No one could confuse me with Homer. I could not imitate the ancient Greek poet on Halloween, and my own "legal" blindness was corrected with laser surgery. All we have in common is a penchant for sandals - flip-flops, in my case - and a mean wanderlust.

But where Homer had Odysseus and Ithaca, I have wild, bronze beaches, a shelling bucket and no pressing desire to return home. Sure, there are majestic seas in his epic, and I'm certain the Mediterranean is nothing to sneeze at. But if Homer knew the glossy, tranquil Gulf the way I've come to know it after my own odyssey over the Sarasota beaches, we may have had The Vacation instead of The Iliad.

If Homer lived now, I wondered, casting my eyes over the water from the Mount Olympus-esque perspective of the Venice Pier, would he have been a beach bum?

My own odyssey began at Manasota Beach on Manasota Key. As soon as I set

A sojourner also can find activity on Sarasota beaches.

bare foot to warm sand, the horizon cloudless, I felt as though I were on some remote isle. Manasota Beach is small, just 1,400 feet of beachfront. There are cavernous picnic tables here and there, but what called to me was the long, weaving blanket of shells. There was a soft breeze and a lot of silence, just me picking through the shells and the clatter of them in my bucket.

Since Manasota Key is blissfully free of high-rises, the sky is open and large. I rested against a sand dune and watched a clutch of crabs scatter before I made my way over to the Intracoastal side of the Key. There, I clambered up the dock, which leads to the cool shade of a mangrove forest, where there's a whole miniscule world below. I sat down and swung my feet over the mangroves.

Just a short jaunt from Manasota Beach is Blind Pass Beach, where I immediately set out on one of the nature trails in the hopes I could snag some wildflowers. They soon sprung up around me. Blind Pass Beach is just the kind of place you might float along on the Gulf waves utterly and blessedly alone, save for the dolphins darting acrobatically in the distance.

On Caspersen Beach, I found a dozen reminders of a pre-Homeric past when I got on my hands and knees to scan for shark teeth. The coal black filaments are there like pepper to Caspersen's salt white sand.

My search was accompanied by the whispery sound of sea oats; the native hammocks and sloping dunes here have been left in their natural state. When I reached the sprawling boardwalk, I looked back and saw my own careless footprints. Like Odysseus, I was slowly returning to civilization. And I was hungry.

Venice Beach is on the mainland, close to downtown Venice. From the shade of the pavilion - which looks like some Greek emblem, soaring and low-pitched wings for a roof - I revived myself with an ice cream cone. On the drive out, I saw spectacular Italian Mediterranean homes from the 1920s glittering in the sunlight and scuba divers bouncing tanks and masks across the road to the beach.

There is a fossilized reef just yards out here. At Venice Municipal, there are families and picnics, boisterous volleyball games and lazy rafts drifting over the Gulf. It's friendly and sociable and, I've decided, in every sojourner's best interests to feel like herself among mankind.

The wonders of Siesta Key Beach have been sung by the best of bards. Since the sand might as well be a fluffy feather down anyway, I shook out my towel and dozed with well-earned intensity.

When I woke, I dug my heels in the sand and sent a volleyball flying heroically over the net in an impromptu game. I took one last look at the shimmering beach, the sun low on the water, and shuffled off to Siesta Key Village for libations. The village is a merry beach community with all manner of seafood shacks, festive bars and elegant shops.

By evening, I was happily returned to the world at St. Armands Circle on Lido Key, dining on shrimp at Hemingway's and wondering how I could tour the Sarasota waterways like The Old Man and the Sea.