Miami Vice

Miami Beach is where neon goes to die.
--Lenny Bruce

Cold December weather (I know, its always cold in December…I’m one of those people who’s always shocked to realize its almost Thanksgiving or Christmas), both in New York and here, having taken its toll, me and my special lady friend decided New Year’s needed to happen somewhere warm. Though not in a foreign country (that ruled out Brownsville), and not in Hawaii.

So we headed to Miami Beach for five glorious days and nights basking in warm Atlantic breezes (actually it was a little chilly at night), savoring the eclectic mix of people who’d come to Miami from all over (Euro-trash, cashmere-wearing Stanford alums, Cubans, and Virginians who’d inexplicably missed the “Cops” auditions). And going to the Orange Bowl to watch Stanford put an ugly beatdown on Virginia Tech. Ah, its like a dream even now.

Miami hasn’t always had a good run in popular culture. Its reputation today no doubt arises from Miami Vice, Scarface, Cape Fear and news coverage of about 50,000 hurricanes. And the Cuban Boatlift. And as the party place for rappers, NBA stars, Kardashians, and coked-up supermodels and cable TV stars. But those stereotypes aren’t really so accurate.

Miami, like Dallas, is as much a state of mind as an actual municipal entity. The city of “Miami” is actually quite small; numerous other little municipalities with names you’ve probably heard of before surround it—Coral Gables, Coconut Grove, Miami Shores, Miami Gardens, Fontainebleau, Key Biscayne, and Miami Beach. The last of those is where we stayed, and is the specific area to which all the thong-wearing and cigarette smoking Euros, Crystal-swilling rappers, Telemundo stars, and in this case Orange Bowl fans, flocked. Formerly Jackie Gleason’s home turf, but I digress. Miami Beach, and specifically the southern part (imaginatively called “South Beach”) first got on the cultural map as a haven for northerners looking to escape the brutal cold that makes their grackle and black snow-ridden wasteland a perfect place to leave (think Jersey Shore without the charm). Lots of smallish hotels cropped up in South Beach during the 1920 and 30s, all in a distinctive Art Deco style. Lots of millionaires built mansions there. Remember in Some Like It Hot, when Sweet Sue and Her Society Syncopators were going to Florida to play a gig—they were going to Miami Beach and Sugar wanted to meet one of the millionaires. Larger and grander hotels later sprung up further north, such as the Fontainebleau and the Eden Roc. Lots of famous stars, including all the Rat Packers, frequented and performed in Miami Beach during the 50s and 60s (think Frank and Dino poolside at the Eden Roc, or Jackie Gleason’s weekly show at the Civic Auditorium). That scene in Goldfinger, where 007 seduces Goldfinger’s girlfriend (who eventually winds up covered in gold paint)? The exteriors were filmed at the Fontainebleau. But as times inevitably changed, the place lost its luster (no pun intended) in the 1970s and got a little seedy. Later in the 1980s, as Miami again hit the map during the cocaine running days, Miami Beach began to be reborn. In the usual pattern of urban revitalization, first the gay community moved in and started homesteading, followed by the drug lords, then everyone else eager to check out the resulting party scene. The big hotels underwent renovation, and others followed. The Art Deco hotels were declared a national historic district, so they were spared from being permanently turned into a forgettable stretch of crack houses, Hampton Inns and Waffle Houses. Everyone returned to South Beach to party, check out the beautiful people, and enjoy the abundant sun, surf, and shore.

Including me and my special lady friend.

12/30

We left town on the 30th and flew into Fort Lauderdale. It’s a much smaller, efficient airport, kind of like Hobby Airport vs. Bush Intercontinental. FLL, however, has a high concentration of 100-year-old Yankee refugees inching along with hide-like skin from excessive tanning, lugging around fur coats. We’d had some glimpse of this when we boarded our flight, what with the blue hairs taking their seats at glacial pace. This was so agonizingly slow that the normally reserved flight attendants had to implore these people to, you know, move it so we could actually leave that day. I momentarily thought zombies or boarding the plane (cause, you know, they move really slow), but sure enough, it was the Class of 1923. But you can fly direct to FLL from Austin. Flying directly into Miami forces you to stop in either Intercontinental or DFW (which in the latter case is sort of like traveling through Hell; though catching the connecting flight out of Hell is always pretty sweet, kind of like the elation of catching a spot on the landing skids of the last helicopter to leave the US Embassy in Saigon). Within fifteen minutes after leaving the airport, we hit the first of the numerous toll roads we would encounter throughout our stay. This place is Rick Perry’s version of Heaven. Private enterprise building all public infrastructure, and charging a per-use fee every time we use it. Within 30 minutes, we’d made it to South Beach.

