Spong Docks – Historic District, Tarpon Springs
The next morning we rose and readied ourselves for breakfast. The sunburn had progressed from uncomfortable nuisance to prickling pain when touched by cloth. I eased on a shirt and we agreed it would be best to forgo a second trip to the beach. Fool me once, sunscreen… Instead we’d refuel (yeah right, I could still feel that ice cream scuffling with that cannoli cake) at Toula’s Trailside Cafe then catch the morning St. Nicholas sponge boat tour. Then we’d do some more historic sightseeing, maybe give the sponge docks one more chance at mid-day and then head for The German Restaurant to cap the trip before returning home.
Toula’s Trailside Cafe was a quaint little spot on the Fred Marquis Pinellas Trail—a 47-mile mixed-use trail comprising a 34-mile corridor of abandoned CSX railroad—across from the old train station (now the home of the Tarpon Springs Historical Society). The staff welcomed us with smiles and we took a seat at a table along the wall.
I ordered the Lance’s Giant E-CBLT sandwich with a side of grits subbed for the potatoes. Christa got the two eggs any style (scrambled of course) with bacon and fresh fruit. Everything was delicious. It’s hard to screw up a broken egg sandwich merged with a BLT and Toula’s made no mistakes.
The bacon was crisp, the egg yolk just firm, the tomato ripe and tasty, the mayo and lettuce were doing their thing. It was all simply satisfying on a short hoagie roll that they called a baguette but had a thin crust too soft to be french bread. It was no shortcoming, though. Soft bread should be used when making egg sandwiches. Otherwise, the innards shoot out the back of a sandwich when bitten into. This sandwich was perfect and the side grits were okay, though I couldn’t be sure they weren’t instant. They tasted fine and a dollop of butter made them better
Christa enjoyed her simple breakfast and was delighted that, as opposed to the all too common chunks of unripe honeydew and muskmelon (that ain’t real cantaloupe) with the occasional canned mandarin orange segment, the Toula’s fresh fruit was mostly sliced fresh strawberries and bananas.
With breakfast in the tums, we headed back to the room to pack up and check-out. We said goodbye to our kind host with a promise to stay next time we did an overnight in town and made our way to the sponge docks to give Tarpon Springs one last chance to endear itself to us.
We found street parking in front of Fournos Bakery and walked to the stand for the St. Nicholas Boatline Sponge Fishing Exhibition (it’s all in the name people). There was no one attending so we walked around a bit to kill time. At 10:00 a.m. most of the businesses weren’t open yet, and several were only now setting up their sidewalk displays.
A tall middle-aged dude strolled by and tried on hats in the window of the souvenir shop. He sang out loud and carried himself like an honorary member of the Rat Pack fan club, smiled and said good day to us then ambled down the sidewalk.
Up the street, a staff member wearing a navy blue Hellas Restaurant shirt was carrying supplies into the Taste of Greece bakery. Our suspicions were correct— the two bakeries were related. A stout, balding, white-haired fella, dressed like my Italian grandfather–navy slacks, black belt, short sleeve white button-up shirt—carried a large ring of keys and stood about the sidewalk like he owned the place. He probably did, maybe the entire place from Pinellas Ave. to the Bayou, from the docks to Pine Street. This guy could be the head of the local Social Club, dressed beneath his station, as they are wont to do, a real common man with a big old ring of keys. Smiling, he said good morning to us like he owned the whole town. He owned the whole town. Probably.
We parked our butts on a shady bench and consulted our phones in search of interesting sights. I suggested we take a walk to Spongeorama Sponge Factory and Museum. They featured an amusingly aged documentary film that was mentioned (somewhat disparagingly) on the review sites. Moving quickly through the sunlight to the shaded roof of the Spongeorama porch, we arrived to find a locked door and had to wait another fifteen minutes.
We killed time in the shade posing for pictures in the oversized diving helmet. Kitchen staff and management from Yianni’s Greek Cuisine, the restaurant that sits between Spongeorama and the sidewalk, went about their work when one came over with a set of keys and opened the front door to drop off some boxes, then locked up. It seemed these two businesses were related, too. I started getting the Disney World vibe.
While we waited, Peter Lawford appeared again, walking up and trying the Spongeorama Door. He noted the time on his watch and left muttering another upbeat hello to us. In a few minutes, the Spongeorama staff arrived and we waited until 10:30 on the dot before entering. Some reviews mentioned that a woman who runs the place can be cranky and ill-tempered. I wanted to avoid that as much as possible.
