The young Latina leaned against the door jamb, disinterestedly watching tourists stream past. Her four-inch stilettos, strapless bustier, and leather hotpants suggested the oldest profession on earth, yet she stood in the doorway of a family-owned bodega where Ybor City’s residents gather each day to sip strong espresso, share gossip, and slam dominoes. Unlike Miami Beach, where I was disappointed by the lack of Latin flavor, Ybor City is the real deal: an historic Cuban district in Florida’s Tampa Bay area.

A lady of the night or just waiting for the party to start?

Some years ago I had lunched at Ybor City’s Columbia Restaurant, famous for their  authentic Spanish cuisine. In the light of day, empty storefronts, peeling paint, and wind-blown trash suggested despair and decay. I checked the neighborhood off my list of places to see, never intending to return. But as fate would have it, I was unexpectedly detained in Tampa this past Halloween eve. As the last rays of daylight slowly faded I searched for a hotel along unfamiliar streets and suddenly found myself in Ybor City.

This was not the Ybor City I remembered! Curvy metal trellises decorated with white lights arched over the main street as far as I could see. Vivid neon signs threw reflections into the street and the aroma of strong coffee mingled with rich Cuban cigar smoke. Under cover of darkness, neglect melted away, replaced by pools of golden light spilling from bars and cafes and throbbing Latin beats. Buildings that had once seemed dilapidated suddenly oozed charm.

Ybor City owes its existence to the cigar industry. In 1884, Henry B. Plant completed his railroad to Tampa and was in the process of improving the port facilities at Port Tampa. Realizing that Cuban leaf tobacco, the best in the world, and the finished tobacco products could easily be imported and exported, Vicente Martinez Ybor founded Ybor City as a cigar manufacturing center in 1886. He quickly attracted experienced cigar workers from Spain, Cuba and Italy, establishing Tampa as the “Cigar Capital of the World.”

Ybor City at night is a fun cultural travel destination

Life in those early years revolved around social clubs that were organized to serve specific ethnic groups (L’unione Italiana for Italians, El Circulo Cubano for Cubans, Club Marti-Maceo for Afro-Cubans, among others). Not only did these clubs preserve the cultural heritage from one generation to the next, members could also subscribe Read the rest of this entry »

Pyramid of 200 painted bowling balls are stacked in the front yard of "Whimzy," home of artists Todd Ramquist and Kiaralinda

Everywhere I went in the small village of Safety Harbor, Florida, people told me the same thing: “You have to see the bowling ball house.” It was easy to find, but even without directions it would have been hard to miss the pyramid of 200 bowling balls stacked on the front lawn. Fascinated, I walked around the corner lot. Crazy quilt pathways of multi-colored ceramic tiles wound through grounds where bowling balls lined garden beds, balanced on pillars, and peeked out from beneath jungle vegetation. Even the mailbox sat on a stack of bowling balls.

A creation of husband and wife artists Todd Ramquist and Kiaralinda, “Whimzey” began when Kiaralinda saw a single bowling ball decorating the cactus garden in front of a house. “I thought it was a neat idea, but I wanted more.” Not long afterward, she spotted a rack of bowling balls at a flea market. “The sign said: ’10 free bowling balls per person.’ In those days we were driving some little car that could barely fit two people, but we crammed it with 40 free bowling balls.”

When Todd and Kiaralinda set up an outdoor table and began painting the balls, neighbors wandered over to see what was going on. “Kids started asking if they cold paint a bowling ball, so we gave them all brushes and let them go,” said Todd. Before long, people began dropping off old bowling balls to be used in the design. Wondering what to do with the surplus, they invited artist friends to paint a bowling ball. To their surprise, many accepted the offer; these creations, affectionately dubbed the Read the rest of this entry »

Although I don’t pretend to understand the surreal images of distorted females and melting clocks that pervade the art of Salvador Dali, his work had always intrigued me. I simply assumed the symbolism was an unknowable product of a demented mind. So I was surprised when the docent at the Salvador Dali Museum in St. Petersburg, Florida commented, “Luckily, Dali spoke and wrote voluminously about the meaning of his artwork while he was alive, thus we understand what each piece is meant to represent.”

Fascinated, I followed the docent around the gallery as she related the history behind each piece and explained what the artist was trying to convey in his bizarre landscapes. With its 96 oils created between 1917-1970, the Salvador Dalí Museum is the permanent home of the world’s most comprehensive collection of the renowned Spanish artist’s work, including the Impressionist and Cubist styles of his early period, abstract work from his transition to Surrealism, the famous surrealist canvases for which he is best known, and examples of his preoccupation with religion and science during his classic period.

The tour ended at a sunken gallery where half a dozen of Dali’s enormous religious canvases hung. At the suggestion of our guide, we stood above and looked down on these floor-to-ceiling pieces in order to have a wider view. This was a different Dali – one that I had never experienced. “Look closely – what do you see?” our guide asked, gesturing toward the oil titled, “Halucinogenic Toreador.”

"Halucinogenic Toreador" - What do you see in the painting?

I’d spotted the most obvious of the double images even before she asked, but was astonished when she began pointing out dozens of double images secreted throughout the painting. Almost everyone in the room could see the two male toreadors emerging from the two main Venus de Milo statues. Most could discern the Dalmatian dog hidden at the bottom of the painting and the head of the slain bull, with its pool of blood represented as a blue lagoon. But I had to get up close to see the smaller hidden images. The panting is littered with Venus de Milo statues and each one, no matter how tiny, contains the hidden image of a toreador’s face.

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I’ve lived in downtown Sarasota for nearly three years and thought I’d seen everything the city center had to offer until the other day, when I took a walk along Sarasota Bay. Just two blocks from the heart of downtown I discovered an arched entryway leading to Bayfront Park, a half-mile long peninsula jutting into the bay. Intrigued, I stepped through the archway and into an alternate reality of grass-roofed shacks, brightly colored water sport equipment, tiki bars, multi-million dollar yachts at anchor, outdoor sculpture, elaborate playground equipment, and a circular recessed fountain where children romped in columns of water burbling from the ground.

Gateway to Sarasota's Bayfront Park

Rent paddle boats, kayaks, and jet skis at the little grass shack

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