like she was performing a slow‑motion strut. She was in her own happy little world.

The audience loved it.

Phones came out. People laughed. Not because anyone was being cruel, but because it was impossible not to smile while watching someone completely lost in the moment.

The second brother had a different approach.  He had no dance partner—so he simply went shopping for one.   

He surfed the audience like a man on a mission, approaching every woman in sight. That included married women seated with their husbands, which was bold… and deeply optimistic.

The Euphoria Lounge had its own herd that night, reminding me that life is too short to sit on the sidelines waiting until you’re perfect.

Sometimes you just have to get out there and dance—to whatever beat you hear.

Lip Sync Gone Wild

The lip sync contest turned into a comedy audition.

These people came ready to win.

There are extroverts… and then there are performance artists.

The finalists chose their songs and costumes. They danced on bar tables. They slithered down stairwells. Men took off their shirts and tossed them into the audience like confetti.

But the winning performance belonged to a woman who chose Whitney Houston’s “And I’m Telling You, I’m Not Going.”

She didn’t just perform for the audience.

She selected a co-star.

And she chose wisely.

The gentleman she singled out was watching from the stairwell.

He was in.

She took his hand, led him to center stage, and continued the performance directly into his ear.

He reached back and affectionately touched her thigh.

Apparently, he was really in.

By the final verse, they were embracing while she somehow managed to stay committed to the performance.

The song ended. They did not. The host finally had to separate them.

And yes—she won the free cruise.

There’s something about a cruise ship that gives people permission to leave their inhibitions at the dock.

Service at Sea

My room attendant, Yakub, was quietly attentive without being intrusive.

Each evening, I’d find an adorable towel animal waiting on the bed—one of those small touches that makes you smile.

Final Thoughts

Key West had been on my bucket list for years, and it did not disappoint.

It’s colorful, quirky, slightly unruly—and impossible to experience in a single day.

Maybe that was the theme of the entire trip: a little less restraint, a little more living.

I left Key West feeling like I’d only read the first chapter.

But I’ll definitely be back to see how the story unfolds.

Part of the Coastal Cowgirl Series

Coastal Cowgirl:  Key West and the Case of the Rowdy Rooster

On By jeanieelizabethIn Coastal CowgirlLeave a comment

Every great island story starts with something falling apart.

One of my favorite memories from this cruise wasn’t an excursion.

It wasn’t the turquoise water.

It wasn’t the chocolate-dipped frozen Key lime pie on a stick.

It was the day my flip-flop was taken hostage by another tourist… and I met the most notorious little outlaw in Key West.

It started innocently enough.

I was standing in line at a shop on Duval Street, patiently waiting for my chance to order the famous Key lime pie.

The tourist in front of me suddenly stepped backward.

Not a gentle bump.

Not a polite little shuffle.

His entire weight landed squarely on my right foot, pinning it to the floor like he’d staked a claim on Florida real estate.

My foot was trapped.

I pulled.

He leaned.

I pulled harder.

SNAP.

The thong of my flip-flop surrendered with all the determination of a beach umbrella in hurricane season.

One second, I was standing there taking in the vibe.

The next…

A tourist blew out my flip-flop.

And that’s when the guy standing behind me started laughing.

“Oh… you’re about to meet Brooster.“

I looked around.

“Who?”

He nodded toward a rooster strutting in our direction with the confidence of a six-inch-tall mob boss collecting protection money.

Apparently, Brooster is infamous on Duval Street.

Not because he’s friendly.

Or charming.

Or the unofficial island mascot.

Brooster is a feathered menace with a rap sheet longer than Key West.

Rumor has it that there are actual Wanted posters

While I was still trying to process that information, Brooster marched straight toward my flip-flop carnage like he’d just been dispatched to investigate the crime scene.

He stopped inches from my foot, puffed out his chest, cocked his head, and stared at my broken sandal with the expression of a detective who’d already solved the case.

Then he looked up at me and let out a loud crow!

I’m fairly certain that translated to…

“Well… that’s not good.”

Before I could object, he took one aggressive step toward my exposed toes.

I jumped.

He pecked, missed, and looked genuinely disappointed.

Then fate intervened.

A little girl walking by me gasped as her key lime pie slipped from her hands and landed on the ground.

Brooster scurried into action.

Within seconds, he was sprinting down Duval Street with a chunk of pie like he’d just robbed the First National Bank of Desserts.