A kindly woman greeted us when we entered and she immediately suggested we view the documentary movie. I said I’d like to see it and she showed us into a room to the side of the store. It looked like an old storage closet. It was an old storage closet. Wall shelves held cardboard boxes labeled with various soap scents. We enthusiastically took seats on one of the aluminum athletic benches in front of a flat screen tv. She clicked on the loop and we sat down to watch.
Knowing what to expect beforehand, I was genuinely interested. It was dated, faded, and fantastic. The film was an eighties-era documentary obviously locally produced. It was a tight professional affair (for its time) and robust with information, typical of old-school documentaries before cable dumbed them down for short attention spans.
We both learned a lot about the sponge fishing industry up until the time of the film’s production as well as the various types and uses for natural sponges. The first part was followed by an ancient film with the production air of In Search Of with Leonard Nimoy. The film quality was poor and the soundtrack perfectly warped, but the information was all very interesting and gave a thorough account of the history of Tarpon Springs and the Greek sponge fishing community that arose to meet the demands for more sponges.
We left the cinema and I next wanted to visit the museum. Some online reviewers said that it appeared to have been quite the labor of love by whoever built and curated it but it had fallen into disrepair and neglect. It was sad to learn the museum had suffered damage in the hurricane last year and was temporarily closed for repair. I won’t hold out hope for it to ever reopen. Just a feeling.
Armed with the knowledge we gleaned from the film, we decided to pay for our education by purchasing our sponges here. We settled on a palm-sized wool sponge for bathing and a six-inch length of loofah for household cleaning chores. We were given the “I’m a sponge expert” discount for having watched the film and left Spongeorama with lighter hearts for having experienced something interesting, if not a little hokey and aged. It was sad in a way and I wondered how viable the sponge industry was anymore. Would tourism be the last ditch effort for this community to save its cultural significance before dissolving into the melting pot and yielding to developers of resort communities?
On our way to the sidewalk, we passed a booth to find Peter Lawford hawking dolphin cruise tickets. I always suspected the Rat Pack of being in cahoots with the syndicate.
We headed back to the St.Nicholas Boat Line tour booth to find the staff had arrived. They started hyping the features, but I saved them the spiel. We’ll take two. It didn’t launch until 12:30, so we had another hour and a half to kill. Good god. Please, Tarpon Springs Sponge Docks, please provide something of substance and entertainment to occupy our time.
We passed the dozens of Shops selling imported trinkets and cheap outdated novelty clothing. As stores were now open, the scent of perfumed soaps and oils were pouring forth anew to hang the air heavy with their unctuous odor. We entered Get A Guru, the one truly craft soap maker we found on our visit in November. My dry skin was becoming a problem (this burn wouldn’t help) and Christa thought an olive oil soap could solve it. It was worth a try, so we bought a small bar.
The shop was pleasant if you could get over the essential oils that permeated the air. I couldn’t run that shop day in and day out. I’ve got healthy lungs and could almost feel them collapsing under the strain of the perfume-laden bronchioles. I breathed better as a two-pack a day smoker. A glance at the equipment strewn backroom proved they made the soaps in-house and a woman worked at a table stamping the prices into fresh soft bars with large numerical rubber stamps. At home I learned of their long history in Tarpon Springs; I felt better about our choice and the roots still to be found here.
Refreshed by an authentic experience we decided to celebrate with a little treat. We took the soap to our car and paid a visit to Fournos, a little Greek bakery on Athens Street. Christa figured it’s smaller size and position off the main tourist drag might result in a better quality than Hellas. She was correct. We bought two chocolate drizzled baklava rolls and two kourabiedes (think Russian tea cakes, or Mexican wedding cakes, or Canadian nanook nuts—hey, it’s probably a thing). They were very tasty; perfect with a cup of hot coffee.
With time still to kill, we walked down Dodecanese Ave. again. On this lap we checked out all the shops that were closed the evening before. Here’s a map from Google. You can tour it virtually for yourself and see if I’m wrong, but everything was just meh. A CD and record shop persisted. There was a little mall with a leather crafts store where most items looked imported from Asia, a crystal and rock store manned by a self-described treasure hunter who informed a couple that he was returning to radio that very day to talk about treasure hunting. I made a mental note to look him up. I have to admit this shop was different from everything else in the docks.
