Late October 2022. I had finished my last work rotation for the year and, with it, my temporary contract with the company. Before I left, though, my supervisor assured me that they would bring me back the following year.
I was happy, content, and quite pleased with my first successful year as an exploration geologist. I had learned so many new things, met so many people, and acquired a whole new set of skills over the preceding months, and I was very grateful for the opportunity I had been given.
Now it was time for a well-deserved holiday. With my new US visa safely in my passport, I was ready to head south, to the sandy shores of Miami Beach.
No Plans, Just Ideas
As usual with my travels, I didn’t exactly have a plan for my stay, but I had a few ideas. I had booked a bed in a four-person hostel dormitory for five nights, followed by two nights at a nearby hotel. My reasoning was simple: I would give the social hostel environment a shot and see if I could make some friends to hang out with during my stay. But if that didn’t work out, or if the hostel proved too tiresome or annoying, I would still have two nights to rest properly and enjoy some privacy.
Other than that, I had no real program for my time in Miami. I would figure out what I felt like doing once I got there.
My flight from Montreal to Miami was direct and departed at nine in the morning. This was one of the things I had come to appreciate so much about Montreal: the sheer number of direct flight connections to places I wanted to visit. It made travelling incredibly convenient.
The sky above Montreal was turning cloudy and the late-autumn chill was setting in as I departed. I settled into my seat for the roughly four-hour flight, frequently checking the map on the screen in front of me to see which curious corners of North America I was flying over.
About three hours into the flight, the view from my window had changed dramatically. The vast Atlantic Ocean stretched endlessly into the distance, while just below me, a sliver of golden coastline and turquoise water glittered in the sunlight.
I immediately put on my “Miami” playlist, heavily inspired by the tracks from the radio stations of GTA: Vice City, and suddenly I felt as though I had been transported straight into the Miami of the 1980s. I was grinning from ear to ear.
A Sudden Change of Scenery
Miami International Airport was slick, modern, and surprisingly easy to navigate. I made my way through the terminal and eventually found the MIA Mover, the elevated people-mover connecting the airport with the Miami Intermodal Center and its public transportation connections. That short ride gave me my first proper glimpse of my new surroundings.
The contrast with Montreal could hardly have been greater. Gone were the late-autumn colors and the increasingly wintry atmosphere of the north. In their place were vibrant palm trees, tropical vegetation, and waterways shimmering beneath the Florida sun.
From the bus terminal, I easily caught the Miami Beach bus and was soon on my way across the city. I kept looking out the window, taking in glimpses of the strange and striking landscape around me. Everything felt so different from what I had become accustomed to over the previous months.
The scenery became particularly picturesque as the bus crossed the Julia Tuttle Causeway toward Miami Beach. The blue water, the skyline, the palms and the bright Florida sunshine all came together into something that felt almost surreal. This was a completely different world from northern Quebec. And it was exactly what I had come for.
The journey to Miami Beach was remarkably easy. In less than twenty minutes, I was there, and even the bus stop was conveniently close to my hostel. Despite the enormous size of the Miami metropolitan area, everything I needed seemed to be within easy reach.
Finally, the Beach
The hostel room was quiet when I arrived. It was spacious and clean too, which was a pleasant first impression. I dropped off my luggage, washed up, and got ready to head out. On my way out, I briefly met one of my new roommates, Oscar. There wasn’t much else to do at the hostel yet, so I wasted no time.
The place was ideally located, just a few minutes’ walk from Ocean Drive and the beach. On the way, I stopped at a convenience store to pick up a few things. Most importantly, I needed a beach towel. There were plenty to choose from, but one immediately caught my attention: a retro, 1980s-style Miami Vice design. Naturally, that was the one I bought. I still proudly flaunt that towel whenever I go to a beach.
With my supplies in hand, I finally reached the shoreline. And what a beach it was. Miami Beach stretched away in both directions, seemingly without end. The city itself boasts roughly seven miles of beaches, and the sheer scale of the shoreline was one of the first things that struck me.
