The rest of the drive through Georgia and into Florida was uneventful, the towering forests making way to swampy palms and flats. We stopped outside of St. Augustine for a meal, then went into the city.
The hotel was right in the heart of the historic district – and may have been active when the city was founded. Yes, the facilities were that rustic too. Our room had a door that wanted to come off its hinges, the curtains were not quite wide enough to cover the window, and the bathroom with its wheelchair features, looked like it was modeled on a cell from a mental institution. The cell-like window opened onto a noisy alley behind it, while the windows in the front looked at a blank wall. Parking was utterly insane, as the brick courtyard was all filled up and then some with cars. But the location and the waterfront walk made it worthwhile.
We did get in a walk to the waterfront, so Trixie could do her business – a thankless task given the way drivers are trying to emulate NASCAR on a narrow waterfront road in front of the low hotel.