A Return to St. Augustine

Hey gang,

Since Grandma's in town and everything we decided to try checking out St. Augustine again.  After all, we had quite the solid family vacation there a couple years back, and - with the exception of hitting up the usual Disney theme parks and beaches - our imported family members haven't really experienced a whole hell of a lot of Florida.

So we're out to change that.

This time around, we opted against staying the night (after seriously considering revisiting the Pirate Haus Inn - alas, they were booked), so instead made a day trip out of it.  After all, from our front door to St. Augustine's historic district is a two-hour drive - shorter than the three-hour drive we used to take every summer for day trips up to Mackinac Island when I was a kid.

Check it out:

One minute behind schedule.  I wasn't thrilled.

Setting off through a two-hour gauntlet, watching Brave. . . 

I love Southern gas stations. . .

Florida gas station welcome center tourist fodder.

F.Y.I. - Some of these oranges were real, but most were nothing more than spray-painted, cement balls.

Mid-negotiations.  Always fun.

When we arrived in St. Augustine's historic district, we settled at the parking facility ($8 for a the day, within walking distance of everything - pretty decent) and headed across the street to the playground the kids love so damn much. . .

I use to love these things when I was a kid.  Of course, that was back in the '80s, when they were about 1/4 this size, and usually something lame like a lamb, or a pig, or a clown.  Nothing cool like a motherf***ing T-Rex.

Abby gets her swing on while Yours Truly plans on out the next move. . .

As you can imagine, this sounded like a pack of Banshees being forced through a combine.

Look at me, kickin' my ass across this wobbly, frickin' bridge like a badass. . .

Who farted?

We nearly had to get a hostage negotiator to get the kid out of this slide.

Trying to convince the kids to leave.  In vain.

Tunnel of tires.  I can't imagine how gross the inside of this thing is.  It's probably full of used condoms and broken syringes. 

. . . kinda like this.  (Who the hell drinks Natural Ice?!)

9:45am.  Already really, really sweaty.

Heading to the Fort. . .

El Castillo de San Marco

(. . . as if I don't have enough pictures of this frickin' fort.  Kris repeatedly reminded me of this.)

Pretty sad I'm rockin' a sweat-rag by 10am.  Also sad that we didn't learn anything the last time we scheduled a walk-intensive venture out to St. Augustine in JULY.

(Can't really see it behind the bridge, but there's a giant galleon anchored on the other side.  Probably One-Eyed Willie style.) 

We had sold the whole 'fort' thing to the kids by describing it as a 'pirate castle.'  They were pretty pumped about checking it out.

Walking from the forecastle into the main fort. . .

The barracks

Alayna - oddly enough - was extremely interested in the Castillo.  Totally came out of nowhere.

. . . Abby couldnt' have cared less

I thought it was nice of the folks at the Castillo de San Marco to provide little, innocent children with a viewing window so that they could see the inside of the poorly-lit, damp, inhumane prison cell the Spanish used to shove people into.

Family fun!

Walking up to the parapet to check out the ramparts and the cannon-firing demonstration.  And hopefully not loose a kid over the edge.

 I don't recommend taking small children up onto a railing-less rampart unless you enjoy having anxiety attacks.   My kids have a tendency of scaling and falling down from things.  I blame this on their watered-down, Farwellian blood.

Checking out the ships (which were big hits with the kids) in the harbor from the rampart. . .

The weekly canon demonstration.  Not really worth the twenty minutes we stood around waiting for it.

The build-up was worse than the actual firing for the kids, but they still wanted to see it. . .

The Houghs, ca. 2013

I can't imagine these cannons are genuine guns from the 18th century - I mean, wouldn't they be rusted out after three hundred years?  I'm no metalogist or anything, but I'm assuming so since I have to constantly removed rust and corrosion from my swords, and those are housed indoors. . .

The Cannonball, watchin' the ships roll in.

Inspecting the artillery

Grandma and Alayna

The courtyard (and Kris)

Checking out more guns (definitely weird to have Alayna so enthusiastic about the fort - especially its cannons.)

Kris is a big fan of throwing up gang signs in selfies.

Cannonballs.

'I wanna sit on the bunk beds.'  Whatever you say, kid - just don't have a three-year-old freakout.

She was convinced these were toys.  I didn't argue with her.

Who wants to watch an educational video detailing the steps needed to load and fire a 18th century cannon properly?  Alayna does.

I can't imagine the practicality of having this thing inside.  And pointed towards a wall.

Getting ready to leave the Castillo. . .

Checking out the forecastle on the way out out of the main fort

Remember the Pirate Museum?  Yeah. . . we didn't check that out this time around.   Thanks but no thanks.

Coming back from the fort. . . and sweating.

Strolling down St. George Street - the heart of souvenir-dom, bars and restaurants in St. Augustine.

Refueling at Calabash Bill's, or Surfboard Joe's, or whatever the hell this place was called.

Grandma, having a blast with Abby's hair

Chugging lunch

This is how Abby eats hotdogs.

The usual St. Augustine wares. . .

Behold. . .  the Old Folk Trolley

Another stop-off at the local playground.  We had to let the kids burn off steam here at intervals throughout the day - it was the only way to keep them moving as we hit up shops and other sites along St. George Street.

Grandma has some trouble making her way over the shaky rope bridge-thingy.

Some creepy, old cemetery.

Outside the St. Augustine Visitor's Center - our brochure-and-bathroom pitstop, connected to the parking garage and right across the street from the playground.

Grandma shows Alayna a horse. . .

I tried to capture the same sort of moment with Kris and Abby, but homeboy in the green shirt kinda photobombed the picture.

Abby attempts to collect some coins from a local fountain. . .

Nap time.

After lunch, Grandma wheeled the kids around 'til they passed out, freeing up Kris and I to hit up some shops. . . 

The kids start to stir from naps. . . which means its time for ice cream.

While the girls went out in search of a decent ice cream joint, Yours Truly stopped off into one of St. Augustine's Cigar Bars for a Sam Adams and a stogie.  A well-needed break.

Happy campers.

The problem we encounter when getting the girls ice cream is Abby always finishes her ice cream before Alayna even gets 1/3 of the way through hers.  This means Abby - who is always still hungry for more - has to sit and watch Alayna slowly pick nonchalantly at her ice cream.  You can imagine what happens next.

The coolest man in St. Augustine.  (this dog may or may not be real - it never moved from this pose, so its either very well-trained, or stuffed.)

The gates to the old city on our way back to the parking garage - by 4pm, we had decided to call it a day.  St. Augustine as a day trip destination was validated, so we're definitely looking forward to trying it out again sometime in the future. . .

- Brian