The drive from Daytona was littered with all of the things that I was looking forward to getting away from by moving to the Bahamas: chain stores, giant shopping malls (that are somehow always crowded no matter what time of day or night), and Cracker Barrels. Yet, even though I was supposed to be navigating my way through foreign farmers markets in the Bahamas by now, and learning how to cook conch; the sights of what some may call America’s downfall were somehow comforting. Many months ago, as we approached our move date, I had made countless frantic shopping trips for all of the things that I was told I wouldn’t be able to find in the Bahamas. I realized now that a Target and a Chili’s within driving distance subconsciously pledged survival when moving to a new area.
It was the first time Bob had been in the car since our long trip down the coast so we wanted to get to Miami as fast as possible before he thought he was being carted back to New York, and started to panic (wouldn’t you?). When two hours into the drive we saw sirens in our rear-view, we realized we had probably made the wrong decision. As we pulled over three lanes, with that ever-present hope that this guy was just a jerk abusing power to pass, our hearts sank as he followed us to a complete stop. It didn’t make things any better when Bob decided that this was the appropriate time for his best Pitt Bull imitation and tried to attack the cop approaching the vehicle through the window I had just rolled down. Having to manhandle Bob while trying to grab the requested documents, all while sporting New York plates pretty much guaranteed us a ticket; and we were ready to take what came with no attempt at excuses. I was pleasantly surprised when God showed us an open door of opportunity. After scanning our documents, Bob had gone silent, just long enough for the officer to ask if New York was where we lived. Haha- well isn’t that a funny story? With a smile (and a comb-over) like Howdy Doody, the cop allowed us to tell our story which had previously been branded on us like a Scarlet Letter. We had told it so many times and I could tell by his eyes that he knew that. He never interrupted us, just folded up our documents and kindly sent them back through the window. He wished us the best as we traveled through Florida, told us to slow down for the rain that we’d encounter up ahead, and let us go. Our story was already beginning to change.
We arrived to the hotel on Collins Avenue in Miami in the afternoon, and after two trips from the nearby parking garage, we finally got settled into the small damp space. Because Bob’s alter ego is obviously Cujo, we needed a room close to the front, and only, door so as to minimize his run-ins with other four-legged hotel guests. Alternatively, he could hear everything that was going on at the front desk, and began to bark.
We were in Miami so Trav could take a meeting with a local group to discuss some potential Miami opportunities so he had to leave as soon as we arrived. This meant Bob, and the snooty Frenchman at the front desk, were now my problem. The front desk attendant had already looked down his long nose and condescendingly reminded me that dogs can’t be left unattended, so I figured even getting ice wasn’t worth the confrontation. I caught up on everything BRAVO while Trav had a typical Miami, and off-the-wall, meeting with a group in South Beach.
When he returned, I was starving and Bob was sleeping, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get out and scout our surroundings. I was thankful that the Frenchman’s shift was over as the lady replacing him at the front desk seemed like she’d be much more understanding of a couple of questioning barks that would be coming from the nearby door, when Bob woke up.
I had been to Miami before but only for about 12 hours of partying and I remember as much of that trip as anyone would who had been in Miami for 12 hours partying- nothing. We walked along Collins Avenue and Ocean Drive where hotels and restaurants lined the streets. Tourists filled the outdoor cafes and bars as scantily clad hostesses aggressively vied for passerby’s business. I was surprised that my first impression of Miami was that it was charmingly behind the times. When we had arrived to our hotel, I thought it was cute that it only had 12 rooms and had given it credit for what they had done with the small space. I thought we were making concessions since we had so few options traveling with a 90-lb dog; but that didn’t seem to be the case. Most of the hotels were just like ours: small, original frontage, and unknown names. Of course there is a Ritz, but that type of opulence didn’t seem to be the norm here.