The sand was smooth and fine-grained, stretching across the entire beach in an almost uninterrupted expanse. What surprised me even more was how clean everything was. I don’t remember seeing litter or any other obvious eyesores—not on the sand, and not in the water. For a beach in such a huge and heavily visited city, I found that genuinely impressive.
And then there was the water. That iconic turquoise color. It was clear, inviting, and shimmering under the Florida sun. After months spent working in the remote northern wilderness, standing there looking out over that vast tropical coastline felt almost like stepping into another reality.
The water was remarkably pleasant too. The Atlantic was not as chilly as I thought it would be. Instead it was comfortably warm. It was certainly warmer than any body of water I could think of in Canada in late October. I spent the next few hours doing absolutely nothing.
I lounged on the sand, went for a few swims, soaked up the sun, and occasionally called my family. There was no schedule to follow, no problems to solve, no surgery waiting for me and no bureaucratic paperwork to deal with. For the first time in months, I could finally unwind.
This wasn’t going to be an adventure that started at full speed. My first day in Miami was about slowly settling in, enjoying the warmth, and letting the reality of my surroundings sink in.
Miami Bros
After several hours on the beach, I headed back to the hostel to clean up and figure out what I wanted to do that evening. When I arrived, the room was still empty. I took a long shower, and while I was in the bathroom I heard two of my roommates arrive. As I was finishing up, I overheard them chatting outside. One of them mentioned that he was living in Montreal. That was my cue.
Once I stepped out of the bathroom, I casually joined the conversation by mentioning that I had heard someone was from Montreal. His name was Antoine. He was actually from France, but had been living in Montreal for a while. Perfect. I was also from Europe. We already had two things in common.
The other roommate was from Israel, and both of them seemed like very chill guys who would be fun to hang out with. Antoine had arrived that day, while the Israeli guy was already on his last day at the hostel. Before long, the fourth roommate arrived as well—the guy I had briefly met earlier. Oscar. He was from Mexico. And just like that, the four-person dorm had its full cast.
Antoine, Oscar, and I were the newcomers. None of us had been to Miami before, and all three of us had come looking for essentially the same thing: adventure, good times, and the real-life version of the Miami we had known from GTA: Vice City. It turned out we also shared a similarly wacky sense of humor. The brotherly bonding was immediate.
Before I knew it, the four of us were having dinner together at the hostel restaurant, swapping stories as if we’d known each other for years and already making plans for the following days. The prologue was over. It was time to cut the intro music and start the main story of our Miami adventure.
The Tip
Everything about that first dinner was great. The food was delicious, the mojitos were oversized, and the company was even better. Our Israeli roommate, meanwhile, was working overtime trying to find himself a lady friend for his last night in Miami.
The three of us had other things on our minds. We were already making plans for the next few days. We definitely had to explore the beach in its entirety and spend plenty of time enjoying the water and waves. Downtown and Little Havana were also musts. Perhaps Little Haiti too, and maybe even a boat adventure if we could figure something out. Ideas, at least, we had plenty of.
When the bill arrived, I offered to pay and suggested that we’d settle up between ourselves afterward. Having already travelled in the United States, I was familiar with the tipping culture, and since we were having such a good time, I was perfectly happy to leave a solid 20%.
The Cuban waiter brought over the payment machine. No receipt first. No opportunity to look over the bill. The machine was already sitting on the tip screen. Without giving it a second thought, I selected 20%. Only after the payment went through did I finally get the receipt. Something seemed… off.
The total was considerably higher than we had estimated. Oh well, I thought. We had just arrived, we were having a great evening, and I wasn’t about to let a slightly confusing bill ruin it. Except the thought kept nagging at me. And apparently it was nagging at the others too. It didn’t take long for us to figure out what had happened.