A local glanced over, shrugged, and said,

“Yeah… he does that.”

As if grand theft pie by poultry was simply part of island life.

By now, I was laughing so hard I’d almost forgotten my flip-flop was hanging together by sheer optimism.

The guy behind me was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.

“Well… Jimmy Buffett warned you.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

He introduced himself as Nick, an architect who split his time between Palm Beach and Key West on work projects. During those visits, he’d apparently sampled enough Key lime pie to qualify as a local food critic, so he insisted I order his favorite.

Then, before I could object, he quietly paid for it.

As I attempted to hobble away on one functioning flip flop, he looked down and said,

“Hang on… I can fix that.”

Now ladies…

There are few things more attractive than competence.

Especially when it’s unexpectedly applied to your footwear.

We wandered down the Street to his office, where, with the confidence of a man who had clearly repaired everything from staircases to seawalls, he rebuilt my flip-flop in just a few minutes.

Good as new.

Actually… better.

The rest of the afternoon unfolded without a plan.

Nick offered to show me a few local favorites. 

As we wandered Duval Street, we talked about travel, architecture, my fantasy barndominium design, and all the little places tourists usually miss. He pointed out hidden courtyards and his favorite shops and restaurants that most visitors would never discover on their own.

Every few blocks, a rooster strutted across the street like traffic laws were merely suggestions. After a while, I realized Brooster wasn’t the exception… he was simply the most accomplished member of the feathered gang that apparently ran Duval Street.

Before we parted ways, Nick asked what my plans were once the ship docked. I let him know I’d only be in West Palm Beach for a few hours, using a Hilton day pass before catching the Brightline back to Orlando.

We exchanged numbers, and I boarded the ship.

Quiet Storm

On Friday morning, we docked in West Palm Beach beneath dark skies. Thunder rolled overhead, and sheets of rain hammered the deck. I opened the Brightline app to adjust my train time, but the Friday route to Orlando is evidently prime real estate — every seat was sold out.

I was on the phone with the Hilton West Palm Beach, trying to sort out my suddenly complicated day, when my phone pinged.

It was a message from Nick: “Not the best pool day. I’m in Palm Beach. How about a museum and lunch?”

I was beginning to feel like one of Nick’s architectural projects. First the flip-flop repair, and now a rainy-day rescue. Apparently, I had become a work in progress.

Luckily, he offered to come find me rather than the other way around. This was a wise decision on his part.

Navigation has never been my greatest strength.

In the last few days, I had gotten lost driving to the Orlando airport at 5 a.m. to catch the train and turned around on the cruise ship so many times that I began to wonder if I had somehow entered a nautical version of Groundhog Day.

By the time we docked in Freeport, I was so exhausted from trying to locate myself that I slept through the entire day.

In hindsight, Nick’s rescue was less a romantic gesture and more a public safety measure.

We spent the morning wandering through the Norton Museum of Art. I was especially drawn to the Chinese galleries, where centuries-old landscape paintings, jade carvings, and delicate porcelain reminded me how art can tell the story of an entire civilization.

It was pouring rain, so we settled into the museum’s restaurant for a casual lunch. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the sculpture garden.  

After lunch, we crossed the bridge to Palm Beach and wandered through the grand rooms of Whitehall, Henry Flagler’s Gilded Age mansion.   

I somehow found myself in the middle of an impromptu architectural lecture — full hand gestures, historical context, and the unmistakable enthusiasm of someone who has been waiting years to explain cornices.

By late afternoon, the rain had given way to blue skies. We ended the day with a leisurely seafood dinner overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway before he dropped me at the Brightline station to board the train to Orlando.

Mr. Fix-It

Nick is now officially the newest member of my travel tribe — a group of wonderful people I’ve met along the way who remind me that the world is still full of kindness, generosity, and surprises.

Every travel tribe needs a few essential members: the navigator (which I clearly am not), the storyteller, the adventurer, and apparently, Mr. Fixit.

I’m not sure when Nick officially became Mr. Fixit, but the evidence was mounting. First, the flip‑flop. Then, the weather disaster. Give him a broken plan, a little chaos, and apparently, he’s in his element.

Turns out, every great island story really does start with something falling apart — a flip‑flop, a carefully planned itinerary, or a day that refuses to go according to schedule.

