Sunday in Downtown Jacksonville

Since my husband wasn’t going to be working on Sunday, I asked him to come with me on a trip Downtown. Because it was Sunday, I knew that not much would be open in the morning hours, so I settled on going to the newly renamed MOCA.

When we arrived, four employees were clustered around the main desk. They asked how they could help, and then explained that the gallery walls were bare as they were between exhibits. The new exhibition would be opening on the 26th.
Sean hadn’t seen the museum’s fascinating shop, so we started browsing. Quite a few items left over from Christmas were on sale. He found a ring he liked in the extensive jewelry case and I marked several items in my mind as future gifts for some of our harder to shop for relatives.
We stepped out onto the street fairly clueless as to where we should walk from there. Finally, we settled on walking to the Landing. Even if nothing was open, we knew we could count on a pleasant view of the river.

On Laura Street we stopped in front of a vacant building, sad because the architecture was majestic and beautiful. There are buildings all over the downtown area like this, and I hope to one day see them all filled and restored. As we stood there, looking up like tourists, a man, probably homeless, stopped alongside us to share in the wonder and mumble about the beauty of the building. He was difficult to understand because he had as many teeth as the building had unbroken windows, but his appreciation was clear. We hurried on, apprehensive that the conversation was a prelude to asking us for money, but later I wondered what he had been saying, and if it would have cost us so much to stay and listen to him.

My friend Siobhan, who’s from New York, says my mistake is that I make eye contact with street folk, but I’m Southern, and I have a difficult time treating people as though they don’t exist. One day I made the mistake of crossing Hemming Plaza and no less than three people of raggedy attire tried to strike up a conversation. I didn’t ignore them, but if I had, they wouldn’t have disappeared. I have given the homeless money because they’ve told me tales so outlandish that I felt they had earned the money simply for entertaining me. I’m certain that God has written “gullible mark” all over my face, in the sort of ink that only panhandlers can see.

Once at the Landing, it was apparent that everything was closed until the afternoon. Still, there were people out, enjoying the balmy weather and walking their dogs. I noticed the Downtown Ferry docked, and a few people boarding it. I had never taken the ferry over to the South Bank and so, of course, was filled with a deep desire to do so. It cost us $10 cash for two round trip tickets. We pooled what little cash we had (my husband reluctantly gave me his last dollar) and boarded the ferry. The dock at South Bank is just adjacent to the River City Brewing Company, the MOSH, the Maritime Museum and a spectacular fountain. We got a voucher from the captain for our return trip and headed to the River City Brewing Company for brunch. It was a steep $21 brunch, but the Snow crab legs, carving station and omelet station made it worthwhile. There’s just nothing like putting a freshly made waffle on a plate next to crab legs and shrimp, if only for the novelty of the thing.

As we left Downtown, we threw our remaining change to man playing a sax on sidewalk.