A sip of U.S. history

NO, I’d told myself, I would not go to the tacky Fountain of Youth and drink any of that silly water. I would sooner be sighted at Potter’s Wax Museum on King Street. So where was I? Queued up with the other tourists, waiting for Robert the guide, who swore he was 126 years old, to give me a little plastic cup of that water.

I was compelled, I suppose, by a nagging feeling that coming to this city on the Atlantic coast in the north of Florida and bypassing the fountain made famous by the legend of Juan Ponce de Leon would be like skipping the Eiffel Tower in Paris. It seemed a duty in a city with some genuine attractions.

The reality: The Fountain of Youth National Archaeological Park is a little hokey. Despite its name, it is privately owned. And the fabled spring -- now a well -- was capped in the 1880s because it was drying up. The water in those little cups handed out to tourists is pumped in from a city source but, guides are quick to note, it’s the same source that fed the spring that Ponce de Leon is thought to have found in 1513. The water has a high sulfur content, so it smells like rotten eggs, although it doesn’t actually taste all that bad.

Another reality: Ponce de Leon, at age 53, may actually have been seeking eternal youth. Or, as some scholars have suggested, he might have been looking for gold or even rejuvenation of a different sort, a bolstering of his sinking political fortunes. Whatever the case, he has been great for tourism.

In May, visiting St. Augustine for the first time, I found much to like and much that was off-putting.

I loved the old fort -- Castillo de San Marcos -- and the three turreted buildings on the main square: the former Ponce de Leon hotel, now Flagler College; the renovated Casa Monica Hotel; and the former Alcazar Hotel, which houses City Hall and the delightfully eccentric Lightner Museum.

St. Augustine, with about 12,000 residents, calls itself America’s oldest city, having been founded by the Spanish in 1565. That’s 55 years before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock in Massachusetts. More accurately, it is the oldest continuously occupied European-founded settlement in the United States.

It’s fun to stroll the 11 automobile-free blocks of St. George Street, with its 200 shops and restaurants, although the caliber of many shops disappoints, the merchandise leaning toward things bedecked with flamingos and hibiscus and other “what-was-I-thinking-of” travel buys.

There are good restaurants, an attractive waterfront and narrow cobbled streets lined with 18th century houses with overhanging balconies. No fewer than 26 bed-and-breakfasts offer attractive alternatives to chain motels.

In the immediate area there are a dozen golf courses. World Golf Village, 12 miles north of the city, boasts the World Golf Hall of Fame.

You can take a scenic boat cruise on Matanzas Bay, which separates the city from Anastasia Island and St. Augustine Beach, or charter a boat for deep sea fishing.

The little sightseeing trains that tool around the city are delightful. I couldn’t bring myself to go to the alligator farm to gawk at a white gator or to plunk down $10.95 to explore Ripley’s Believe It or Not museum, where the wonders include the corpse of Beauregard, a six-legged cow.

Perhaps it was the thought of going elbow to elbow with swarms of fanny-packed tourists.

Moorish deluxe

I flew in from Atlanta on a Saturday, picked up a rental car at Jacksonville airport and drove 50 miles south to St. Augustine, pulling into the arched carriage entrance of the Casa Monica, where I had booked a room.

The hotel, which bills itself as “established 1888, perfected 1999,” has delightful public rooms awash in Moorish arches, Oriental rugs, potted palms and Spanish tiles. My interior room with partial pool view was small and, although it lacked no amenity, seemed pricey at $220.

In 1888, the Moorish Revival hotel was “luxe,” but luxe was defined differently then. There was one bathroom on each floor, and the fire escapes were ropes anchored beneath guest room windows.

Casa Monica’s building closed during the Depression, was converted to the county courthouse in the 1960s and, after extensive restoration, reopened as a hotel in late 1999. Its location is excellent, close to most major attractions.

I had made a reservation for Sunday brunch at the hotel’s 95 Cordova restaurant, which, at $25, including a mimosa, is not to be missed. Guests trekked to and from the buffet table with, amazingly, seconds and thirds from an array of temptations that included made-to-order omelets and waffles, chilled shrimp, oysters on the half shell, poached salmon, salads galore and a cornucopia of cakes and pies.

