MIAMI is a mythical, messy place, full of energy and excitement. That energy comes in part from the clashing, eclectic groups that are its mainstay.
Cuban expats — dominating local politics and chugging toxically sweet cafecitos streetside at cafes — still rave about overthrowing Castro given the slightest chance. Underage clubbers are keeping the music pumping 24/7, from afternoon chill-out parties beachside to the lounges of South Beach and the after hours warehouse spaces on the mainland. Jewish retirees, who’ve weathered the city’s rise, fall and rise again unflustered, still shuttle from synagogue to a dwindling number of NY-style delis. Models on the make, sent by their agencies to bunk in groups, keep trudging to German catalog go-sees. Celebrities are holed up in their suites, occasionally sauntering out for a bikini-clad pap snap by the hotel pool. Wealthy South Americans, who’ve snapped up pied a terres on Key Biscayne, are relaxing as they browse the tony Bal Harbour shopping center, safe here from the kidnapping risks that bedevil them back home.
All these groups are what makes Miami such an alluring, schizophrenic and unmissable place, even now, as the bottom drops out of the local property market.
In fact, it’s really two cities: Miami mainland and the Miami Beach sandbar. And successive beachside mayors have agitated, so far unsuccessfully, to divorce their holiday paradise from the everydayness downtown. Miami Beach is where most of the best hotels and sights are; as a tourist, you could easily spend a long weekend down here without leaving the sandbar.
South Beach is glossy, glitzy and — to a New Yorker — totally strollable. If you’re here for a week, take a jaunt over to the mainland: there’s Cuban- and Nicaraguan-dominated Little Havana, the gleaming high rises of downtown and the up-and-coming nabes to the north, the Design District and Biscayne Boulevard.
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