But sometimes those are exactly the moments that bring the greatest surprises, the kindest people, and the most unforgettable journeys.

Over dinner, I casually asked Nick if people ever tell him he looks a little like George Clooney. He considered it for approximately half a second and said, “Once in a while.”

Of course. Naturally.

But then he told me the funniest comment he’d ever received:

“If George Clooney and Pierce Brosnan had a love child, I think you’re it.”

I nearly inhaled a shrimp.

Final Thoughts

And that’s when I realized the Travel Gods had really been smiling down on me in Key West.

Not only had I met Mr. Fixit, but I’d also met a man who was intelligent, charming, and generous—all traits that create a solid foundation for friendship.

Forget the Key Lime Pie… THIS was the local attraction.

Well played, Travel Gods. Well played.

As I unpacked my travel case, I looked at the patched-up flip-flop.

Another memory in paradise… courtesy of a broken sandal.

Somewhere in Key West, Jimmy Buffett was probably humming a new tune.

🎵 “The blowouts are nothing but souvenirs with soles.”

Part of the Coastal Cowgirl Series

Venice: Sun, Sand, and a Thirsty Ghost

On By jeanieelizabethIn Coastal CowgirlLeave a comment

My trip to Venice, Florida began as a meaningful mission tied to a deeply personal project.

Years ago, while sorting through my late mother-in-law’s belongings, I discovered a remarkable World War I poster printed in Port Talbot, Wales. It features my mother‑in‑law, Hannah, alongside three local women — a piece of history tucked quietly in the back of her wardrobe.

This fragile artifact traveled across the ocean, survived decades of moves, and was now in a restoration studio in downtown Venice that specializes in vintage paper preservation.

I extended this trip into an overnight stay — just enough time to deliver the poster and enjoy a little fresh seafood and coastal ambiance before driving home.

Venice is one of those charming beach towns that feels equal parts laid-back surf town, old Florida charm, and a sun-washed stretch of coastal calm.

The day started at Nokomis Public Beach. 

Of course, I turned the wrong way at a dead-end and drove a few scenic miles before being redirected by a friendly bicyclist.

My internal GPS clearly thinks this is hilarious. But the payoff?  

Warm, green Gulf waters, seashell sand, and a few hours of pure bliss.

Nokomis beach is one of those understated treasures.  It’s an uncrowded beach with free parking and lifeguards on duty. 

I sat quietly on the beach, letting myself sink into the rhythm of green surf, drifting seabirds, and the soft hum of people-watching.

The Gulf was calm and warm.
The sand gritty from decades of crushed seashells washing ashore.

Shells stretched along the shoreline like scattered evidence of the ocean’s long memory.

There’s something about the Gulf Coast that slows your heartbeat the second you arrive.

No rush. No agenda.

Just the perfect combination of warm breeze, salt air, sunscreen, and the distant sound of flip-flops slapping pavement.

I didn’t collect any of the shark’s teeth Nokomis Beach is known for.

But as I sat there, toes buried in the sand, my fingers brushed against a pale lilac shell — delicate, luminous — the kind you instantly decide is special enough to keep, even if you can’t explain why.

I ended up at nearby Pelican Alley for lunch— a casual seafood spot with good food and apparently… paranormal activity.

Which nobody warned me about.

My server, Hannah, continuously refilled my iced tea.

But somehow, the tea level seemed to drop faster than I could drink it.

By the third refill, I casually mentioned it to my server.

That’s when I learned Pelican Alley is infamous for ghost stories and paranormal encounters.

Which explained a lot.

Because at some point during lunch, I’m fairly certain someone whispered lottery numbers into my ear.

And of course, I played them.

Because if a ghost takes the time to communicate financial guidance, it just feels rude not to participate.

Sadly, the spirits and I did not achieve generational wealth together.

But I respect the effort.

After lunch, I went to historic downtown Venice — brick sidewalks, breezy palms, and that soft golden light that makes you want to linger.

Everywhere you look there’s another little café, boutique, or wine bar.

And then I saw it.

A blackboard sign outside Trattoria da Mino restaurant that simply read:

“Mino’s Favorite: Naughty Woman Pizza.”

I had to know what was on a Naughty Woman Pizza. Turns out it’s a simple, yet divine combination: buffalo mozzarella, tomato sauce, fresh basil, and a drizzle of olive oil.