Fortified, I crossed Cordova Street to pick up the little open-air sightseeing “train.” There are two competing lines, but the red St. Augustine Sightseeing Train came by first, so I hopped on. It deposited me back at the starting point just in time to pick up the green and orange train of Old Town Trolley Tours, so I boarded it next. Both have similar one-hour trips and similar rules: You can get on and off as often as you like, and your ticket is good for three consecutive days.

On this day, the green and orange had it all over the red. Not only was it more comfortable, but driver Paul’s narration was far superior. We wove in and around the historic downtown, past the Castillo and the 1808 city gates. We passed Ripley’s, which occupies a building that once was a hotel owned and operated by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, author of “The Yearling.” We traveled “uptown” to San Marco Avenue and its antiques alley (my favorite shop name: Sofa Tucker’s) and across Magnolia Avenue, which is shaded with a glorious canopy of oaks.

We learned that Spanish moss is a member of -- who knew? -- the pineapple family.

Driver Paul pointed out Treasure Street, which is a little more than 6 feet wide. The idea was to protect the Spanish treasury by making it impossible for would-be robbers to turn their horse-drawn wagons around and escape.

Later I checked into the Southern Wind, a bed-and-breakfast in an impeccably kept 1900 house in the historic district. It was hot, though not oppressively so, this being May, and the lemonade in the parlor was welcome.

I’d read that Hypolita Street was worth a look, and it was an easy walk. There, at No. 56, I came upon Among the Flowers, with a sign on its door announcing that Missy, the house cat, might be sunning in the walled courtyard. As a cat lover, I was persuaded to stop and browse. The quilted cotton print Vera Bradley handbags and accessories, in a selection of Provencal-inspired prints, were irresistible. A few doors down, La Parisienne restaurant also had a sign on its door. Antipathy toward the French was still intense, and its sign let people know “We are not French.”

I made a quick pass through the Colonial Spanish Quarter at 53 St. George St., a living museum depicting life in 18th century St. Augustine, then an outpost of the Spanish empire. A costumed candle maker was making candles, a blacksmith was blacksmithing, a gardener was gardening.

One of my favorite evenings in St. Augustine was at funky Scarlett O’Hara’s on Hypolita, where I sat on the porch enjoying a fish sandwich and a glass of wine while a guitarist played standards. (I passed on the Twelve Oaks Southern barbecue -- ribs or chicken or ribs and chicken with French fries, coleslaw and baked beans.)

One of my favorite attractions was Flagler College. As our student guide led us through the stately rotunda and the huge dining hall with its Tiffany windows, he passed along nuggets about the life of Henry Morrison Flagler, the Standard Oil partner and pioneer Florida developer and philanthropist who built “the Ponce” and the nearby Hotel Alcazar in an ill-conceived attempt to turn St. Augustine into the favored winter playground of the East Coast privileged class.

One nugget: Flagler’s second wife, Ida Alice, “communicated” with Russian czars via Ouija board. After she was institutionalized, he used his influence to change Florida law to enable him to divorce her.

An impregnable fortress

I loved walking cobbled Charlotte Street with its little shops and galleries, and I braved a downpour to tour the Castillo, a National Park Service attraction. It was built of coquina, a rock made largely of broken shells, hand-dug on Anastasia Island by Native Americans, slaves and convicts and barged across the bay. Since its completion in 1695, it has repelled every siege.

Walking the gun deck, with its view over the bay and city, I could imagine blue-coated Spanish defenders at those cannons, holding off a British attack in 1740. I peeked into the dank, windowless prison and into the guards’ quarters, where once soldiers slept on one long, hard wooden platform.

Another day I spent several fascinating hours at the eclectic Lightner Museum at 75 King St. It’s in the former Alcazar Hotel, which, with its casino, was a watering hole for the wealthy from 1888 until it closed in 1932. The building wraps around a lovely colonnaded courtyard. A pleasant cafe serving lunch occupies part of what once was the world’s largest indoor swimming pool.

The museum, which is all columns and arches, has the accumulated treasures of the late Otto Lightner, the Chicago-based publisher of Hobbies magazine whose own hobby was collecting other people’s collections.

And what a collection. The 20,000 items include hatpins and stopwatches, fans and feathers, a Buddha and a bentwood cradle, Tiffany glass and cigar band art. There’s even a stuffed African lion, Rota, which was given by the Zoological Society of London to Sir Winston Churchill in 1943 to commemorate victories in North Africa. (She birthed cubs Monty and Ike.)

