Our brief stay in Miami Beach was something of a mixed bag. The upside was that the hotel – The Loews – was wonderful, and the weather hot and sunny. The downside was that Tizer’s fever was showing no sign of improvement. We were forcing - and I mean forcing - Calpol and Ibuprofen down her at regular intervals which was just about keeping her temperature at a bearable (but still very worrying) level.
During one of her brighter moments we all managed to venture poolside for a spot of lunch (a massive and delicious bowl of freshly fried calamari for me) and a couple of fruity, extravagant cocktails. Tizer was fading fast though and Mrs V was starting to look distinctly ropey to boot; I despatched them both back up to the room with orders to get themselves to bed.
At this point, Mum and Dad would quite happily have stayed at the pool bar, I reckon, but I wasn’t having any of that. We were tourists, for crying out loud, and it was our duty to tour! We may well have lost 40% of our party with less than 24 hours of our holiday spent, but this wasn’t going to stop us. Oh no: I was in Miami Beach; I was wearing flip-flops and an overly-loud shirt; I was in possession of a camera with an oversized lens. We were going to hit Ocean Drive, or I’d want to know the reason why!
Ocean Drive, as well as being the title of an insipid song by wishy-washy 90s crooners The Lighthouse Family, is a rather photogenic stretch of sea-front Art Deco hotels and bars that line their way for 15 or so blocks along South Beach. By day it’s a sun drenched Miami-esque scene of pale pink, yellow and green 1930s properties lazing gently in the sub-tropical heat. By night - to all intents - it becomes a seething hive of neon lights, swish motors, strong mojitos and only the most beautiful of the Beautiful People (which is one reason why we only visited during the day).
The relaxed and bohemian atmosphere of SoBe often attracts Santa Claus for a pre-Christmas break It passes the Mr V Location-That-Does-Exactly-What-It-Says-On-The-Tin Test, in that you’re left in no doubt that this is South Beach (or ‘SoBe’ as the locals call it) with all the trappings you’d expect – nay, demand – from such a stylised slice of beach-front, Miamitastic chic. I like to apply the LTDEWISOTT Test wherever we travel, and only a handful of places actually cut the mustard: Most of New York passes with distinction and Hong Kong is loaded with many perfect examples. However, the Caribbean coast of Mexico, for instance, fails miserably. You could be anywhere – or, at least, anywhere that has blue sky, blue sea, a big swimming pool and loud Americans.
Strolling down Ocean Drive we passed Versace’s gaff – Casa Casuarina – on the steps of which he had a rather ill-advised and somewhat infamous argument with a gun-toting nutter, which he subsequently lost in a quite spectacular - and terminal - fashion back in 1997. I thinks it’s a hugely expensive boutique hotel now, complete with Versace be-decked security guard/male model on the gate. It’s just one example of some cracking Art Deco architecture all along Ocean Drive, most of which set this tourist's camera shutter a-snapping.
After 10 blocks or so mother’s legs were starting to fail her so we returned to the hotel to find my two favourite ladies in bed: my fears regarding Mrs V’s demeanour at lunch were confirmed as she was now competing with Tizer in the ‘how hot can I make my body’ stakes. We had a four hour drive to Orlando to get through the following day and, at this rate, it was going to be pretty hard going for all involved. I left them both to get as much sleep as they could.
Strolling down Ocean Drive we passed Versace’s gaff – Casa Casuarina – on the steps of which he had a rather ill-advised and somewhat infamous argument with a gun-toting nutter, which he subsequently lost in a quite spectacular - and terminal - fashion back in 1997. I thinks it’s a hugely expensive boutique hotel now, complete with Versace be-decked security guard/male model on the gate. It’s just one example of some cracking Art Deco architecture all along Ocean Drive, most of which set this tourist's camera shutter a-snapping.
After 10 blocks or so mother’s legs were starting to fail her so we returned to the hotel to find my two favourite ladies in bed: my fears regarding Mrs V’s demeanour at lunch were confirmed as she was now competing with Tizer in the ‘how hot can I make my body’ stakes. We had a four hour drive to Orlando to get through the following day and, at this rate, it was going to be pretty hard going for all involved. I left them both to get as much sleep as they could.Ma, Pa and I dined in the hotel restaurant, leaving the sickly duo to their beds. The food was cracking; I had a spanking piece of blackened snapper, followed by a beautiful Key Lime Pie, which I thought was particularly Floridian of me. A couple of post-dinner snifters was all we had left in us so, with a big drive ahead of us – and hopes of a swift recovery for Tizer and Mrs V – we retired for the night.
On the upside, the paper parts of our driving licenses had arrived via courier that morning so, at the very least, we could hire a car. Small mercies and all that. Let's see how things pan on out from here on..
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