The October issue of “Explore Florida & the Caribbean” offers something for every traveler, from adventurers to deckchair readers.

We’ll stand in the shadow of giant elephants and giraffes at Disney’s Animal Kingdom, explore the $1 billion new old Pier Sixty-Six resort in Fort Lauderdale, swim with manatees in Crystal River on the Gulf Coast, check out cool new gear to take on your travels, and, spoiler alert, go on a series of “surprise’’ road trips to DeLand, Cassadaga and New Smyrna Beach, among other stops.

All this — plus full calendars of events in Florida and the Caribbean Basin into 2024 — in a fully take-along, waterproof digital magazine. Click here to read the new issue of Explore Florida.

Read the latest digital edition here.

So.

So, the last time I went swimming near a reef, I saw a shark. A big shark.

So big, I had not been swimming near a reef, or even an ocean, since then. “Then” being about 25 years ago. (Just checked the calendar. Yes, that long.)

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the “swimming with reef” part. Not so much the “shark” part.

I’d just dropped over the side of a dive boat anchored near White Banks Dry Rocks in John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park off Key Largo. I finned in close to the reef, pulled my mask and snorkel over my face and dove about 10 feet down to the white sandy bottom.

It was beautiful there. So beautiful, if I hadn’t been wearing a snorkel, I might have gasped.

The sun was high, and the light filtered straight through water the color of an aquarium. I watched schools of tropical fish sway and squirt through the coral formations. I’d been snorkeling before, but never this deep or far from shore. I loved the feeling I’d floated into a new world.

I went up for air, took a deep breath, and eagerly dove back — scanning for even more vibrant life among the coral. Everywhere I looked was something I’d never seen before.

Then I saw something bigger than I’d ever seen under the water, scything toward me on the far edge of the reef.

I’d seen pictures of sharks before, and I was pretty sure I could scratch nurse, tiger and hammerhead sharks from the suspect lineup here. The one in front of me was different from those sharks, shaped like a muscular gray torpedo, with sharp triangles of fins jutting atop, along the sides and down to the tail. I wouldn’t pick bull shark out of the lineup — spoiler alert — until much later, and I’m still not sure how big it was. I know they say everything looks bigger underwater, so I can only conservatively estimate the shark coming toward me was 200 feet long.

OK, maybe 300 feet. Conservatively. Certainly bigger than any predator I’d ever been 20 feet away from, in the sea, land or air. Unless you count the auto-loan guy.

My first impulse was to go deep, move close to the reef and try not to appear to be any part of the food chain. But that was only going to work so long because of the pesky air problem separating me from the rest of the items on the buffet line.

I moved closer to the reef, held the outer limit of my breath — and watched the muscle-bound torpedo turn its snout (and mouth!) toward me. Then, just as it got close enough for me to see into its eye, it turned and powered away. Just like that, nightmare over!

Unless that meant it had started to circle me? I tried to remember everything I’d ever learned — mostly from the definitive reference, “Jaws” — and to ascend calmly without making any “Yo, sashimi over here!” splashing movements. I broke water, gasped a deep breath and started finning as microscopically as possible toward the dive boat, worried the shark was going to come up for me just like it did for poor Chrissie Watkins, the first victim in “Jaws.”

It’s not so much what you see as what you can’t see that makes swimming in the ocean with an apex predator so unnerving. And the few more yards I swam without looking into the water were the longest I can remember. Finally at the ladder on the side of the dive boat, I pulled up my mask, spit out the snorkel and kissed the first rung before climbing out.

“Hey, why are you coming out so soon?” the dive boat captain boomed.

“Because there’s a big shark down there!” I said.

“Big shark?!?” two guys who hadn’t yet gone into the water said. “Where?”

“Uh,” I said, motioning toward the reef. “Somewhere over there?”

And they jumped in! And there, friends, is the difference between people: Those who get out of the water when there’s a shark, and those who get in.

All people made it back to shore that day. The two guys were disappointed they missed seeing the shark. The dive boat captain — who, come to think of it, sounded a lot like Quint from “Jaws” — told me he was pretty sure the shark I saw was one they knew well around White Banks Dry Rocks because it only had one eye.

“He probably didn’t see you until he came right up on you,” he said. “You probably scared him, and he swam off.”

I scared him? Maybe, I thought. I only knew he scared me.

Enough to keep me out of the water — until my bucket-list trip to Bimini this past summer.

I worked up my nerve and dropped over the side of the boat anchored near the wreck of the SS Sapona, about 3 miles off the southern tip of South Bimini Island. Reluctantly, after 25 years.

I finned in close to the wreck, pulled my mask and snorkel down over my face and floated on a pool noodle with the current over the white sandy bottom below. Baby steps — did I mention the pool noodle? — because I wasn’t ready to dive just yet.

The sun was high, and the light filtered straight through water the color of an aquarium. I watched for schools of tropical fish swaying and squirting through the remains of the old wreck. But there were hardly any fish at all that day — just me, my pool noodle and a big, empty ocean.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the swimming with the wreck part. But for reasons I can’t really explain, I missed the “shark” part.

And I wondered if I was more like the two guys back on the dive boat 25 years ago than I knew.

Mark Gauert is the editor of City & Shore magazine, which is published by the South Florida Sun Sentinel. He can be reached at mgauert@SunSentinel.com.

Didn’t want a sea-going theme park. Didn’t want to share a pool or hot tub or sundeck sunning space with a thousand screaming kids in mouse ears. Didn’t want to stand in buffet lines for food you normally eat before riding an amusement park ride. Didn’t want to watch “Aladdin” on the TV in my cabin, didn’t want to listen to “Jolly Holiday” piped into companionways between decks, didn’t want to see “Beauty and the Beast” on a cruise-ship stage with a lot of cranky toddlers.