Among the dozens of smallish South Beach hotels, we stumbled onto a real find at a work colleague’s recommendation —the Pelican Hotel. The fashion company Diesel owns the hotel and has really turned it into something unique. Literally. Every room featured its own theme design. Examples include Love, Peace and Leafforest, Psychedelic (ate) Girl, and Up, Up in the Sky. We stayed in Do the Vehicle, with furnishings resembling a mechanic’s shop: Industrial PVC-tube desk and nightstands, floodlights, walk-in shower, overhead shop fan, and shop light fixtures. The entire hotel is a fun place to stay. Two things really stood about the rooms. One is that you could actually see. Nearly every American hotel owner has decided that guests don’t really need light; by removing anything resembling an overhead light have turned nearly all American hotel rooms into mini-black holes. Not the Pelican. Four floodlights on a dimmer switch lit the room like a runway. The other is the shower, which had a discernible water flow beyond the melting ice drip found in most hotels. In contrast to most hotels’race against airlines to see which can best torture their guests and cut the most creature comforts, the Pelican provides very livable space. Its very reasonably priced, convenient, and fun. Two curmudgeonly thumbs up.

After settling in and establishing our bearings, we walked up Ocean Drive (more on that later) to the Lincoln Road pedestrian mall for a very late lunch/early dinner. So we went to the Van Dyke Cafe, in a cool old stone building (why anyone would build a stone building in Miami Beach is beyond me), where we sat on the patio and people-watched as darkness fell. Our day’s diet of power bars, nuts, and seeds had caught up to us…well, me. The Lincoln Road mall is a several block outdoor stretch of trendy restaurants, kitschy shops, at least three Starbuck’s and lots of people-watching. And what people watching. Obnoxiously over-designered euros, tight t-shirted men walking pocket dogs and their boy toys, Billy Ray Cyrus Fan Club members obviously in to cheer on Virginia Tech, cardigan wearing-Marin County hot-tubbers in for Stanford, and Telemundo wannabees spending their time thinking of ways to get past the rope at LIV. Pretty much the Human Comedy walking right past our table as night fell. We enjoyed the show while dining on grilled calamari, sesame tuna, and sautéed spinach.

We were pretty tired from the flight and drive, and fell asleep watching the Tennessee-North Carolina bowl game (a/k/a the “Music City Bowl”…see prior post on the bowls). Eventually, however, we got hungry again, and by that, I mean that I got hungry again. We walked to the end of the block to News Café where we had a delightful omelet breakfast, which really hit the spot. At around 11 p.m. Thanks Phil and Marcy McNutt (of the Humble McNutts) for teaching me the joys of late night breakfasts. No, you don’t want the details. But this night, we were so tired that school cafeteria chicken fried steak would have seemed like French Laundry.

12/31

Its New Year’s Eve! Time to sleep late. When we finally managed to extract ourselves out of the hotel to workout on the beach, a la ESPN’s “Body Shaping” but less spandexy (I know, a little too bourgeois, but would you rather work out in some mid-priced Hilton Hotel fitness center or right on Miami Beach?), we saw that the “authorities” had closed Ocean Drive to vehicular traffic. Donte Stallworth thinks that’s about a year too late (too soon? Ok). It was a little overcast, but 75 degrees on the beach on December 31st while everyone back home is shivering? Yes please! So we contented ourselves doing body weight exercises provided by my excellent personal trainer, Kirby Sams, perfectly suited for vacation training. After making our way back to the hotel across Ocean Drive, through the hordes of euros, hillbillies, and thonged-up man-huggers, we cleaned up and headed over to Española Way for lunch at Tapas y Tintos, a Spanish restaurant featuring excellent tapas. Which I guess the name would imply. We feasted on a number of treats, including manchego, calamari, other shellfish, and mushrooms. We enjoyed it, though surprisingly the place has received some bad reviews. Maybe we had a better experience because we went after the lunch rush. Española Way is a pretty interesting place. It’s about a two or three block stretch of some mildly touristy restaurants and shops with a latin/Hispanic theme. Its closed to vehicle traffic, and kind of a quiet oasis in the South Beach maelstrom.