Elegant. Fiery. Tempting. Exactly like the name promised.

I don’t know what else I was expecting.

But there’s absolutely no scenario where I can walk past a sign like that without stopping to investigate.

This is how road trips become stories.

Less planning and more discovery.

No trip to the area would be complete without a visit to Siesta Key Village.

I arrived with a loose plan for dinner.  After previewing menus, I decided on the outdoor dining patio at The Cottage.

I ordered the grilled salmon with asparagus and black rice. It was restorative — simple, coastal, and quietly perfect.

Driving around Nokomis and Venice is never the same twice; every turn feels like a new little adventure. You never know what treasure you’ll stumble across — like a pelican mailbox so colorful it practically waves you down.

Like most Florida coastal towns, Venice has an abundance of fresh seafood restaurants.

Even more memorable are the cold drinks with little lime wedges that somehow make everything seem healthier.

I happened upon Burgundy Square Cafe on Miami Avenue and sampled the grilled lobster roll sandwich with cucumber and tomato salad. The vinaigrette dressing was memorable, and my server was quick to point out that it’s a custom, proprietary blend.

Venice has that effortless coastal energy that encourages you to linger with just one more iced tea to watch the world stroll by.

It has a relaxed vibe without even trying.

A little quirky.
A little haunted.
A little sun kissed.

By the end of my short beach reset, I realized…

I had stumbled on the fun part of Venice entirely by accident.

Ghosts. Naughty Pizza. Unexpected laughs.

Sometimes the best trips happen when you just follow the coastline and see what finds you there.

Even if it’s a ghost.

Or pizza with questionable branding.

Part of the Coastal Cowgirl series

Coastal Cowgirl: Wastin’ Away on Margaritaville

On By jeanieelizabethIn Coastal CowgirlLeave a comment

A friend once said, “I want to travel with you once… just to see what unfolds.”

My vacations do tend to drift into the unpredictable.

I had a perfectly reasonable Miami and Lauderdale travel plan… then an ad floated across my screen, and suddenly, I’m on a cruise ship heading for the Bahamas.

Robot Hostage

I exited the Brightline train in West Palm Beach. Reserved my Uber ride and waited. 

Obviously, I missed the fine print because a vehicle showed up with no driver.

I confirmed the license plate and decided to give it a try. 

This was my first mistake.

It drove beautifully on the highway. Smooth. Controlled. Law abiding.

It dutifully stopped on a green light for pedestrians in the crosswalk… but then encountered a hiccup.

The light turned yellow.  Then red. Then green again.

I finally said:  “The light’s green. You can go now.”

A pleasant robotic voice replied:  “I am providing a safe ride.”

Cars were swerving around us. Horns were honking. 

“Respectfully,” I said, “this is not safe. You are stopped at a green light!”

The car remained committed to its decision.

It finally moved but stopped at another green light for absolutely no reason.

By this point, I’m yelling:  “Go! It’s Green!”  

The car calmly replied:  “Do you have a problem with my driving?”

Frustrated, I reply:  “Um-yeah!  You’re not driving?!”

When we finally arrived at the cruise port, I opened the rear door to exit.

The car drove off with the door half-opened and circled the parking lot.
“We have reached the destination.  Please exit safely.”

I gathered my belongings, but the car abruptly pulled forward 100 feet and stopped.

This was clearly a low-speed kidnapping.

Port security finally rescued me by blocking the vehicle while I escaped.

The car and I exchanged parting words.

I cannot repeat them because one of us was using profanity.

Adopted by the Bachelors

By this point, I needed a cocktail.

At cruise check-in, I was unexpectedly adopted by a bachelor party – and an inflatable bride.

The groom carried his inflatable companion under his arm like a designer handbag.

This set the tone.

Every time they spotted me on the ship they immediately broke into a chorus of 🎵 I Dream of Jeanie 🎵

This mostly occurred when I walked past them at a bar.

I was seated alone in the Euphoria Lounge listening to the band when I glanced over and noticed the inflatable bride had taken the empty seat next to me.

Apparently, I had been assigned custody.

My favorite bartender, Mario, arrived with a glass of wine for Dolly…. Compliments of the bachelors.  

Dolly was surprisingly good company. She never complained nor asked for a second Chardonnay.

Passengers were taking photos of our coupling. Dolly and I became an unintended cruise ship attraction.