As we would discover over the following days, many restaurants in the heavily touristy area where we were staying already had a 20% service charge included in the bill. I had just unknowingly added another 20% on top of it. I had effectively tipped the guy 40%. No wonder he had been grinning from ear to ear when I pressed that button. His eyes were practically sparkling like an anime character.
Needless to say, that particular restaurant did not see us again.
The Breakfast Conundrum
My new crew and I decided to spend our first full day exploring the beach. But first, after a slow and lazy morning, we needed some grub. Preferably something considerably cheaper than the previous night’s dinner.
That turned out to be easier said than done. We were staying right in the middle of the most touristy part of Miami Beach, where pretty much any breakfast option within walking distance came with a suitably touristy price tag. For some reason, meanwhile, the cheap fast-food joints seemed to be located considerably farther away.
There were a couple of small grocery stores nearby, but we wanted good old-fashioned American fast food. The closest option I could find was a Burger King somewhere around 5th Street, near the bridge. About half an hour on foot… Oh well. It was a beautiful morning in Miami, and a half-hour walk was hardly a bad way to explore the city.
After a pleasant stroll through the streets, we finally reached our destination and got our much-needed burgers and fries. There was just one amusing detail: the lady at the counter thoroughly inspected each $20 bill we handed her as if she were a customs officer examining a suspicious passport.
I couldn’t help wondering whether they got a lot of counterfeit money at Miami Burger Kings. Then again… this was Miami, so who knows?
With breakfast secured, we made the walk back toward the beach.
A Purple Flag
Another half hour later, we reached the gorgeous stretch of sand that had already impressed me so much the day before.
One of the great things about the sheer size of Miami Beach was that, no matter how many people were there, it never really felt crowded. There was simply so much beach that everyone seemed to have plenty of space. We found a satisfactory spot, dropped our things, and settled in for a leisurely day of sun and sea.
Being in a group had another useful advantage: none of us had to worry too much about leaving our belongings unattended whenever we went into the water. We simply took turns, with someone always staying behind to keep an eye on our stuff. I don’t know how much theft actually happens on Miami Beach, but I’m always wary about leaving my phone and wallet unattended, even if they’re hidden from plain sight.
The water was just as fantastic as it had been the previous day. But this time we noticed something else. A purple warning flag was flying from the lifeguard tower. The legend said: Dangerous marine life. We wondered what the hell that meant? In any case, we were sticking relatively close to shore, and plenty of other people were swimming, so it couldn’t be that bad.
At one point, while I was in the water, I noticed a huge school of fish swimming past me. They moved incredibly fast, zigzagging beneath the turquoise surface as one enormous shimmering mass. From above, they almost looked like a cloud of tiny glittering shadows.
I had never seen anything like that in real life. I was fascinated. Then, a few moments later, I noticed a much larger shadow following behind them. And heading directly toward me. That was enough. I bolted out of the water, laughing at myself as I scrambled back toward shore, amazed by what I’d just seen and perhaps a little more nervous about that purple flag than I had been earlier.
South Beach in Motion
Later that afternoon, we decided to walk along the shore toward South Pointe Park and its pier. Oscar had brought a drone with him, so he captured some amazing footage along the way.
The whole area seemed to be in constant motion. People were rollerblading and cycling along the beachfront path, while others were parasailing or speeding across the water on jet skis. Luxurious residential towers rose behind the beach, while palm-filled parks and greenery added splashes of color to the urban landscape.
It was one of those places where it felt like you could never really run out of things to do.
Eventually, after having our fill of the beach for the day, we slowly began making our way back toward the hostel. Our route took us past Ocean Drive and, to my surprise, something I had not even known existed before arriving in Miami: Muscle Beach.
Okay. This was some epic shit.
Located in Lummus Park along Ocean Drive, Miami Beach’s Muscle Beach is a large outdoor fitness area dedicated to weight training, calisthenics, and gymnastics. The surrounding park also has numerous volleyball courts and a long beachfront path used by runners, cyclists, skaters, and walkers. The fitness area itself has an impressive collection of workout equipment and functional training structures.