It would be all beast, no beauty, for me on a Disney Cruise. I didn’t want it.

But I am one of the editors of a magazine called “Explore Florida & the Caribbean.” And when I learned the 4,000-passenger “Disney Dream” would be redeploying from Port Canaveral to its new home port of Miami in June, I put my own 50+ dreams on hold to explore a Disney Cruise from Florida to the Caribbean and back.

The things I do for our readers. Reluctantly.

Reluctantly because I couldn’t find anybody over or under 50 to go with me, for reasons I’ll explain in a moment. It didn’t help that I would be an editor significantly over Mouseketeer age traveling alone on a Disney Cruise. Didn’t help that I was going to appear, shall we say, out of place on a cruise ship manifest made up mostly of families with kids. Didn’t help that I wasn’t going to have kids or grandkids of my own I could use as cover at the pool or the hot tub or the buffet lines.

Let me pause here to say that I have not always dreaded Disney. No, no. I have mouse ears older than you.

My first movie was Disney’s “One Hundred and One Dalmatians,” when I was 3 years old. When I was 5 years old, my mom took me by the hand to Disneyland in California – the only Disney park then – and signed me up for a Mickey Mouse Club card, entitling me to “special surprises available only to Mickey Mouse Club members!” The surprise at the park that day, in my case, was a silhouette of my 5-year-old head drawn by a real Disney animator, which my mom proudly displayed in our home, and probably still has (somewhere).

The story goes she took me next on the raft over to Tom Sawyer’s Island in Frontierland, where I spent the rest of the day outrunning her. She’d get almost close enough on the footpaths to grab my hand, then just miss as I jumped onto the barrel bridge or took a sharp turn into the mystery mine or escaped down the secret passage under the stockade at the fort for more fun.

I outran mom that day to Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, then to the Mad Tea Party, then to Dumbo, then to it’s a small world, then back to Tom Sawyer’s Island, then …

I was a handful then. (I’ve grown out of it. Mostly). But clearly, I was an early, enthusiastic, aerobic fan of Disney.

Years later, my wife and I went to Walt Disney World in Florida and loved riding the same rides I’d ridden as a 5-year-old. When we had kids of our own, we diapered them in disposables printed with Mickeys and Minnies, and took them to the parks, too. Our oldest son’s first movie was “Aladdin;” our youngest son’s was “The Lion King.” Both boys were waiting with their mother for me at the finish line of the Walt Disney World Marathon a few years later. I celebrated with them (and a margarita) under the volcano at Disney Epcot’s Mexico. Aside from our wedding and the birth of our children, I said, it was the happiest day of my life.

It was so easy for us to get to the parks from our home in South Florida, and it seemed we were going all the time. We felt sorry for people anywhere other than Florida who might only get to go to Disney once in a lifetime. We were there practically every month!

But sometime on the sixth or 16th or 60th visit to the Magic Kingdom — time flies when you’re having fun in a flying Dumbo — we started to get tired of Disney. It happens. (There, I’ve said it.)

So tired, we vowed we wouldn’t return to Disney until a grandchild asked us to take them.

We’re still waiting. (No pressure, kids.)

So I dreaded boarding the “Disney Dream,” even though I knew it would be newsworthy. Dreaded it partly because I was still feeling burned out on Disney, and partly because of that deep-sworn vow we’d made.

“How many people are in your family today?” the attendant said brightly as I waited to board the ship at Port Canaveral.

“Just me,” I said.

“Just … you?” he said.

I know, I know. Out of place.

“Just me,” I said.

I wondered how other mature, solo travelers — without kids or grandkids for cover — could ever find happiness on a kid-centric cruise ship from the Happiest Place on Earth. Confined to a small space, floating on an ocean hundreds of miles from shore, surrounded by thousands of screaming kids in mouse ears.

“Well,” he smiled, “Welcome aboard! Ready for fun?”

I was not. But everybody else was.

The kids were having fun everywhere aboard “Disney Dream.” Splashing in Mickey’s Pool, Donald’s Pool and Nemo’s water-play area. Fueling up on endless hotdogs, hamburgers, pizzas and Eye Scream ice cream. Racing away from their mothers to play mini golf on Goofy’s Sports Deck or lining up for the umpteenth time to ride the AquaDuck water slide. Watching an endless stream of Disney movies on a drive-in movie-sized screen with booming speakers overlooking the pool area. Singing along with “Let It Go.” Dressing up like pirates and princesses. Piloting a full-scale replica of the “Millennium Falcon” in Disney’s Oceaneer’s Club. Doing whatever things they were giggling about doing at something called the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique. Hitting the endless soda fountain faucets over and over until their Disney cups overflowed.

It’s a small-centric world on “Disney Dream,” after all. Fun for them, not so much for me.

Then, just as a trio of life-sized Green Army Men from “Toy Story” — surrounded by a platoon of endless-pizza-Eye-Scream-ice-cream-soft-drink fueled children — began to surround me, I spotted a sign ahead on a sweeping stairway to the next deck.

“Deck 13,” it read. “Reserved for Guests 18 and Older.”

“SANCTUARY!”

Well, no — that’s what Quasimodo says in “Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame.” But I felt like saying it.

There was a cocktail bar at the top of the stairs, surrounded by adults doing all kinds of adult things. To the left, adults on a breezy outdoor terrace flicked ashes from cigarettes into blue ashtrays that were decidedly not shaped like mouse ears. To the right, adults sipped Caipirinhas, Pina “Colavas” and Moet & Chandon Ice from the bar menu and stared off into the sunset.

I don’t necessarily condone smoking or drinking. (Or going out in the sun without a good sunscreen). But they all looked happy. Relaxed. Or possibly relieved the kids’ clubs on Deck 5 were open.

