Above Photo: New Year’s Eve 2017 – The Rusty Pelican, Key Biscayne

In Winter 2017/18 I ventured down south Miami way, to spend a month or so – my first time in The Magic City. The prior winter I bypassed Miami en route to Key West, planning to get back there “someday.”

Someday came in the form of an invitation from Martha, blog follower now friend, whom you may recall invited me last summer to Eastport, Maine, where she and her husband Julio have a cottage.

“You know, I’m from Cuba, and I’ve lived in Miami most of my life; you should come for a visit and let me show you around.” Who in her right mind could refuse such a generous offer?

I knew I was going to like Miami. After all, it was founded by a woman. Julia Tuttle arrived when Miami was little more than swamp land. She tried in vain for years to convince Henry Flagler to build his railroad that far south. After the Great Freeze of 1894, when Florida’s citrus crop north of Miami was destroyed, she sent a bouquet of orange blossoms to Henry Flagler, and he obliged.

A Bargain In Miami

Martha extended the invitation in August; right away I made reservations at Larry and Penny Thompson Park, south of downtown Miami.

Named for Miami Herald humorist Larry Thompson (1911-1973) and his wife Penny, it is a seasonal favorite for snowbirds and full-time RVers; I was lucky to get a space in December and part of January. Having wintered on the West Coast and become accustomed to monthly rates with four figures, I was quite pleased with the Larry and Penny Thompson rate of $565.

In honor of its namesake, clippings of Thompson’s columns can be borrowed from the camp office. I opted for the “camping“ binder, chuckling for three nights as I read about the Thompson family adventures and misadventures in a station wagon towing a small trailer around the country.

Written in the 1960’s, the pieces are just as funny and fresh as they were then, mirroring many of the experiences (nosy campsite neighbors, fish out of water tales, fighting rain and wind) I have camping today.

The park is set up in pods, and campers   return each year to the same campsites, many for 20 years or more. My neighbor Barbara was just getting her solo sea legs, camping alone for the first time since her husband‘s death. She was so warm and welcoming, making sure I was aware of the various activities around the park, including water aerobics at the pool, and bingo. On the day I left she told me that seeing me do it on my own gave her the courage to do the same. My heart swelled.

I could not have been more impressed with the park staff and facilities, especially for a county-run park. Yay, Miami-Dade! Office staff remembered my name. A park employee took care of the animals on my long sightseeing days. Bathrooms and laundry facilities were plentiful and clean. The park abuts the zoo, and from time to time the sound of monkeys calling to each other in the trees wafted across the distance in the wind.

Sometimes Being The Best Is Not A Good Thing

I consider conversation about traffic congestion to be so banal, so bear with me a sec while I grouse about Miami gridlock. The campground, 25 miles from downtown Miami, was closer drive-time wise to Key Largo than Bayfront Park.

INRIX recently tallied the traffic in 1,360 metropolitan areas in the world. Miami ranked tenth. In the world. (Just in case you were wondering, Miami is sixth in the United States for worst traffic.)

With all the logjam comes a new level of impatience, selfishness, and immaturity in the driving public. A signal to change lanes is an invitation for the vehicle in the adjacent lane to speed up and thwart the merge, then camp alongside for miles. At traffic lights, with seeming disregard and/or lack of basic understanding of the laws of physics, reaction times, and eye/hand/foot coordination, motorists behind you lay on the horn, IMMEDIATELY, when a light turns green, especially if they are more than 10 vehicles back.

One would hope for good public transportation, but it is lacking in Miami. Metrorail does not provide enough coverage; the line does not continue south beyond Dadeland Mall, and there is no east/west route to speak of. Metromover, a free, elevated electric train, runs only 4.4 miles in the downtown core. Free trolleys are available in some of the neighborhoods like Miami Beach and Coral Gables, if you can get there to begin with. (I admit I did not try the buses; they were confusing.)

My system for getting around the city depended on the day of the week and time of day. On weekdays I drove 25 minutes to the nearest Metrorail station, taking the train into town – an investment of over an hour and $10 for parking and the train pass. To Martha’s house or dinner during rush hour, I avoided the freeways altogether, driving 100 blocks on surface streets (easier to do than it sounds, as Miami was platted on a grid, and streets are straight and long). On Sundays, I drove everywhere! Sunday became my favorite day in Miami.

Lyft and Uber make it simple to navigate Miami, once you’re in the city. I called a car several times to make my way across the causeways to Miami Beach. Since I’m never in much of a hurry, I like Lyft Line, a less expensive option that will pick up and drop off people along the way to your destination. Ridesharing puts your finger on the pulse of a community, especially its young people. Even though it was almost 80 degrees outside, many of the young adults wore winter clothing, including sweaters and knit caps. (Stores were full of warm, four-season wear.)

