I’m in a place where, truth be told, I don’t want to be. No no, I’m not talking about the farmhouse. Far from it. Really far from it.
Early, I woke up to this:
In the evening, I strolled past this:
Oh, not revealing enough? Okay, I also strolled past this:
I’m in Miami Beach, where, for the next two days I have a conference which I thought might be (from the intellectual standpoint) good for me.
But me, in Miami Beach?
When I was a kid and spent a handful of years in New York, my parents routinely took us south for winter break. We drove for three days and plunked down our beach towels on the golden sands of Ft. Lauderdale. Once, just once we drove through Miami Beach. This is where rich people stay, I was told.
Even then, I failed to see the attraction.
I have to admit that when I first learned that my conference was going to locate itself in Miami Beach, I wasn’t displeased. Art deco funky stuff, Cuban food, great weather – hey, what’s there not to enjoy!
And it isn’t bad. I just like the farmhouse better.
Ed of course, chose not to tag along. Who could blame him – I’m busy during the day, the trip is short – just three nights – none of it is to his liking. Yes, I sailed through some time ago. On my way to Cuba – he tells me dismissively.
I need your manly companionship! I pleaded.
You’ll be fine. Find a good New York Jewish deli and have a good pickle on me.
So I’m in Miami Beach, at a tiny insignificant little hotel at the south end of things. (The conference hotel, even discounted for attendees, is more than I would ever spend.) There are children in the room next to mine and though I asked for a pleasant view, I got the trunk of a palm tree and someone’s bathroom windows just outside. I may move tomorrow, but probably not. It’s not as if it really matters.
I’m not used to writing unenthusiastic posts and so let me switch gears a little: flights were good, the public transportation from Miami International to South Beach is excellent and cheap, and the beach is just two blocks from my hotel.
Though I find Florida odd (it’s as if, when you move here, you accept the fact that you’re leaving life’s challenges and settling for something... bland), I do like oceans (yes, how obvious) and funky charm is always interesting. For a few minutes. I find the Cuban presence fascinating and I look forward to eating authentic Cuban food.
I did that tonight, here.
Chicken, rice, beans.
Okay, tomorrow the sun will be out, I’ll wear two sweaters against the public space air conditioning and life will again look peachy pink.
For now, the pink and aqua are a vivid reminder why we no longer rave about pink and aqua.
From Miami Beach, where the air is humid and the waves threaten to drown the place if the ocean rises in the years ahead -- good night. Ed, don’t forget to water my geraniums if they dry out.