I don’t know how people go to places back-to-back and see and do loads of things. I can’t.
I had a feeling I was pushing it by doing England—Naples—Sorrento—back to Naples—London 24-hour stopover—land in Miami Beach over 10 days.
I loved the Italy leg (and feel I should write another blog about Italy rather than my loves/lessons), but it kind of churched, museumed, and street-walked me out. London was a quick hoof into the city and a comfy bed in the Hampton Hotel right in the terminal. Sooooo convenient, and I highly recommend it. You can check your case in, get your boarding pass and go back for breakfast.
FYI, if you’re flying into America on an ESTA, you need a flight out, and MEXICO DOES NOT COUNT! What? I know, right? I had to book a random, refundable flight to Guatemala at the desk for them to check me in. While the credit card was out, I thought, what the hell, and booked an upgrade. They had so many premium seats spare that she blocked me the entirety of row 1. Well worth it.
I landed in Miami and grabbed a yellow cab to Miami Beach, 20 minutes from the airport. We pulled up outside the aqua-striped Art Deco apartment block with Indian Creek running one side and the beach the block behind. Perfect. The weather was a glorious 32 (but felt like 43, according to CNN) with 80% humidity.
My little studio was the perfect size to sleep in and go out and about, but it felt pretty restrictive because I couldn’t open windows because of the heat/air con situation. I’m like a caged animal when I don’t have a balcony, or I can’t have the windows open. On night one, I cranked up the aircon without knowing I needed to put the dehumidifier on. I woke up feeling fluey, like COVID, with the familiar scratchy throat and wheeze. I tested, but it wasn’t, thank god.
This meant I had to surrender—to feeling fatigued and out of sorts, to ‘just be’ in Miami rather than ‘do’ Miami. My wise friend, Scott, said, “Honey, it’s been an emotional ride in England; you’ve been with many people, so spend time on your own now. Ground and come back to yourself.”
So that’s what I did. I lay around watching Kamala Harris on CNN, feeling like there’s some hope in the world. I watched Netflix. I lay on the beach, used the ResortPass app to book days by the pool at a nearby hotel, and ate in cafes and restaurants within walking distance. I balked at the appalling exchange rate, which meant a poke bowl was $35AUD, a smoothie was $28, and a meal in a restaurant (a starter, side salad and dessert on treat night came to $70).
I tried to write but found it too hard with the fuzzy head. I did my usual trick of heaving my 15” MacBook Air around (Apple, there is nothing ‘air’ about this model) just in case inspiration hit me in the face while I was out and about for the day. I did make it to the public library on a rainy day and did a bit. I was so distracted by the homeless folk using computers, taking showers and drying towels on chairs whilst the policewoman walked up and down the central aisle that I didn’t get much done.
Speaking of rain, the outer edge of Tropical Storm Debby shimmied by our side of Florida. She brought wind that meant umbrellas couldn't protect you on the beach (there were lots of sunburnt people), thick clouds and dumped rain so hard the drains overflowed, and I had to paddle home. I was feeling a bit brighter by this point, so I made it to the only museum I could be bothered to see…the erotic one. I spent an afternoon looking at enormous penises and vulvas of every shape imaginable, some dating back to 300 BC. Some were original Picasso and Dali. A Jewish lady, Naomi Wilzig, curated the collection, and it’s also a library, research centre, and educational institution dedicated to the history of fine erotic art. I think I found my niche interest!
That’s it. That’s all I did. I walked up and down Mid and South Beach, taking the free trolleys when I got tired, or it lashed it down; I ate yummy food (a load of healthy stuff and the occasional dessert), watched TV, and got a great tan.
By the check-out time, I was done with either sweating my swoops off (sweaty boobs) or being freezing in the studio box, and I couldn’t wait to unpack and settle back in San Pancho. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVED Miami Beach and would go back in a heartbeat, just with more energy and time to do justice for both the beach and the city suburbs. I’ll be back.
It's time to hit ‘publish’ after literally pouring this out in one shot. You’re welcome. Thanks for being here. 💋