I was absolutely fascinated. There were people everywhere doing pull-ups, dips, presses, squats, and all kinds of other exercises, surrounded by the beach, palm trees, and Ocean Drive. I couldn’t resist. I had to join in.
Muscle Beach in Miami was definitely the coolest open-air gym I had ever seen. And the fact that it was right there on the beach, free and open to the public, made it even better. This wasn’t just a place to work out. It was an entire fitness playground.
Mario and Sicario
After washing off the salt and sand, we headed out for dinner again that evening. As we walked out of the hostel, we spotted a familiar face. The Cuban waiter from our first night was standing outside by the restaurant terrace, wearing that same enormous grin. “Ready for dinner, boys?” he asked. We gave him an annoyed look and replied something like “Yeah… but not here.”
The guy had already gotten his 40% tip out of us. We weren’t about to give him another opportunity. Me and the boys weren’t having it.
Besides, every restaurant along our street seemed to have its own army of hosts standing outside with menus, trying to lure passing tourists through their doors. They were practically competing with one another for customers, each armed with smiles, charm, and increasingly creative sales pitches.
But none of them could compete with Mario. At least, that was what we called him. I have no idea what his real name was.
Mario was the host for an Italian restaurant, and this guy was operating on an entirely different level. His verbal presentation was spectacular. He was passionately dissing every other restaurant on the street while proclaiming the superiority of Italian cuisine over every other food on Earth. We were laughing our asses off as we walked past him.
But you know what? It worked. He got our attention. After all, we didn’t have a particular craving that night, and Italian food sounded pretty damn good. I mean, it was obviously superior to everything else. So we went to “Mario’s.” For the first time in my life, I tried octopus. It was absolutely delicious. Apparently Mario hadn’t been exaggerating about the food.
Our little crew was settling into its rhythm by the hour, and Miami was already delivering one quirky experience after another. Then, sometime during that evening, the fourth occupant of our room arrived. A Colombian guy. And this guy was… different.
He didn’t speak English very well, so he mostly communicated with Oscar in Spanish. But even without understanding everything he was saying, the three of us picked up on something immediately. The guy gave us sketchy vibes. I couldn’t have told you exactly why. It was some combination of his demeanor, attitude, and mannerisms. There was just something about him that didn’t sit right.
Then Oscar started finding out a little more about him. And suddenly our initial impressions didn’t seem quite so irrational after all. We needed a name for him. Enter Sicario. Things were about to get interesting.
Into Downtown
The next day, the boys and I decided to take a bus into downtown Miami and explore the city center.
The contrast with Miami Beach was immediate. While Miami Beach is famous for its Art Deco and Mediterranean Revival architecture and relatively low-rise streetscape—with a few exceptions—downtown Miami felt like a completely different city. Sleek, elegant high-rise towers rose everywhere, most of them combining white concrete with huge expanses of blue reflective glass. Yet despite the density, they didn’t all look the same. Each tower seemed to have its own design and personality.
It was very different from the other North American cities I had seen so far. Miami clearly had its own architectural identity.
Getting around downtown was easy too, thanks in part to the Metromover, Miami’s free elevated automated people-mover system. The network loops around Downtown, Omni, and Brickell, with numerous stations connecting many of the major sights. The only problem was that some of the elevated platforms made my vertigo very unhappy.
There was something about standing high above the streets on those open platforms with no guardrails that made my knees go quite soft. I remember getting increasingly nervous while waiting for the train, trying very hard not to look down and, naturally, trying even harder not to let anyone notice.
Everyone else was standing around completely oblivious while I was mentally battling my irrational fear of heights, outwardly pretending I was just casually waiting for the Metromover. Once safely aboard, however, I could relax and enjoy the views.
Popeyes!
Being in central Miami also meant we had considerably more cheap fast-food options for brunch. I got particularly excited when I discovered that there was supposedly a Popeyes somewhere in the area.