“What is this place?” I asked a smoker nursing a Blue Moon in the afterglow.

“Deck 13!” he smiled. “Adults only, man, from here to the front of the boat.”

“What …?” I said.

Doubting this (this was a Disney Cruise?!), I pushed on into the Satellite Falls Sun Deck overlooking the bow. The lounge chairs were all occupied by adults, arranged perfectly to face the pink and golden sunset. The massive hot tub, also occupied by adults, plopped and burbled invitingly. “Let It Go” had let go of the sound system, replaced by “El Ritmo de Amor,” by Kevin Laliberte, in the stillness of the twilight.

“Cocktail?” a waiter asked, “something to drink while you watch the sunset?”

Pinocchio may have had Pleasure Island, I thought, sipping a Mango Mojito. “Disney Dream” has Deck 13.

And more.

The adults were having fun everywhere aboard “Disney Dream,” too. Lulling around the Quiet Cove pool, with hot tub and swim-up bar. Detoxifying and deep cleansing with a heated seaweed massage at Senses Spa & Salon. Walking or jogging on a breezy, covered outdoor trail (2.5 laps = 1 mile). Dancing it up — while the kids were under close, compassionate supervision in the Oceaneer’s Club — at Evolution nightclub. Listening to live music at the District Lounge, watching basketball games on big-screen TVs in Pub 687, sipping wine and champagne at Pink on Deck 4. Eating until they could eat no more at two exceptional, “adult-exclusive” fine-dining restaurants, Palo and Remy, on Deck 12. (If they ask if you want the chocolate soufflé at Palo, say yes. You’re welcome.) Recovering from it all the next morning with espressos, cappuccinos, Americanos at the adults-only Cove Café back on Deck 11.

I didn’t even mind all the kids in the audience with their parents for “Beauty and the Beast” in The Walt Disney Theater on Deck 3. It was a beautiful, Broadway-ready show — not beastly at all. Afterward, I watched the kids file out of the theater, dressed up as pirates and princesses, meeting Mickey, Minnie and other Disney characters.

And I was suddenly awash with happy memories of taking my own kids to do the same. What was happening to me? I felt like the Beast turning back into the man in the show I’d just seen.

When we docked the next morning at Castaway Cay, Disney’s private island in the Bahamas, I had one last flashback: to the raft over to Tom Sawyer’s Island at Disneyland that my mom took me to when I was 5 years old. I couldn’t wait to do everything here, either. Snorkel in the clear lagoon, watch kids play on the 2,400-square-foot floating water slide, go parasailing, go fishing, paddle a kayak, get some barbecue and a cold beer on the powdery-white beach, pedal a bike on an old airstrip to the adults-only Serenity Bay, follow a nature trail to the Observation Tower overlooking mangrove estuaries and aquamarine water, take the five-mile trail till it ended on the far tip of the island — and then turn back and do it all over again.

I don’t think my mom could have kept up with me here, either. (She’s 88 now, and I can probably still outrun her. I think.) But being there brought back more happy memories. I felt like fearsome food critic Anton Ego, melting after a taste from his childhood in Disney’s “Ratatouille.”

I don’t know if this is really the happiest place on Earth. But it made me happy being there, remembering happy memories from my childhood, and from raising my own children. Me, a mature, solo traveler, on a kid-centric cruise ship.

I know, I know. Magic.

I didn’t want to go on a Disney Cruise. I was tired of Disney. Vowed I wouldn’t go again until a grandkid begged me.

But I’m ready to go again now. With or without them.

If you go

“Disney Dream” cruises from Miami: Three-, four- and five-night Bahamian itineraries will begin this summer from PortMiami, starting with the “Dream’s” inaugural cruise from Miami on June 7. Each cruise features a stop at Castaway Cay, Disney’s private island in the Bahamas. Three- and four-night cruises will call on Nassau, Bahamas; five-night cruises will stop at either Grand Cayman or Cozumel, Mexico. One special five-night sailing will feature two stops at Castaway Cay, and a call on Nassau. Seven-night cruises — with a variety of stops — will be available in April 2023. Information: disneycruise.disney.go.com/cruises-destinations/list/#miami-florida,disney-dream.

I didn’t see any of those things, the first time I walked into room 1864. All I saw was the view.

Full disclosure, I am a sucker for a room with a great view. I once blew a job interview because my potential employer’s office overlooked Biscayne Bay in Miami, and my eyes kept drifting from full contact with my potential employer’s eyes to the jade and turquoise waters shimmering behind him at key moments during the interview. Including, apparently, the moment he decided I was too distracted by the view in his office to ever work there.

I’ve seen great views from other hotel rooms before, too. The Grand Canyon from my room at El Tovar in Arizona. The Atlantic Ocean from the Flagler Club at The Breakers in Palm Beach. Lovely Lac Léman from the balcony of Le Montreux Palace in Switzerland.

Those were all wonderful, memorable views.

But none of them ever made me late for dinner with a famous author.

Because just as I was about to leave room 1864 to go to dinner – just before my reservation around sunset at Doc Ford’s Rum Bar & Grille, where best-selling novelist Randy Wayne White himself might be waiting – I looked at the view overlooking Pine Island Sound on Florida’s southwest coast, and saw a dorsal fin cutting through the water.

Full disclosure No. 2, I’ve never really gotten over “Jaws.” Even now, almost 46 years since the movie opened, I am as on alert for a fin cutting through water as I am for a room with a great view. It wasn’t until I saw the rest of the animal attached to the fin arch its back, rise just above waterline and blow out its breath that I realized I was watching something closer to “Flipper” than “Jaws.”