From there we headed back to the hotel to change and go visit the Fontainebleau and Eden Roc hotels further up the island. These two hotels were developed in the 1950s to draw in the rich and famous of their time. After recent renovations and expansions, the Fontainebleau now consists of several buildings, with extensive room space (1,500 rooms) along with restaurants, pools, a spa, night clubs and bars. Lowest room rates are around $500 a night. It very much resembles a Las Vegas hotel (the Fontainebleau actually operates a hotel in Vegas as well). This is the kind of place people like J. Lo or Puff Daddy go to cut loose, and see and be seen. As we toured the place, they had roped off the pool area to prepare for the mega-New Year’s Eve bash. Three stages with music. Minimum ticket price $500. The Fontainebleau’s next door neighbor, the Eden Roc, is where the stars actually stay, for something a little more tranquil. Frank may have performed at the Fontainebleau, but he stayed at the Eden Roc. Its where the Ricardos and the Mertzes stayed on the I Love Lucy show when they came to town too. The Eden Roc was originally designed by the same architect that designed the Fontainebleau, hired by one of the Fontainebleau’s original partners who fell out with his other partners. Bitter recriminations followed, leading to the Fontainebleau adding a 14 story tower to block sunlight to the Eden Roc’s pool. Because all the windows were facing away from the Eden Roc, the Eden Roc’s guests got to enjoy a view of a huge white concrete wall. Read about it here. A landmark legal decision followed, in which the Florida courts found that no implied easements exist for sunlight, such that the Eden Roc was screwed. The Eden Roc also has been renovated, and expanded. It’s the same luxury level as the Fontainebleau (it too has spas, restaurants and shops), but infinitely cozier and friendlier. Less attitude.

After touring these hotels, we then got ready for the New Year’s Eve fiesta. We didn’t make reservations til late (my advance planning skills once again manage to hold back the vacation fun), but still enjoyed a fine dinner at the W Hotel, Soleá Restaurant. As we finished a bit early, we went back to our hotel to experience Ocean Drive. The police had closed the street to vehicle traffic, so foot traffic that normally squeezed itself onto the sidewalks, competing for space with outdoor restaurants, spilled out into the street. What a freak show. Every kind of bizarre, oddball weirdo you can think of was there, representing. And Virginia Tech fans. It was like…Austin. Ocean Drive is the heart of South Beach, a promenade of posing. More than one exotic car rental establishment serves the area, such that you often see people driving by in Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Aston Martins and the like, who rather obviously don’t have the means to own one. Or are rappers. Or criminal defense attorneys maxing out their credit cards. Sometimes its hard to tell the difference. People walk, skate, roller blade, jog, bike, skateboard, and cruise up and down the promenade all day and night, checking out all the other people, watching the beach volleyball players, and soaking in the warm sun and ocean breezes. As they get their freak on. Though Ocean Drive is a strange place, its not unsafe or disgusting. Think Bourbon Street, but replace the bars with restaurants, and the falling down drunk conventioneers and bachelorette parties with gays, European tourists, and Orange Bowl fans. Our own hotel was hosting a space-themed New Year’s party, replete with waiters wearing faux Star Trek uniforms, green lit fog machine, and four exotically beautiful dancing space beauties with crazy hair. We attended for a bit, and at midnight were there to watch the fireworks out over the ocean. Quite a nice way to ring in the New Year, at an outdoor space party under palm trees, without suffering in freezing weather. Suck it Times Square.

1/1

As usual, this was destined to be a slower day than New Year’s Eve, though we saw a lot of Miami proper. After sleeping late, we headed to the beach for a six mile run. It took us to South Pointe Park at the very southern tip of Miami Beach, and back north as far as the end of Ocean Drive. Not too many people were out, but more than you’d think on this very sunny and warm New Year’s Day. After recovering and getting cleaned up, we walked back toward the Lincoln Road pedestrian mall for a late lunch at Grillfish. This great little Italian-influenced seafood place was just the spot. The day had warmed up considerably and it was downright hot as we were walking toward Lincoln Road. Rather than dining outside, we ducked into Grillfish to enjoy the nice air conditioning (global warming be damned…air conditioning is one of the greatest inventions ever). There we watched the epic Florida vs. Penn State Outback Bowl matchup. By that I mean it was just football to watch. I had an excellent arugula/pecan/goat cheese salad, followed by grilled snapper. After walking around and exploring a little more of South Beach that afternoon, we got dressed and climbed into the rent-mobile to visit Miami proper.

