This morning, I woke up feeling like I had wrestled a bear—muscle aches galore! But honestly, I get a kick out of them; they’re like little trophies for pushing my limits at the gym. You know, nothing says “great workout” quite like wincing every time you move.
Today was meant to be all about marathons, but instead, we zoomed off to Key West, aiming for a pilgrimage to Hemingway’s house. After munching down some protein bars, we hit the road from Marathon Key. Poor Brian looked like he barely survived a night at a rooster concert, although I didn’t hear a peep—I must’ve crashed hard!
By the time we got there around 10 a.m., Key West was bustling with cars and tourists. We lucked out and snagged a parking spot near Hemingway’s house. Close by was a lighthouse, so we thought, “Why not?” The climb was a nail-biter with those tiny steps, and my being a bit jittery about heights didn’t help. Brian was snapping pics left and right, and I just hoped he wouldn’t turn into a flying photographer.
Atop the lighthouse, we spotted the name of the 12th U.S. President. Fun fact: Brian’s related to Zachary Taylor. Seems like a family tradition to serve in the military, just like Taylor’s descendants.
We bumped into a couple from a cruise and realized a colossal ship was docked nearby. From up high, it still looked massive. And oh, the chickens roaming everywhere! It turns out they’re descendants of escapee fighting chickens from Cuba—no one owns them, but mess with them, and you’re in for a fine!
Thanks to my legendary lack of direction, we somehow ended up far from Hemingway’s house, turning our day into an unexpected marathon. We changed plans and went to a rum distillery we were supposed to visit tomorrow. We caught the 1 o’clock tour and learned all about Hemingway’s association with rum. I didn’t know it took ages to craft rum—no wonder it’s pricey!
Afterward, we ducked into a bookstore where I snagged a book on banned literature—talk about a rebel reading list!
Finally, we made it to Hemingway’s house. I’ve been a Hemingway nut since my teens, and stepping into his home felt surreal. Brian, having recently enjoyed “The Old Man and the Sea,” was equally thrilled. Hemingway’s life was as colorful as his stories, surviving wars and plane crashes, maybe thanks to his lucky polydactyl cats, which we sadly only spotted a few of.
His writing studio was a step back in time; everything left just so as if he’d just stepped out. It reignited my desire to dive back into his works.
As for the cats, they’re practically celebrities, protected by the government, and occasionally fending off the odd chicken intruder.
We wrapped up our day with dinner at a Cuban restaurant, where I braved a Cuban coffee—strong enough to fuel a rocket, yet it didn’t keep me awake!
All in all, it was a day full of misadventures, history, and lots of walking—not exactly what we planned, but maybe that’s just how Hemingway would’ve liked it.
