The road from Steinhatchee was long and boring. So far the roads I have encountered in Florida are very different from what I am used to in California. They come in three varieties (1) Major four-lane freeways cut though dense jungle with no view of anything, (2) small paved roads servicing the towns, (3) dirt roads. The road system is functional, but quite limited. The dirt roads are usually just cuts through the overgrowth, revealing white “dirt” (I suppose it is limestone). The “freeways” are interesting in that they aren’t freeways like in California – rather they are two-lane divided roads usually with a 55 MPH speed limit, with side roads entering directly onto the highway, I have yet to see an on-ramp or overpass. They often go past the little towns, but the speed limit slows to 30 MPH in the “business” districts. When entering an area with increased population density stop lights are common – they just stop all four lanes of traffic for the cross traffic. It is quite “primitive” in comparison to California or Arizona norms, but I suppose it is functional and inexpensive.

After driving between two walls of trees for a couple of hours I got bored and decided to turn off on one of the white, dirt side roads. My GPS was indicating a grid of roads just beyond the main highway, so thinking that perhaps the community was “hiding” behind the trees I went to see what I might see. It was a main road for the local community, but barely wide enough for cars to pass. It went straight into the jungle. At first I assumed that I was in an uninhabited area, probably mainly used by sportsmen or loggers. However, it turned out to have a lot of houses, perhaps on five to ten acre plots. Most of the houses were hard to spot because they were nestled back in the trees and had been pretty much overgrown by the jungle. Old, single-wide trailers were the norm, along with old cars, new cars and piles of stuff. It felt very much like what is depicted on television programs such as the “Swamp People.” I managed to get out of there unscathed, which felt like success!

After surviving my excursion into the Florida jungles, I then stopped in at a roadside diner for lunch. The most noticeable customers were the now common group of men in bright orange shirts, part of the utility crews that seem to be swarming the southern half of the USA. The walls were decorated with several very large mounted fish, wall plaques with funny sayings, and photographs of the proprietor’s children and grandchildren. I ordered a Rubin sandwich that turned out to be quite good, along with a bowl of inedible potato salad. Everyone was friendly and cheery.

The next stop along the route was a State Park Nature Preserve that promised manatees. That seemed like an easy way to spot one of those critters, so I pulled in. It turns out that the place was set up to care for injured animals, all of which had something happen that prevented the being returned to the wild. The park was accessible by a nice, 15 minute boat trip through the jungle where we viewed an alligator, a turtle and a “snake bird” (Anhinga) sunning itself on an old snag. I saw two manatees, one was cruising the little lake having lunch, the other was in the “hospital” recovering from a nasty encounter with a propeller.

This all put in into the Tampa area during the “rush” hour, waiting at the many stop lights spaced about a 1/4 mile apart. On top of that, it started to rain pretty heavily. I finally finished my planned three hour trip after about eight hours of travel. The motel operator indicated that I might like to try the restaurant located almost directly across the street. He said it was a rather “high end” place with high prices, but none of his customers ever complained. So that was my choice.

When I got there I was surprised that there were no cars in the parking lot, and even more surprised when I ended and found that there were no customers. None. It was a big restaurant with several large rooms full of tables, a nice big bar area, and all of the decor I expect in a nice restaurant. Everything but customers. I asked the receptionist if it was open and was assured that it was.

As usual, I sat at the bar for dinner. I looked over the menu, which had a wide variety of delicious sounding items as high, but not unaffordable, prices. I noticed several items that were described as Croatian specialties, so instead of just ordering what sounded good I asked the bartender/owner if he was from Croatia. He was. Feeling in a of an adventuresome mood, I asked his advice for a selection that I would be sorry if I hadn’t ordered it. He immediately said pork or lamb chops. These were $50 each, more than I really wanted to pay. I looked again and found pork and lamb shanks for only $30. I asked about them, and he really lit up! He said it was his favorite piece of meet and his wife (the cook) did a wonderful job of cooking it – slow roasting it for five hours with all the right seasonings. I couldn’t resist, so ordered it along with my normal glass of chardonnay. Soon a giant chunk of pork shank was served alongside a huge serving of seasoned rice and marvelous fresh homemade rolls. I was in hog heaven!