We hit some spots I’d been to before. First off was Coral Gables, home to the University of Miami. In many places, Coral Gables resembles West University or University Park. We were losing daylight though, and because, as previously reported, the U’s campus resembles a Stalingrad housing block, we headed over to Coconut Grove. This is an oasis, nestled between Murderville to the west, and expensive mansions fronting the water just to the east. It features a three or four block area of trendy shops, restaurants and clubs, and we settled at Green Street Cafe for dinner on the patio and to watch the second half of the TCU vs. Washington Rose Bowl. How delightful was it to watch the “Sisters of the Poor,” as that idiot President of Ohio State called them, take down the Big 10 champion? Wisconsin, by the way, beat Ohio State this year. Its absolutely ridiculous that TCU can’t get in the Big 12. One hears that its Baylor’s fault; Baylor wants to be the sole religious university in the conference. Isn’t it about time we dropped those losers? Talk about the tail wagging the dog. Anyway, Green Street had a bar feeling, with patio outdoor seating, sofa chairs, and a very long outdoor bar. Yet it also had a full menu, and I enjoyed a really great duck breast salad while watching the game. The place was packed, which was quite surprising for New Year’s night. Lots of others jammed other restaurants and bars in the vicinity, most watching the Heat game. Word is that Miami is in love with the Heatles, as LBJ so ridiculously put it.

We wallowed out of there and then toured the famous Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables. This place was the height of opulence in the 1920s, built on what at the time was a vacant prairie. After falling into disrepair in the 1970s and after narrowly escaping the wrecking ball, the city condemned the property and entered into a public-private partnership to renovate the place. Happily, they preserved the hotel, and its magnificent Spanish architecture. We arrived as someone was holding a black tie wedding. Featuring a golf course, several excellent bars and restaurants, a deluxe spa and workout facility, a pool which at one time was the world’s largest, and incredible furnishings, this place is the height of authentic elegance. Not the modern-day manufactured Ritz Carlton variety. Photos of Presidential visits, and those of other A-list celebrities (including Al Capone), lined the halls. You wouldn’t normally think of New Year’s Day as a convenient day for a wedding, but I guess lots of people are already off and can more readily travel. I guess it makes it easier to remember your anniversary too. The seeming choice of gangsta rap for the dance portion of the reception seemed a little off. The sight of Great Aunt Mildred enduring Ludicrus’ throbbing bass beats while complaining about her bunions must have made for quite a jarring scene.

1/2

Another subdued day. Today we slept in late, again (definitely catching up on some lost sleep). Once again, it’s a really fantastic day, with mid-70s temps, warm breezes, and a really soft sky. We hit the “News” for breakfast again, this time encountering a fairly strange older waiter from, you got it, Odessa, Texas. Though he started off as sort of dismissive of us, he gradually warmed up when we mentioned that we were from Austin. He used to go to UT, and delighted in showing us his longhorn belt buckle. He regaled us with tales of living in Austin during the 1970s and 80s, as well tending bar in Galveston. He came to Miami to follow a woman, who broke his heart. Been there with you pal…been there.

From there we went back into town proper for some science. That’s right. Specifically, we went to “Monkey Jungle.” No, this isn’t a gay disco. Its a privately run nature preserve, basically chock full of monkeys. Unfortunately, its pretty far from Miami Beach, and you have to go through West Murderville to get there (“Murderville,” as we saw yesterday, is closer in town). Monkey Jungle was more fun that a barrel of same. They feature a fully grown male gorilla, King, who was incredibly strong, demonstrating it a couple of times. Poor thing had been rescued from a circus which had removed his front teeth. This failing made it impossible for the park to provide him a mate, as all other females paired with him have rejected him, they suspect, because his lack of teeth made him appear unsuitable. Or maybe he just lacks game. Without these teeth, he can’t protect himself either, so they can’t allow him to be around any other gorillas. Very sad, but at least he lives in something resembling a natural environment. Monkey Jungle also features Maya, a female orangutan. Maya can communicate through signs with the trainers; we were assured that orangutans have quite high intelligence, and demonstrated this by following commands, fashioning crude instruments to do work, and responding to incentives. Quite impressive; I’ve known plenty of people incapable of mastering these skills. The rest of Monkey Jungle featured hundreds of monkeys. People walked about the grounds through caged-in walkways, while the monkeys swung overhead. Here, the people are in cages, not the animals. The park also features a great many parrots and other tropical birds. Their songs no doubt make the monkeys feel more at home. Notably, while there were tons of little kids (urchins really), most were totally unruly and completely ignored the trainers’ requests not to throw food at the monkeys or to be very quiet around King. For the most part, these kids enjoyed playing with the bark mulch more than looking at the monkeys. Which just goes to show, there’s no point in taking little kids on expensive trips to places like Epcot or Space Center. Just set up a big box in the front yard for them to crawl around in. They’ll think it’s Shangri-La.

