I’ve always been stumped by the question, “How are you?” Or, for that matter, “How’s it going?”
You forgot how to live, and you’d answer, “Nothing much.”
I usually say, “Good” or “Great!” Or sometimes, I have this passphrase: “Awesome!” which, of course, doesn’t really capture the vast variety of my existence. However, it’s said that those who go into too much detail when asked, “How’s it going?” risk being labeled as boring, so I won’t go into a deep dive about what’s going on in my mind, subconscious, and so on.
On the fourth day, I had the chance to get to the southern part of downtown (specifically International Dr. and Universal Blvd., a bit south and west of downtown) with my camera. I was drawn there by an amazing building, which I caught a glimpse of when we were driving along International Dr. on the way to Kobe, a Japanese restaurant where we planned to try some authentic sushi.
By the way, my companion claims I make sushi much better than these so-called “authentic Japanese” restaurants, but I think his compliment is a bit of healthy flattery, with a dose of common sense, because, by praising my sushi, he saves a bunch of green presidents by avoiding pricey restaurant sushi, getting delicious homemade sushi instead. Still, I’m not fond of American restaurants, even the Japanese ones. I’ll tell you about the local dining scene sometime in my notes, once I’ve gathered enough material…
So, the building. Let me share a bit of “background.” It’s known that Florida is not only the land of lakes but also a prime spot for hurricanes to nest in the spring, summer, and fall (roughly from May to November). They say hurricanes like Charlie and Frances from the past season weren’t the most energetic, but they sure made a lot of noise in every sense of the word. To this day, we see broken groves, palm trees piled up in neat disorder, and concrete slabs ripped from the ground and stuck to trees… Not sure if cars or houses fly around here, but in a tourist hub like Orlando, it’s a sin not to poke fun (and Americans love that) at such a characteristic natural phenomenon as a hurricane.
International Drive is a bit like Tverskaya Street in Moscow. The difference is, we didn’t see any prostitutes there. But I wouldn’t bet on that—they might be around. Entertainment centers, restaurants, quirky attractions… The Wet’n’Wild waterpark is right on this street, with Universal Studios (no need for further comment) and Sea World, home to amazing sea creatures and water attractions. There’s also a massive designer mall where the names alone tell you it’s the heart of tourist shopping. And the airport isn’t far.
The house itself isn’t anything special. Except, it looks like a charming building built in classical style, ripped out of the ground by another hurricane and then thrown upside down (or whatever it’s supposed to be) onto another little house. Honestly, I didn’t bother checking what’s inside or its purpose, but it’s probably a “museum-flip,” where everything inside is also upside down. If you enter from the right side, you’ll hear a terrible creak, like the house just fell and is about to crumble into huge chunks. Here are a few more angles of this “hurricane victim.”
After listening to the creak, I went to the right of the flipped house and soon found myself in another tourist mall, all flashy and expensive. But funny, quirky, and appealing in its own way. I was drawn in by a sign luring me to a store selling brand-name jeans. The store itself didn’t interest me because, in this country, there are a million and one ways to buy brand-name clothes without paying outrageous tourist prices. But the backsides and legs, I gladly ogled from several angles and took a few control shots.
When I left back onto International Drive, I headed toward the pirate lair. I never figured out its purpose. Most likely, it’s just for show. On my way to the pirates, I stumbled upon a cute lion fountain. I must say, the lion’s expression was, well, “not so great.” As if he’d just eaten some stale deer. But the water in the fountain was remarkably clear and sparkling.
On the other side of the fountain, an old man sat on the curb, exhausted by the Florida heat (it was about 30°C that day), splashing his face with clean water. I snapped a few shots of the reflections using the “8 rays” filter, and, since the filter was 4 millimeters larger than the camera lens and I had to simply press it against the lens, it didn’t surprise me that I dropped the filter in the fountain. Reaching for the round object (fortunately, it wasn’t too deep), I saw a lot of coins at the bottom and felt a bit proud of my non-traditional approach to fountain-throwing—skipping the coins and tossing in a photographic filter instead. Looks like I’ll be photographing more local landmarks after all.
By the way, I really hope so, because I didn’t manage to snap any pirates that day. I won’t say too much about them now; I’ll save the story for the photos, which I still hope to get. After taking a few more steps toward the pirates, glancing at my watch, I realized I might not make it to the meeting I couldn’t cancel. So, not reaching my destination, I crossed the street and headed back toward my car.
However, I got a bit more photography in along the way because I ran into something that absolutely couldn’t be passed up. I won’t say much about walking past the “racing” restaurant with real cars bolted to its veranda—just passed it by. Big deal. But what caught my attention was something else. Near the helicopter rental station, I found tram tracks of a ridiculously small size. To give you an idea of the proportions, I took a photo with my leg in the background. I figured out why the tracks were tram tracks after I spotted the tram itself.
Honestly, for a moment, I felt like I was in the last century. It seemed trams had already been invented back then. There was a tiny red, almost toy-like tram staring right at me. I’m not even sure it ever drove anywhere. It gleamed like a brand new pen. When I got closer, I realized it had no doors, and you could easily hop in and even sit inside.
Accustomed to strict government regulations, I nervously looked around for signs like “Don’t touch,” “No photography,” or “A 20-dollar fine for entering and sitting in the tram,” along with the ticket lady selling tickets for the attraction. Not finding anything like that, I reverently climbed inside and took photos until my camera battery died. And I’ll tell you, it didn’t take long for that to happen, which was a good thing because, had it not, I might have missed my meeting, because creativity can be all-consuming.
Finally, I made it to the car, gave up the idea of dining at Pizza Hut, headed onto International Dr., then Oakridge, then Orange Blossom, before getting to Colonial, from where I was just a short drive from home on Goldenrod.
4o mini