After a few days at a rather lackluster north Florida RV park that had weekend availability, our free and easy lack of reservations travel style was beginning to become an issue. Heading down the western coast, we were very lucky to grab two nights at Little Manatee River State Park outside of Bradenton. Considering its proximity to the city, my mom suggested we text my aunt who lives there, and we ended up meeting her for drinks and dinner. (Ex-aunt? What do you call someone that used to be married to your uncle?) Despite not seeing my aunt for 45 years, she invited us to crash at her place for a few days. Hell yeah. In addition to getting to know her better and getting updated on all the bigger family news, taking her up on the offer gave us a chance to see the city in more detail, too.
She is a such whirlwind! And after living in Bradenton for 50 years, the city as a whole seems to know her. People would randomly call out to her, restaurant owners and waitstaff would stop to chat with her, and all she has to do is dial a guy she knows to get the freshest, straight off the boat fish and shellfish for a song. At almost 70, she’s still working part-time, thin as a rail because, talks a mile a minute, knows her mind, and has a heart of gold. I can see why she and my mom became friends all those decades ago.
Just a few miles down the road from her house, the De Soto National Monument sits at the mouth of the Manatee River, right where it meets Tampa Bay, commemorating the 1539 landing of De Soto and his soldiers on Florida’s shores. If you’re unfamiliar with Hernando de Soto, he was a right awful piece of humanity. In his quest for gold and glory, De Soto and his 620 soldiers, servants, and priests captured, tortured, killed, and enslaved the native population, confiscated their homes and resources, and basically raped and pillaged their way across the lower half of what would become the United States — all while calling the indigenous population savages. Hypocrite, table for 621 please.
The De Soto National Monument’s official visitor center is closed while undergoing hurricane storm damage repairs, but a very friendly NPS volunteer in MSU Spartan gear (Go Green!) was under the reception tent to tell us a bit about the NPS site and walking trail, De Soto’s journey across the country, and how the local native populations sent the exploration party on a 4,000 mile long series of wild goose chases, culminating with De Soto’s death of fever (malaria?) and secret water burial in the Mississippi River. Because De Soto had told the native tribes that he was a god, his men were afraid that if the locals found out De Soto the Fake Deity had died, the locals would ambush them in retaliation. That seems a fair assumption.
Onsite, there’s a recreated native village, but a few of the buildings were also damaged by hurricanes so those are off limits for the time being. The one below is the only one you can enter these days. I think the indigenous use of spent palm branches and palm leaves is brilliant. They repel water well, are plentiful and renewable, and make a nice rustling sound in the wind. Some local bars and restaurants still use them for outdoor patio roofs.
During some of our extra Bradenton time, we drove over to Longboat Key and met a couple feathered locals, had a coffee, and took a walk on the pier where we saw some kids surfing on the crazy waves. The brown pelican below walked right up to us and appeared to be looking for some kind of fish tax to be paid. We run into a lot of tourist taxes on the road, but this bird’s approach was the most brazen.
Let’s talk Pizza Money.
Apparently Tom Monaghan, the founder of Domino’s Pizza is Catholic. Big Catholic. Now what does one do when one is Big Catholic and up to one’s neck in dough? You go to Florida, and lead the charge in having an entire town, a modern cathedral, and a private college built from the ground up and call it Ave Maria.
The designers did a good job. The town has a quaint, unified, sun-drenched look about it. Everything is neat, clean, and color-coordinated. Golf carts as secondary transport vehicles abound. There isn’t a lot of variety in the village, but there’s everything you need: a few good restaurants, some shops to browse, an ice cream parlor, a coffee shop, a smaller Publix grocery store, a massive church should you need one, and etc. No Domino’s pizza though! Not high-end enough? Maybe the smell didn’t fit the design scheme? Hard to tell.
The Cathedral is the literal center of the Ave Maria village and its modern lines really make it stand out. The back is my favorite as it resembles a rocket ship ready to blast off. Inside it’s all elegant steel girders and muted tones. The exterior masonry highlights the front’s sculptural piece. The university is across the street.
We learned about Ave Maria because Jeff’s sister and partner are renting a place there for to avoid the snow, so we got to stay overnight with them and live a normal life for a couple hours. Jeff went golfing. I pushed a button for coffee. It was fifteen steps to a bathroom with a washer/dryer combo. There was a huge TV for watching movies. (Watch the 2007 version of Death at a Funeral, by the way. It’s fantastic.) We had such a lovely time seeing them.
We joked upon arriving at the security-guard in a booth gates of Ave Maria that we were getting to experience two very different sides of life during our Naples-area stay. The campgrounds for miles around had zero availability for the long holiday weekend. So we dug a bit deeper and found something off-grid. It was very very rustic and on private land in a wildlife preserve (including Florida panthers!): no water, no electricity, not a single frill. Nothing but a porta-potty, a chain link fence, and a massive fire pit in a big o’ field. “Park anywhere in the back half.”
Driving the last two miles there, we went from your average two lane road, to a narrow unstriped road, to a dirt road, to a barely wide enough for one vehicle sandy two-track. We knew we were there when we saw a (broken down) boat and (ratty) American flag at the entrance. Those were the indicators in our emailed directions: boat and flag. We were alone the first night and not gonna lie it was kinda creepy, but after we got back from Ave Maria we saw that a motorcycle tent-camper had arrived while we were gone. He seemed to really dig the place. To each his own. While it wouldn’t have been our first choice, it was a welcome port in a No Vacancy storm when we needed one. The owners were incredibly friendly, laid back, and have big plans for the space. I wish them well.
It was a good reminder that not everything needs to be what you’re hoping for. Sometimes it just needs to be good enough for now.
Leave a comment