Antoine and Oscar had never tried Popeyes before. This was unacceptable.
Popeyes was, in my opinion, one of the better North American fast-food chains, and the spicy flavors were a major reason why. I immediately launched into full brand-ambassador mode, enthusiastically promoting its virtues to my unsuspecting crew.
Unfortunately, we never actually made it to that particular Popeyes. I don’t remember whether it was closed that day or simply much farther away than I had initially assumed. Whatever the reason, my carefully prepared Popeyes propaganda campaign ended in failure, and we had to settle for something else.
Along the Miami River
With brunch taken care of, we continued our walking tour toward Bayfront Park, following the Miami Riverwalk.
The scenery was magnificent. Boats were constantly coming and going along the Miami River toward the bay, while luxurious residential towers lined the waterfront. I couldn’t help imagining the views from some of those balconies—Miami’s skyline on one side, the bay and ocean beyond it.
Goodness, I thought. How nice would it be to own a holiday apartment somewhere around here? If only I were a multimillionaire.
We eventually reached Bayfront Park, where the urban skyline opened up into a broad waterfront space. The views across Biscayne Bay were spectacular, with the enormous Skyviews Miami Observation Wheel dominating the waterfront.
The whole place had a strange mixture of tropical park, modern metropolis, and entertainment district. And then we encountered our first prehistoric creature of Florida. An iguana.
It moved along the rocks slowly like some miniature Godzilla that had wandered out of another geological era. Back in the north, you don’t casually encounter giant prehistoric-looking reptiles while walking through a city park.
We also spotted something else I had never seen before: a floating bar out on the water, serving people arriving by boat. Sometimes the bar would go up to the boats. What a quirky thing! And then there were the coconuts.
There were palm trees all around the park, and apparently a few had decided to casually scatter their tropical produce across the grass. I had no idea whether they were edible, ripe, decorative, or potentially lethal if one happened to fall on your head. But there they were. Random-ass coconuts to go with the floating bar. Oh, Miami… You were so unique!
We continued wandering past large dinosaur exhibits and eventually came upon the elegant Freedom Tower, one of downtown Miami’s most distinctive historic landmarks. The tower’s Mediterranean Revival design stood in striking contrast to the modern skyscrapers surrounding it.
Eventually, the afternoon sun started becoming a little oppressive, and we decided it was time to sit down and hydrate. We settled around the Bayside area for a while, taking a much-needed break and enjoying the view.
Our next target for the day was Little Havana. Now we just had to figure out how to get there.
Getting Around Miami for Free
The most direct way to get to Little Havana would have been to take a city bus for a couple of bucks. But that would have been too straightforward and boring. No, no, no. We chose to go the cheaper way.
The Metromover was free, so we took it as far as we could go. From there, we walked. And walked. Our destination was the first stop we could find for one of Miami’s free neighborhood trolleys.
This was another thing about Miami that completely surprised me. I had always pictured the city as an expensive playground for rich people and tourists, where everything from food to transportation would cost a small fortune. Yet here we were, discovering that a significant part of the local transportation network was actually free. The Metromover was free, and so were these neighborhood trolleys, which circulated within their respective areas. They weren’t designed to take you across the entire city like a regular bus, but if you were willing to walk between neighborhoods and connect one free route to another, you could cover a surprisingly large portion of Miami without spending much money at all.
And that was exactly what we were doing. It was admittedly a somewhat ridiculous way of getting to Little Havana, but hey, we were young, we had time, and walking around Miami was hardly a punishment.
Welcome to Little Havana
The first thing I remember about Little Havana was the heat.
It felt hotter than it had in Miami Beach or downtown. Maybe it was the high afternoon sun. Maybe it was because we were further inland, away from the ocean breeze. Whatever the reason, the heat hit differently. And so did the neighborhood.
Miami Beach had been all Art Deco buildings, beaches and tourists. Downtown had been skyscrapers, glass towers and modern infrastructure. Little Havana felt like another world altogether.
