Atlantic Coast: ‘How Sweet It Is’

Trump’s mane can be spotted on the east coast, usually at his golf club in West Palm Beach, the northernmost spot of the cultural mishmash that is South Florida. It’s not hard to find frijoles negros (black beans), a real bagel shop and $14 martinis on the same block, thanks to untold thousands of immigrants from Cuba, South America, New Jersey and whatever planet produces the Beautiful People who traipse along Miami’s South Beach.

And golf architects. Actually, they have it tough in Florida, where their canvases usually are plots of flat pine brush. The highest point in Florida is only 345 feet above sea level, or roughly the height of the ice sculpture at Doral’s nightly buffet.

Doral is the granddaddy of Florida’s golf resorts, home of the Blue Monster and for a time, Gleason himself. The course has been redone so many times that “the Great One” wouldn’t recognize it, but history alone makes it worth playing.

Head north and you’ll hit Ft. Lauderdale and the Fairmont Turnberry Isle Resort & Club, a favorite vacation spot for celebrities, recently reopened after a $100 million renovation. Another hour north is PGA National Resort, which has hosted a Ryder Cup and two PGA Championships and is the current haven of the nomadic Honda Classic.

The quickest way up the coast is I-95; the scenic route is A1A. Jimmy Buffet named an album after this two-lane stretch, so you know it has certain native charms. Like mom-and-pop hotels, fluttering sea oats, surf shops and traffic.

Try to stay awake at the wheel driving along the central coast: There’s nothing to see for hours unless you get to Titusville and NASA has a rocket launch scheduled. For all its waterfront, Florida has few golf holes on the ocean. It seems almost any developer with a bulldozer can build a waterfront condo, but a par 3 almost requires an act of Congress. When it opened in 2000, the Nicklaus course at Ocean Hammock was the first seaside course built in Florida since 1930.

The historic district of St. Augustine, America’s oldest city, is a nice change from prefabricated tourist options that have made Florida the world’s leading exporter of mouse ears and alligator wrestlers. St. Augustine even combines history with golf at the World Golf Village, where you’ll never play like Sam Snead, but you can at least gaze at one of his hats.

You know all about the Sawgrass Marriott Resort. Before dying, every golfer has to try to hit the island green. Added bonus: You might spot Vijay Singh on the range hitting his 94th bucket of balls that day.

Other than golf, this is the area of Florida that tourism forgot. For decades Jacksonville was the punch line for redneck jokes. In truth, the downtown, with the St. John’s River flowing through it, is more scenic than 99 percent of the cities on earth. And restaurant options have expanded beyond Waffle House, although you’ll still find one at every exit on the final leg of our east coast journey.

The end is Amelia Island Plantation, an enclave outside Fernandina Beach. It’s the kind of sumptuous resort you have to see to appreciate, which means it would feel right at home on the opposite side of the state, or at least the southern part of it.