As I sit here in my study reading LSAT practice questions (the absurdity of which I will not go into) my window overlooks the row of houses going up 16th Avenue, and affords a nice view of Red Mountain and the blue sky above it. All morning it has been clear, with warm sunlight pouring through the room. But about a minute ago, a cloud crawled over the city and brought a cold breeze with it. It confirmed my suspicions that yes, I would rather be in Key West. On a cold day in the Keys, the air outside is as warm as the cup of tea I have steaming on my desk. To say the place exudes a deep calm would be a laughable understatement. My mom and dad wanted to get out of town with the family for the holidays this year, so we did just that, heading to the farthest point south that you can go in the continental United States. We had a blast, most of the time. Day 1: A Rerry, Rerry Christmas We left Montgomery on Christmas day, a little after lunch, and headed to Atlanta so we could catch an early flight to Miami on the 26th. Atlanta was bitterly cold when we got to our hotel, which was situated in the commercial wastelands surrounding Hartsfield International, and we were all hungry. Much to our chagrin, the surly hotel manager informed us that nothing was open on Christmas. Nothing? Surely not, we decided, and set off to find some grub. After a few stops and rerouting, we finally found Good Luck Chinese food, the only place beside Waffle House with a light on. We had been joking for an hour about ending up like Ralphie’s family in A Christmas Story (“fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra…”), and there we were, on Christmas night, ordering extra spicy Kung Pao shrimp from a funny Korean woman in a restaurant that qualified as a meat locker because she couldn’t afford to turn on the heater. It was ridiculous. But the woman was a good sport and served us up a box of good, hot Chinese food, insisting we were getting the gourmet stuff. “The cook is from New York,” she explained. So we headed back to the room and had a multicultural Christmas feast fit for, well, an emperor. It was darn good, too. Day 2: Hell Next morning we woke up earlier than the law allows and got to the airport, and boarded our plane without incident. Woo hoo, we were on our way! But no, it turns out one Mr. Murphy seems to have boarded the plane with us. Just after we had begun to taxi out to the runway, a pilot in the plane behind us noticed one of our engines had “a small leak.” This leak turned out to be jet fuel. Fortunately, we didn’t realize it at the time. All we knew was that we were going to miss our connecting flight in Miami if we didn’t get airborne soon. We rushed back into the airport and waited in line for two hours to get to the ticket counter, where we were put on a 8:00 p.m. connecting flight to Miami, and were lucky enough to snag the last seats on a connecting flight to Key West that was leaving … the next day. A whole day of the trip, down the drain. By this point we were all mildly irritated, but were hanging on. We ate a good airport lunch, and I found out that my picture was in Rolling Stone magazine (it’s in a photo of a drum circle at Bonnaroo. Dad was overjoyed. “At least they cut the picture off at the neck so no one can tell who it is,” he said). We then wandered to our new gate and began the process of waiting expectantly for our flight all over again. In other words, we slept in our seats, drooling on ourselves. Finally, after several hours it was time, and we were off. The flight to Miami was uneventful, thank god. We flew in at night, the bright lights of the city sandwiched between the vast darknesses of the Everglades and the Atlantic Ocean. I wanted to see Tubs and Crocket waiting in a Lambourghini at the airport, staking out a huge cocaine bust. (I was planning on yelling out, “Tubbs, this stuff is bunk!” when we arrived to see if any hardcore Miami Vice fan were with me, but I decided against it.) Once we arrived, we were given free hotel vouchers and went to get our luggage. Only to find that – you guessed it – it was lost. Murphy struck again. What’s worse, Caroline’s (my sister) bag had her medication in it, which she needed. After more scrambling and waiting in baggage claim lines we finally threw in the towel and headed to the hotel. We’d find the stupid baggage later. We took the shuttle to the Wynfrey Hotel only to find another long line of angry airline passengers at the checkout counter. We opted for the restaurant, where sustenance awaited us. And alcohol. Thinking our troubles behind us, we relished our overcooked, overexpensive dishes and left the restaurant with content bellies ready for a good night’s sleep. But not before the maitre d’ ran out of the restaurant and asked for dad’s meal vouchers … which he had already handed to him before we ordered. After a brief altercation, they let it go. Which was a wise decision. Very wise. So after dinner Jim and I took the shuttle back to the airport and got the baggage tickets, then headed to the Wynfrey bar for a drink. It had been a long day. We got to the bar, only to find … it was closed. That damn Murphy had beaten us there. But before I had a chance to declaim mightily against God and the forces of nature right there in the bar, the bartender had pity on us, and poured us some good scotch. Probably the best drink I’ve ever had in my life. Jim and I sat and laughed the day off, then went to our room and slept the sleep of the dead. Day 3: Redemption So, the next morning we all woke up refreshed and finally ready to make it to the Keys. Looking out of our hotel windows, we could see the blue expanse of ocean, could smell salt on the air. We ate a delicious breakfast downstairs and headed to the airport. By the time it took us to get to the ticket counter and retrieve Caroline’s bag, which had come in during the