We spent 4 nights in Miami Beach. I learnt a lot there.
I hate sand. Truely. It gets everywhere. As a hairy guy it’s impossible to wash out in the shower without a pressure washer. But Miami Beach offered more than sand.
We stayed in the heart of the Art Deco area filled with bars and hotels that clearly had played host to some epic parties. We were a short childless walk from the beach, or a 30 minute free bus ride.
The first day we took the beaches with our new beach shade in tow. We payed 20$ for some shade in Pensacola and damned if I’ll get ripped off again. Hanika found an excellent pop up shade tent. Looking like travelling hobos we arrived to the beach, a family of fair skinned immigrants with our shade tent (which folded to a 3 foot circle), pram, 2 backpacks and a sweet polyester mat. Ludicrous. We did a have a great day at the beach though. The waves were a bit of a turn off for Moose but both kids were happy to play in the tidal pools. We got take away Cuban sandwiches from one of the aforementioned hotels and ate them on the grass. The day came to a close and it was time to pack up. Well, did that bloody tent fold back up again? The closest I got was 6 feet across and filing for divorce. Hanika was equally successful minus the divorce part. In the end I broke it and put it next to a bin… Not my proudest moment. Lesson 2, pay the beach shack rates and keep your sanity.
The second day we made our way to Little Havana for a bit of culture. For those who don’t know its a suburb filled with Cuban expats fleeing the Castro regime. It’s filled with Cuban cafes, restaurants and history. And chickens. We strolled up and down, watched old men play dominos, drank Margaritas and ate Cuban sandwiches. That afternoon our (my) museum passport pulled through again with an amazing science centre. This one was part aquarium part kids playground.
We also walked down the Lincoln Road Mall. It’s mall in the Australian sense. It’s a pedestrian only road flanked by shops, ranging from high end boutiques to generic tourist traps. I did manage to snag a wicked pair of “Miami” boardies.
We had a day of garbage weather so found an in door playground for the kids to play in . Dear lord. It was a weekend with multiple birthdays going on. I can barely handle 2 kids let alone 200! Never mind, the kids had a great time and wore themselves out.
Now on to the logistics. Do not, under any circumstances, bring a car to Miami Beach. There is NO parking. And by no parking I mean street parking is for a maximum of 9 hours, private lots are $40 for 24 hours. The on street parking has a website to register your car and pay with a credit card (no machine available). I went to the website… interesting it’s in German. No worries, there’s a Union Jack so I’ll click on that. I put in all my information, load up by credit card but can’t find the location. No worries. I’ll call them up and figure it out. “Oh yeah, we printed all the signs wrong. That’s some European company that we don’t deal with. The actual site is …”. Are you shitting me? You fucked up printing street signs for an entire city but figured in for a penny in for a pound? Which asshat bureaucrat signed off on this farce? After going through the registration process again I was lucky enough to pay $20 for 7 hours of parking. That night I drove the car to a public lot 2km away and paid another $20 for the honour.
But it’s worth it, right? We went to Miami proper for the indoor playground. Paid parking, no sweat I’ve got it set up. Nope. Different city council, different pay system. I had to repeat the whole system again! At least their signs were printed correctly. What makes things extra frustrating is that America seems to use your credit card billing zip code as a security feature. Prepay for gas at the pump? Put in your zip. Easy, except of course my billing address is in Canada! That means calling the Miami people and setting up the account. And every time I want gas I have to in an prepay. Can’t prepay at the pump, wrong zip code. Can’t be trusted to pump then pay because ‘Murica. Lesson 3, somehow get an American credit card.
We survived, barely and drove to Key Largo for a sandless ocean experience.