Florida Keys

After working our way down Florida's Atlantic Coast, from Cape Canaveral to Miami, we have changed the pace and spent four nights in the Florida Keys.

We had driven through Miami's South Beach during a throbbing Sunday session.

An overweight gent in a bikini was directing traffic ("yes, he's going swimming when he finishes work") and ladies who had forgotten their clothing ("oh, they're so silly") were gyrating on roadside stages.

I was very happy I have boys that are 3 and 5 and NOT 13 and 15.

In contrast, the Keys have been a world apart.

Staying in Key West, 90 miles from Cuba, we've been digging into the local fare - Cuban sandwiches, conch fritters and key lime pie and I have reconnected with my dear old friend, the margarita, in a big way.

The tourism here thrives on the claim this is the most southerly point on the continental United States, but my thinking suggests that if it's an island, it's not part of the continent at all. Still, I didn't fancy debating the point with a community who tried to proclaim itself the Conch Republic just a few decades back.

In fact, Key West is the last in a string of islands that stretch out off the south eastern corner of Florida and which are connected together by bridges, just like a pearl necklace.

Making your way there via the Overseas Highway and its multiple bridges, including the Seven Mile Bridge featured in movies like True Lies, is perhaps the coolest part - at least once you get down towards the middle keys and away from the 'same old, same old' in the upper keys.

The beaches don't rival Aussie favs, but the laid-back vibe, tropical breeze and swaying palms reminded us very much of Belize, except we weren't constantly hassled to buy drugs.

The pool at the hotel even had a couple of iguana visitors climbing the palm trees.