Being back in Tampa after three years of being away was both strange and wonderful. There is a saying that the more people you see in an area who are jogging for fun, the higher the rent. And in this case, the higher the price of drinks.
Yeah, Tampa.
The outside deck bar and lounge area were the same- overstuffed chairs overlooking the River Walk and billion-dollar real estate properties nestling in and around 25 million-dollar yachts. The men were still “I run the world during the week, and then I golf, walk my Corgi and sail my yacht on the weekend” gorgeous. Listen, normally about 1 out of 50 men are my type, and that’s being kind. In Tampa, it moves to about 8/10. If I look in one direction, another silver fox sneaks up on me from another direction.
Jeez freaking Louise.
The pool area is the same, as is the conference center. Drink and food prices have skyrocketed so drastically that several members of my dinner party laughed audibly when our separate checks arrived. I got the laugh of the night as I signed for my one glass of Pinot Noir and asked the waiter if a vineyard came with it.
The floating tiki bars and paddleboarders are still floating down the canal, and the requisite bachelor/bachelorette parties once again took over the property, as well as weddings, conventions, and golf conferences, you name it. For a week I enjoyed sitting in the middle of all of that happy buzz, reveling in every minute of beautiful women and men coming and going in their busy lives, all of us just happy to leave the last two years in the past.
I had packed for this same trip in March of 2020, my bags by the door. The Tuesday before my departure, I remember getting a strange email. Something called covid was forcing the directors of the conference to cancel. I remember being baffled by that.
Two years of a dystopian nightmare, and I’m back, in a sort of reclamation kind of state. I thank Tampa for being so welcoming, so constant, and just so… Tampa.
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