22 May 2015
Postcard from Florida
November 2011
My simplistic view is that the east coast of the US is quite close and the west coast a jolly long way away, and so I felt the flight to Miami took much longer than it should. A wrong turn or a GPS on the blink would have had us in Seattle or even San Francisco in the same flight time. I spent perhaps longer than I should during the flight sampling the delights of a Sauvignon blanc from Bordeaux, which was quite exquisite but a touch too more-ish. So, on arrival, I am not best prepared for the immigration official’s questions: “what’s the purpose of your visit to Miami?” he asks. Puffing up my chest a tad, I reply, “I’m speaking at a conference”. “On what subject?” he asks. Pretty much anyone would agree that’s a reasonable question, but thanks to the Sauvignon blanc, I haven’t a clue. I have a fully worked through presentation with me, but can’t for the life of me think what it’s about.
(As a side note, I remember from my French lessons being taught the difference between à cause de and grace à. This incident was definitely a case of à cause du Sauvignon blanc).
But wine can help you come up with implausible ideas, excuses and other nonsense and, in a grace à moment, the Sauvignon blanc stepped up. I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and let out a small sigh, just to show who was really boss. “I haven’t decided the exact subject yet, because a keynote speech needs to be as up to date as possible. I was thinking the Euro crisis, but we’ll see.” Against the odds, he stamped my passport and I was in. (Little did he know that I would be in a remote sub-committee talking about entrepreneur business models).
I took an instant dislike to Miami’s South Beach. Noisy, grid-locked, windy and expensive, my first impression was that it was the French Riviera without the food (and I’ve never been that big a fan of the French Riviera). But over the next few days I was won over. The art deco architecture is extraordinary: the buildings draw you back to admire their pastel colours, rounded paintwork, metal windows and the distinctive typefaces used in the building signs. There seems to be always another building further down the road more beautiful. There is some great seafood to enjoy, especially stone crabs, oysters, and local fish, plus of course great Martinis that are nearly as good as my mother’s. And it’s not windy all the time just – it seems to me – most of the time.
This is the place to strut your stuff, to see and be seen, to promote more than to conceal, to let showing off triumph over modesty. By way of example I was enjoying a Martini at sunset at a bar (as one does). The barmaid was an attractive young Puerto Rican, beautifully but relatively immodestly dressed. One particular move by her revealed perhaps more – or as much – as she intended. The man I was sitting next to made the perfect remark to the barmaid, “you’ve done what no-one has ever managed. You’ve made a black man go red”.
As you would expect in America, people are very friendly and are happy to talk to out of town (or out of continent) folk. The men I met in the Palace Bar seemed to be particular interested in getting to know me and every other male visitor, but it did not feel quite my scene. I checked the menu and the answer perhaps lay in their tagline, “every Queen needs his Palace”. (I sometimes wonder how I’ve managed to stumble through life without more disasters).
Miami is not Florida, and the state’s great attraction other than its renown weather and those skimpy swimsuits is its variety, which includes nature, history and food. After South Beach, we headed south for the Keys. This is a 100 mile long string of tiny islands, many too small to be inhabitable. The last island is Key West, which is one of the larger ones, well populated and not that far from the evil empire of Cuba. Key West has a pretty full history, from pirates (the origin of the island) to presidents (Truman spent some time there in a building nicknamed the Little White House), from cigars (refugees from Havana brought their trade) to authors (Ernest Hemingway spent much of his life on the island, leaving behind a splendid villa). We were there at the time of a powerboat race, so the main street was bustling with visitors and crew, and it was party time.
The big hit for us was about 150 miles away at Everglade City, at the heart of the Everglades. They consist of thousands of square miles of wilderness, mostly mangroves, marshes and saw grass. We went out on a punt (yes, like the ones you find on the Cam for example), as well as a tour on the better known air boats. We saw so much that it cannot all be listed here, but we did get close to lots of alligators, as well as to orchids, various fishing birds and even a little green tree frog. The price you pay is that there are mosquitoes everywhere (they must have been to the Palace Bar, they definitely preferred me to Pamela). We also fell for the Stone Crab claws, which are harvested every few years, meaning that the poor unfortunate crab has a claw removed, is put back only to be fished a couple a years later to have it removed again. Talk about sustainable fishing.
The fact the Everglades exist at all gives tremendous credit to the American politicians who managed to resist calls over the years to develop and build over the wilderness. Talking of politicians, we all know people like to be scared. For some it’s a fairground ride, for others a horror movie. Mine is Republic politicians. This trip we listened to would-be President Herman Cain not being able to remember anything at all about Libya, what it is, where it is and what’s happened there recently (in a way that was more shocking than his alleged zipper problem). Just wait until he has his hand on that famous button (“now, where was that we were aiming? Was it Libya or Luton; Ludwigsburg or Ljubljana?”).
# posted by DavidF @ 16:00 
