My daughter hauled me down to Panama City last week in her spiffy new car. At least that's what I'm telling everybody. With Pa out of work for the last two months, I didn't need to be being irresponsible with our money and all. We stayed at some half-renovated motel cheaply, shared expenses and ate simply. Most of that you have to do at home anyway, so why not find some nice water to swim in while you are at it?
We knew we were getting close when her windshield started getting really foggy with salt. We cranked up the radio, rolled down the windows and let the heavy wind inside the car, breathing in the thick, briny air. It's healing, it is. You know you have only a little while to enjoy it, so you try to squeeze all the goody out of it while you're there. We've stayed for two weeks before and it still wasn't long enough. Liz and I only had two full days (apart from the driving). It definitely wasn't enough, but I'll take it.
The sand on the Gulf is like sugar. I love to lay face-down and sift it through my hands, looking really closely at it. There's always teeny, tiny shells in there that escape your notice if you only walk on it. When the wind blows, you see it softly drift like a confection on a cake. The water is crystal green and blue, most days. Sometimes there are no waves at all and it looks like a lake out of a dream. At home in Georgia, all of our lakes are unnatural and tend to look more like a mud bog. When we plant our bottom sides in the sand in PC, it's somewhat like dying and going to heaven.
They call Panama City "The Redneck Riviera." So I guess you know what I am. My people are very content to while away their vacations in simple block rooms, as long as they get to troll down to those white beaches and jump in the surf. We don't care about stars on our hotel. We don't even care about hotels, for heaven's sake. It's not about where you stay, as long as it's habitable. It's about that moment when you first see the water or when your toes hit the sand. Or when your grandbaby squeals and has to be let down to run. We like to get all pickled and crinkled at the ocean, then jump into the motel pool to cool off. Liz and I did that our first day there, languishing in the pool so long that we forgot ourselves and our sunscreen. We came home happily red, full of vitamin D and fully grounded.
While cruising down the roads, we saw all the parts that we can't relate to. We drove around to the really fancy side, to Rosemary Beach and Seaside. It was night. There were twinkling lights inside beach cabanas and restaurants. People walking and riding bikes everywhere. The air was perfumed with meat and spices. The mansions on the shore had curtains on their porches. You could hear the murmurs and laughter of people inside the houses. We talked about getting out and getting some coffee, but I didn't want to break the mood. It was reassuring to see life thriving and humankind relaxing... Magical. We drifted on back to Panama City and stopped for ice cream at a seaside shack on the redneck end of things. Perfect.
One of my favorite things to do is go to the shell shop. It's an authentic place, run by an old Vietnam Veteran. He has articles pinned up on the walls, telling stories of controversies and apocalypse. He has long, stringy hair and doesn't initially talk unless spoken to, and even then it takes some effort to draw him out. He has warning signs about the shop, telling people to watch their kids and not to steal stuff. But then when I hold up a beautiful shell and ask him about it, he softens and tells me there's another one that is cheaper. He shows it to me, but it's not nearly as pearly as the first one. I coo over the bewitching shells, so he decides I'm not evil. By the end of the visit, he is asking my lovely daughter and I how to better display his custom jewelry. We give him our thoughts. He carefully wraps our shells and puts them into a box. We leave, carrying our purchases like delicate treasure. You can't get that at Alvin's Island or Pier Park.
We've been home for a few days now, but I can still smell the beach. I can still go back there in my mind. It's going to fade, I just know it. But I'm going to hang on as long as I can.
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