My best friend Lynne and I just got back from a few days in Miami.
There were a couple of things that struck me on that trip: 1) I thought I knew the city, but I really don’t; and 2) Why do they call it a ‘backseat driver’ when Lynne was a nightmare in the front passenger seat?
The mini-break started as it always does – with Owen Roberts International Airport. The departure lounge was pretty full, but we found a couple of free seats and waited for our plane to board. At one point, there was an announcement about a gate change, which in any other airport would be followed by passenger groans, but in Cayman, it simply means shifting your attention to another door in the same room.
I got chatting with a man named Clarence, who was in a wheelchair. He lives in Toronto, but visits the island quite often. Such a charming person… at least I thought so, until he said he reads this column weekly and subsequently turned to tell Lynne she had his sympathies. Gasp! It was only when I was sitting on the plane that I thought about his name. Was he my angel from ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’? Was I going to see what the world was like without me in it? Would Lynne, co-owner of ‘Twotter’ in an alternate universe, be married to Elon Musk and living on their own space station? Yes, that is how my mind works.
We finally boarded, got to Miami without incident, prayed that the immigration lines wouldn’t be long, and made it to the rental car in decent time. Our three almost-empty suitcases (you know what I’m talking about) got thrown in the back, and off we drove in search of the 836 East, leading to I-95. As soon as we were in multi-lane traffic, Lynne started with the Lamaze breathing. Her idea of perfect driving conditions is a 100-foot buffer between us and other cars in every direction but, of course, that’s impossible. As soon as you leave those kind of gaps, fellow drivers sense weakness and zip in.
Lynne alternated between closing her eyes, yipping out unhelpful advice, and trying to find soothing Christmas songs on the radio. I have to say, what is with singers trying to put their own spin on the classics? I heard one ghastly rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’ after the next, along with a host of other unnecessary remakes. I might have had Lynne turn it off completely, but at least it was keeping her happy and distracted as I crossed three lanes in seconds in order to make an exit.
We stayed at Kimpton EPIC for the few nights. I love Miami downtown. I can’t believe we spent so many years at hotels in the Kendall area, just so we could be close to the Dadeland Mall. There is no nightlife to speak of. Even the bats go to sleep at 8pm around there. Fact is, as I mentioned previously, I thought I knew Miami, but the more I visit it, the more I realise there is so much more to explore.
On my brother’s recommendation, we went to dine at Uchi one night. Located on NW 25th St., the food at this place is out of this world. Holy cow – it was fabulous! Our server Cibeles really knew her stuff, advising us on the perfect dishes… and we had a lot of them. When we were driving there, I noticed all the funky shops nearby. I made a mental note to definitely return on our next trip, and allow for more time to walk around.
Speaking of shopping, we naturally had to tread the well-worn path to Target and Macy’s while we were in the city. As we rode up the escalator together in Macy’s, after dodging a bunch of over-enthusiastic perfume purveyors, it occurred to me that Lynne and I have the perfect friendship. We are completely different sizes and heights, yet the clothes we seek are on the same floor: Petite and Plus sizes (sorry, WOMEN sizes, whatever the heck that means). I cannot understand why they don’t put the effort in when it comes to plus-size mannequins. As I posted on Facebook, the clothes are not arranged on them in a flattering way, and the mannequins are always posed like they’re spoiling for a fight. I suppose I’d be annoyed too if I was forced to wear a shapeless garment with random faux buttons all over it.
We bought a few items, and after another tense journey for poor Lynne on the five-lane interstate, we made it back to the hotel alive. I signed for the 73450125 packages I’d had shipped in from Amazon, we packed the bags, and headed to the airport.
The trip was over, and do you know what was the best Christmas gift of all? Barely any lineup for security to Concourse F, where the ceilings are 6 feet high and dreams usually go to die.
Attaboy, Clarence.
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