Ponce, pirate, ghosts and spirits

Juan Ponce de Leon was always my favorite among the 15th-16th century explorers, primarily because he was simply the most idealistic of the bunch. I used to love reading about him in history class throughout grade school and high school. While some looked for gold and others looked for spices, Ponce was looking for the Fountain of Youth. It's hard to imagine the dedication a person would have to risk his own life and the lives of his men, not to mention a fair amount of Spanish capital, to sail across an entire ocean in search of something so mystical. You have to respect that. He never gave up on his dream, even if it meant rough seas, pirates, scurvy, etc.

So Sunday, when I stood at the spot Ponce's ship first struck land, I was envigored by his spirit and determination. As you probably know, Ponce de Leon discovered Florida and claimed it for the Spanish. The spot he discovered soon developed into a city which still stands today. In fact, it's the oldest city in the United States. St. Augustine, FL was the second of six destinations I plan to tour before it's time to pack it all up and head northward.

The Silver Bullet and I made the 4-hour-long trip to St. Augustine early Sunday morning. I love to drive to new places, watch the scenery go by, notice the quirky billboards, so it didn't seem long at all. The hostel I was staying at was in the heart of the historic district, and when the city is 1500s-historic, the roads aren't exactly made for supersonic minivans. I bid a sweet adieu to the Bullet and strolled through the cobblestone streets to the Pirate Haus, appropriately named because of the city's constant problems with pirates throughout history (sacked in the 1800s, which sucked). The staff was dressed like pirates, and one guy with a red bandana pointed out the best watering holes the city had to offer. I took note of the pirate's suggestions and headed out into the city.

I explored mills, courtyards, taverns and an old Spanish cathedral. I toured the San Sebastian Winery and sipped wines made from Floida's muscadine grapes (very tasty). I ate a roast beef dinner at the Prince of Wales Inn (a throwback to a brief era of about 20 years where the British owned Florida right before the American revolution). And then on Sunday night, after downing three pints of John Courage amber ale at the Prince of Wales, I embarked on the St. Augustine Haunted Pub Tour through the historic district. At this point, you may be wondering why I'm doing all of this by myself. But hey, you should try it out. It's nice to explore a new place at your own pace, do what you want to do, and meet people that you wouldn't meet if you had company along for the trip. And that leads me to the women from Tampa.

On the pub tour (really more of a pub crawl), I met Patty and Linda, two middle-aged women who admitted to having children around my age. They were old friends who went on trips alone every summer to get away from their families and let loose. It turned out that they were to let loose on me. After they discovered I was the only one of the tour who was alone (I was perfectly happy talking to our guide, Tom, about ghosts, ghost hunting, ghost sightings, etc., because that shit really gets me going), they promptly insisted that I was now with their group, which was fine, I suppose, except for that these women were the kind you'd see half-hanging off a pontoon boat in Lake St. Clair with a Milwaukee's Best poking out from their beer coosy and a Newport dangling from their lower lip. Oh well.

We went to four pubs, learned the stories behind them and had a lot of beer and coconut rum to drink (a lot). We smoked cigars, talked about ghosts and took a lot of pictures (to come later). After the tour, we hung out on the patio of one bar with a journalist couple we met from Lakeland, FL., and drank until closing time.

After Linda (or was it Patty?) gave me her number and address in Tampa, I stumbled back home through the cobblestone walkways to the Pirate Haus, climbed to the top bunk of my bunk bed and immediately passed. Arrr, matey, what a fine eve-nin.