APALACHICOLA, Fla. -- The high-tech hedonism of Miami's South Beach. The perpetual carnival atmosphere at the Magic Kingdom in Orlando. The Caribbean-like flavor of the Keys. The high school and college spring break havens of Destin and Panama City. The twin meccas of retirees and Canadian snowbirds, Tampa and St. Petersburg.

Will the real Florida please stand up?

Those who believe the whole of the Sunshine State has been parceled out in fiefdoms for various demographics will be thrilled to learn that the real Florida is alive and well in the southern Panhandle, 80 miles southwest of the capital, Tallahassee, along a stretch of the Gulf of Mexico referred to by residents as the "Forgotten Coast."

Forgotten, in this case, is a good thing. The epicenter of the region, Apalachicola -- or "Apalach," as the locals call it -- is a well-preserved reminder of what Florida was like a half-century ago, when orange groves outnumbered theme parks, the Everglades had not been drained for commercial development, and huge swaths of north Florida slumbered under oak trees swagged with Spanish moss.

Apalachicolans are quick to say their town isn't for everybody. What you won't find is non-stop nightlife led by British rock stars and Brazilian supermodels, wet T-shirt contests led by beer-swilling coeds, and daily parades led by Mickey and Minnie.

What you will find are vast pine forests, many of which have national and state status; protected shallow bays, pristine beaches; and miles of peaceful river. There are parades of a sort, but instead of Disney characters, they are made up of hikers, cyclists, kayakers and fishermen. Though there are no rodents smiling for the cameras, there are ospreys, sea turtles and bald eagles aplenty, especially at Cape St. George State Reserve, a 28-mile-long barrier island that separates Apalachicola Bay from the Gulf of Mexico.

Since its founding in 1831, Apalachicola has been famous for three commodities: cotton, lumber and oysters, all of which have helped shape its destiny. With its namesake river and the bay leading to the gulf, the shipment of cotton was the town's first major industry, and in the decade before the Civil War, Apalachicola was the third-largest port on the Gulf of Mexico. River Street was lined with three-story brick warehouses for cotton storage (today, those warehouses have been converted into shops and art galleries).

After railroads made it more efficient to ship cotton, timber from the vast cypress forests in the area became the leading industry, and wealthy lumber magnates built many of the magnificent Victorian homes that still line the city's streets.

But perhaps no industry has defined Apalachicola as much as the harvesting of its namesake oysters. Today, oysters from Apalachicola Bay account for 90 percent of those harvested in Florida, and 13 percent of the oysters consumed in the nation. Statistics aside, you can see why Apalachicola oysters are justly famous by ordering a dozen on the half-shell at any number of area restaurants.

For a town that has only one stoplight, Apalachicola (population: 2,331) has a surprising number of historic buildings tucked away in its compact downtown area.

One of the most important is the Dixie Theater on Avenue E, which first opened in 1913, offering lavish theatrical productions. After a period of decline that forced it to close its doors in 1967, the Dixie was rediscovered in the 1990s, lovingly restored, and is once again home to live theater.

Other buildings with a storied past have been reborn as antique shops, galleries and boutiques. Two of my favorites are the Grady Market, a collection of a dozen galleries, textile boutiques and antique dealers in a brick building overlooking a lush courtyard garden; and the Riverlily, specializing in locally made vintage-inspired jewelry. (Note to husbands: Don't let your wives loose in either of these places.)

A short walk from the town center is the Raney House Museum, built in 1835 and thought to be the oldest house in Apalachicola; the John Gorrie State Museum, dedicated to the physician whose invention of an ice machine to cool his yellow fever patients became the precursor of modern air-conditioning, and the Apalachicola National Estuarine Research Reserve, at 246,000 acres, the second-largest estuarine reserve in the country.

With 1,300 species of plants and 360 species of marine mollusks, many of them endangered, the reserve's displays focus on indigenous life from the river, bay and gulf.

Between downtown and the bay are gracious neighborhoods of elegant Victorian-style homes in rainbow hues, which, at the time of my visit in mid-March, were draped in masses of scarlet azaleas.

One of the most elegant is the three-story bright yellow mansion on Sixth Street that was built in 1905 by lumber baron James Coombs, and is now owned by airline executive Bill Spohrer and his wife, Lynn Wilson, who operate it as a bed-and-breakfast inn. Wilson, a noted interior designer who has decorated the Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables, as well as private residences for Queen Elizabeth at Ascot and for King Hussein and Queen Noor of Jordan, has lovingly made the Coombs House one of north Florida's most lauded inns.

I didn't believe it was possible: my own deserted (well, almost) Florida beach. And yet here it was, on St. George, the barrier island separating Apalachicola Bay from the Gulf of Mexico.

While the western end of the island is lined with multi-million dollar homes bearing romantic names such as The Wind Dancer, Sea Breeze, Gull's Cottage and Island Time, the eastern end is a 9-mile-long state park. It boasts the longest beach front of any state park in Florida.

The undeveloped shoreline is a tapestry of dunes, bay forest, sandy coves and salt marshes, and the sugary white sand beach is one that Miami and Fort Lauderdale can only dream of.

When I said I had the beach to myself, I wasn't taking into account the seagulls that circled overhead and the terns that skittered nervously away from the incoming waves.

There was also the occasional lone beach walker searching the tidal pools for starfish, sand dollars and shells.

But for the most part, it was just me, the surf, sand and sun.

Back from my day's outing on St. George Island, I joined locals and visitors on the wide front porch of The Gibson Inn, another of the town's historic buildings.

Sitting in a rocking chair and sipping a glass of wine as I watched the sun drop into the bay, I realized that the Florida of my imagination is indeed alive and well in Apalachicola.

Where to stay: The Coombs House Inn. Named one of the 30 Outstanding Inns in the United States by Travel and Leisure Magazine, this 23-room mansion has become a landmark, not only for its beauty and elegance, but for its service and mouth-watering breakfasts. Rates from $89 (off-season) to $229. 80 Sixth St., Apalachicola. 1-888-244-8320. www.coombshouseinn.com .

Where to eat: For a town its size, Apalachicola has a number of excellent restaurants. Caroline's combines the freshest seafood with a river view. Avenue Sea at The Gibson Inn (reservations definitely recommended) offers the tantalizing fare of Chef David Carrier, formerly at the famed French Laundry in Napa Valley, Calif. His six-course tasting menu and wine pairing (priced at $75, eight courses for $100) boasts exotic fare such as sashimi of Cobia with bok choy and Thai peppercorns, Amish chicken with buttermilk dumplings and Swiss chard, braised octopus with chick peas, roasted red peppers and house-made chorizo, and butterscotch creme brulee with pecan sandies. Of course, leaving Apalachicola without indulging in as many oysters as possible would be a bit like coming to Kentucky and bypassing burgoo, barbecue and hot Browns. Every restaurant has them on the menu, but one of the best places to indulge and at the same time enjoy a view of the river is Boss Oyster, which offers them more than 20 different ways, and whose motto is "Shut Up and Shuck."

Learn more: Contact the Apalachicola Bay Chamber of Commerce at (850) 653-9419 or visit www.apalachicolabay.org.