This young man assumed I would prefer to listen to something other than club music, so he changed the song to, wait for it …

John Denver’s “Leaving On A Jet Plane.”

Ouch. I do love John Denver, and I do love that song. But, still.

The Beat Goes On

There are half a million people in Miami proper, and another five million in the metro area. Sixty-five percent speak Spanish as their primary language, but don’t assume they’re all Cuban; I met people from Columbia, Nicaragua, and Venezuela, por ejemplo. The traffic may move slowly, but life is fast, and passionate. Music blares from almost every window and door. People sell various goods and sundries car-to-car at traffic lights. Many women wear their ropa bright and tight. (At Goodwill an entire aisle in the shoe department was stocked with animal print high heels.) Many men wear cologne, and more jewelry than the basic ring or earring.

On a trolley in Miami Beach, a woman using a wheelchair strap for a seatbelt inserted herself into every conversation around her. When another passenger asked the driver several questions about the schedule and upcoming stops, the woman interjected that the trolley was not a limousine, and perhaps the inquisitive passenger should be quiet and let him drive. Another woman retorted that she agreed – the trolley was in fact not a limousine, the woman with questions should ask as many as she pleased, and strap woman should mind her own business. At that point the entire car of seven or so women erupted in opinions and recriminations, all in Spanish. At the next stop, two man stepped into the cacophony, glancing at each other and then at the driver, eye rolling and shrugging their shoulders.

My Heart Is In Havana

Since Fidel Castro’s rise to power in 1959, the history and fate of Miami is inextricably intertwined with the history and fate of the Cuban people. From 1962 to 1974, the federal government leased a building vacated by a Miami newspaper to process tens of thousands of Cuban exiles.

Known by Cubans as “El Refugio,” it has been called “The Ellis Island of the South,“ but it is most commonly known as the Freedom Tower. It is on the National Register of Historic Places.

Martha’s family story is hers to tell. Suffice it to say, I was inspired and uplifted by her mother’s courage, on her own with two children in the United States, four long years without her husband. The family was eventually reunited, Martha’s father was a well-respected OB/GYN in Miami, and both her parents lived out their days there.

Cuban exiles created a new community along Eighth Street, Calle Ocho, in Miami, in what is now known as Little Havana.

Versailles Restaurant, opened in 1972, became the center of Cuban politics. To this day politicians stump there, and journalists train their cameras on its patrons for comments on historic days, like the day Castro died.

It was such a treat to eat my way through Miami with Cuban Americans. Martha and Julio introduced me to places and foods a gringa like me would probably never have tried on my own, from Cuban to authentic Spanish cuisine. There were Pastelitos – perfect little flaky pastries, for breakfast, and Cafe Con Leche to wash it all down. Croquetas de Jamon. Rice and beans and plaintains I knew, but I fell in love with Vaca Frita, and Boniato Relleno con Tasajo. Tasajo is salted shredded beef, with red peppers, onions and Cuban seasoning, served over Boniato – a white sweet potato, boiled, peeled, and lightly breaded and fried. Can you believe I didn’t take a photo of it? I must have been enjoying it too much to pause.

Martha’s neighbor supplied us with Coquito, a Puerto Rican holiday drink similar to eggnog without the egg – a dangerous little rum cocktail indeed. One evening with her brother Luis we went to a café with live music, where singers crooned traditional Cuban tunes to the delight of the audience, who stood and applauded in the middle of the song. Luis is a well-known, respected and talented musician who showered me with his CDs – a generous and charming man.

Awash In A Sea Of Art Deco

If I could afford to live in Miami Beach, I would. Mostly mob money built the Art Deco buildings you see today, which were in a grave state of disrepair until practically the 1990s. Now, Art Deco is en vogue, and Miami Beach has the highest concentration of art deco buildings in the world. In. The. World. I purchased the two day, hop-on/hop-off bus ticket and enjoyed the architecture from atop a double-decker bus, then returned for a walking tour a few days later.

No trip to Miami Beach is complete without stopping at Joe’s Stone Crab, in South Beach since 1913.

Not only is stone crab delicious, it is a renewable resource. A single claw is removed, and the crab is thrown back, one fighting claw intact, so it may regenerate another. Clever! From Joe’s, it’s just a short walk to the iconic South Beach facades we’ve all seen so many times in art, fashion, and entertainment.

It’s not all Art Deco in Miami Beach. The 1950’s produced joints like the Fountainebleau, where Frank Sinatra filmed the movie “Tony Rome.”

