Karen T. Bartlett
Now we love our tourists. And I must say, some of my best friends (and editors) are latecomers. Still, it’s sometimes difficult to suppress a smile at their, shall we say, fascinating behavior.
So I had a chat with a few Real Locals and Quasi-Locals to prepare this little primer on how to act like an Insider. And please don’t kill the messenger. I’m the one who showed up for my house closing 18 Decembers ago in a handkerchief-thin white linen suit. That was the day the tomato crops froze out in Immokalee and everyone else was wearing gray wool. (Lesson No. 1: That’s "Uh-MOCK-uh-lee," not "Imma-KO’-lee.")
So here we go.
A is for Attire
Or, "Good Lord, are you going to wear that in public?"
The following tip-offs that someone’s a Non-Local come directly from two icons of Naples society, Mayor Bill Barnett and Myra Janco Daniels, the grande dame of the Philharmonic Center for the Arts.
You’re definitely not from around here if you, sir, are wearing plaid shorts, a floral shirt, and pastel knee socks with sandals or white loafers during winter months (BB). Or if you, madam, show up for a performance in a bathing suit, sunglasses and flip-flops (MJD).
B is for the Bridges of Lee County
We’ve got the Sanibel Causeway and the Matanzas Pass Bridge, and we’ve got the Fishingest Bridge in the World. We’ve got the Old Pass Bridge and the New Pass Bridge. Stunning views all. Now here’s where we like to get you: We have the Cape Coral Bridge, the Edison Bridge and the Midpoint Bridge, not to mention the Caloosahatchee Bridge—all of which cross the Caloosahatchee River. Lurking under those last four bridges are trolls that just crack up laughing when newbies get on the wrong bridge from the mainland and head off into a half-hour unplanned side trip before they figure out how to get back to Point A. Helpful tip: Get a map.
B is also for Beachcombing: Size Matters
Two shell-seekers pass each other on the beach. How can you tell which one’s (shudder) Not Local? Simple: Not Local is lugging a grocery-size bag bulging with shells. Local is cradling her finds in the palm of her hand. If you really want to fake it, advises JoNell Modys, Collier County tourist guru, select one type of shell and collect only those. Just this once, she says, smaller is better. And only perfect specimens—broken shells are a dead giveaway.
C is for Chuk-uh-luskee
You might as well tape the sign "Tourist" on your forehead if you pronounce the town of Chokoloskee the way it’s spelled.
C is also for Call the TV News
Don’t do it, that is, if you notice it’s pouring on one side of the street, while clear and sunny on the other. Locals know it’s an ordinary summer occurrence.
D is for The Duck
Only Outsiders call that legendary Captiva Island beachfront pub the Mucky Duck. To most folks around here it’s simply The Duck. Same goes for our two performing arts halls, The Phil and The Mann. Oh, and if you only know that glam new hotel as the Naples Grande (which it is, actually), your cover is blown. Locals will probably forever call it by its original name, the Registry.
F is for Free Drop
Attention non-local golfers who think you know everything: Florida golf etiquette decrees that if your ball lands near an alligator you get a free drop. As to the definition of "near," you’re on your own.
G is for ’Gator
If you want to make a Local smile, just ask where you might go to see an alligator. Answer: probably a few steps from where you’re standing. If there’s a body of water (including your swimming pool), chances are a ’gator has been, is currently, or someday will be, gliding around in it. Don’t worry, Moms and Dads, ’gator sightings in the Gulf are rare.
H is for Historic Home
That means anything built before 1960. And frankly, we don’t appreciate any snickering about that.
K is for Key Lime Pie.
If it’s green, it isn’t. Key lime juice is yellow, and so is the pie.
L is for Last Name (or seeming lack thereof)
Like Old World royalty, certain people in these parts don’t have last names. Or at least they don’t need one. As in: "I was chatting with Myra the other day," or "Have you seen Clyde’s latest show?" or "Marissa says red is the color this season." Or even, "Have you seen Eddie’s latest letter to the editor?"
Oh, and here on the Gulfshore, explains JoNell Modys, Truly is not an adverb. It’s the first name of the brilliant and colorful pest control magnate Truly Nolen, who lives in Naples. Yes, the owner of all those cool classic cars, with and without mouse tails.
OK, if you must know, the other last names, in order of appearance above are Daniels, Butcher, Hartington and Filer.
L is also for Lexus
When you send the valet for your car, don’t describe it as "the silver Lexus." It’s a known statistic that "silver Lexus" describes 57 percent of the cars parked at any hotel, upscale mall or country club. Forty percent are white, gold or black Lexuses (Lexi?) and the remaining 3 percent are Other.
M is for Matlacha
Roll that around on the tongue, then pronounce this little Pine Island town’s name correctly: Mat-luh-SHAY. "While we’re on islands," says Nancy Hamilton of the Lee County CVB, "Puh-leez don’t say Boca GRANDIE." The "e" on Boca Grande is silent. Also, Estero is Es-TARE-oh; and Koreshan is not KORE-Shan, it’s Ko-RESH-in.
N is for No-See-Um
If you call the nasty little creatures "gnats," you’re so from not around here.
O is for Ocean
"Ocean," explains Mayor Barnett, "is something that they have over on Florida’s east coast. Here we have the Gulf of Mexico. When someone tells me he spent the day swimming in the ocean, I have to force myself not to say, ‘Oh, you went to Miami?’"
Helpful hint: If you simply must swim in January or February, at least pretend to be cold. Otherwise, you’re a dead ringer for an Outsider.
R is for Red
If you say it to your fishing guide, you’re talking about a redfish, and you’re cool. But if it’s the color of your skin—the shade of a fire engine—says Mayor Barnett, "either you’re clueless about sun protection, or you’re only here for the weekend and need to be sure the folks at home know you went to the beach."
Fashion tip: In these parts, a golfer’s sunburn (V at the neck; a definite sock line and possibly a shiny red dome) is socially acceptable. A back crisscrossed with swimsuit strap lines is not.
S is for Snuke
Only True Locals (as in, their granddaddies built the first gas station/bar/hotel) know that the fish that’s spelled snook—in the local vernacular—rhymes with "fluke." Let that roll off your tongue among True Local anglers and voila! Instant respect!
S is also for Sunset
Do you leave the beach the instant the sun hits the horizon? Uh, uh. Busted! Insiders openly pity those who don’t know any better. The second half of the show is the afterglow, which sometimes seems to envelop the entire planet in a soft afghan of purple, yellows, reds and orange hues. By the way, though it seems like a nice idea, Real Locals don’t applaud the sunset.
S is also for Sanibel Stoop
Which has nothing to do with front porches and everything to do with the commonly seen bent-over posture that one must assume for proper shelling.
T is for The Trail
Nothing gets a smirk out of a long-timer faster than a driver on U.S. 41 asking how to get to the Tamiami Trail. Or the East Trail. Or the North Trail. Or Ninth Street North or Ninth Street South in Naples or Cleveland Avenue in Fort Myers. It’s all the same. It’s simply The Trail.
Vergina
Wanna make a Local laugh? Try to pronounce
the name of this lovely Naples restaurant. Hint: there’s no "gee" in it, and it certainly isn’t named after that other thing.
U is for "Up North"
These are the two most hated words ever spoken here, not counting "Category Five." Never, never, never start a sentence with "Up North we always ..."
Because frankly my dear, we don’t … well, you know.
Until next time, savor the moment.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Additional thanks to Ginny Lee; my two friends named David; Tim Poindexter; Becca, Shellie, Sammy and Tracy; and True Native Gene McSwain for the insights that inspired some of the valuable inside tips included in this article.