As we walked down the streets at 7p, dressed for dinner, we noticed we were the only ones. I’ve spent many nights in Vegas but this is the capital of nightlife. Everyone was still in their bathing suits coming off the beach, ready for a nap, and weren’t even thinking about venturing out of their cave again till at least 11p or 12a. I felt old and tired and it was only night one.
We found a place we had read about called Tongue and Cheek and took a seat. It was a Tuesday and apparently “early” but after viewing the innovative menu, I was definitely surprised we were only one of three tables in the place. The food and cocktails were what we had been missing since leaving New York and in making sure to share this with our waiter, Carlos, we struck up a conversation regarding everything Miami as we once again spewed our branded saga. How else do we answer the questions of “do you guys live around here?”, “how long are you visiting for?”, “where are you headed after this?”. Like the locals in Daytona who always notice that we haven’t left, and the Cop with a crooked smile who decided against the ticket, Carlos was a new friend made by the telling of a crazy tale. Word spreads fast as we were soon dining on a sampling of amazing deserts, compliments of the Chef; wishing us well on our journey.
We returned to the room to find Bob where we had left him: taking up the entire queen-sized bed.
In having no idea where I want to live this salt life, I only know the things I don’t want to live without. One of them is the beach. So in our exploration of Miami, we grabbed the beach chairs out of our trunk (a requirement when living the salt life) and crossed Ocean Drive to check out South Beach. Like Long Beach back in NY, there is a bit of a slope from the sand down to the water, so everyone crams the water line since the people in the back lose their view. As I prefer personal space over perfect view, we sat back a little bit off the water and took in “the scene”. Also like Long Beach, we watched and waited for the space invaders to arrive. Every family that arrived, no matter how large, did not hesitate to create their own path through the sea of towels, kicking up sand in unexpecting faces, the entire way. With their arms full of countless coolers and water toys, they always proceeded to lay claim on any empty parcel of beach, even if it meant inadvertently sharing a beach towel with their neighbor. This was definitely not my ideal day at the beach, but as a visitor, it was quite entertaining.
The wave action was nil but the water was crystal clear and more beautiful than Daytona. Though due to the overcrowding of people, the wildlife always spotted in Daytona, was definitely missed.
We enjoyed the day lounging in the sun from our beach chairs and relaxed in the refreshing lake-like ocean until the growing storm came and chased us off the beach around 3p. I have always hated the rain. But here, I even watch the rain in amazement. It sounds kind of weird but I’m continuously intrigued at how “alive” Florida is. I’m constantly reminded that I’m not in control of my surroundings. Mother Nature does not mess around in these parts.
We ran in the rain to Wet Willie’s on Ocean Drive. If you’re not familiar, Wet Willies is an equally amazing and dangerous place. It’s the place where the previously mentioned 12-hours of partying in Miami appropriately commenced years ago, and is probably the reason I remember nothing after tasting my first ‘call a cab’. Known for its grain alcohol slushies, better described as the adult Slurpee, they are the perfect way to spend a rainy afternoon people-watching in Miami. While the cars and the G-strings of gay men competed for the shiniest award, I couldn’t get enough of the diversity in this microcosm. One of the things I had been most excited about when moving to the Bahamas was the never-ending cultural experiences. Miami would definitely be a cultural experience of its own kind and I loved it.
As we do, we sampled a few of the bars that lined Collins Ave before dinner. Not being able to taste our tacos, we realized we may have done a little too much sampling and headed back to the hotel.
The next morning we grabbed coffee and I invoiced from bed as we chatted about our Miami experience. We knew that Miami probably had the most opportunity for Trav to continue what he was doing in New York while still soaking up the sun year round, but we didn’t know if the Miami scene was for us. For the right opportunity, Miami offered enough of a salt life to give it a try. Though we know Miami won’t be our forever, it might be a lot of fun in the meantime.. We quickly (though no speeding) moved on to what a simpler life has to offer…
Go Pro video from the trip: https://vimeo.com/102043424
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