I've been here many times over the years. While the reasons have changed, the level of fun hasn't. There's always locals hanging around and everyone is friendly & Â helpful.
The last time I stopped in the bartender offered my dog some water & a bone while I sat on the outside deck to enjoy the spring afternoon. There were parachuted to watch drop from the sky, so we were in no hurry.
The owner has always been smiling & willing to help out a weary traveler. I Rarely pass thru Palatka without stopping in for at least one drink.
If you don't do anything but pop in to see the hand painted walls... and these aren't murals folks, they're meticulously hand painted bamboo walls... really cool. Stop in to see those and make sure you visit the restrooms... have a beer while you're there. And if you're travelling with Fido, bring him in too (around back, of course).
Owned by a racist, homophobic, (probably limp-dicked) redneck.
I was so gonna give you madd props High Level... That is until you up and threw out my buddy on some mistaken identity bullshit.
It was the night before my birthday, and I was stuck in middle of nowhere Florida, for work. My options were slim, (unlike most of the locals) plus all the people I worked with were going to High-Level and it was right beside our hotel, so I figured WTF.
The place was kind of divey, which I like, and they had a dance floor; unfortunately, they didn't have the music to match the floor. We grabbed a couple of beers (selection extremely limited) and headed out back to the fire pit. I love fire, and the fact that this spot had a huge bonfire was a big plus for me. All things were going well, and we were having a really good time, until...
We went back to the bar for a refill and the bartender hooked us up with some jello shooters (apparently a big deal in Palatka) which we graciously accepted. I went off to the restroom and when I returned, my friend was being heckled by some little old, grey-haired man, behind the bar.
"Come over here!" he yelled at my friend.
He obliged and began to follow the man around the bar to the inside. I asked one of the other guys in our crew what had happened and if my friend did anything to provoke this situation. The guy was befuddled and couldn't articulate an answer, so I left him to follow my friend; someone needed to have his back.
I brushed passed the burly security guys just in time to hear the old man tell them to get my friend out of there. My friend kept saying "It wasn't me, man. I didn't say it." But it mattered none, as we were escorted out.
I asked my buddy what had transpired and he quickly told me that they were standing at the bar, when the little old man came in and starting yelling at the bartender, then walked out. He came back and continued chastising the bartender, when a guy beside him yelled out-
"Don't listen to that limp-dicked MF'er."
That insult must've hit a nerve and was a little too close home for this guy, because that's when the old man turned, looked at my friend, and told him to get out.
The old guy kept yelling vulgar remarks at the two of us upon exit. We put up no fight, nor argument toward the security guards, and they seemed rather sympathetic, as I suspect this happens quite often.
"You fucking wetback!" he yelled at my mexican compadre then he continued. "We don't want any faggots in here anyways, get off my property."
I guess if you wear a shirt that is actually your size and not three sizes too big, your a homo; my bad. So I began to yell back at the old fuck:
"You limp-dicked old man, we didn't want to be in your shithole (no homo) anyways . Now you'll never be able to afford that viagra prescription, you homophobic fuck." He was fuming and frothing as he yelled back at us, while a few of the bouncers chuckled behind him. This went on for another minute or so while we made our way off the grounds.
So, in summary: fuck Low-Level Lounge!
If you want someplace to go, check out Putnam Lanes across the street.