By Guy Burnett

I didn’t come here to fall in love. I came here to work. To discover faces and places. To walk. And talk. And tell about it. I came here to wander. To wonder.

But I came here, and I fell completely, totally, madly in love with this place called Key West.

It was easy, really. For there is so much to embrace here. So much so that the hardest part of going to Key West is leaving Key West. Because Key West is not so much a place. It is more of an attitude. Or a character in a book. It’s certainly an anomaly of sorts, but then, if it weren’t, it wouldn’t be Key West.

Yes, Key West is decidedly and definitely different. But it has to be. Because it’s an amalgam of cultures and subcultures. It’s a place without pretense. A place where the past is still present. And the future is only tomorrow. And to wander through Key West is a journey unlike any other. Because it’s a magical, mythical, mystery tour. A tour filled with wonderful faces and marvelous places that call this island home.

But where to begin? Is it with the guy who crafts one heck of a one-string slide guitar? Or the place where only happy oysters and happy clams highlight Happy Hour? Let’s just begin where it all ends: the Key West Cemetery.

They are all here. Some of the names now mark streets. Simonton. Greene. Whitehead. Fleming. And many names don’t. There are soldiers. Sailors. Wreckers. Whalers. Poets. Painters. And just plain people.

But all a unique mix of people who came here, for better or for worse, and it was love at first sight. And now they share a common ground right in the middle of Old Town where Margaret Street meets Angela Street and the sign on the sausage tree reads, “Cemetery Hours Sun Up to Sun Down.”

For one resident, this final resting place was surely his way to keep us smiling, for the epitaph on the tombstone aptly proclaims, “I told you I was sick.”

But life goes on. And in Key West, that can mean just about anything. Even a visit to Heaven. Not that Heaven. Blue Heaven…one of those funky places that kind of reaches out, grabs you and just pulls you in—and once you’re in, you’re hooked. This is really a look at the eccentricity that is so pervasive. It’s also a look at the past that is the present that is the future.

First and foremost, Blue Heaven is a restaurant where you can enjoy a great meal in the outside courtyard under a resplendent canopy of trees. But you won’t be alone. Because you’ll find chicks and chickens pecking and scratching the earthen floor. And maybe even a dog chasing an errant rooster. Rumor has it that Blue Heaven once carried a three-star rating as a restaurant.

The stargiver representative just happened to be lunching the day the dog decided to chase the chicken around the place. He quickly stripped two of those three stars.

No matter. For Blue Heaven will always be a piece of what Key West was and is. Just where else could you dine next to a rooster graveyard? Yes, there really is one here.

There’s also a $1 shower stall. And a former brothel upstairs that is now an eclectic collection of collectables and the home of the one-string slide guitar.

If you bring nothing else to Key West, do bring an appetite. But get ready for quite a few surprises along the way. Because here the kitchen is a canvas, and a canvas calls for creation. And that’s exactly what you get. One magnificent artform after another.

One of my favorite kitchens is Michaels. And it’s here that you’ll discover art in the form of a veal chop that is nothing like any veal chop you’ve had…anywhere.

But there’s so much more temptation at hand. Seared duck. Grilled quail. And all under the watchful eyes of Leon, the housecat, who moves from table to table, not for a morsel mind you, but simply to say, “hi.”

But as good as it is, Michaels is only one great stop along the way, for here an artist’s work is never done. Like the Lobster Tango Mango at Cafe des Artistes, reputedly built by Al Capone’s bookkeeper…a brothel before turning to gastronomic delights like its Grouper Braise au Citzon Vezt.

And then there’s always the charming Bagatelle for a sinful Tuna Tatakori. Or Snapper Rangoon. Or Sloppy Joe’s for a beer and, what else…a sloppy joe. The dish originated here. But this is not the original where “Papa” Hemingway played.

That one is around the corner, and it’s known as Capt. Tony’s. Interesting place. Dark. To some, foreboding. Maybe it’s that hanging tree next to the bar. Legend says that more than 800 of Key West’s unsavory characters swung from these branches.

Or maybe it’s that tombstone. The one that sits at the base of the tree and bears the name of Reba Sawyer. No, it doesn’t mark her grave. It marks just another marvelous moment in Key West history.

It seems that Capt. Tony was having a little dalliance with Reba, and after her demise, her husband discovered what had been going on. So Mr. Sawyer simply went to the cemetery and brought Reba’s tombstone back to Capt. Tony’s where he deposited it at the front door. And, with all due respect, Capt. Tony simply moved it inside to where it sits today.

Of course, no visit to Key West would be complete without the ubiquitous slice of Key lime pie. And mine was the best. Now where but Key West would you find Key lime pie like this in none other than an Italian restaurant? That’s right. La Trattoria on Duval Street.

So what’s around the corner? The inevitable. Hard Rock Cafe. Planet Hollywood. No! Not here! But they have done a good job of blending in.

Key West is truly a unique and special place. One-of-a-kind. Margarita-ville, and I love it. I love it for the rhythms of reggae at Rum Runners. I love it for the Sunday tea dances at La-Te-Da. And the sunsets dancing across the waves of Mallory Square. I love it because of Peggy, a magnificent, wide-eyed, blue and gold macaw that greeted me every morning on the veranda at the small and elegant, yet just-so-right Gardens Hotel.

Key West, you have not seen the last of me.