The Eden Roc next door can be seen in this opening sequence for the rollicking early 1960’s television series, “Surfside Six.”

Keep heading north along the water to Sunny Isles, where you’ll find a small enclave of Mid-century Modern architecture, known as Miami Modern, or MiMo.

Martha first heard about me in the article published by Retro Renovation, and she lives in a MiMo home.

She was the perfect guide for the old MiMo hotels, some on the tear-down list like the Sahara,

and some which will be renovated, like the Deauville.

It’s hard to believe that there is still a dive bar in Miami Beach; everything is so sleek and white and curved now. But if it’s a dive you seek, Mac’s Club Deuce (at 222 14th Street) fits the bill.

Anthony Boudain stopped by for a cocktail awhile back.

“Miami Vice” held the final wrap party there.

Starting in 1964, club owner Mac Klein tended bar and held court until 2016, when he died at the age of 101. Buy a drink, get a token for free drink.

Which Came First, The Neon Or The Egg?

And speaking of Crockett and Tubbs …

Martha and Julio remember the Miami Vice days well. Julio‘s sister worked on the production. Martha insisted on never missing an episode, even on a trip out of the country. Here she is with Don Johnson at a publicity event in Miami back in the day.

I too religiously watched “Miami Vice” when it aired in the 80’s. I assumed that Miami, especially South Beach, was a neon-filled playground full of fast cars and big money and shoulder pads and brightly-hued stucco.

In actuality, life followed art.

In the early 1980s, Miami Beach was known as “God’s Waiting Room.” Pensioners with hot plates rented rooms in decrepit hotels. When “Miami Vice” first began filming, they didn’t even bother with city permits; no one cared. If the production required a dance club setting, they tore the plywood from the windows of an abandoned building, splashed pastel colors on the exterior, and created an interior space with neon and sleek furniture. (Mac’s Club Deuce was festooned with neon at the insistence of the production.)

Nowadays in Miami Beach the pastels of the 1980’s have given way to muted beiges and eggshells and ecrus – the original Art Deco tones – but you can still find some pinks and yellows and mint greens and turquoises around town.

The Tony Places

Many Florida locales carry smooth-as-velvet names befitting them – Cocoa Beach, Boca Raton. And so it goes with the Miami neighborhoods of Coconut Grove and Coral Gables.

Coral Gables is home to the Coral Gables Waterway,

the Venetian Pool (which was closed for renovation, darn it), and the Biltmore Hotel, where Martha and I lunched poolside on a beautiful, sunny afternoon.

Over in Coconut Grove, Vizcaya, the early 20th Century winter home of International Harvester bigwig, James Deering, is a museum home in all its period splendor.

(On Biscayne Bay his brother Charles built his winter home. While very little remains of the original furnishings, and the structures were rebuilt after Hurricane Andrew, the views alone are worth the price of admission.)

Art And Culture

Miami is not merely a nightlife mecca and jumping off point for Caribbean cruises. It is a city that takes its art seriously. Art Basel, held each year in early December, is one of the world’s largest art shows and sales. Public art abounds.

In 2009, in a forgotten and destitute industrial area between downtown and the Design District, street artists incepted Wynwood Walls, which jump-started a massive outdoor gallery for graffiti and murals.

 

Wynwood is now one of the hottest destinations in the city, with cafes, galleries, funky shops, and bars and restaurants.

Mil Gracias

Words cannot adequately express the gratitude and affection I have for Martha and Julio, who gave so generously of time and spirit in hosting me in Miami for a month, even while Martha’s mother’s health was rapidly deteriorating and Martha continued to work through the holidays. They introduced me to Martha’s brother, several of Martha’s friends, Julio‘s brother and sister, and her family. There were breakfasts, cocktails, a poolside barbecue and dinners, both out and at home. Julio squired us around town, idling by dumpsters while Martha made certain I really, truly saw Miami, from the big stuff to the kind of stuff she knew I enjoyed, like abandoned stadiums,

cemeteries,

lighthouses,

a dilapidated mobile home park with an uncertain future in the heart of Coral Gables, and a deserted zoo at Key Biscayne.

It seems almost silly to say this, but having traveled alone for so long, one of the greatest gifts Martha gave me was taking my photo wherever we went. They are some of my favorites.

As a blog reader, she’s probably seen enough of my selfies to last a lifetime!

An MCM fan, Martha has never been to Palm Springs. I hope to return at least a part of the favor next year by showing her around Palm Springs during Modernism. Rumor has it that it will be her birthday then, and hopefully her friend Jeanette will come too.