You guys know that I’m a big John Grisham fan. I have first editions of every Grisham book from The Client forward and if I ever win the lottery I’ll go back and buy first editions of A Time to Kill, The Firm, and The Pelican Brief. Not that those books are worth millions of dollars, but those would be the only items that I would actually purchase with lottery money. I’d just rent a house on the beach for the summer, and let someone else worry about hurricanes, and flood insurance, and snowbirds and whatever. Plus, if I owned just one house on the beach, I’d probably feel obligated to stay there instead of venturing off to other destinations. I’d suffer from a severe case of FOMO, and no one needs that when they’ve got lottery money in the bank.
I received The Whistler (a first edition)for Christmas, or my birthday, it’s kind of hard to keep the presents and the occasions straight, and I finished reading it earlier this week.
For as long as I can remember, we have vacationed at least once a year on the Florida Panhandle, specifically in the area between Destin and Panama City. I watched as the views of the ocean from the car became fewer and farther between, and while older establishments on the north side of the beach road were torn down and replaced with new money progress. The Whistler is set in this area, and there are parts of the story that occur in Mobile, Foley, Valdosta, and even Highlands, North Carolina – all places that I’ve actually visited in the last year. For me, the setting is really the high point of the book.
The book contains all of the characters we’ve come to expect in a Grisham novel. There is a judge, an attorney (or five), a jail house snitch, a floozy (or two), a sleazy developer, a wayward sheriff, and a corrupt Indian chief. Well, the corrupt Indian chief may be a new one, but the other characters are recognizable. All likable. All believable.
What the book misses is a signature moment. There is no moment when Abby McDeere runs from her bugged house. No moment where it was apparent that an innocent man was about to be put to death. No “now imagine she’s white” moment.
I’ve read every Grisham book, and the details of each tend to blend with the specifics of the others, but I don’t recall a Grisham book that left me, at best, just okay with the ending.
Don’t get me wrong. For me, Grisham has set a very high bar for his work. The Whistler is a good piece of literature, but it lacks the suspense – or, more accurately, the level of suspense – that we’ve come to expect in Grisham’s books. It is still a very good read and, probably, provides a very good behind the scenes look at how all of those strip malls and high rises took over the panhandle.
Read it. Enjoy it. Just don’t expect the suspense meter to increase as the chapters pass.
No, there are no unicorns in Fairhope, but there is a pelican that hangs out at the Fairhope Pier and tries to steal fish from everyone fishing there. While other pelicans are diving face-first in to waters of Mobile Bay to catch fish – a sight to see in its own right – Henry, the name the guy fishing with a net called the pelican, waits for other people to catch fish and just give them to him.
Fairhope is a small town situated on the eastern shore of Mobile Bay. The skyline of the City of Mobile can be seen across the bay, but this little town has, mostly, been spared from commercialism – or at least city leaders have been able to keep the historic district historic, and the business district out on Highway 98, away from the history.
We went to Fairhope for a long weekend earlier this month. It was our second trip there, our first was about 15 years ago. As with our previous trip, we stayed at the Grand Hotel at Point Clear. The Grand dates back to 1847 and, like most buildings that old, has been destroyed by fire and rebuilt several times. The Grand served as a hospital during the Civil War, or the War of Northern Aggression if that’s the way you learned it.
You know, if we could set aside our need to be right about everything, hearing how people who grew up in different parts of the country were taught American history is fascinating. There is truth in all of our history lessons, but we’ve turned in to a society that can’t have a civil debate without applying labels. But I digress.
When the Union Army blockaded strategic ports in the south to stop the flow of goods to the Confederate troops, they blockaded Mobile Bay – and The Grand was there to see it. You can stand on the point of the resort (the point at Point Clear) and imagine ships patrolling the bay, with volleys of cannon fire from ship to shore and back again – or at least I tried to. The Grand also served as an Air Force training facility during War World II, and the firing of the cannon is a daily ceremony at The Grand that pays tribute to the property’s military history and serves as a salute to veterans and active military. (The cannon is LOUD, by the way.)
Situated on the bay, the beach area isn’t the white, sugary sand that you get with gulf coast beaches. Those beaches begin about 30 miles further south and to the east. The beach at The Grand is made of a pebbly, tan sand that reminded me of the beaches in Delaware. The bay doesn’t have the surf of the ocean, however, so The Grand is able to offer paddle boats, kayaks and sailboats for use, which is pretty cool. We didn’t spend much time on the sand this trip because someone was having one of her “I don’t like sand” moments, so we retreated to the pool.
Having an excellent pool has become a staple of the Marriott resorts that string through Alabama as part of the Robert Trent Jones Trail, and the pool at The Grand is no exception. Complete with a slide, waterfall, zero-entry area, hot tub, splash pad and sprinklers, the pool was the favorite location for our kids.
When we were able to get the kids out of the pool, it was a short drive to Downtown Fairhope where we shopped at Running Wild, an awesome running store, and visited Page & Palette, a great little bookstore, and generally tried to avoid the hottest part of the day.
