In the beach towns west of Tampa, Fla., the message was clear for any spring breaker passing through. It appeared on chalkboard signs, waving inflatables and posters: We are open.
Spring break season is fraught in some parts of Florida, where the raucous behavior of certain visitors can outweigh their economic benefit. Miami Beach has been on a yearslong campaign to deter the college crowd, including with an ad this year for a fake reality show in which partyers break the rules and suffer consequences.
But for the businesses and the restaurants along the Gulf of Mexico that were ravaged by Hurricanes Helene and Milton last year, welcoming spring breakers — and anyone else, really — has been imperative. Some are still in temporary setups, or barely weeks into reopening, so every dollar is crucial. Many had anxiously anticipated the season, which began in early March and will wrap up in the next week or so, as a barometer for post-hurricane success.
There are other pressures on Florida’s retail and tourism industries: Inflation and the threat of punitive tariffs have rattled the American economy. But in the Tampa-St. Petersburg region, few can remember a hurricane season as disruptive as last year’s, when Hurricanes Helene and Milton delivered a one-two punch just 13 days apart.
Some businesses and hotels remain closed, and local governments have been swamped with post-storm requests for building permits; many have expedited the process by waiving fees or setting up temporary remote sites to process claims. More than 8,000 emergency rebuilding permits have been issued in St. Petersburg alone, for an estimated $150 million in construction value.
Hurricane Helene, in particular, “was a very humbling experience,” said Savannah Huskie, 28, a manager at the Bronze Lady, a boutique along the John’s Pass Boardwalk in Madeira Beach that flooded. The store had to close for two months and between the damage, the wrecked merchandise and the closure, lost hundreds of thousands of dollars.
The ocean is both the greatest draw and the worst threat along the Gulf Coast. But hurricane season does not begin until June, making spring visits more appealing for many out-of-town visitors.
“Spring break is our season, more than summer,” said Charlotte Hunter, the co-owner of Wild Time Caribbean, a store along the boardwalk in Madeira Beach that sells beach apparel and a menagerie of stuffed manatees and turtles. The store had to cancel merchandise orders in the immediate aftermath of the hurricanes, when there was still sand and debris piled in the roads and along the streets.
“That’s why spring was so important for us — to recoup some of that,” said Ms. Hunter’s husband, Jim Hunter. The slow trickle at the start of the season gave them pause, and their door count was down by about 1,500 people for the second half of March. But it was unclear, the couple said, whether that was also influenced by inflation and a shaky economic outlook.
Signs of recovery were everywhere. The city of Treasure Island held a new festival, “Back to the Beach: Sand & Kites & Coastal Delights,” last month after canceling several events over the fall and the winter. Storm debris was largely cleared away so that visitors and locals alike could safely walk along the streets and shorelines.
Permits were approved so that businesses could legally operate outside of their damaged buildings, allowing them to reopen while they wrestled with bureaucratic paperwork.
Still, there had been a lot of anxiety about whether anyone would show up.
“There was a lot of question marks,” said Stephen Santasieri, the general manager at Caddy’s, a popular beach-front restaurant and bar in Treasure Island. Its building was flooded during Hurricane Helene, and snarled pipes and frayed wood were still exposed .
Mr. Santasieri estimated that it would take at least a year to rebuild. Caddy’s spent three weeks of spring break serving $8 Patron cocktails and $10 margaritas (with a free gift) from a makeshift outdoor setup.
Its kitchen is operating out of a food truck, without its usual fresh grouper and oysters. Rather than scribble their names on a strip of wood along the restaurant’s bar, a tradition at Caddy’s before the storm, customers have instead signed a banner hanging nearby.
“People have really appreciated it,” Mr. Santasieri said. “They’re just happy to see it back.”
In recent weeks, pink and purple bougainvillea bloomed near storm-battered sea grape bushes and palm trees. Beachgoers with rosy shoulders carried bags of snacks past construction workers repairing roofs.
Some visitors came only after calling their hotels or their favorite haunts for assurance that they were open. Others had forgotten that the storms had even passed through.
“I wasn’t even thinking about it,” said Lubomira Paskaleva, a teacher visiting from Kansas City, as she walked along the beach in Treasure Island, seashells in hand. “Why wouldn’t we want to go?”
The owners of the Airbnb she was staying in appeared to be raising the house with more pilings, she said, but it did not detract from how beautiful the beaches were.
For many, the emotional and financial pain of navigating the hurricanes’ aftermath remains acute. John Messmore, who owns Sweet Sage Cafe in North Redington Beach, said that after the floodwaters of Hurricane Helene reached more than three feet inside, “everything was upside down and floating in salt water.”
He spent the next few months wrestling with all the paperwork needed to get a building permit. Hundreds of thousands of dollars were spent just to replace four 80-foot trees behind the cafe, let alone the furniture and supplies inside.
“It would have been much easier to turn around and walk away,” said Mr. Messmore, 81, wearing a hat with “Relax” embroidered in gold thread across the front. But, he added, “I just had to make sure it was put back together right.”
