Anna Maria Island.
Seven miles long, one mile wide. A sandbar with soul.
We came in from Fort Myers Beach, a hundred miles or so through rainstorm and bright sun.
We'd only ever breezed through before — grabbed a bite, caught a sunset, moved on. But this time, we gave it room to breathe. Two nights. No rush. No plan. Just the slow roll of island time.
Pastel motels with retro script signs. Old Florida, unfiltered. No chains. No towers. Just low-rise charm and salt-worn edges.
Anna Maria doesn't chase trends. Doesn't flash its wealth. It holds the past close — picket fence porches with rocking chairs and windchimes that carry on the Gulf breeze.
Ice cream parlours with faded awnings, bait shops with screen doors that slap shut like punctuation, bikes leaning lazily against lamp posts, flip-flops kicked off by the door.
Got hit hard last year—two hurricanes, back-to-back. Winds tore through. Water surged.
The City Pier got washed away. A few businesses never reopened—still boarded up, windows taped like they're bracing for the next one.
But the island didn't fold.
Locals patched what they could. Painted over the cracks. Rebuilt in bits. There's still the odd scar—but the place stands proud, sunbaked and stubborn.
I enjoyed my photography here. No spectacle. No noise. Just quiet detail.
Pastel clapboard catching soft morning light. Faded signage curling like old paperbacks. Rusted ornaments swaying on bent hooks.
Mailboxes shaped like flamingoes. Beach bikes with baskets. Lawn chairs that haven't moved in weeks.
We witnessed fiery sunsets and slow burn sunrises.
Everything felt like it had a story, and none of it was in a hurry to tell it.
I got talking to a guy called Ryan. "You from Australia?" he asked — I get that a lot.
"North Wales, out of Manchester, UK," I replied
He laughed. "You kidding? You live near Wrexham?"
And that was it—we were off. It was only then I realised he was wearing an Arsenal shirt. Football talk in the Florida heat, standing in a beachside bike rental shack surrounded by paddleboards and cruiser bikes.
Felt like bumping into a mate at the pub, not some guy pushing rentals half a world away.
We talked George Best in LA, Rodney Marsh on an elephant in Tampa (not sure that actually happened), Messi lighting up Miami, the U.S. co-hosting the World Cup next year.
Agreed to not let our Man United and Arsenal loyalties get in the way— easy conversation in the Florida sun.
A family wandered up asking about bike hire, and he flicked back into work mode without missing a beat.
I nodded, said cheers, and drifted off down Palm Avenue "Gonna win the league next year," he called after me - I smiled and let him have the last word.
