Thought Daughter Travels

A Hedonistic Day in West Palm Beach

By far the most darling city with the worst reputation, not many young, active solo travelers find themselves in West Palm Beach. Why? Is it because of the attitudes, the whispers of cultishness, the general draw for activities besides polo tournaments and boating competitions slim? Maybe you’ve been told there’s not much to see there, that it’s too laid back, to the point of being treacly. Currently holding the place in my heart for favorite airport hotel, West Palm is my most recent conquest, a place I have been able to make lovely in my mind. A small warning that I might be biased: growing up in a small town south of Orlando, home of a gas station and Publix only, it was the closest big city; my parents would drive us down to the farmer’s market by Clematis, or to get ice cream and walk on the Municipal Beach on a Sunday in November, when the weather was pleasant. They would go to Sunfest by the waterfront in their wilder days, and leave my brother and I with our grandparents. Now the only times I traipse around the little city are when I go for work, in which I’ve recently constructed what would be the absolute perfect day in West Palm Beach: a day set for myself, a “thought daughter” esque writer, constantly on the brink of existentialism, bored with everything except people-watching.