There’s not much in Port Charlotte but it’s gorg and has an amazing hostel run by a lovely couple who could not be more helpful. It also has a hotel. I’d been once before to the hotel bar on a sunny afternoon when I’d chatted to an american guy who’d travelled specially to drink whiskey..such is the call of this intoxicating stuff! After drying out and chilling out in the hostel I decided to head to the hotel bar for the live music. I sat myself down at the bar chatting to the barman and owner for some cycling tips for the next day. I think they thought I was Victoria Pembleton..they kept saying I could just do loops around the island!
A man with a beard and perhaps a dutch accent sat next to me with a little black book into which he made copious notes…what was he writing my curious mind asked! The musician arrived amidst much ado – sound testing, set up…he said himself the pub looked so busy he was worried guests thought “sting” was playing!
He started to play and then Julie and Colin arrived so we had a good ole night chatting in the increasingly hot pub. Three french guys arrived at the bar every so often, spent an age studying the whiskey menu, then ordered 3 whiskies each time! Their faces looked gravely concentrated like it was some kind of exam. I stuck to the local ale!
As the night passed laughter came from behind us….a man wearing cool specs had picked up a piece of tartan carpet being used as a doormat, wound it around himself and was Scottish country dancing! I’m laughing even as I type this…it was so funny! His “group” who were well on were killing themselves laughing! It turned out they were Swedes from Southern Sweden and were over on a long weekend. This somehow seemed incredible. They’d flown from Stockholm to Edinburgh then hired a car and driven over to get the ferry. They then hired bikes and were cycling around!
I saw the son of the man with the “kilt” back at the hostel later. He was wandering the small corridor unable to find his room! He eventually woke the lovely warden who told me the next day he kept insisting the hostel had two floors and he was on the wrong floor. Next morning at breakfast, as only Scandinavians can, they were up bright and early, crisp and fresh in their neatly fitting cycle gear..they half recognised me from the night before.
After a brisk and efficient breakfast they sailed off on their bikes, their long legs spinning the wheels fast and neatly! I felt a bit clunky on Orbit and certainly nothing like Pembleton….