While I waited for the food to be prepared, he stayed at the bar and we talked. He told me that he left Croatia immediately after the war with Russia was finished, having been given the choice of going to Germany or the USA. He choose Germany, thinking it was closer to home and perhaps he could return to his home one day. He told me of many family and friends who died during the war, told me about how hard it was to fight and try to survive. He pointed to the places were he had bullet holes, and the scare on his neck when someone tried to kill him with a knife. He was very sad when talking about those things.

I asked him why it was worth all of that just to avoid living under Russian rule. Afterall, the Russians won and that was the outcome – what was the point? He said it was very simple, Freedom. Freedom from living under a despot in a dictatorship that prevented personal or political freedom. He was sorry they lost, but hopeful that somehow, some way, some day it would change again.

When if got to Germany he found that they totally control refugees. His only job opportunity, the only job he was allowed to have, was cleaning. On top of that, he was prevented from having an income that would give him any sort of acceptable living. So he left, and ended up in Clearwater Florida in 1998, with a wife, two children and $600 in his pocket. Whatever organization helped moved him to Florida helped him find an apartment and got him a job driving a forklift. The apartment cost $1400 a month, the job paid $175 a week. He instantly recognized that wasn’t going to work, so after two weeks he quite and started a side business fixing big rig trucks. (I didn’t dig deeper into what sort of background allowed him to make that switch.) His truck repair business was a success, he hired 6 mechanics and did well until one day he happened upon an old out of business restaurant for sale, cheap. His wife was excited about doing that, so he switched his attention to fixing up the restaurant and all that. I was in that restaurant. He said it is normally very busy, usually packed with waiting lines. He didn’t know what happened on that day, but being empty just didn’t happen.

About this time the conversation turned to the food and menus, he pointed out that almost everyone ordered the inexpensive house variety of wine. At that point I recognized my error in ordering, and apologized for not asking his advice along with his advice for the meal. He chuckled and said he had a lot of other “house” wines that they could have ordered.

At that point I recognized my error in ordering, and apologized for not asking his advice along with his advice for the meal. He chuckled and said he had a lot of other “house” wines that they could have ordered. He then did an interesting thing, he brought out an unlabeled bottle of wine, set up two glasses and we each had a glass – mine was complementary. He then leaned back against the back bar and we started to talk, just a friends! We had moved past the customer/bartender situation and moved onto real topics.

He asked me about my trip. I told him that it has been a sad thing to see all of the almost ghost towns, sad to see how gutted the freeways and strip malls had left the communities, and how dangerous it felt in Arkansas and Alabama.

He was interested in all these topics, and agreed with my assessment – including Florida into that category of dangerous places. He asked if I preferred Trump of de Santis. I expressed horror with either choice, and then we were off to the races! He knew we could talk, talk about the dangers of what is happening in America right now. He agreed with my assessment of the danger that the rebels present (I can’t think of another name for them right now since the main point of their anger is a desire to crash the entire political system.)

He finished up the evening with the story of the beginning of the war in Croatia. He said it had changed so that it felt exactly like it now feels in America with the “moderate” Democrats and Republicans trying to find a way to operate in the midst of a vocal group of people attempting to set it on fire and burn it to the ground. He said one day it just started, it started small with some little riots and demonstrations but that by the second day all of the store windows had been broken out and the merchandise stolen. At the same time the guns came out from hiding, and there were dead people in the streets and Russia invading by day three. It was all out war from then on. It only took a day to turn, and he is scared. He said it looks exactly the same to him here as it did there then. His fear isn’t that as shift in political control is coming, his fear is that civil war is at our doorsteps. He saw it before so knows how quickly and easily it can change.

Wow!!! No wonder everyone is so afraid to talk to me, why the whisper that they are on my side but can’t talk about it, no wonder they shy away from any discussions that might be overheard. It took this guy over an hour in an empty restaurant before he felt comfortable enough to talk. I pointed that out to him, and he said he had to do that because he needed customers and he would be boycotted or worse if he said what he thinks.