Also worth a look is the 1890 Memorial Presbyterian Church at Valencia and Sevilla streets, a gift to the community from Flagler in honor of his daughter, Jennie Louise, who died in childbirth. Flagler is buried in its vault. This Venetian Renaissance church is built in the form of a Latin cross, with a 100-foot copper dome. There are Venetian arches, terra-cotta Ionic pillars, hand-carved mahogany pews and a Siena tile floor.

On St. Augustine’s waterfront, two marble lions stand at the entrance to the Bridge of Lions, which spans the bay to Anastasia Island, a mixed bag of expensive waterfront homes, family-friendly motels along the main artery, the A1A highway and -- yes -- that alligator farm. The 1,700-acre Anastasia State Park Recreation Area has 5 miles of sandy beaches, shaded picnic tables, a nature trail and good birding and fishing. (Visitors are advised to beware of snakes.)

I had lunch at Cafe Eleven on A1A Beach Boulevard. Here a sleek, minimalist space has been created in a former 7-Eleven. The menu focuses on creative salads and sandwiches, exotic teas and coffees, all reasonably priced and good. I passed on the special dessert, flaming s’mores, served at table from a miniature hibachi.

The city’s best side

On my last night in St. Augustine, I sat on the veranda of the Casablanca Inn, looking over to Matanzas Bay. It was a perfect balmy evening.

The next morning, I relaxed in a green rocker on that veranda and enjoyed breakfast as horses pulling carriages clopped by. The table was set with a lilac print cloth and fresh flowers. The sun was shining, and there was a nice view of Lions Bridge.

Not bad, I thought, this St. Augustine.

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Local color in St. Augustine

GETTING THERE:

From LAX, connecting service to Jacksonville, Fla., about 50 miles from St. Augustine, is available on American, US Airways, United, Continental, Delta and Northwest. Restricted round-trip fares begin at $198.

WHERE TO STAY:

Casa Monica Hotel, 95 Cordova St.; (800) 648-1888, fax (904) 819-6065, www.casamonica.com. This restored 116-year-old landmark has an A-1 location in the heart of the historic district. Rooms aren’t great, but the lobby, with its tiles, potted palms and splashing fountain, is. Sunday brunch at 95 Cordova restaurant is a must. Doubles from $179.

Casablanca Inn, 24 Avenida Menendez; (800) 826-2626, fax (904) 826-1892, www.casablancainn.com, an inviting 20-room bed-and-breakfast in a 1914 bay-front home. Rates include full breakfast served on the veranda. There’s one room at $99, but you’ll prefer the quiet coach house in back that has large, antiques-filled rooms with balconies overlooking quaint Charlotte Street, from $149.

Casa de Suenos, 20 Cordova St.; (800) 824-0804, fax (877) 899-7884, www.casadesuenos.com. “House of Dreams,” an inviting B&B; in a restored turn-of-the-century Mediterranean house in the historic district. The five spacious guest rooms are lovingly appointed, and there’s off-street parking. Breakfast is served in a sunny dining room with bay windows. Midweek rates begin at $145, weekends and holidays at $195.

WHERE TO EAT:

Columbia Restaurant, 98 St. George St.; (904) 824-3341. Family owned, it’s big, busy and child-friendly, serving huge portions of tasty Cuban and Spanish dishes. Tapas alone are a meal. Nice spaces with courtyard, fountains and palms. Dinner entrees about $14-$22.

Gypsy Cab Co., 828 Anastasia Blvd.; (904) 824-8244. Nothing fancy (the view is of the highway), but big servings of really good food. Typical fare: mahi- mahi on a bed of spinach with sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts. Dinner entrees about $12-$18.

Harry’s, 46 Avenida Menendez; (904) 824-7765. A taste of New Orleans -- jambalaya, crawfish, red beans and rice. Steak and fish too. The food’s just OK, but on a balmy Florida night the torch-lit patio is lovely. Don’t sit inside, which is like a coffee shop. Dinner entrees about $10-$25.

TO LEARN MORE:

Visitors Information Center, 10 Castillo Drive; (904) 825-1000, www.visitoldcity.com.

Visit Florida, 661 E. Jefferson St., Suite 300, Tallahassee, FL 32301; (888) 7FLA-USA (735-2872) or (850) 488-5607, fax (850) 224-2938, www.flausa.com.

-- Beverly Beyette