My standard line became: “Don’t encourage her… she’s full of hot air.”

Nassau and the Minnow Incident

After wandering the port shops, I found a lounge chair at the Margaritaville Resort beach. The water was crystal clear. The sand was beautiful.

I walked to the shoreline and noticed thousands of tiny minnows. They covered the shallows like a living underwater carpet.

After years of finding myself in questionable situations, I’ve developed a simple rule:  Observe first. Participate later.

A group of young women ran down the beach carrying a frozen drink in each hand.

Without hesitation, they charged directly into the water.

Apparently, tiny fish have no respect for personal boundaries.

The minnows swarmed.  The women shrieked.

One emerged from the water attempting a full-scale swimsuit extraction.

Nassau rum punch has only two settings:  Fruit Juice and Future Regret.

There is no middle setting.

This sign on the walk back to the ship sums up my day in Nassau pretty well:

The Game Show That Nearly Went Off the Rails

On sea day, I wandered into Euphoria Lounge and happened upon a game show.

The challenge seemed harmless — Cowboys vs. Cowgirls.

The goal: create the longest line using articles of clothing.

Simple. Innocent. What could go wrong?

The answer arrived quickly.

Shoes, hats, shirts, pants, dresses, socks, belts… all became projectiles.

Soon contestants were standing around in their underwear while spectators cheered.

Then… one enthusiastic cowboy hooked his thumb into the waistband of his final remaining garment.

The cruise director saw disaster approaching.

Over the microphone came a panicked announcement:  “NO!  Underwear must stay on!”

The room exploded with laughter.  Mothers looked horrified.

The perils of never-ending alcohol are not to be underestimated.

A simple afternoon game show suddenly became an intervention.

Late‑Night Escapades  

Late‑night cruise people are a species. I felt like an anthropologist with a front‑row seat. Human behavior after unlimited margaritas and a steel drum band is a social experiment on steroids.

I skipped dinner one night and wandered into the midnight pizza station.

Cruise ships offer many forms of entertainment, but inappropriate attire is easily top‑tier.

There were pajamas. Skirts so short the ass‑cheeks were filing for emancipation.

Outfits that suggested their owners had packed in the dark, during a power outage, while under extreme time constraints.

This is the Groom. The Bachelors hid his clothes and left him this to wear. He confided to me that he didn’t expect many passengers to be at the Pizza Station at midnight…. he was mortified.

Late‑night attire seemed to operate under entirely different laws of fashion. Garments that would never leave the house on land roamed freely at sea, like feral textiles.

The pizza was delicious. But the entertainment value…. absolutely priceless.

Art Auction

The final evening, I attended the onboard art auction. 

During the preview, I met a lovely couple named Grace and David. We ended up sitting together for the auction event.

Grace and I both won a free art piece in a random drawing contest.

I selected Love Is In The Air by Jim Warren — colorful, whimsical, slightly eccentric.

Much like the cruise itself.

Why This Cruise Was Different

It wasn’t a mega ship, but that turned out to be one of its strengths. There was always something happening, yet it never felt crowded or overwhelming.

The crew was exceptional.

Michael and Navneet

Everywhere I went, crew greeted guests with smiles, remembered names, and genuinely seemed invested in making everyone’s vacation special.

I’ve sailed ships with more attractions. I’ve rarely sailed one with friendlier people.

Palm Beach Jose…

After the cruise, I took the Brightline to Miami.

While waiting, I conversed with a nice gentleman seated across the aisle. 

He was heading to a World Cup match and enthusiastically rooting for Argentina.

After finding my assigned seat, I heard a familiar voice.

“What are the odds?” he laughed. He was assigned the seat next to mine.

He introduced himself as Jose.  We talked about soccer with Jose offering his predictions. The conversation moved on to travel.

As he exited in Aventura, he handed me his contact information.

“I’m an attorney in Palm Beach. If you ever need anything, just call.”

Married. Respectful. And now a distant travel memory.

One Night in Miami

I spent one night at the beautiful Andaz Hotel, located on Miami beach. The hotel is situated on the beach with direct access to the Beachwalk, a paved hiking trail.

I met Ashley at the pool bar grille over lunch. She was in town from D.C. to host her sister’s bachelorette party.

Andaz is one of those places where you can walk out of the lobby and immediately feel a beach reset.

