Florida to Georgia

September 25

Today's the day we pointed our van northward, toward the destination far to the north of us that will be our port of departure from this continent for our flight to the next one on this round-the-world trip. A sense of the imminent end of our journey came over us with this new directional orientation.

We hadn't packed last night, so that task was taken up this morning. This being my forte, Razelle left it to me to do. Barry brought up the condo's valet cart so I could stack everything onto it and get it down to the van in one trip. It was already hot and muggy when I exited the building, an hour later in the morning than I would have liked, considering how far we hoped to get today, but still not so late that it was problematic.

Barry and Brenda had errands to run in preparation for Rosh Hashanah, so we didn't tarry long saying our goodbyes. We expect to see Barry and Brenda again later, when we reach New York. They plan to be up there about the time we reach Monte and Mindy. Three brothers and three sisters-in-law gathered together; it should be a momentous event. I handed Barry back the keys he'd given me and we each drove out of the parking lot together, each to a separate destination.

Our first destination was a fabric store in Boynton Beach, FL, a few communities to the north. Razelle needed an item there to repair a garment that had gotten damaged in the laundry. Brenda had recommended the place (Jo-Ann Fabrics, next door to Wynn-Dixie – gee how those names take me back to my childhood in Orlando!). They had exactly what we were looking for. Thanks, Brenda.

As we walked back to the van it dawned on me that I had forgotten to retrieve the half snowball from Barry and Brenda's freezer. That half snowball had so much significance attached to it that I felt really bad about my mental lapse. I felt especially bad because Razelle had wanted to place it on her father's grave in Connecticut, as I had done on my own father's grave in Ohio. We had collected that snow in August from the mountaintop in Wyoming where we'd said Kaddish for our fathers close to the anniversaries of their respective deaths, and now we won't be able to honor Razelle's father they way I had honored mine. I called all the phone numbers I had for Barry. No answer at any of them. When I did receive a call-back from Barry it was clear that we couldn't go back and get it. I told them that the next time they were at a cemetery, it would make us feel better if they would put that half snowball on a grave there, it didn't matter whose. They said they would.  

We drove northward on I-95, now with a purpose, all the way to Daytona Beach, FL. Along the way we passed exits leading to locations and landmarks that were all associated with memories forged during the formative years of my childhood in this state. With Savannah, GA our destination today, we didn't stop or slow our forward progress for any of these until we reached Daytona Beach. We passed the signs leading to the Kennedy Space Center without turning our heads (Razelle's eyes were closed so she didn't even notice). We left the highway at Daytona Beach and bought gas within sight of the Daytona Speedway – its high curved grandstands visible to our right. This gas station had no tuna sandwiches. I paid the proprietors cash for the fill-up. I wanted to get out of this state before I tried using my credit card again at any more gas stations. I waited patiently while the proprietors spoke to each other in Arabic. I haven't heard that language in quite a while. It reminded me of where this round-the-world trip was going to end in less than a month, back home where it started, where it's not unusual to hear Arabic.

Our GPS directed us around the eastern side of Jacksonville and across an impressive bridge over the St. Johns River on Florida route 9A. I was pleasantly surprised by how little traffic there was on this sweeping temporary diversion from I-95. We rejoined I-95 to the north of Jacksonville without ever becoming ensnarled in its afternoon rush-hour traffic. We soon entered Georgia, our 28th state, under an overcast sky. I remarked to Razelle that the sudden tropical showers we'd experienced in Florida would gradually become longer periods of steady rainfall the farther north we travelled. Razelle was pleased that we were on this interstate route, because I-95 leads straight ahead up the eastern coast of the US, past her hometown in Connecticut through and to places she knew well. For me, being on this highway gave me a sense of melancholy and anticipation at the same time. How are we going to return to our daily routine in Beer Sheva after traveling itself has become our daily routine? And then again, how much more of this traveling do we need to do in order to prove to ourselves that we can do it?

We reached Savannah, GA at dusk. We had our trusty coupon and travel deals booklet with us. We pick these up at rest areas whenever we enter a new region of the US. We saw a coupon for the "Relax Inn" on Abercorn Street in Savannah that offered us a tempting rate. However, when we left the highway in a steady downpour under darkening clouds, the "Scottish Inn" at the Abercorn Street exit, next to a sign pointing to several factory outlet stores, with a Reebok shoe store among them, caught my eye. We stopped some employees coming out of the Reebok outlet as they were locking it up and asked when it would reopen in the morning. "Nine o'clock," was their reply. The Scottish Inn advertized a competitive price on its marquee. Razelle went into the office and discussed arrangements with the Indian proprietor, then came out to the van to state that this place was acceptable to her. The people in the rooms near ours looked rather "hard-bitten". One of them complained to the proprietor about a faulty vending machine and he didn't like the proprietor's smiling negative response (that smile might work in India but here in Georgia it wasn't working well at all). Another person in the room next to ours was drinking beer in his undershirt without closing his curtains. These were to be our accommodations our first night in Georgia. I hoped we wouldn't regret staying at this motel. At least the steady rain would keep these people behind their doors.

We drove off through a vast puddle in the Scottish Inn driveway to go find food. Near the "Relax Inn," which we had eschewed in favor of the Scottish Inn, we found a lovely little Mediterranean restaurant that appealed to us. We were their last customers for the evening. They served us a salad platter with all of our favorite tapas from back home (hummus, falafel, fire roasted eggplant, stuffed grape leaves, rice and olives). We really enjoyed their fare.

The rain was coming down in sheets as we left the restaurant. Visibility was very poor. I didn't see the curbstone at the edge of my parking space and drove over it. After some 10,000 miles of driving this van it was my first oops. I backed up and got out to see what damage I might have done. I saw none, everything looked OK; lucky me.

Back at the motel, things were quiet. Our neighbors' rooms were closed and dark; that gave me a sense of relief. We settled on the bed and turned on the TV, curious to see what programs might be available. We came across an educational program that caught our attention: a program about the US Constitution and the issues of school prayer and gun control. As we watched for a few minutes a familiar face came on the screen: Razelle's cousin Jeanne, who we had only a few days earlier eaten a meal with in Ft. Lauderdale. The show was from a TV series originally broadcast in 1984 (The Constitution - That Delicate Balance). Among others, it featured well known and regarded judges (Potter Stewart), congressmen (Orrin Hatch, Charles Rangel) and cabinet members (Attorney General Griffin Bell); also newsman Dan Rather and Harvard Law Professor Arthur Miller ... and Jeanne, holding her own in their company in a very impressive and confident manner -- a veritable "who was who" back then -- and we suddenly realized how much of a "who, too" Jeanne really was then and still is. We called her to tell her we were watching her on TV. She didn't answer so we left her an excited message. The program was a time capsule of sorts. After all the political discourse we've been exposed to during this trip, we could see how much the discourse had shifted from one foot to the other in the intervening years since we actually lived in the States. We fell asleep with the glow of nostalgia for those times this program elicited.