When the mercury drops and more days are gray than sunny, my thoughts always turn to Florida. I’ve been making winter pilgrimages to this southern US state for so many years now that it’s become a tradition. Sometimes, I even go twice!
Have I mentioned that I’m not a fan of winter?
While I usually visit friends in Orlando, home of Disney World and Universal Studios theme parks, last winter I branched out and discovered Sanibel Island, a little slice of heaven off Florida’s west coast, near Fort Myers, after reading about it in this article.
The Good
Sanibel Island is small and low-key and has worked hard to avoid feeling touristy or commercialized. In fact, it feels like a small town that just happens to have lots of condos available for short-term rental. There are no high-rises, no huge resort hotels, and no chain restaurants save an unassuming Subway and Dairy Queen. The local coffee shops do a bustling business every morning and the small book store has the best selection of international mystery books I’ve ever seen.
Sanibel Island is also known for its excellent sea shells. It’s situated in a sweet spot in the Gulf of Mexico, where the daily tides deposit mounds of new shells on the island’s western beaches. In fact, when my friend and I checked into our hotel, we were each given a little plastic bag for shell collection on the front of which were drawings and names of at least two dozen different shells for easy identification.
Activity-wise, Sanibel is a popular spot for bird-watching—about a third of the island is dedicated to the JN “Ding” Darling National Wildlife Refuge—kayaking and other water sports, and of course gathering shells. If shopping is your thing, two open-air malls offer a plethora of beachy clothing, accessories, knick-knacks, and eclectic art by local artists. Perhaps the best bonus for this bike-lover: paved bike paths parallel nearly every road and it’s easy to rent a beach cruiser for your entire stay and bike just about everywhere, either for recreation or transportation.
The Wonderful
My friend and I rented bikes at our hotel on the northern half of the island and rode everywhere we could. Coming from the frigid mid-Atlantic, riding a bike in the warm Florida sun in the middle of winter was pure pleasure. The bikes were rusty and creaky with only pedal breaks that took some getting used to. They had little baskets on the front for hauling our stuff as we rode. Sometimes we even left our stuff in the baskets while we did an activity and guess what? No one stole it! Sanibel is that kind of place.
For just a couple of dollars each, we gained entry to the above-mentioned wildlife refuge on our bikes and rode the paved loop through the park, stopping frequently to admire the birds, take photos, and tour the mangrove forests on foot. One mangrove forest, in particular, was home to hundreds of icky tree crabs. Yes, friends, there exists in nature a species of crab that does not scuttle along the sand but crawls up mangrove trees to escape predators. They were gray, about the size of your fist, and looked like huge spiders, so much so that they gave me the heebie-jeebies. Naturally, that meant I had to take loads of photos of them.
Just as Sanibel offers dedicated bike paths so it also has dedicated kayaking trails running through the mangrove tress on its eastern shore. We rented a two-person kayak from a local boat rental, wriggled into our seats, and pushed off the ramp with our paddles. To get to the kayaking trail, we had to paddle our way across a choppy bay—no small feat but we gritted our teeth and pushed through that rough water to the other side.
Once inside the shelter of the mangrove forest, the wind disappeared and the water turned glassy. Everything felt still and calm, as if we were the only two people for miles around.
We wove through a labyrinth of waterways and ponds, the stillness only disturbed by the occasional rustle of wings or chatter of bird voices and of course the sound of our own paddles gently dipping into the water.
The Downright Weird
The one black spot on my idyllic stay on Sanibel Island was a visit to a restaurant on adjoining Captiva Island called the Bubble Room. If humans ever figure out how to travel through time and undo past actions, I will consider going back to that evening and picking a different restaurant. We’d seen it advertised, using terms like “world-famous desserts,” in the local ad-based guide book we got from the hotel’s front desk. How could we pass up a world-famous dessert?
Kitschy doesn’t even begin to describe the over-the-top, hoarder-level amount of tacky stuff inside this restaurant, giving it the aura of a carnival fun-house gone terribly wrong. Christmas and Disney were heavily represented but figurines, toys, trinkets, and old posters of all genres covered every available surface, including the walls, ceilings, and even under glass panels in the tables.
The ceilings were low and the multiple dining rooms were very small, as if an old house had been converted to a restaurant (which, in retrospect, it probably had). The lighting was primarily provided by strings of Christmas lights, giving the whole place a dim, sickly glow. The whole effect was repulsive rather than charming and completely claustrophobic.
Unfortunately, the décor was not redeemed by the quality of the food. Dinner was sub-par and dessert didn’t get any better. A meal of Ramen noodles and a Hostess cake would have been better. When the check came, we quickly handed over our credit cards and paid the overpriced bill, eager simply to get out of the horrific fun house and into the fresh air.
Beach Therapy
Any trauma we experienced from the Bubble Room restaurant was easily soothed with a long walk along the beach the next day. The hype about the sea shells wasn’t exaggerated and we couldn’t help but be awed by the vast seam of pink, white, cream, peach, and iridescent shells in the sand under our feet.
Birds skittered in the surf and oversized blue mussel casings, crusty with barnacles, were scattered among the shells and driftwood. The sun cast a hazy glow over everything while the waves beat a methodical, calming rhythm on the shore.
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