night, our flight to Key West was about to leave. That’s when Murphy caught up with us. With just minutes until our flight left, the airport security officials asked to check our bags. They loaded them upon a cart and wheeled them slowly through the airport, finally arriving at a room with several security people inside who were whooping and laughing. We thought they were having a party. Dad chuckled and pointed to a sign on the door – all it said was “No.” But we got our bags after a few minutes and scurried through the security check – having to take off our shoes to be checked in the process – and made it out onto the tarmac just in time. The plane was literally about to leave. But after a brief shuffling of people and baggage, we were seated and on our way. The 45-minute flight was fantastic. I could see the islands pass beneath us, the southern reef foaming with breakers, deep shades of blue and turquoise where the water deepened off the shore. We circled Key West and landed, and were greeted by the warm air. We rented our car, drove to the hotel and collapsed into our beds. We had arrived. For most of the rest of the trip, we managed to elude ol’ Murphy. He had nearly thwarted our attempts at rest and relaxation, but we got the better of him. We ate good food, enjoyed ourselves, and saw a lot of interesting things, despite the fact that every day more tourists were piling into Key West to celebrate New Years’ Eve. Day 4: We spent most of the day driving up Highway 1 visiting the other keys. We ate conch for lunch and visited Bahia Honda State Park, near where railroad magnate Henry Flagler built a series of bridges in the early 1900s. We drove to Marathon, and sat on the beach basking in the warm, well, December sunshine. The water was too cold to swim in. That night, we cruised Duval Street, which reminded me a lot of Bourbon Street in New Orleans, though with far fewer hookers, jazz and stumbling drunks. We even made it to famous Sloppy Joe’s, Hemingway’s old hangout during the early 30s. Day 5: A wonderful day. We got on a seaplane and flew to the Dry Tortugas. Discovered by Ponce de Leon in 1512, the Tortugas are a series of reef islands in between Florida and Cuba that serve as hatching grounds for sea turtles. Or they used to. During the civil war Federal Troops built Fort Jefferson there, a huge brick intended to protect Union ships who were blockading southern ports in the Gulf of Mexico. It was paradise on earth for us, but hell for the troops and prisoners stationed there. It was surrounded on all sides by gorgeous blue water, white beaches and crystal sunshine. We explored the fort, but weren’t allowed to snorkel because a crocodile had washed up on shore recently from the Everglades. The authorities figured he was blown hundreds of miles out into the sea by a storm. Damn that Murphy feller.. But the flight to and from was amazing. Just a couple hundred feet from the sea, we could see the islands, reefs, and shipwrecks in detail from above. I even saw some lone sea turtles, slowly making their way through the large waters. That night we attended the sunset celebration at Mallory square, where performance artists and magicians ply their worn trades to the throngs of oohing and aahing tourists. The sunset was an explosion of burnt colors, as if the sun were extinguishing itself in the ocean, sending massive multi-hued plumes of steam writhing hundreds of miles into the atmosphere. Day 6: Dad was feeling ill, so Mom, Jim, Caroline and I rented a boat and headed out to the reef for some snorkeling. It was bit windy and we all were soaked heading out. We arrived at the reef and Caroline, Jim and I jumped in. It wasn’t what I had envisioned (mainly from postcards, which it’s never like anyway), but for my first time snorkeling, it was great. We swam with barracuda, parrotfish and lots of others whose names I don’t know. It was still a bit windy and somewhat murky, but it gave us a glimpse of that wholly other world that moves just beneath the blue water. It was enough just to be there. We then drove to another island and walked around on the beach for a bit, then headed over to one of the boat wrecks we had seen from the seaplane. Jim and I snorkeled around it and saw some big fish lumber away as we approached. The boat was old and rusted, it’s hulking frame wedged in the white sand at the edge of the shallows. It has been there so long that two mangrove trees have taken root in the wreckage and flourished. It was haunting to swim under it and imagine what being on that boat for the last time must have been like. As we drove in we passed several more wrecks, the flotsam and jetsam of storms that periodically batter the Keys. We saw an abandoned dinghy, not six feet long, still tied to a rotting buoy. There was a helicopter resting on a small floating pier. Sailboats that had been around the world rested in the cove, their occupants indeed vagabonds and itinerants upon the world’s larger currents. I felt like raising a glass of rum with them. That afternoon we visited Hemingway’s House and saw the room he wrote such books as The Old Man and the Sea, A Farewell to Arms, and To Have and Have Not. A good history of his stay in the keys can be found here. It was a magical place. Day 7: Our final day. We did a whirlwind tour of the final sights we wanted to see, including Truman’s “Little White House” and the Mel Fisher Museum, a wonderful exhibit on the shipwreck of the Atocha, which was lost off of the Florida coast in 1622. Then we finally went to the “Shipwreck Historium” which I had been dying to see, and it turned out to be a hokey, sparse reproduction of the days of “wrecking,” or shipwreck salvage, when the Keys were first being populated. It was time we left. So after five glorious days among the sand and sunshine, we boarded the plane and headed home. We left Murphy on the beach.