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Miami - The Urethra of America

Thursday 1 March 2012
A delightful young woman in a Miami wateringhole
I've always thought of Florida as the micky of America. Which makes Miami the hole through which the piss comes out. Which is oddly fitting.

Maybe I just missed the point. Maybe I didn't have enough money to make the most of it. Maybe I caught it on a rough week.

Or maybe Miami is just a ridiculous hole.

First off, I was staying in a miserable hostel. I'd come from San Francisco, a city that I love, after staying in the best hostel I've ever been to, which perhaps was a little unfair to the new place. But this was a hovel. Dirty, depressing, a terrible breakfast and the rudest staff.

I arrived on the red eye, getting to South Beach at about 9am. I was meeting friends there for a few nights before we headed up to Venice to a friend's wedding. They'd arrived the night before, and I was joining them in their dorm room, which my friend had told me was ready (ie, all of the other beds were empty).

This sounded like a dream to me. After all, if the beds are empty and ready, there's no problem with me checking in early. Right?


The girl at the desk insisted that the room was not ready, that I would have to wait until 3pm to check in. My friend came out and told her about all the empty beds, that I could nap in his bed if I wanted, etc, etc. But no.

So I went and ate a disgusting breakfast, put my bag into their storage, and headed out with my friends to explore the city.

I must be missing something, I just must. But all I could see was plastic tits, streets that look like malls and a million t-shirts that say "Miami Bitch"

Ha! My goodness, that is hilarious. Because it sounds like beach, you see! Ha!

I was looking forward to the art deco, but was incredibly underwhelmed. Pretty much everything underwhelmed me. The beach, the food, the bars, the 'buzz'.

It really reminded me of Eastbourne. But with higher humidity.

It's incredibly easy to piss your money away. I spent my first night in bed, after not sleeping for 48 hours, but my friends had adjusted and hit the bars. The next morning, I woke up, bright eyed and bushy tailed, to see what remained of my friend. Leaning out of the bunk, protecting his eyes with his hand, he croaked...

"I spent $200 last night"

"You... you what?"

"I spent $200"


"I bought a round. Or two."

He recalled getting 3 shots of tequila, costing $50. The rest kind of blurred into one. I tutted sympathetically and put a cold flannel on his head, a gesture I always think is incrediby maternal. It scared the shit out of my friend Pam when I did it to her in the middle of a scorching night in Rome. She thought a dragon was licking her face.

So, in summation, I tried to like Miami, I really did. But I didn't. So there.


  1. A lot of the people I know from Miami don't like Miami either.

    1. And yet some people just love it! It seems to be that kind of place. The other negative is you have the Will Smith song in your head all. The. Time.


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