“Dolphin!” somebody said in the sunset light from somewhere below the balcony of room 1864.

Then, just as I was solving the marine biology mystery below, something flapped out of the sky on my left, banked down hard toward the water – and shrieked twice.

“Osprey!” somebody else said.

I watched the big fish hawk – which many confuse with a bald eagle at first – glide down, drop its yellow-and-black-talons into the water and let them skim the surface. It pulled up empty-clawed, but banked, dropped down hard again and, this time, pulled a small fish wriggling out of the water.

Then, just as I was absorbing all of this, a manatee bobbed to the surface nearby. Then another. And maybe a third?

“Manatees!” a report soon followed.

Fish jumped in the distance. Squadrons of pelicans soared, then dove after fish in great splashes. Two more dolphins joined the first I’d seen, and together they started to work a school of fish up against the sea wall where they couldn’t escape. (Sidebar observation: It’s a hard, hard life to be a fish in Pine Island Sound.)

Dolphins, manatees, ospreys, frigate birds, tarpon, manta rays, loggerhead sea turtles. Some people go to theme parks to see animals (or animatronics) like these behind a fence, or glass tank or berm. They were all just over the balcony rail – nature, in tooth and yellow-and-black-talon claw – in my view from room 1864.

The jade and turquoise waters below – known on navigation charts as Redfish Pass, separating Captiva from North Captiva – have a long history of abundant natural life. Many swim or fly in from the mangrove estuaries a few kayak strokes from the resort – or even from the J.N. “Ding” Darling National Wildlife Refuge a bit farther up the coast on Sanibel Island.

“Fishermen back in the 1920s said there were so many redfish going in and out of this pass in spawning season, the water actually appeared to be red,” said Richard Finkel, our guide aboard the Lady Chadwick, flagship of the Captiva Cruises that sails to points of interest in Pine Island Sound from the resort marina. “They said there were so many fish they would be able to go from one island to the next without getting their feet wet – hopping from one fish to the next.”

I thought that sounded like something a novelist might write, then remembered – d’oh! – I’m missing dinner with a novelist!

I tore myself away from the view in room 1864, ran downstairs (the elevator wasn’t working) and jumped on the trolley for the two-mile trip from the northern tip of the resort to Doc Ford’s Rum Bar & Grille on the southern side.

I sat down – almost an hour late! – ordered Doc’s Rum Runner (Mount Gay Eclipse with blackberry and banana liqueurs, fruit juice, grenadine and a dark rum floater, since, hey, I wasn’t going to be driving the trolley back), and hoped I wasn’t too late to meet the noted author of “Sanibel Flats,” “Captiva” and “Ten Thousand Islands.” Many of his books, whose Marine biologist main character inspired the restaurant and sports bar’s name, are on sale on shelves near the entrance.

“He lives on Sanibel Island, just up the road from Captiva, and he comes by here some nights,” Francesca Donlan, communications director for the Lee County Visitor & Convention Bureau, had said. “And tonight could be the night.”

“He’s just a regular, unassuming guy,” a regular at Doc Ford’s said. “Sometimes you see him at the bar, just enjoying a quiet drink. You’d never know he was a famous author.”

I could see a lot of regular people who did not appear to be famous authors at the bar, some having something a few decibels louder than a quiet drink; but none of them looked like the fishing-guide-and-charter-boat-captain turned best-selling novelist I’d seen in pictures on the book jackets.

I ordered a draft beer, a plate of the house signature Yucatan tacos and, finally, a piece of carrot cake – all delicious – but still no regular, unassuming authors in sight. I started to think I’d either missed him while I was distracted by the view back in room 1864, or maybe it just wasn’t his night to be here.

I waited a few more minutes, but it was long after sunset now. The closest I was going to get to Randy Wayne White that night was his autograph on a copy of “Fins” on the bookshelf on the way out the door.

I took the trolley to the last stop on the north end of Captiva, and walked the rest of the way to my room along darkened marina slips. A couple of manatees, in from Redfish Pass, lulled in the underwater lights of some of the bigger boats tied up at the dock.

It was too dark to see the view by the time I got back to room 1864 at South Seas Island Resort. But, after a day watching for dolphins, ospreys, manatees and a famous author, I finally saw the king-sized bed, the propeller-shaped fan, the soft linens, the flat-screen Samsung almost as big as the room.

And, full disclosure No. 3, that was view enough.

IF YOU GO

South Season Island Resort, 5400 Plantation Road, Captiva, FL 33924, 866-565-5089, southseas.com. The 330-acre resort occupies approximately one third of the northern tip of the six-mile long island, bordered by the Gulf of Mexico and Pine Island Sound. A trolley linking the south (reception, Doc Ford’s) and north (marina, golf) sides of the resort – and points in between – runs from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. Golf carts and bicycles – available for rent on the property – are a popular way to get around the island.

Accommodation types: Guestrooms, one-, two- and three-bedroom condominiums and cottages; and four- to nine-bedroom private homes. Maximum occupancy: 1,750, across 434 accommodations.

Recent check of the rate for a room in the popular, newly renovated Harbourside Water View Suite (where room 1864 is located): $972.33 per night, quoted online in April for the weekend of May 7-9 on the resort’s website. Room amenities include the aforementioned 55-inch LCD flat-screen TV, Nespresso coffee machine, small refrigerator, hair dryer, iron, ironing board, marble bathroom with walk-in shower. The prices are seasonal – with rooms May-August ranging between $469-$859, and $349-$509 Sept.-Dec. 15.

