South Florida - part one - South Beach

In our great tradition of flying the budget airways, neither one of us could remember when we last flew American, and we hope we never will again. Though strategically located at the front of Atlanta's airport, the years of not competing effectively against other carriers such as Airtran and Delta have taken their toll. Squeezed into a dirty little corner, three little lines led passengers in no particular order to agents while at the same time blocking the self check-in terminals from those next in line. Waiting behind some living reincarnation of Casey and the Sunshine band didn't offer any further comfort. By the time Homeland tagged our baggage I knew an adventure lay ahead for us, as the airport code for Miami International Airport [MIA - missing in action] gave me no futher encouragement towards American's competence or us completing a successful vacation.

After what I believed to be a shaky take-off and landing intermixed with assurances that the flight attendants new, still uncomfortable and impractical looking uniforms would somehow aid me in the future, Jeanne became one of the few lucky individuals with luggage to claim. We all stood by after removing the dozen or so bags that came out of the carousel while an unclaimed purple suitcase passed by all of us for the third time. A matter of factly agent told us to go to carousel 25 where we all lined up in the lost luggage line and discussed which of us was the most fucked. Comically, Jeanne packed all of our clothes in her bag, which we claimed, but the tent and our shelter for the next week rested in my bag, somewhere in the continental US. Most of the other passengers claimed none of their luggage and needed to meet shuttles to cruiselines within the hour. Therefore, we had clothes but no shelter, while they had shelter and no clothes. I suggested they wear towels to the captain's dinner. MIA - missing in action.

After about an hour of this, the American agents, who cared so little as to almost mock us, finally revealed that we could just call an 800 number on a brochure and not wait in line for the rest of our lives. Apparently, the ground grew didn't load our plane correctly, so they removed most of our luggage and threw it onto the next flight, scheduled to land after cruiseships left dock. Luckily the first leg of our journey contained a hotel stay in South Beach, so we could wait for our camping gear for a few days and just told them to deliver it to the hotel. The bag did come, at 3:15 the next morning, when our confused bartender kept calling us to come and retrieve it from the lobby. Jeanne and I argued whether he meant right away or later that morning, but a second phone call prompted a downstairs march to the lobby by two half asleep, soon to be campers.


Former Miami residents told Jeanne that we'd never find accommodations in South Beach for less than $100 a night, but she actually secured $60 a night with a continental breakfast and an open bar happy hour. To save additional money she also decided not to rent the car we'd use to drive across the rest of south Florida until after we left South Beach. This turned out to be a wise decision since parking prices seemed to keep everyone driving in circles all day long despite the area being very walkable. We stayed at the Hotel Shelley on Collins St, part of a chain of accommodations that all shared the same airport shuttle service and even continental breakfast venue. A modest location next door to a Barney's and sharing the same block with countless other highend retail fashion outlets, Jeanne met her simpler needs with the plethora of alley cats living large beneath our window. We always try to avoid tourist traps, and I came up with the formula to avoid restaurants on the beach or anywhere where the majority of the clientele wore nothing more than bikini tops. Our bartender recommended an out of the way Cuban place that sounded much more reliable than the "go to Gloria Estefan's restaurant" suggestion Jeanne received from a co-worker, who by the way, only really wrote a list of bars and what drinks to order at each. The food was tasty and cheap and gave us the energy to wander the pedestrian mall on Lincoln St. where each dessert selection tempted Jeanne more and more. We hadn't seen that much gelato since Roma!


So, South Beach basically consisted of shopping for fashion (even the local cable offered FTV - Fashion Television - interviews with models before, during, and after photo shoots), restaurants with overpriced food and extreme portions (to promote the need for the South Beach Diet regime), and maybe we swam at a beach, too. Not our cup of tea and we probably stayed a day too long, but now the wilderness of state parks called.