We passed the Godfather again, this time sitting in front of a different restaurant sipping another coffee. We continued along where it got really sad in a hot sauce shop that had Thai Kitchen green curry paste on clearance. I remember the first business I ever encountered that specialized in hot sauces was in Ocean City, Maryland c.1990 and was simply a prefab shed like those displayed in Lowes parking lots. Even then I thought that had to be too much retail space for hot sauce. Having reached the end of what mattered, as much as that counts on the Sponge Docks, we crawled back toward the St. Nicholas mooring.
Look, if you are the type of person who enjoys shopping for jewelry, handbags, novelty shirts, cigars, and hot sauce while on vacation, then there may have been plenty to please you in the various mini-malls and storefronts of the sponge docks. But if you’re looking for something of substance, quality original goods, arts and crafts works, entertainment and fun, we found little of that here in Tarpon Springs—a riverside fishing village five minutes from the Gulf coast that’s economy is evolving evermore toward being solely based on tourism.
Yes, I know, sponge fishing is what Tarpon Springs is all about, but tourism is being sought as a way to replace the shrinking natural sponge industry. Tourists—we—would like something to add variety. After one or two sponge shops, you’ve seen pretty much all that sponge shops have to offer. One loofah is as good as another. Imagine visiting Hershey, PA, and every other shop is chocolate—Bad example.
Along the way, we dipped back into the Sponge Exchange Mall to kill the remaining ten minutes and wandered in and out of the shops of various un-needful thing. Salt Life garbage and salt lamp…garbáge, trinket jewelry and various knick-knack imported crafts, t-shirts, and mugs. More sponges, shells, and nets to hang and fill with sponges and shells. Christa called it quits and stopped to read on a bench while I went to get some water from our car.
On my return, I stopped into a little sponge shop on a side street where earlier an older woman peddled her wares to me while unlocking her door and I promised I’d return later. Now seemed as good a later as later. I browsed around, but we had already bought anything we wanted at other spots. I asked how long she had been in operation and she pointed to a large sun bleached picture over the counter of a man on a boat. That was her husband, she explained, who died a while back. He was honest to God a real sponge fisherman and harvested all the sponges they sold in their shop.
She was sitting at a large block of turmeric colored clay and was portioning it into plastic cups. The block was shea butter, she explained and she asked if I wanted any. I declined and said that to be honest, I was just browsing to kill time. She laughed and continued to peddle and portion.
Christa and I reunited and walked over to the St. Nicholas Boat Line and boarded the boat for the tour. It was an educational and relaxing experience that I really appreciated. It got some bad reviews from people online who failed to grasp the purpose. The tour exists to teach the history and significance of the sponge fishing industry of Tarpon Springs. You know—the whole reason the place exists as more than just a coastal river town. And it does so with a relaxing cruise up the Anclote River and back. If you want dolphins and open water cruising, look elsewhere. We came to Tarpon Springs for the history as much as for the food. You can read about our boat tour experience here.
After the tour, we considered that it was only 1:30 in the afternoon. Our reservations at The German Restaurant were not until 4:00. We had tapped the last ounce of entertainment from the sponge docks; what else would we do until supper? I suggested we return to the Historic District of Tarpon Springs, get some ice cream and maybe tour the St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral. Some impressive artwork was said to be found on the walls and ceilings.
So, we drove back to Tarpon Avenue and Orange Cycle Creamery. Stephanie the owner greeted us and gave us the rundown. We were delighted to learn that she made all the ice cream on premises. I told her we were becoming dismayed that all we could find were parlors serving Hershey’s. She said she knew that all to well and that is what inspired her to open her own place. People advised that she was not wise in opening an ice cream parlor with so many around, but she felt there was a demand for handmade ice cream, so she did it.
And I’d guess she’s doing alright and moving lots of product. The tubs of ice cream in her cases were of varying levels and quite a few were low and with no signs of freezer burn. Her flavors were outstanding. I especially liked the rosewater pistachio and the lavender honey. Orange Cycle Creamery also has vegan ice cream available made with coconut milk. It comes at a higher price, but I guess that’s a function of demand as well as cost.
I settled on black walnut that was similar to a rich butter pecan only with black walnuts instead of pecans. It was delicious with a natural buttery flavor and a touch of salt. The walnut pieces were substantial and had a great flavor. Christa got the chocolate and thought it was very tasty.
We sat in the air conditioning and savored our sweet treats. Then we wandered back into the heat. We passed the train station turned Historical Society and Christa said, “Let’s go in, you know you want to.” I did want to.
Through the door, we were welcomed by the usual small-town historical society staff. I wondered if they put chicory in their coffee. We returned a cheery hello and asked, “What next?” Bruce rose with enthusiasm from his seat behind the desk and began a personalized tour that could not be beaten.
