Fort Lauderdale and Miami...
a Tale of Two sittings
EARLY morning deep midwinter and the rest of the world is huddling under the duvet.
The rest of the world can go whistle! I’m up with the larks.
Because of the jetlag, yes,, but also because rare are the chances to see winter in Technicolor.
It’s 32C outside, the sunny Miss America weathergirl on the box cheerfully tells us and the light streaming in through the curtains is beckoning me outside.
5.45am. Time to hit the Fort Lauderdale beach. I fall out of bed and I’m on the Strip... it’s that close.
Nothing is open, obviously, well the 24/7 store but you’ll not find one of those on Fort Lauderdale’s showpiece front. What you will find is a stretch of untrodden glistening sand and sea and barely a soul to break the peace.
Out there on the horizon, cruise ships are bound for the Bahamas and the Caribbean (Fort Lauderdale is a cruise hub) and down the road in Miami the party people are just turning in.
Here in Fort Lauderdale though they are more retiring..
FORT Lauderdale does, it’s true, attract its fair share of senior citizens who choose the Golden State for their Golden Years, but it is also a magnet for American families also here to escape the northern chill... snowbirds.
Meander off the Strip and you’ll find condos and holiday homes, all with swimming pools and community programmes.
The Stars and Stripes flutter in what little wind there is.
George HW Bush has passed when I visit, and flags are at halfmast. Florida has been kind to the Bushes: it was here the 2000 Presidential election swung in George W’s favour and here that his brother Jeb was Governor.
Every news bulletin and many a morning conversation references ‘this man of honour.’
To gauge how Floridians feel about the Bushes, weather, sport, the traffic and any other topic under the sun the best place is the diner and the best is the Primanti Brothers Pizza & Grill, just off the Strip.
Bluff it and ask for overeasy eggs or sunnyside up, spitball with the server who refills your coffee, and let the night owl on the next stool tell you his life story. This is the America you’ve seen in every road movie.
Only for the wall of heat outside, and the palm trees.
Breakfast in Fort Lauderdale, it must be lunch in Miami then... and Little Havana?
The thing is though that our concept of size is rather different to the Americans while navigating all those double-digit street names scrambles your brain in the December heat.
And so what looks like a brisk walk is in fact never tackled by any American on foot, other than perhaps Forrest Gump.
The Marriott on Biscayne Boulevard to Little Havana, I’m told, is 7km though I’m sure I walked that just to get to Downtown. All this of course after giving up on ever getting to South Beach. I guess the huge causeway between us and the Beautiful People should have been a clue.
The answer is a hop-on, hop-off bus, believe me.
The thing though about being an accidental tourist is that you stumble upon hidden treasures.
Take for example Caja Caliente on 2634 NE 2nd Avenue... see what I mean about the numbers. I’d rather presumed that this
was Little Havana although it looked an awful lot littler than I had imagined... just a stall and a yard and a couple of bars.
Floridians, though, and most Americans I’ve met on my travels, even in the big cities, are very polite to visitors and are devoid of our sarky gene.
The signora was very welcom- ing, the tacos were fabuloso, there were all kinds of chili sauces and sombreros and ponchos scattered around, guitars on tables and a makeshift sand pit. And a Cuban flag.
A holiday and a city isn’t always what or where you expect. Make of it what you will...
The Caja Caliente is my Little Havana, though. Now it’s yours too. Heck, I don’t mind sharing.
Areeba, Areeba, Areeba!