I moved to the beach in the afternoon and was seated next to a lovely British woman named Siobhan. (She pronounced it Sha-Von), also visiting from D.C.

One of my favorite things about travel is how these encounters happen naturally. Complete strangers end up sharing stories about life, work, travel, and everything in between simply because they happen to be standing in the same beautiful place.

We exchanged contact information, and instantly, Siobhan became part of my memorable travel tribe.

People Watching in Lauderdale

Next came a two-night stay at Hyatt Las Olas in Fort Lauderdale. This hotel is centrally located right on Las Olas Blvd and the Riverwalk where you can board the water taxi.

I didn’t sample the Hyatt’s dinner menu, but I did have a glass of wine with dessert one evening… and let’s just say… there were no regrets.

While wandering the boulevard, I stumbled into a charming café called WorthWyld.

The manager welcomed me and mentioned happy hour would start in about an hour.

“You should come back.”

At 5 p.m., I found myself seated on the outdoor patio with a glass of chardonnay and an order of chicken satay.

The hostess, Nina, suggested the patio. “It’s fun to people-watch from here,” she said.

Immediately, I knew we spoke the same language.

People watching is one of travel’s most underrated attractions.

My server, Dalia, joined the conversation and asked how my vacation was going.

“Absurd things tend to happen to me.”

Naturally, Nina and Dalia wanted examples.

So I told them about arguing with artificial intelligence on the way to the cruise port.

Both laughed.

The food was excellent. The atmosphere was relaxed. The conversation was genuine.

I enjoyed it so much that I returned the following evening.

This time I ordered the bison keftedes with a glass of Chardonnay.

Nina wasn’t working that night, but Dalia immediately remembered me.

“How was your day?” she asked.

That question led directly into one of the strangest breakfast conversations I’ve ever accidentally overheard.

If you’re reading, ladies…. Cheers!   And thanks for making my time on the boulevard memorable.

Random Dating Before Breakfast

I was enjoying breakfast at a café when I found myself seated next to what appeared to be a first meetup.

At first everything seemed normal.

Coffee. Small talk. The usual get-acquainted questions.

Then the young man started asking more personal questions.

I nearly choked on my coffee.

To my surprise, she answered — and it was clearly a flirtation.

At this point I was feeling like a voyeur. It was definitely too much information for 7 a.m.

My bill arrived shortly thereafter, and I made a strategic exit before learning anything else about either participant’s preferences.

Later, when I recounted this story to Dalia, I asked: “Is that a dating question now?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

I found myself contemplating how I might have answered.

My preference? “I wear boundaries. You should try them sometime.”

Final Thoughts

Looking back, I remember the beaches, the turquoise water, and the places.

But the best memories are the people I met along the way.

Even the robot car that argued with me about traffic lights had personality.

The Bahamas was the itinerary… but the people were the journey.

Their memories remain long after the tan fades and the suitcase is tucked away –

…still holding a few stubborn grains of sand — a subtle reminder that the next adventure has already started whispering.

Part of the Coastal Cowgirl Series

Coastal Cowgirl: Naples, Florida

On By jeanieelizabethIn Coastal CowgirlLeave a comment

When I first moved to Florida in May, 2022, I lived in an apartment while I searched for my new home. I explored the state like a woman who had been handed a map, a full tank of gas, and absolutely no reason to stay home.

Every week brought another town, another “maybe I live here now” moment. In each place, I explored what life might look like there—but most importantly, I evaluated riding options, boarding stables for Rosie, and nearby hiking trails.

I began on the Gulf Coast in Naples—the polished, palm-lined, rosé-at-lunch version of Florida.

Naples offered everything I needed for a soft landing: beaches, shopping, and the kind of Gulf breezes that make you forget you once survived life in the Sonoran Desert.

When I relocated from Phoenix, I traded blazing, bone-dry heat for something softer—still hot but wrapped in humidity.

I grew up on the East Coast, so the air here felt more like home than anything the desert ever offered.

Life Beneath the Flight Path

I stayed at the Hyatt House on 5th Avenue, perfectly positioned along the Gordon River Marina and walking distance to Tin City. It was the ideal base.

Well… ideal except for one tiny detail.

The room I booked overlooked the river from the back of the hotel—which, as I soon learned, sits directly beneath the flight path for Naples Airport.

