Chapter 27: South Beach

I returned to Miami during the winter break before graduation. I’d gone back to catch a Caribbean cruise that I’d bought myself as a graduation present.

(These sorts of cruises left Miami all the time. Embarrassingly, I’d never been on one, and had never visited my Caribbean neighbors. During a wickedly cold winter in Nashville, I decided then would be the perfect time...)

Since the cruise departed from nearby South Beach, I figured I’d spend a couple days there. I’d not gone to South Beach much, since, when I was growing up, it was known as “God’s Waiting Room,” only having old people in retirement homes. Then for a while it’d fallen into disrepair and decay.

I’d been hearing from my old pals in Miami how happening South Beach had become. But I’d struggled to shake off the vision I’d had of it as populated predominantly by elderly Jews talking like Woody Allen and hobbling around on walkers, eating bagels and complaining of arthritis while waiting for their turn to meet God. So I had to check the “new” South Beach out, see it with my own eyes...

This was the mid-2000s, and South Beach was booming, literally, financially, construction-wise, and party-wise.

Upon arrival at the airport, by the baggage carousel, I’d struck up a friendly conversation with an airport employee, an aging Latin fellow, who’d retained a head full of beautiful, jet-black swept back hair, as many Latin men do, later in life. He’d told me that South Beach now was like “Paris,” filled with young people, cafes, and partying. He told me that if he were still young and handsome, like me, that’s where he’d be living. And he then asserted, prophetically, that I’d have a “blast” there...

As soon as I’d crossed the causeway, in my rental car, and drove up A1A, I instantly saw what the talk and hype was about, and I myself instantly fell in love with South Beach. Arriving to my hotel too, I had a strange feeling that I’d been there before in a past life, like I’d been there as a ghost. The whole place, environment had an eerie, familiar feeling to it.

(My great-grandmother had a house on Collins Ave, in South Beach, many years ago, which could explain the déjà vu...)

Looking around, it was as if South Beach was this great lost city that I’d discovered like an archeologist. It was like Atlantis rising from the sea. Or possibly it was a tropical playground, newly rebuilt, for the sole glory of pleasure.

Whatever it was, I fucking dug it ... Was enthralled...

The whole South Beach area, that little southern tip of the Miami Beach barrier island, had been resuscitated and injected with adrenaline. It was glitzy and lively and teeming with business, cash, and beautiful young bodies...

Massive, glittering glass-plated towers, luxury condominiums and upscale hotels had been erected everywhere, shining in the sun like tropical trophies, as if the adjacent swaying palm trees were their garlands. And the beach’s Art Deco buildings had been renovated and were simply radiant. The Art Deco structures gloriously returned to their past splendor. The structures awash in brilliant pastels- toothpaste blues, spring greens, and hot pink hues.

And the nightlife was especially fabulous.

Numerous nightclubs, big neon boxes with imposing entrances and droplet chandeliers were opening and many a Hummer, Rolls Royce, and Lamborghini were prowling the streets. There were tricked-out Cadillacs chopping blades and booming bass. The once somnolent beach was alive, screaming and kicking, had burst out of its swampy crypt like a coked-up, dancing Frankenstein.

There were millionaires and billionaires. And all the celebs of the day like Paris Hilton and Jamie Foxx and their hangers-on and groupies and aspiring star and debutantes were frequenting the nightlife scene.

Just strolling along Ocean Drive after sundown, it was like a shower of sparks. The neon lights making every night look like a tropical Christmas.

And the days, the days were a panacea for my recent malaise. The 70-80-degree sun-splashed days were a salubrious, soul-cleansing tonic after arriving from the purgatory of ice and gray skies and sub-zero temps of wintery Tennessee.

It was December in South Beach. And on the beach, there were pretty girls lying like golden angels in the golden sands, basking in the waxy yellow light of the equatorial sun. Some of the beauties even sunbathing topless, causing my heart to skip a beat...

Glancing around the paradise, panning my gaze at the atmosphere, and drinking in the salty sea breezes, I’d think I was in Heaven as I took my meditative walks along the beach. I awed in admiration as I eyed the frolicking beauties in the sands. I marveled as I watched the frothy ocean waves pulling and slapping at the shoreline. Seeing such a perfect scene, I started to wonder if God really did exist ... Maybe the Christians in Tennessee were right after all...

During my stay, I caught up with a couple old school pals and neighbors over beers. We ate scrumptious Cuban cuisine and laughed, talked old times.

Sipping on a cold brew, I thought back to the friendly fellow from the airport. Was he ever right that I’d love it in South Beach ... Perhaps he was a psychic or a fortune teller...

I certainly did have a blast. I was thrilled to be in a place where I felt like I belonged, could be myself. Could be with people like me. I realized, after leaving Miami, how much I loved it. How much I missed it. How many people there were so fucking cool. How many friendly Latin folks, cool Cubans, Colombians there were. Not to mention people like me and my family. Transplants from the “North.” Us “yankees” everywhere. All the snowbirds and sun-worshippers from NY and New England, who looked like me and talked like me.

I totally dug, too, finding party people in South Beach, from all over the country. Out having drinks, my old pals and I met party people from all over the world, too. Loads of Eurotrash, Israelis, Australians, South Americans. The place was like the UN for partying and debauchery. It fucking rocked.

It was a most welcome change from being in Tennessee. I seriously felt at home there, in South Beach. People didn’t glare or stare at me or give me nasty vibes. People had dark, olive complexions like me. It was the most magnificent feeling. Indescribable. I was feeling like an inmate furloughed from jail...