Recreation: 2.5 miles of white-sand beaches, 20 pools (two with waterslides), nine-hole golf course with Gulf of Mexico and harbor views and 20 tennis courts, among other distractions. Parasailing, kayaks, stand-up paddle boards, WaveRunners, banana boats, Hobie eclipse and other activities and tours offered by Sunny Island Adventures on the property, sunnyislandadventures.com. Kids will also find plenty to do – including Camp Skullywags, specifically for children 3-11.

Captiva Cruises (captivacruises.com/cruises) offers a number of tours and programs, including trips to Cabbage Key, Useppa Island, Cayo Costa State Park, Boca Grande on Gasparilla Island, Tarpon Lodge on Pine Island, Dolphin and Wildlife Cruises, plus sunset and sailing cruises. The cruise from the resort to Cabbage Key and Useppa Island takes about an hour each way aboard the 149-passenger Lady Chadwick, because the ship has to sail east up Redfish Pass, before turning north into the Intracoastal Waterway for the rest of the trip. Our guide onboard, Richard Finkel, pointed out interesting and historical insights – including who the Lady Chadwick is named for – along the way. The islands that ring Pine Island Sound are beautiful and development is all low-rise. You can’t help thinking this must have been the way it looked around Biscayne Bay before high-rise Miami.

Dining: Harbourside Bar & Grill (family casual), The Pointe (poolside eatery), Sunset Beach (tacos and other beach fare, tequilas, tropical drinks and nightly entertainment), the Crooked Snook (tiki bar and eatery in the Resort Pool Complex), the aforementioned Doc Ford’s Rum Bar & Grille (Caribbean-inspired menu), Captiva Provisions (market, gift shop, breakfast items and deli sandwiches), Scoops & Slices (malt shop and pizza) Ships Store (grocery and deli items) and a Starbucks. Be prepared: the line at Starbucks is long in the morning. It took us awhile to figure out there was a Nespresso coffee machine already in the room (!). Info: southseas.com/dining/

Favorites: Shelling at sunrise, making a wish at sunset and throwing a shell back into the Gulf of Mexico for luck, sampling tequilas at Sunset Beach, stargazing on the beach, crispy cauliflower & green beans, bacon wrapped scallops and a hickory-smoked bourbon Old Fashioned marina side at Harbourside Grill, parasailing (Sunny Island Adventures, 239-312-4094, sunnyislandadventures.com), the pop and ping sound of bicycle tires on sandy paths and the aforementioned menagerie of animal sightings: Dolphins, manatees, blue herons and ospreys – which nest in some of the trees on property. (Disregard any guest who swears they are bald eagles. They are fish hawks).

Less than favorite: Breakfast on property – at Captiva Provisions Co., Ships Shore and Starbucks – is grab-and-go fare only. At Captiva Provisions Co., which opens at 8:30 a.m. near the marina on North Pointe, there was typically a line of guests waiting to get in at 8. When the door opens, everybody crowds into the combination gift shop and market, at various lengths of social distance (as of April, masks were still required). There’s fruit, juices, yogurt and a deli, where the hardest-working prep chef I’ve ever seen does a remarkable job keeping up with the orders for toasted bagels, English muffins and croissants. But a true, sit-down breakfast place – with a view – would be a fine addition to the lineup at South Seas Island Resort. This may happen, according to the resort, as Covid restrictions begin to lift.

No one wants to hear about the sunsets on Mallory Square in Key West. Or the bucket-list seaplane ride to Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas. Or the fresh Florida lobster in a little seafood gem I found off the Overseas Highway on the way back from the Keys.

No, nobody wants to know where I’ve been or seen or done.

Just how I feel.

“I feel fine – really!” I say. “It felt good to get away, after six months in quarantine.”

“But weren’t you afraid to travel now?”

“Not as much as I would have been six months ago,” I say, “when we didn’t know to avoid crowds, wash our hands, wear a mask …”

“But, were other people wearing their masks?” everybody asks.

“Honestly, in Key West, about half and half,” I say. “I tried to avoid anyone who wasn’t.”

“Even in crowded places,” they say, “like Mallory Square at sunset?”

“Even there,” I say. “The sunset street performers roped off their spaces, so people wouldn’t get close to the fire jugglers or the COVID, if any; and there was plenty of fresh air and coronavirus-killing sunshine – at least until the sun went down, when most people would leave anyway.”

“What about on the seaplane to Fort Jefferson (Dry Tortugas National Park) – how could you avoid getting close to other people then?”

“Well, everybody – even the pilot – was masked,” I say. “Everybody had to have their temperature taken before they got on, and the charter company (Key West Seaplane Adventures) limited the number of passengers onboard, too. Plus, we were flying in an unpressurized cabin – just 500 feet above the Florida Straits – so I could put my nose right up to the window vent and breathe fresh air flowing in from the sea.”

“OK, but what about restaurants?” they ask. “You had to eat.”

“I always ate outdoors – easy to do in the Keys – in restaurants at half capacity or less,” I say. “The wait staff always wore masks – I couldn’t see them smile, but they seemed happy I was there – and the next closest diner was often all the way across the patio.”

“But what about where you stayed?” they ask. “Didn’t you worry about whether the bed-sheets had been disinfected, or the towels washed, or the ice in the machine sanitized for your protection?”

“I can’t speak for every place,” I say, “but the COVID-19 protocols where I stayed [The Marker Key West Harbor Resort] were posted online, in effect – and enforced.”

“How so?”

“The suite was sanitized and sealed before I arrived,” I say. “No one came in except me – unless I asked for housekeeping – there were more than enough towels to last for my stay, and the ice in the room was in a container bathed in what looked like blue antimicrobial light.”

“Blue antimicrobial light,” they oooooooh, with just a touch of awe. Disinfection envy.

I’d just gotten back from a series of peak experiences exploring Florida. Sunset on Mallory Square. Seaplane to the Dry Tortugas. Florida lobster fresh off the boat.

