You Go Into *One* Salty Goat... - Night 5

Night 5*
After my whirlwind, 30-minute tour of Port Saint Joe, with an undisclosed amount of that time spent in a very nice public bathroom, I continued northwest along picturesque Rt. 98, admiring the spectrum of blues and greens of the Gulf just to the left.

I was taking the slow route on this trip, so as not to rush through the beach towns of the Redneck Riviera. Accordingly, my next overnight stop was Panama City Beach, Florida, just 81 miles and 2 hours from St. George Island, and I enjoyed every scenic mile of the drive.

I couldn’t find a campground or an RV park to stay at in the Panama City Beach area, but I did find an Airbnb on the beach for $40. But not just any Airbnb: I was staying in a Best Western Hotel that, I guess, rents out as an Airbnb when business is slow.

When I pulled into the parking lot of the Best Western Airbnb, my first thought was: Oh no, this is a dump.

But, as Samuel Johnson once said: “People need to be reminded more often than they need to be instructed.” I was to be reminded of a profound but often forgotten lesson, so basic that it is almost cliché.
Don’t judge a Best Western by its curb appeal.

For one thing, it wasn’t just a Best Western. It was “Chateau Beachfront Hotel, part of the BW Signature Collection.” I was torn. On one hand, the name: Chateau Beachfront Hotel. On the other hand, you can shorten it to BW, but it’s still a Best Western.

Was this Best Western a dump? Or a luxury resort? Judge for yourself:


Fig A: Dump.

 

Fig. B: Luxury resort

 

Fig. C: Dump

 

Fig. D: Luxury resort

Fig. E: Dump

Fig. F: Luxury resort.
Side note: for some reason I want to spell “luxury resort” as “luxury resourt” and it makes complete sense to me.


I texted this dump v. luxury resourt debate to Stacy, who responded: “We may differ on what a luxury resort is.”

I got on-line for a few work meetings that afternoon, sitting by the pool at the unoccupied, unfurnished, undusted outdoor bar. As the sun sank lower, I realized that it would set over the Gulf right around 5:15 p.m. So I packed up work and walked down the main drag of Panama City Beach, looking for a bar where I could watch the show over a beer.

I didn’t have to walk far: Harpoon Harry’s was right next door, and I watched a spectacular sunset through the giant Gulf-side windows of a restaurant that was a tad fancier than the name suggested.

As I sat at the bar, turned backward on the stool to see the water, I had a very nice conversation with an older couple who’d moved to Florida decades ago from New York while the giant red orb descended.


Fig. G: That’s nice.


The sun set and my glass empty, I bid goodbye to the couple and walked further down the main drag of the town, looking for another watering hole. My brother-in-law Lee noted by text that my trip was shaping up to be not so much a walkabout than a pub crawl. Reviewing my notes, I can’t argue with that.

I do have one suggestion for the Panama City Beach Chamber of Commerce: Install sidewalks along the main oceanfront road, so that people don’t have to walk in the grass bank along the side of road. After dark, this tends to make everyone ambling down the street look like a serial killer searching for their next victim. Including me I suppose.

Back to the pub cr…. walkabout. I found a couple bars that Google said were open but the signs on the doors said they were closed until March. Ambling like a serial killer back toward my luxury resourt dump, I passed this place.

Fig. H: Hmmmm…. go in? Don’t?


I stood outside (across the street) for a long time, staring at the bar then referring to the Google review excerpted above. Then I continued ambling.

By this time it was past 9 p.m. As noted earlier, that section of Panama City Beach is not exactly walkable, and I knew my options for places to hang out were narrowing. Checking Google, I saw that just on the other side of my luxury resourt dump AirBNB / Chateau Beachfront Hotel (part of the BW Signature Collection) was a hotel with a bar that Google (again) promised was open.

After navigating the street-level parking labyrinth, I found my way to the hotel bar and sat down for a beer. Over the next 30 minutes or so I watched two dozen off-duty firefighters roll in, arriving for a conference. Not naming names, but I know a couple people who would have paid good money to switch places with me right then.

A couple chairs over on my right was a woman, clearly on a business trip, slowly sliding off her bar stool while providing rationalizations for her next drink to a bartender who clearly did not require those rationalizations. As I finished my beer, the woman was on her phone explaining to someone why it was no problem that she was having another drink because her flight didn’t leave until 7:30 in the morning. She may not have convinced her friend, but she convinced me. I left.

Having exhausted all the possibilities within walking distance, I arrived back at my luxury resourt dump. Drifting off to sleep, I reflected that, of all the decisions I’d made today, not going into the Salty Goat Saloon was likely a good one. Probably some actual serial killers in there.


* Moment of Truthiness: I’m already back from my walkabout. In fact, it occurred LAST year about this time. I was going to post about it after the trip, but I sort of ran out of steam. So now I’m going to pretend I’m posting about my walkabout real-time, just like a reality show pretends to be reality.

Take the whole trip! I’ll even cover the gas!

TravelChuckSalty Goat, Panama City Beach, hotel bar, Gulf sunset, ChoicesComment