Folly Virgin

Anthony arrived at the Folly for his first visit three days later than he was scheduled to thanks to Jet Blue.

 

We biked to Palm Beach in a fairly kind wind.

A picture is worth a thousand words, in this case Worth Avenue's greedy grasp of Benjamins.

Sure the shopping district is among the prettiest in the United States 

. . . but it bends decidedly mean Republican.

Still, you can't help but be impressed by the Breakers.  It offers valet parking for bicyclists, believe it or not!

Anthony and I also visited Miami's Wynwood district which has seen phenomenal development since my first visit five years ago.  

Condos, lots of condos, some painted to complement the street art, reflect the creeping gentrification of the neighborhood.

On the bright side, visitors now have many more inexpensive eating and photo options.

Wynwood Walls itself now requires paid admission.  Families have displaced the Eurotrash and Instagrammers that formerly dominated.

Bordalo II

David Coe

Peter Tunney's work occupies a big chunk of real estate.

He's got a thing for chandeliers, too.  I shot this one from underneath.

I love Shepard Fairey's work but I don't recognize the huckster in the cowboy hat.  Do you?

Like the rest of us, the Dalai Lama is praying for peace in Ukraine.  Prayers (or sanctions) just don't seem to be doing the trick with monster Putin. 

Wynwood Walls owes a big debt to Andy.  There's no shortage of Warholiana in the gift shop.

The Easter Bunny is a tagger!

You know a place has lost its edge when it starts attracting wedding parties.  At least they weren't riding one of those obnoxious pubs on wheels.

The bride asked me to snap her and her maid of honor.

"Are we your fantasy?" asked the Bride Tribe.  Not exactly, but neither Anthony nor I will ever forget our joyous encounter with them.

There's a color-saturated discovery around every corner

. . . in every parking lot.

. . . lamp post

. . . clothing store

. . . construction site

and hat store!

Early Pandemic Life Postscript

Like they say, it's not over until the fat lady sings.  Thom and I celebrated our impending flight north with a waterfront stroll in Palm Beach, our first.  We parked near the Worth Avenue clock tower.

Rising oceans threaten the narrow beach in front of the opulent homes that line A1A.  Waves crash against the sea wall at high tide, which prevented us from walking any further south.

Nothing like a cool bed of sea weed on which to rest your weary head.

Covid 19 still has The Breakers mostly shuttered.  The lockjaw set flees in the off season anyway.

Thom posed on the giant rocks that may or may not protect the luxe hotel from flooding in the near future. He complained that the bright colors of the hat he purchased in Viet Nam didn't register in black & white.

High on the Hog

Midday heat demands air conditioning in south Florida, so you either stay indoors or shop.   But not here.

Thom and I had hit Nordstrom Rack earlier in our visit but neither of us had patronized the high end shops in Palm Beach.  While he agonized over the selection of $135 flip flops (on sale!) at Neiman Marcus, Christine and I enjoyed a free beverage, branded of course.  

Thousands of silk butterflies hung above the department store's escalators.

We also took a leisurely stroll along a nearly empty Worth Avenue.

 

Afterward, we drove to The Breakers for drinks and tapas, where we'd had a miserable experience getting a table last December.  There's definitely something to be said for off-season.

Our over-the-top bar crawl began in the Seafood Bar, which overlooks the Atlantic and where the well-trained staff delivers the bill in a wood wallet.

The blue crab nachos were deeelish.

And the lemon drop martini--mixed with an Episcopalian proportion of alcohol--helped me forget how much they cost.  Bottoms up--thanks, Christine!

We polished off another round of drinks and five plates, including two desserts as rich as the crowd, at HMF.  An i-Phone 5 camera just couldn't capture the beauty of the grand Florentine room without a flash.  Self consciousness didn't afflict me outside, however.

I'm sitting on the edge of our Mustang convertible.  It projects this iconic image on the pavement when you open the door!