After spending much of the afternoon at Monkey Jungle, we headed back into town proper, arriving at David Kennedy Park on Bayshore Drive. It was an incredibly beautiful late Miami afternoon as near sunset. Hundreds of people with their kids and dogs filled the park, enjoying the weather. The Park fronts against Biscayne Bay, and has a trail leading right down to the water. We saw a couple of small alligators, which kind of freaks me out that people thought nothing of bringing their kids to the park right near a bunch of alligators, but I guess that’s Florida for you. I’d have called the cops personally. Anyhow, Kennedy Park was full of palm trees, open fields, a dog run, exercise equipment, and an awesomely soft, rubber walking/jogging trail the likes of which I’d never seen.

Famished, we went from there to Little Havana to eat at the famous Café Versailles. Recommended by a client’s employee who lives in Miami, this was the real thing, with lots of neighborhood residents packing the place at 5:15 on Sunday evening. Few tourists were in evidence. I had a really good paella, while my special lady friend had shrimp creole. Mine wasn’t as good as the incredible paella we had at Sevilla Restaurant in the Village (frankly, that’s one of the best meals I’ve ever had), but it was quite good nonetheless. And as it was a holiday, if you know me you what that means: that’s right, it was a designated dessert day. I plunged headfirst into a very tasty caramel flan. Smack, smack, smack....

1/3

Today was THE day as far as I was concerned—time for the Orange Bowl. But first up, after breakfast at the News, was a visit to the Miami Seaquarium, on Virginia Island (via another toll road) to “swim with the dolphins.” This is a fantastic wildlife park, dedicated to sea life. They have alligators, crocodiles, sea lions, manatees, sharks, dolphins, manta rays…pretty much all the denizens of the deep (except for Sponge Bob). The lure was the chance to get in a really large salt water dolphin tank while wearing a wet suit (50 degrees, thanks for the chance to freeze my nether regions), and inspect the dolphins first hand. Seaquarium has an extensive dolphin research program, and the trainers work with the dolphins to research their habits and response to humans. They’ve made lots of progress in communicating with dolphins. From our standpoint, the highlight of the trip was getting to grab a dolphin’s dorsal fin, and ride along with it from one end of the tank to the other. Sort of like being on a Flipper episode. Fun fact, they filmed parts of Flipper at Seaquarium. After riding the dolphins, we took in the “killer whale” show. Think of the scene in Analyze This, with the killer whale/orca splashing everyone in the first few rows. It was about a 20 minute show, with the orca and other trained dolphins performing all kinds of really cool leaps, flips, and jumps. We got a little splashed, but enjoyed the show. Curiously I had a real hankering for fish sticks.

We had to cut the visit a bit short though because I had to be on a conference call, so we headed back to South Beach to get ready, incredibly early, for the Orange Bowl. Miami has torn down the old Orange Bowl stadium, the one that hosted all those Super Bowls, Orange Bowls, and Dolphins games you saw all those years. It was pretty much in a combat zone and lacked parking, but it was also pretty close in to town. You could take a shuttle bus to the stadium. The Orange Bowl is now played in whatever Joe Robbie Stadium is called (“Sun Life Stadium” I think). Its out in East Jesus (some place called Miami Gardens), closer to Fort Lauderdale than Miami. If you can use the express lane toll road, its about a 45 minute drive at rush hour. Upon arriving, we mixed in with the Stanford crowd, many of whom were on their way to the “Orange Bowl Experience,” which was basically a corporate sponsored amusement zone. Payment of a $25 entry fee would get you in. Having gotten there dork early we were tempted to go, but instead just walked around the stadium until they started letting people in at 6. As we observed on South Beach, the two fan bases couldn’t be more different. The Stanford crowd resembled a gathering of bank presidents and anesthesiologists just back from the Pebble Beach pro shop after having drinks with Bing and Arnie. The Virginia Tech fans looked like they own a jet ski rental stand on the Rappahannock and just got back from three for one wings night at Hooters. Balding men in hideously orange Orange Bowl sports coats were roaming around all over the place. These basically are car dealers, oral surgeons and lawyers serving on what amounts to another Chamber of Commerce-type organization where they get to travel to see prospective teams, which means sponge up lots of free booze and chicken wings. These guys’ ability to protect their annual gravy train make up a big part of why we can’t have a college playoff.