The architecture, the decorations, the restaurants, the music, and even the language spoken on the streets all reflected the Cuban influence. We had gone from hearing English everywhere to suddenly being surrounded by Spanish. It genuinely felt like stepping into a distinct cultural enclave within the city.
One of the things Little Havana was famous for was its murals. Colorful and intricate street art appeared all over the neighborhood, often covering entire walls and buildings. With Halloween approaching, we also started noticing random skeletons and other spooky decorations outside various businesses.
And there was another recurring theme. Chickens. Or roosters. I wasn’t entirely sure which was which, nor did I know why there seemed to be so many of them, but apparently chickens were going to become a recurring character in our Miami story. Let that just settle in for now.
Little Havana had plenty of other staples too: cigar shops, mojito bars, Cuban restaurants and all kinds of little food joints. Eventually we came across one of the neighborhood’s most famous gathering places, Domino Park. Officially known as Máximo Gómez Park, it was essentially a courtyard filled with tables where locals gathered to play dominoes. And it was packed with senior citizens.
If we were talking about a Vice City setting, this was obviously where the elders of the Cuban gangs would congregate to discuss their plans while keeping their minds sharp.
I loved it. Quirky as hell.
Never-Ending Entertainment
Eventually, we settled on a place for dinner: La Esquina de la Fama, on the corner of SW 8th Street. The place was the epitome of the colorful, larger-than-life Little Havana experience.
We arrived relatively early, so we practically had the place to ourselves. The interior was packed with decorations. Photos and stickers covered the walls. TV screens hung from every corner, playing music videos. Shelves were filled with colorful mugs and other random items. Even the ceiling had not escaped the decoration treatment.
Instead of the usual ceiling tiles, an entire array of stars was spread overhead, with names etched into them like a Hollywood Walk of Fame. But on the ceiling instead of the floor.
Then came the host. This guy was energetic and social like nobody else we’d encountered so far. Maybe on the level of Mario, but in a completely different way.
First, he asked each of us where we were from. Then he started speaking our languages. Spanish for Oscar. Okay, the guy was Cuban, so that wasn’t exactly surprising. French for Antoine. Okay, this guy was clearly more than bilingual. Not bad. Then he started speaking Romanian. What the hell? Freaking polyglot over here.
It turned out we had stumbled into a place with quite a bit of history. The stars on the ceiling and the photographs covering the walls weren’t just random decorations. They represented celebrities and other notable people who had visited the establishment. And the host himself was something of a local celebrity.
Besides running the place and entertaining the customers, he had apparently also been involved in music. Or, more accurately… Music videos. He actually played one of his own music videos for us while we were waiting for our food. Mind blown.
I’m telling you… It was one crazy thing after another with Miami. We hadn’t even finished ordering and the restaurant had already turned into a show. Then another character entered. An old chap with a guitar, a hat, an impressive moustache and a bouquet of leafy branches tucked under his arm.
He started playing guitar and singing. Very cool. Very nice. And then… He grabbed one of the leaves and started whistling through it. This guy was a master leaf-blowing whistler. We were getting a full-blown spectacle simply by randomly stumbling into a place for dinner and drinks. He eventually came over to us and tried to teach us his leaf-whistling ways, but our lips were clearly not sufficiently trained for such advanced botanical musicianship.
Later, when the old man left, another musician appeared and started playing on the keyboard. Never-ending entertainment.
Our meals were great, what can I say. The food had been great everywhere so far, and this time the price was actually fair. The mojitos were authentic and strong, with a stick of sugar cane thrown in for good measure.
We sat there for well over an hour, enjoying the free entertainment as one spectacle followed another. Little Havana was great. So lively and unique, just like the rest of Miami, but with a different flavor.
Government Chickens
After dark, we finally decided to slowly make our way back toward South Beach.
We wandered around a little more as we headed toward one of the trolley stops. On the way, we passed a couple of interesting Cuban sculptures and one of those wacky inflatable arm-waving balloon men before finally boarding our trolley.
