In Key West, everything is weather-beaten or rusted or covered in five layers of paint. All is turquoise and coral and sunshine yellow and tan-skinned. There are no high-rises or fast cars. Even the beaches are rough around the edges, not sandy white but piled with rocks. You may accidentally stumble into a clothing optional bar or order up the best cuban sandwich at a roadside stand. You'll sit in the sun and eat it next to a pier where old boats are knotted up beside sun-ravaged bicycles. People make a big deal out of the sunset--thousands gather to watch it slip down in the sky and then cheer when the sea gobbles it up. You would be happy there. We were.