And all anybody wanted to talk about was the blue light in the ice bucket, like people used to talk about the laser light shows at Walt Disney World or the light illuminating the dome of the old State Capitol in Tallahassee or the billion stars blazing against the blackest night, deep in the Everglades. I found out later it wasn’t even antimicrobial light – just blue light to make the ice look nice. (It did).

On the Old Town Trolley my last day in Key West, our driver, Bob, pointed out all the familiar sights – and the unfamiliar closings – to a trolley about half full of passengers, all wearing masks. The Turtle Kraals, Papa’s Pilar Rum Distillery, Sloppy Joe’s, the Green Parrot, the Tennessee Williams Museum, St. Paul’s Episcopal on Duval Street – saints and barflies, alike – all COVID closed that day or in very limited operation, he said. Some have since reopened, some remain shut down.

Key West was still endearingly Key West – like so many of our favorite places in Florida and the Caribbean now – and the show went on. Even with notable no-shows at the party.

It’ll be awhile before we travel the way we used to again. Back when people wanted to know where we’d been, what we’d seen and what we’d done – not the precautions we took while we were there. Or whether the blue light in the ice bucket kills coronavirus.

Until then, I say, I feel fine. Really.

Now pandemic.

The managers at three popular resorts in the Florida Keys say they were just coming back from previous catastrophes at their properties when new coronavirus lockdowns began to shutter them again in March.

As news of the pandemic began to spread, “there were a few swear words here, yes,” says Chad Bustos, property executive at Bungalows Key Largo, which had just reopened in December after a massive fire in May 2019.

“Whenever you’re in an area that’s tropical, you’d better be prepared for the unexpected, that’s for sure,” says Kevin Geanides, general manager at Little Palm Island off Little Torch Key, which had just reopened March 1 after Category 4 Hurricane Irma flattened it in September 2017.

“My wife likes to say, I’m challenged by a challenge,” says Sheldon Suga, VP Managing Director at Hawks Cay Resort on Duck Key, which reopened in August 2018 after being closed for almost a year to repair damage from Hurricane Irma, too. “But I will say, this one was not a favorite one.”

All three managers say it’s all part of doing business in one of “the greatest destinations in the world,” and that they’ve all begun to reopen now with a mix of determination, optimism – and hope it won’t happen again.

Here are their stories.

Bungalows Key Largo

99010 Overseas Highway, Key Largo, 866-801-0195, bungalowskeylargo.com/bungalows

Key events: A fire in May 2019 destroyed the Beach House and pool deck portion of the barely six-month-old Bungalows resort, forcing a temporary closing and multi-million-dollar reconstruction project. “The vendors were really happy because we called all of them back and said, hey, we need to reorder everything we ordered 10 months ago,” says Chad Bustos, property executive. The resort reopened in December 2019 – only to shut down again on March 23 as pandemic-lockdowns began to take effect. The resort is planning to reopen again on June 17, operating at 50 percent capacity.

Key details: Bungalows Key Largo is an adults-only (21 and over), all-inclusive resort set on 11.5 waterfront acres, featuring 135 individual bungalows, with an average starting rate of $1,185 (for two people, two-night minimum), valet parking, welcome cocktails, two pools, a spa, beaches, cruiser bicycles, unlimited non-motorized water sports, thatched open-air fitness center, morning yoga, local car service in Key Largo and unlimited gourmet dining and premium beverages, among other amenities. The property is smoke-free, and no pets are allowed.

Where to eat: Bogie & Bacall’s, for steaks, seafood and wine pairings; Sea Señor for Mexican food (we can recommend the jalapeño margarita); and Fish Tales, a seafood restaurant “inspired by the vibrancy of Capri in Italy.” They all have views of Florida Bay, and perhaps your seaplane bobbing at the dock in the distance; but the restaurants are open only to resort guests.

Now we’ve seen everything: Two six-seat tiki bar boats, the S.S. Rum Runner and S.S. Margarita, set out regularly for cruises on Florida Bay. New to the resort is a 49-passenger sailing catamaran, too, which, while lockdown orders remain, can seat 10 to 15. Smaller electric boats with a captain, paddleboards, canoes, kayaks and other personal watercraft also are available.

A word about coronavirus precautions: The staff will be required to wear masks, and their temperatures will be taken when they arrive on the property. Masks are optional for guests, Bustos says, as are temperature checks – unless required at some point by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Once the rooms have been cleaned, they’ll be sealed with tape, Bustos adds, “so guests will know nobody’s been inside of it since it was cleaned.” For the latest updates, see https://www.bungalowskeylargo.com/health-safety-guidelines/

Little Palm Island Resort & Spa

28500 Overseas Highway, Little Torch Key, 800-343-8567, littlepalmisland.com

Key events: Hurricane Irma came ashore on Cudjoe Key on Sept. 10, 2017, about 7 miles west of Little Palm Island. The Category 4 storm savaged the landmark resort, destroying five structures and toppling hundreds of trees across the four-acre island. “It was quite the wreck, that’s for sure,” says Kevin Geanides, the general manager, who added that crews couldn’t get out to survey the damage for almost a week because of debris in the water. “We unloaded a Bobcat [clearing machine] on one end of the island and literally had to plow our way through till we got to the other side,” he says. The resort had just reopened on March 1 after a $34 million reconstruction and repair project when it was shut down again on March 23 as pandemic-lockdown rules began to take effect. The resort reopened again on June 1, operating at 50 percent capacity.