I’ll save you a transcript of the whole thing, but we learned about the sponge diving trade (of course), the founders of Tarpon Springs as well as the people involved, the civil rights movement and segregation/desegregation, and integration of schools, the history of the rail line and the station itself (including its split entrance for whites and blacks), local citizens involvement in WWI and WWII, as well as interesting citizens throughout Tarpon Springs history, such as an early aviatrix. Interesting local artifacts abound, such as equipment from an early salon, price signs from early gas stations, and seats from the old theater (complete with hat racks) and local inventions and products of ingenuity.
Finally, out of things to do, and too tired and hot to manage a walk through the Cathedral, we decided to bid a meh farewell to Tarpon Springs. It was an interesting town, but it was not what it had been built up to be. Not by our perceptions. The docks, though beautiful, seem a bit too hokey for anything other than a brief visit on the way through the area. It sort of reminded me of the Canadian side of Niagara Falls, without a Rainforest Cafe. We felt at that moment that we experienced all there was of distinction to draw from Tarpon Springs and we need not return.
We blew out of town on a cloud of condensation as our air conditioning cooled to an arctic blast that soothed my pink skin. This duo had a date with The German Restaurant, our whole reason for the trip and we needed to get our heads clear for the experience. Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.
I write in detail about it here. Our final meal at The German Restaurant was as delicious as we had hoped (dessert excluded but that’s just our peculiar tastes, not a fault of the kitchen). The schnitzel was crisp, tender, and delicious, the cabbage was tart and sweet, the spaetzle was buttery and delicious. It was a heartwarming comfort meal that soothed our souls and maybe my sunburn because I didn’t notice it once during our dinner.
We said goodbye to the staff and wished them good luck and let them know our hopes for their future endeavors.
This was our trip to Tarpon Spring in search of good food, fun, history, and culture of the Greek American community, a little surf, sand, and (too much) sun, and a final enjoyment of and farewell to the fine German cooking of The German Restaurant.
We enjoyed practically everything we ate from the flapjacks at Flapjacks to the octopus, olives, and cheeses at Dimitri’s On the Water, to the craft ice cream of Orange Cycle Creamery. We enjoyed the beach of Fred Howard Park, we enjoyed the history we learned from Spongeorama, St. Nicholas Boat Lines, and the Tarpon Springs Historical Society. And I’m enjoying the wool sponge and olive oil soap I purchased. The pastries of Fournos Bakery still linger in our memories. We had a wonderful stay with Ingeborg in her pleasant accommodations.
I know that I flowed forth with a lot of negatives, but I tried to stay objective and honest. Looking back, though we had an enjoyable time, we stand by our assessment that Tarpon Springs simply did not provide us enough to see value in a return trip. It isn’t merely monetary costs that we judge this by, the travel and time involved play a role. If we lived nearby it would be a different story and the cost would be minimal to dart in and try a restaurant every now and then. But for shopping, for entertainment, as a leisure destination, Tarpon Springs simply hasn’t resonated with us.
As I collect my list of places to visit and restaurants to try I realize our needs are fairly simple, yet idiosyncratic to us, and even to each other. Christa and I don’t agree on everything and often what I dig, she can’t stand. So, I don’t want to imply that Tarpon Springs is a bad destination where any search for fun and leisure will be rewarded with a kick down the varmint hole. It simply was not for us. Millions of people disagree, just look at those online reviews.
Tarpon Springs is known for its sponge fishing tradition and for its Greek culture. These are what the town has to offer that no other gulf coast town can boast. If these things do not interest you, I see no reason to venture that way. There are equal or better beaches, shops, restaurants, etc., elsewhere and often for less. Anclote Anchorage is a beautiful area to explore, but it does not require a stop in Tarpon Springs. However, if sponge fishing, history, and Greek culture do interest you, then go. You can have a great time if you plan. An overnight is worth it if you must travel far, or if you like weaving adult beverages into your experience. But it isn’t necessary, especially if you eliminate the beach altogether. An in and out one day trip can suffice.
Would I call Tarpon Springs a tourist trap? I’m hesitant to. At one moment I’d shout, “Yes,” to the hilltops. At another, I’d say, “No, it’s your preconceived expectations that might lead you to think so.” Still, I think I usually fall somewhere in the middle. It is a beautiful town and worth a stop. If you plan and take cautions you can avoid experiencing the traps of tourism and enjoy an authentic small town experience rich in culture, history, scenery, relaxation, and tasty food.
Thanks for reading!