As I mentioned, these free trolleys were confined to their respective neighborhoods, so we eventually had to get off near the edge of Little Havana and continue on foot. We crossed the Miami River and walked toward downtown, looking for another way to get back to South Beach.
After another hefty walk, we ended up at Government Center Station. For some reason, I had expected that we’d be able to take a train or tram from there toward Miami Beach. I don’t even know if that was ever actually an option, but apparently it wasn’t ours. We headed out of the station and found ourselves in a relatively quiet area populated by homeless people and… chickens.
Yes. You read that right. Chickens. Squawking chickens, nesting right there in downtown Miami. What the actual… You know what? It’s Miami. It’s fine. Just your regular government chickens.
We were obviously stunned and confused by their presence. I later read some of the stories surrounding Miami’s free-roaming chickens, including their connections to local communities and cultural traditions, as well as efforts by animal-protection groups to protect them. There’s some really wacky stuff going down in this city. Vice City? More like Weird City.
Eventually, we decided to take a direct bus back to Miami Beach. The waiting part was probably one of the sketchier moments of the entire trip. Like I said, there were a bunch of homeless people around, along with several hooded figures standing around the station. It made me raise my alertness level a little. Meanwhile, Oscar was casually waving his cash around in public, apparently trying to break a bill for the bus or something. Ufff…
From the corner of my eye, I could see some of the hooded people moving a little closer. I told my dude to be a bit more discreet with his wealth in that particular place. Fortunately, nothing happened. We eventually got on the bus and made it back to South Beach safe and sound.
The chickens had our back.
A Taste of the Balkans
After returning from downtown and Little Havana, we were finally ready for a proper dinner. We’d enjoyed the Cuban food and drinks earlier, but our meal there had mostly consisted of sandwiches and mojitos. I still had one more mission to complete before calling it a night.
Introducing my two hombres to the wonders of Balkan spirits.
I’d discovered a Balkan restaurant and bar earlier near Ocean Drive called Rakija Bar. Naturally, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to introduce Antoine and Oscar to a little taste of home.
The food was excellent, as Balkan food tends to be, but the main attraction was the rakija. This traditional fruit spirit was served in tiny glass vessels shaped like miniature Erlenmeyer flasks. A rather quaint presentation for a beverage that can pack quite a punch!
And so, after a day of Cuban culture, downtown exploration and government chickens, we rounded things off with a little Balkan hospitality. Miami really did have a bit of everything.
It wasn’t going to be easy to top our second day, but we were certainly going to try.
The Everglades
On our third day, I convinced the guys to join me on an airboat tour of the Everglades.
We caught a bus in the morning and travelled for about an hour to Sawgrass Recreation Park, just outside Fort Lauderdale. Most of the journey took us through the familiar urban landscape of South Florida. But as we left the city behind, the scenery changed dramatically.
The buildings gradually gave way to vast stretches of wetlands, with tall green grasses concealing a maze of waterways that seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance.
We were in the Everglades.
The landscape was flat as the brain of a flat-Earth theorist, with little to interrupt the horizon apart from the occasional tree or patch of vegetation. It was a completely different side of Florida from the beaches, skyscrapers and busy streets we’d been exploring over the previous two days. And we were about to venture right into it.
Airboats and Alligators
Our tour began at one of the airboat docks, where a proper Florida man, complete with a silver-grey beard and baseball cap, gave us a quick safety briefing before we climbed aboard. He was our captain for the ride, and he certainly looked the part.
Once that thing got going, we were ripping across the water at remarkable speed. And noise. Boy, was it noisy! Everyone was handed earplugs before departure, while our captain wore proper earmuffs, sitting right next to the enormous fan at the back of the boat.
What a ride, though! The rush of wind, the wide-open waterways, and the anticipation of spotting alligators and other critters inhabiting the wetlands made for a fantastic ride. We were skimming across the water, surrounded by nothing but grass, trees and the vast wilderness of South Florida.
