Of Aquamaids and Giant Sponges

Cypress Gardens sprung to life more than 70 years ago, when Dick and Julie Pope turned their gardens into central Florida's first major tourist attraction. The trademark ski show began in 1943 when family members were skiing on the lake and visiting servicemen thought it was part of the entertainment.

"Cypress Gardens was very popular and successful," said Florida historian Gary R. Mormino, who has a soft spot for the attraction. "Dick Pope was such a great promoter. . . . Many smaller attractions in the early years viewed it the way Disney is viewed today."

These days it can't touch the Disney numbers, though park spokeswoman Lynn Wright said attendance projections of 750,000 for 2005 were far exceeded when 1.4 million walked through the gates.

I remember visiting the attraction and driving miles through orange groves to get there. Today, a spin on the park's Sunshine Sky Adventure, a slowly revolving platform that rises 16 stories, reveals a view of gated community adjoining gated community.

Despite heavy hurricane destruction in 2004, when three major storms caused $25 million in damage and led the park to file for bankruptcy protection, the gardens are recovering quickly. And the park, which has changed hands several times, is adding attractions, including Bugsville, which will feature oversize furnishings to make kids feel the size of an insect.

On the oldie goldie side, there's a 45-minute guided walking tour of the gardens, and the Cypress Belle paddle boat from the earlier era is still afloat for those who like their water encounters at a slower pace than the Voodoo Plunge from atop a 60-foot slide.

Goodness knows it would take days to see and do everything, but still something was missing. The uniformity and neatness of signs, walkways, snack bars and trash cans all had too much of a Magic Kingdom spit and polish. I missed fecund Florida, that touch of wild, untamable spirit and beauty, a picnic spot under a tree and not in an air-conditioned food court. I wanted to tousle its landscape somehow and not have every bloomin' thing in place.

Spongeorama (Tarpon Springs)

We reached Tarpon Springs, the self-proclaimed Sponge Capital of the World, after nightfall and walked around the historical docks by moonlight. Greek accents drifted from dockside gift shops, and Greek music and aromas wafted down the street from a dozen or more restaurants. Baklava beckoned from sidewalk bakeries.

Tarpon Springs' sponge industry started in the late 1800s when fertile sponge grounds were found in the Gulf of Mexico. Greek divers and their families built a thriving industry and community. In the 1920s, millionaires from the north wintered in mansions along the waterways in the town that bore the moniker the Venice of the South.

A blight in the '40s known as the Red Tide devastated the sponge fields and turned Tarpon Springs into a charming, touristy town centered on Greek culture. I recalled my first of many trips to the famous Louis Pappas restaurant -- which closed a year ago and may become the site of condominiums -- and my first Greek salad and first taste of feta cheese and pepperoncini. Such exotic foods to someone raised on tuna casserole and Jell-O with Cool Whip.

If the grand St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral is the town's spiritual and social center, the rambling, tacky Spongeorama is its essence. This tribute to the industry and all things Greek is housed in an old, sprawling sponge-cleaning shed. It's part museum, part gift shop, and it has a cult following nearly as faithful as "The Rocky Horror Picture Show."

"Yeah, I see a lot of the same faces," said Naomi Kitsos, who runs the gift shop's cash register and Spongeorama's movie. "They come back every year, bring their friends."