In what was a disappointing food trip, Panini Pete’s, as seen on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives, was the unanimous choice for best meal of the trip. This is a funky little joint situated in the French Quarter area of downtown Fairhope. We ate breakfast paninis and beignets to start our day, and loved it so much we decided to go back for lunch the next day. Unfortunately, a summer storm blew-up when we went back for lunch and the kitchen wasn’t able to activate the ventilation system. I didn’t pry, but I assume that rain would have come in to the vents, so they were unable to create any menu item that had to be grilled or fried. That was kind of a bummer because Jack, always on the search for the world’s best cheeseburger, and Layne weren’t really interested in the lunch panini offerings. But, we’ll be back.
The other dining highlight was the Original Oyster House, located on the causeway that connects the towns of the eastern shore to Mobile. The food was just okay, but lining the walls are photos and newspaper clippings showing the restaurant under water after each hurricane. Ivan, Charlie, Dennis, Katrina, and others took their shot at the Original Oyster House, and each time the owners rebuilt and reopened. Such is life along the gulf coast. The best thing that we ate was the fried alligator, followed closely by the gumbo. Actually, the best thing that we ate was the Gator Sauce, which was good on the gator, chicken, shrimp, gumbo and the plain saltine crackers. I may have accidentally got some on a spoon and ate it straight.
On the western end of the causeway sits the USS Alabama, the attraction that started our planning of a trip to Mobile Bay. In an odd turn of events, we actually didn’t make it to the battleship on this trip, but we had a great time in a great city and we will definitely be back soon. I would be remiss to not thank our unofficial tour guide, my cousin Donna who lives on the eastern shore and who I don’t see often enough. She made sure that we vacationed like locals, and for that I am truly grateful.
If you’re looking for a less beachy beach vacation, give Fairhope a look. You won’t be disappointed, unless it’s raining and Panini Pete’s can’t make you a burger.
Leah and I had the opportunity to travel to Hawaii recently. I haven’t written about it because I can’t get over that, prior to the opportunity, I had always rejected the idea of traveling that far to go to an island. I mean, we can leave our home at breakfast and be on just about every island in the Caribbean in time for lunch. I had always thought that spending a day traveling and not ending up in another country was kind of a waste of a day.
I was a million percent wrong. What an amazing place.
In full disclosure, I’m one of those people that loves the places where I travel. I love the different ways that people live day-to-day – where they get their groceries, where they go to school, where they live – the accents, the pace, the plants and trees, just all of it. I also like to learn something. I mean, if I’m going to travel that far, I want to take a little knowledge back with me.
On the first day of our trip, we awoke at 3:30AM Central in order to get up, get dressed, and get to the airport for our 6AM flight. I won’t take you through the itinerary, but we landed on Maui at about 1:30 local time, or 6:30PM Central time. We got our bags, took the shuttle to the hotel, checked-in and, finally, stepped foot in our room at about 3:30PM local time, or about 17 hours after our alarm clocks went off that morning, but still 6 or 7 hours from a respectable bedtime.
We had dinner reservations that evening at 7:00 at a place called Monkeypod Kitchen. I’m not going to give a full review, but it was awesome. Our waitress, Shea, was incredibly friendly. I had been up for about 22 hours, but adrenaline had taken over and I was awake and ready to learn something. The question that I wanted to ask Shea was, how did they come up with the name Monkeypod Kitchen? What does monkeypod mean?
Unfortunately, I asked about a dozen questions before I could ask what I really wanted to know. I asked about the sunset time. I asked about the menu. Some of you will not be surprised at all that I asked about the soup of the day, but I also asked about appetizers, main dishes, desserts, everything. I might not ever be back to Monkeypod, and I didn’t want to waste the opportunity.
After about 12 questions, Leah saved Shea by telling me to let her go so that she could help her other customers. I would have to save my Monkeypod question for later. Of course, after eating dinner and dessert, I was full and sleepy and forgot to ask.
Fast forward to our last day. I still didn’t know what Monkeypod meant.
We were in a taxi on the way to the airport and I, again to no one’s surprise that knows me, was sitting in the front passenger seat talking to our driver – a delightfully funny lady who moved to Maui 30 years ago from Singapore who just referred to herself as Mama (because she was the mom of the driver of the taxi carrying the other half of our group to the airport). As we drove, I asked her where she shopped (Target and Costco), about any fear of the volcano (no), about the little town of Pa’ia (all the white people like Pa’ia, she said), and about a tree that I had seen on the island. I saw them beside the path along Wailea Beach, on the ranch where we rode ATVs, and along the beaches of West Maui. The trunks were tall and the tops branched out, almost like an umbrella, providing tremendous shade below. They were awesome trees. “What are those trees”, I asked.
I’m sure there is a Greek or Latin phrase for moments like this, and I wish that I knew it because this sentence would have been a lot shorter and more intelligent, but in a moment that wrapped up the trip like a perfect Seinfeld episode Mama answered, “Those are Monkey Pod trees.”