The Siesta Pit

Have you ever considered the variance between your holiday expectations and the experience itself? When planning and anticipating a trip we tend to discount the mundane. The petty annoyances of packing, travelling to the airport, and the whole security nightmare once you're there get left by the wayside.

That's why I try to re-read philosopher Alain de Botton's The Art of Travel before I depart on holiday. He reminds us that expectation and reality are often at odds. That our fantasy trip is just that -- fantasy. He looks at why we travel and what we expect from our experiences. It's a good way to help keep everything in perspective when you run into the inevitable headaches of travelling.

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Anyone who's spent any time on the road understands that no holiday destination will be exactly as advertised. That's why web sites such as TripAdvisor are so popular. But sometimes members of the hospitality industry outdo themselves by painting a far too rosy picture of the situation. Why not check out my post on weasel words, Humpty Joins Weasels: Toad Hall to Fall?

That's what's happened to me in Siesta Key, Florida. Two weeks of sun and sand in a relatively sedate community sounded like heaven. On the outskirts of the Village, I'd be within walking distance of everything. And just a block from the beach.

I could have breakfast outside every morning and barbecue my dinner. Grocery shopping and a myriad of restaurants were only a few blocks away.

So much for the fantasy. The reality was a nightmare of unremitting loud noise. Yes, there were a table and chairs, as well as a barbecue at the Siesta Pit¹. But there was also a big rooftop air conditioning unit on the next property and disturbingly close to my door. So much for spending time outside. Then I discovered the Oyster Bar² . I could even feel the so-called music in my room, it was so incredibly loud. Amplified so you could hear it for blocks!

Outside my door at the Pit:

I bet you'd get into serious trouble subjecting animals to this kind of cruelty.

And thus my fantasy week of sun and sand turned out to be more like heat and dust. Two days wasted attempting to get the promised WiFi working (it never did, not properly), migraines and misery. Yes, a few hours at the beach. But even that was marred by the speedboats roaring back and forth, dangerously close to shoreline swimmers. Apparently, the boats can come as close to shore as they wish, despite the swimmers. The key is not to behave recklessly. Or so I was told by the sherrif's office.

Needless to say, I'll not be taking advantage of my second week's rental. I've already fled Siesta Key. I must admit it's an experience I'd yet to enjoy, paying for two accommodations at the same time. So much for the Siesta Pit. And so much for Florida too. At least I'll be saving money on the souvenirs. Why would I want any? I haven't even taken any pictures.

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Notes

¹ Actually the Pearl, but I'm not one for weasel words.

² Incredibly, this place advertises itself as the "Home of the Village Idiot". They've got one thing right.

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Book mentioned

• The Art of Travel