Key details: The ultra-luxe private island resort, where suites start at $1,500 per night, has 30 thatched-roof rooms – with new interiors – set amid ocean views, restored tropical foliage and re-nourished sand beaches. The one-time “Munson Island Fishing Camp,” which hosted President Harry S Truman, also features crushed seashell paths to the pool, new fitness center, docks for watercraft recreation, beach cabana and two-story SpaTerre, Noble House Hotels & Resorts’ signature spa. There are only two ways to get to the island, either by boat or by seaplane. The resort’s private motor yacht departs to the island hourly (9:30 a.m.-9:30 p.m.) from a dock at the Welcome Station, just off U.S. 1 on Little Torch Key. The crossing takes 15-20 minutes, and is especially delightful at sunset with a Gumby Slumber – the island’s signature cocktail (pineapple, cranberry and orange juices, Captain Morgan Spiced Rum and Parrot Bay Rum) – in hand. All the resort’s vintage mahogany tenders, “The Truman,” “Miss Margaret” and “The Woodson,” survived the storm, Geanides says.

Where to eat: The building housing the Dining Room – the island’s original structure, built in the 1940s – was too heavily damaged to repair and elevate above sea level as required by code. The Dining Room is housed in an all new structure now – decorated with several items salvaged from the storm, including a feature table Geanides says was long in use at the resort – with materials reminiscent of the original pecky cypress and Dade County pine spaces. The sweeping views of the ocean and re-nourished beach remain, but with terraced dining now down to the water, and intimate, “Chef’s Table” experiences.

A word about coronavirus precautions: Staff will be required to wear masks (something nice, Geanides says, to match their uniforms) and distancing rules will apply in the dining and beach areas. Masks will also be available for guests who would like to wear them. “Check-in times are going to take a little longer, cleaning times in the room are going to take a little longer – we’re going to have to go through and do a process in all of the high-touch points to make sure they’re disinfected,” Geanides says. “Inside the rooms we’re going to be providing alcohol wipes to masks in case people don’t have them and would like to wear them. Everything you’d imagine at a higher-end resort, having at your fingertips, we’ll have that for all of our guests.” For the latest updates, see littlepalmisland.com/stay-safe-start-living/

Now we’ve seen everything: Swimming deer? Yes. The resort’s long been famous for visits from the endangered Key deer, who swim in from the nearby National Key Deer Refuge and other Keys. The 30-inch-tall animals delight guests with sightings (and, of course, selfies) at the dock, along the beach and foraging among the mangroves. (Many are such regular visitors they’ve been given names.) Feeding the deer, however, is illegal and can result in a $250 fine.

Hawks Cay Resort on Duck Key

61 Hawks Cay Blvd., Duck Key, 877-484-9342, HawksCay.com

Key events: While Hurricane Irma came ashore in the Keys almost 40 miles away from Duck Key, Hawks Cay was severely damaged by the Category 4 storm and did not reopen again until August 2018, says Sheldon Suga, VP Managing Director, who has been with the resort for 11 years. The $50 million project repaired roofs, renovated rooms, replanted toppled trees, added two new restaurants and an adults-only relaxation area overlooking the ocean. The resort was shut down again on March 22 as coronavirus-lockdown rules began to take effect, and reopened again on June 1 at 50 percent capacity. “I don’t think any of us had any idea [in March] what the outcome was going to be here,” Suga says.

Key details: There are 177 guestrooms in the main hotel, $219 in low season, $349 in high, and 250 two- and three-bedroom villas, $349 in low, $479 in high, on the 60-acre property. Features include a full-service marina, with snorkeling and fishing excursions and sunset cruises; a saltwater lagoon, pool, Pirate Ship Pool for kids, kids’ camps, tennis courts, waterfront ballroom, meeting rooms and water sports that include stand-up paddle-boarding. Hawks Cay’s Calm Waters Spa will remain closed at least through June, Suga says, “until we get clear direction as to protocol, and demand.”

Where to eat: There are seven places to eat on the property, “to showcase a variety of flavors unique to South Florida,” including the new Sixty-One Prime, featuring seafood and steaks; and Hawks Cay Marketplace, a fast-casual, family-style restaurant.

Now we’ve seen everything: Swimming with dolphins? Yes. The onsite Dolphin Connection allows guests to interact and swim with dolphins. “Guests can enter the water, interact from the dock or spend the entire day getting an up-close perspective and understanding of the dolphin and trainer relationship.”

A word about coronavirus precautions: Social-distancing rules apply, and face masks are required for all staff and guests. The staff will also be checked for health and wellness and wear a “approval to serve” sticker on name badges. Guest rooms will be cleaned and sealed before the guest’s arrival. The hot tubs have been closed, Suga adds, and such participatory sports as volleyball and basketball have been temporarily suspended. For the latest updates, see hawkscay.com/covid-19

Running coaches Mackenzie and Nick Stump opened Fleet Feet Sports Delray Beach in 2015. The showroom is closed now, but the couple offered these tips for exercising outdoors and social distancing.

The most important rule is that bicyclists ride with traffic and walkers walk against traffic. This is especially important on streets that do not have sidewalks.

You can run or walk side-by-side with appropriate social distance, but when you see someone approaching, from either behind or in front, move into single file formation on the right side of the sidewalk until everyone has passed to maintain social distance.

Slow and even pause your run at intersections without lights. While cars should stop before the sidewalk, you cannot always assume they will. Look both ways, especially for potential turners coming from behind you on a busy road.

Always be aware of your surroundings and don’t get distracted by music. If you can’t keep checking over your shoulder, try keeping one ear bud out so you can hear oncoming bikes, cars or even walkers.

If you are running or walking by someone who is going at a slower pace, give them a wide berth as you pass them – you may need to go around via the bike lane, so look both ways before entering the bike lane – the bikes have right-of-way – then you can enter back onto the sidewalk.

If you are biking, make use of those bike lanes. The sidewalks are even more crowded than they were before.