One afternoon, I was sitting on my balcony, relaxing like a woman who had finally found her Florida calm. The sky was blue, the air was warm, the river was quiet…

And then— a loud whoosh overhead.

A jet came over so low I felt like I could read the pilot’s name tag.

The first time it happened, I didn’t just flinch—I instinctively ducked.  That first one spooked me harder than a horse encountering a plastic grocery bag.

Still, Naples had me hooked.

A Coastal Cowgirl Needs a Horse

No Florida chapter of mine would be complete without a horseback ride, so I found a local stable and joined a group trail ride through the wooded, sandy paths of Golden Gate Estates.

The horses were steady, the guide was friendly, and the trails felt like stepping into a quieter, wilder version of Naples.

It was the perfect blend of coastal and cowgirl—palm trees, pine flatwoods, and the soft thud of hooves on sugar sand.

As I drove through Golden Gate Estates, I caught myself daydreaming—the kind of daydream where you buy a few acres, build a barndominium, and give your horse the kind of at-home life that makes both of you happy.

Then reality arrived in the form of a single word: Hurricanes.

At the time, I had absolutely no hurricane experience.

The last thing I wanted was to find myself trying to evacuate a horse while half of South Florida attempted to leave at the same time.

I had evacuated horses ahead of a wildfire in Arizona. But I knew those roads and it wasn’t a mass exodus.

Standing in Golden Gate Estates, I realized I wasn’t ready to repeat that experience with hurricanes.

That was the moment I knew Naples—and other beach communities—could be my escape, my coastal reset, but not my home base.

So I stayed in Central Florida, where hurricanes remain a possibility but the logistics are kinder, and I let the coasts become my playground instead of my responsibility.

Hiking the Wild Side of Naples

Every place I’ve lived, I’ve adjusted my riding and hiking to the local terrain.

Delaware and the Jersey Shore offered parks and long beach walks. Arizona traded shade for red rock, elevation gains, and desert washes. Florida introduced me to mangroves, pine flatwoods, and wetlands.

The terrain changed; the daily mileage simply found a new backdrop.

As an avid hiker, I normally cover six to eight miles a day, six days a week, so Naples’ trails and boardwalks were an easy invitation.

I relied heavily on the AllTrails app to help me find routes that wouldn’t leave me lost, isolated, or starring in a local news segment.

My first hike was the Gordon River Greenway, a peaceful 2.8-mile out-and-back trail combining paved pathways and elevated boardwalks through mangroves and shaded wetlands.

From there, I ventured into Florida’s largest state park: Fakahatchee Strand Preserve.

The Big Cypress Bend Boardwalk stretches 2,500 feet through spectacular swamp scenery before ending at an observation deck overlooking an alligator pond.

It’s the kind of place where you half expect a nature documentary narrator to emerge from the trees.

I also hiked a section of the Florida Trail along East Main Tram, an easy four-mile out-and-back route following former logging roads.

Parts were muddy but manageable, and thanks to the wisdom of previous hikers posting on AllTrails, I wore waterproof boots instead of discovering the mud the hard way.

Tin City After Dark

No Naples visit would be complete without a stop at Tin City, conveniently located within walking distance of the Hyatt.

The shops were fun. The waterfront was beautiful.

But the real entertainment arrived after dark.

One evening, as I dined on the open-air deck at Riverwalk, a party boat returned to the dock carrying passengers who were enthusiastically singing to the music.

They were blissfully happy, rum-punch powered, and ready to toast anything that wasn’t nailed down.

My favorite was the final passenger to leave the boat.

She was still dancing to music that no longer existed.

The crew attempted to guide her down the gangway.

One even tried dancing her toward the exit.

Eventually she was escorted safely onto the dock, where she continued performing for the benefit of waterfront diners.

Last I saw, she was twirling toward the nearest bar like an adorable dancing diva.

Not Every Place Is Meant to Be Home

The best part of Naples has always been its effortless elegance.

The soft Gulf light and the calm water. The breezes that feel like an exhale.

Naples never seems to demand attention. It simply exists, confident in what it is, and that quiet existence is part of its charm.

When I was searching for a place to call home, Naples taught me something important: not every place you love is meant to be where you live.

Some places become escapes, others become the places you return to when life feels too loud.

Every visit reminds me why it remains one of my favorite coastal escapes—a place where nature, adventure, and coastal elegance come together effortlessly.

Part of the Coastal Cowgirl Series