Sun Life Stadium is nothing special. Whether today or 30 years ago, this place would always have seemed like just another generic stadium. Particularly now, with modern football palaces like Cowboys Stadium, Reliant Stadium, and the University of Phoenix Stadium (who are they kidding? Its still correspondence courses. Anything you can do while wearing boxer shorts and lying on the couch does not qualify as a university education) have far outclassed it. Even remodeled DKR Memorial Stadium at UT leaves it behind. No jumbo screen, minimal suites, no club level, no restaurant vendors, and no kid amusement zone all combine to make this place relatively ho hum in this day and age. The chairs, though, are fairly comfortable and have nice sight lines. One particularly irritating thing, which Sun Life is by no means the only stadium guilty of, is playing incessant loud music at all times when there’s not an actual play happening. That may be ok for pro games, but it totally ruins the college atmosphere. Specifically, it drowns out the band, cheerleaders, and crowd cheers (imagine not being able to participate in “TEXAS…FIGHT!” or “BOOMER…SOONER” or “WOOOOOOOOOO….PIG…SOOEY” because the PA has Axl Rose playing at about 200 decibels). The cowbells, and the bands and cheerleaders and the cheers are what makes college football what it is. Turning it into the NFL (or WWE) can only hurt the product.

The game was quite the spectacle. From our seats in the lower section on about the 10 yard line, we were able to take in a local celebrity 14 year old girl wearing some sort of Quincieniera dress as she sang Proud To Be An American. Some bald guy twice her age wearing an Orange Bowl sports coat stood uncomfortably close by, lecherously looking on as her “escort.” I’ve seen frat guys at Saturday night keg parties with less dishonorable looks. Nothing like getting the game started with some good old fashioned creepiness. Rather than the tired old Air Force fighter fly by, we were instead treated to five Air Force parachutists each landing on the field just before kickoff. And the Goodyear Blimp. The real Goodyear Blimp.

The first half was pretty close. Halftime score was Stanford 13, Virginia Tech 12. Then for halftime, rather than hearing from either of the school’s bands, we were treated to the Goo Goo Dolls. Or rather, half the stadium (not our half) was treated to the Goo Goo Dolls. The other half heard the songs, but couldn’t see the show. Why they didn’t set up the stadium like countless bands do when they play stadium shows, with the stage in one end zone, was not immediately apparent. The show, by the way, appeared to feature about 500 teenage girls dressed in some sort of aluminum foil Star Trek-esque mini dresses, gyrating, bending over, and doing Happy Hands Club routines from Napoleon Dynamite at odd times in accompaniment. I never quite figured out what was going on there. But I’m sure the kid who sang Proud To Be An American was down there somewhere. Somewhere, Al Edwards was screaming “NOOOOOOO!!!!”

The second half became a blowout. Stanford found huge gaps in the Virginia Tech defensive line and ripped off huge runs. Towards the end, Andrew Luck was heaving 40 and 50 yard touchdown passes left and right. Stanford’s smaller but quicker defensive line was able to stuff the run, and harassed accomplished quarterback Tyrod Taylor mercilessly. It looked like Virginia Tech opened up a big old can of quit in the fourth quarter. Its fans, who’d screamed incessantly during the first half, headed back to their covered wagons early, leaving the stadium nearly deserted by game’s end.

We stayed til the end of course, just to enjoy the spectacle. We made it out of the parking lot relatively easily, then back to South Beach around 1 a.m. for an early, early breakfast at Jerry’s Famous Deli. We then completely crashed for the night.

1/4

That pretty much ends the story. We woke up and packed, then ate lunch at Maya’s Tapas at the Lincoln Road pedestrian mall before driving back to the airport to go home. For lack of a better word, it was just ok. Nothing to compare to the better meal at Tapas Y Tintos.

One final word about Miami. The drivers are horrible. They dart in and out of traffic. They ride their horns. They tailgate. They drift in and out of lanes. They drive extremely fast. I thought Dallas drivers were bad, but Miami drivers are very bad. No doubt that reflects the high population of Yankees who drive the streets. If you drive in Miami, be prepared for treating it like a cab ride from SoHo to the Upper West Side.