Going Conch: Part One

There’s a place where one should be able to disconnect. Away from the trappings of modern conveniences. No internet, no computers, no phones. No malls, no urban rituals, no desire or lust for material goods. For me, this place does exist. It’s a place I love dearly and it’s called Key West. It’s in Florida.

I was introduced to the place two summers ago by The Girl™ where I went for my first time. We’ve been there yet again at the same time of year and in a few weeks we’ll be going for the third time.

It’s unlike any place in the states. As far as I can tell. You can get there a variety of ways but a good number of people drive down through the Keys to get to the southernmost point of the USA. We typically drive from Miami, a city that while infused with tropical flavour is still, a city at its heart. The first part of the drive will get you through a lot of Miami, the Miami you don’t see — no South Beach, no tanned bodies, no partying. Strip malls, malls made up of strip malls.

But as you keep going south, the landscape starts to change. You roll down the windows because the air starts to feel and smell differently, now tinged with salt and musky seaweed. You’re on US1 headed south. The skies open up.

Instead of land left and right, the eyes reveal marshlands, which eventually become open water. It’s liberating. You’re on the edge of a continent. Another country and the rest of the world is across the waters in front of you.

The various Keys start popping up, Largo, Islamorada¹, Marathon, Big Pine. You stop along the way, looking for a shack. We’re in shack territory. I grew up with shacks as eateries or snack stops. Small places made of the most basic of materials but serving up some of the best local fare. In the Keys, the specialty is Conch. I had never had it until two summers ago but I had seen cooking shows which featured it and The Girl™ raved about it and so I was enthused for it. I have come to love the stuff. Conch is somewhere in between scallops and shrimp in mouthfeel and prepared as cracked conch, rather than the fritters² is the best way to enjoy it. Key West is dubbed, The Conch Republic.

If you’re driving through the Keys as the sun is setting, you’re in luck. The view is stunning. Stopping at one of the small beaches and waterfronts along the way to dip your feet into the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico is tempting and highly recommended. It’s almost a semi-religious experience, a baptism of sorts.

Key West is small. An island that covers an area of two by four miles. There is a small airport if you were so inclined to get into a puddle jumper from Miami or Fort Lauderdale. Otherwise, US1 continues to run all the way into the heart of Key West, which for most visitors and residents is Duval Street and the streets that run through and parallel to it.

Picking accomodations is easy. There are hotels — chains — but one is best served by an inn or a bed and breakfast. The latter two give you a distinct feel for what living here might be like. Some are more rustic than others but most come with a pre-defined set of people who become a family that’s in the background, ready to be there for you when you need to.

¹ Which I keep thinking sounds like one of the islands from Jurassic Park. ↩

² Cracked Conch is essentially lightly breaded pieces of conch that have been deep-fried. The fritters are conch mixed with other ingredients and resemble hush puppies.  ↩