Bike lanes have arrows. These are very important for your safety. The arrow confirms that you are going with traffic.

If you are running or walking with a stroller, pull to the right side of the sidewalk so others may pass around you at a safe distance.

Be kind. We are all in this together.

More plot twists than “Game of Thrones.” More meth-fueled mayhem than “Breaking Bad.” More teeth in animals than “Jaws,” “Life of Pi” or “The Ghost and the Darkness”; fewer teeth in some people than “Deliverance” – and more only-in-Florida moments than a Florida Man meme database.

The seven-part Netflix documentary, about a pistol-packing Oklahoma roadside zookeeper’s run-in with a Tampa animal rescue activist, is reportedly going off the rails as the most watched cable TV show in America.

“A jaw-dropping true tale of con artists, polygamy, rivalry and revenge,” as Netflix describes it, the you-can’t-make-this-stuff-up drama focuses on the blood feud between Joseph Maldonado-Passage – aka “Joe Exotic” – and Carole Baskin – aka “The Mother Teresa of cats” – of Big Cat Rescue in Tampa.

Joe Exotic – who says in the documentary he developed an early love for big cats and other animals from time spent visiting Lion Country Safari in West Palm Beach – owned some 1,200 tigers and lions at his roadside zoo in Wynnewood, Oklahoma. Baskin, with a volunteer army of animal activists, often clashed with Joe over his treatment of the animals – which included letting his guests play with cubs, hiding the cubs in suitcases for trips to Las Vegas and, before it was prohibited, selling them to customers throughout the country.

“This is my way of living, and nobody’s gonna tell me otherwise,” Joe says, pistol snapped to his waist and standing next to three big cats lulling at his zoo. “[Baskin’s] a plain-out hypocrite. She literally does everything that I do.”

The disputes escalate tit for tat until – plot spoiler – Joe has to answer federal murder-for-hire charges.

“Will you go to Florida and …[do] what?” someone asks on what appears to be an undercover tape.

“Kill that [bleep] lady,” replies someone on the tape, who sounds like Joe.

Did he do it? Is Baskin as saintly as she appears? You’ll have to watch the series – or read the federal jury’s decision last April.

These are troubled times, and “Tiger King” offers much to distract from the troubles. So much so be sure to set a timer on the stove so you’ll remember to take the beans off before the pot boils over.

Even Kim Kardashian West look time away from promoting the new season of her own reality TV show, “Keeping Up With the Kardashians,” to watch.

“Has anyone seen Tiger King on Netflix?!?! It is crazy!!!!,” she tweeted, inviting her 64.4 million followers to speculate whether Carole Baskin may have fed her missing husband to her own tigers in Tampa. (Did we mention there were plot twists? Spoiler alert – she denies it.)

This true-life pot boils over with blood feuds that make the Lannisters, Targaryens and Starks look like the House of Kumbaya. There’s big money. Polygamy. Cults. Cute tiger cubs. Fearsome tiger packs, tearing apart scrap meat from slaughterhouses and big-box stores. There’re leather fringe jackets. Tattoos. Piercings. High-caliber firearms that blow things up way beyond real good. Purple ties. The messiest rooms in America. Politics (did we mention Joe also ran for president and Governor of Oklahoma? He lost).

There are characters who look like they inspired Tony Montana in “Scarface.” Characters who look like they inspired the Night King on “Game of Thrones.” A blonde mullet that looks like it inspired David Spade’s in “Joe Dirt.”

“I’m outspoken, good looking, love to party and have fun,” Joe says, at one point during “Tiger King, Murder, Mayhem and Madness.”

It’s all a train wreck – in a good-looking, hard-partying, fun kind of way. Just don’t forget the pot on the stove.

VIP tickets to see this year’s “Men of Style” charity event sold out in 15 minutes, organizers say. General admission tickets to see the show, which include an open bar and valet parking, are going fast at $75.

From humble beginnings 12 years ago, attended by a few dozen people at the mall, the annual event has grown into one of the largest holiday events in Broward County, organizers say. As many as a thousand people are expected to attend this year’s event, which raised $82,000 for 12 local charities last year.

“This event supports 12 charities, and people can support whichever charity they want,” says Melissa Milroy, senior marketing manager at The Galleria at Fort Lauderdale. “It really has become one of the hallmark events of the season.”

This year’s class of Men of Style, and the charities they represent, include Bob Becker (Kids In Distress), Heiko Dobrikow (Covenant House Florida), Andrew Heller (Jack & Jill Children’s Center), Ricardo Moncada (HANDY), Peter Moore (Leadership Broward Foundation), George Moraitis (Henderson Behavioral Health), John Passalacqua (Art and Culture Center/Hollywood), Stefan Pastor (Take Stock in Children of Broward County), William Peters (Florida Children’s Theatre), Cam Rogers (Fort Lauderdale Historical Society), Max Rudolf (Broward Center for the Performing Arts) and Alex Zatik (Arc Broward).

You can meet all of the men in a glossy, multi-page fashion spread in the November issue of City & Shore, available in print, online and digital formats on Nov. 4.

The Nov. 29 event begins at 6 p.m. at The Galleria, 2414 E. Sunrise Blvd., Fort Lauderdale. Tickets can be purchased at galleriamall-fl.com/men-of-style-2018/, and you can designate which charity you’d like to support. For information, call 954-564-1036 or visit galleriamall-fl.com.

Event sponsors and contributors include South Florida Ford as the title sponsor, presenting sponsor Signature Grand and supporting sponsors Macy’s, Dillard’s, GPR | Goodman Public Relations, City & Shore magazine, Chen Moore and Associates, The Capital Grille, Truluck’s and Blue Martini.

Robyn A. Friedman contributed to this report