After a long stretch of high-speed airboating, our captain slowed down as we approached a patch of grassy water. Then, almost immediately, he pointed out the snout of an alligator floating just above the surface nearby.
There it was. Our first wild Florida gator!
After another exhilarating ride, we stopped at a similar spot, where a curious alligator came up to inspect the airboat from much closer. These were relatively small, young alligators, perhaps around a metre long. Nothing like the enormous beasts you’d imagine lurking in the Everglades, but still pretty impressive when you’re sitting in a boat just a few metres away from them.
Our captain explained that recent heavy rainfall had raised the water levels throughout the area. With so much water around, alligators and other wildlife could disperse across a much larger area, making them harder to spot. Apparently, we might have seen considerably more of them under different conditions.
Still, I wasn’t complaining. Seeing alligators in the wild from an airboat was already pretty awesome.
And the alligators weren’t the only attraction. At one point, our captain spotted an osprey perched on a branch further away. Watching the bird of prey sitting there in its natural habitat was another highlight of the trip. It was a reminder that the Everglades wasn’t just about alligators. This vast wetland ecosystem was teeming with wildlife, much of which we could only catch glimpses of as we passed through.
Eventually, our captain powered up the engine again, and we sped back toward the dock. The ride had been thrilling, the wildlife sightings memorable, and the whole experience a fantastic change of scenery from the urban adventures of the previous days.
But we weren’t finished yet.
The Wildlife Sanctuary
Back on dry land, we continued our visit with the animal exhibits at Sawgrass Recreation Park.
The park isn’t just an airboat attraction. It also cares for reptiles and other animals that have been rescued, adopted or donated to the park, while educating visitors about the wildlife of Florida and the importance of protecting its natural environment. The Everglades are a remarkably rich but fragile ecosystem, and places like this can help visitors better understand the animals that inhabit it and the challenges involved in preserving their habitats.
The sanctuary itself was teeming with life. Muscovy ducks, native to Central and South America, wandered along the paths, while boat-tailed grackles hopped around the fences and flew overhead. Behind the enclosures, alligators of various sizes basked in the sunlight or chilled in their ponds, along side different species of turtles.
It was fascinating to see these animals up close, especially after spotting their wild relatives from the airboat. The two experiences complemented each other nicely: one gave us a taste of the Everglades as a vast, untamed environment, while the other offered a closer look at some of the creatures that call it home.
At one of the exhibits housing a larger gator, a staff member gave a presentation about the animals, their habitats and their behaviour. It was an informative addition to an already eventful day, and I appreciated the opportunity to learn more about the wildlife we’d just encountered.
The highlight, however, came at the end of the presentation. The staff member brought out a baby alligator, holding the little reptilian beast in her hands so that everyone could get a closer look. We even got the opportunity to touch it.
I was genuinely surprised by how soft its skin felt. I had expected something much harder, almost like bone, but the little guy’s skin had a distinctly rubbery texture instead. It was a strange sensation, considering that this adorable little creature would eventually grow into a formidable predator.
The baby alligator was making little chirping sounds as we passed it around for a closer look. The staff member explained that it was accustomed to being around people, although that obviously didn’t mean you should go sticking your fingers anywhere near its snout. Cute or not, it was still an alligator, and could quickly clamp down hard on to any fingers that got too close.
We were all very pleased with the tour and grateful to the staff member who had taken the time to explain everything to us. Oscar, in particular, seemed especially appreciative of the young woman’s company. Let’s just say that being a good-looking alligator handler apparently has its advantages. Haha.
With our Everglades adventure complete, we headed back toward Miami Beach in the afternoon. We’d traded the skyscrapers and beaches for wetlands, airboats and alligators, and it had been well worth the trip.
Evening Plans
Earlier that day, the guys and I had discussed booking an evening boat party. Our roommate Sicario had overheard the conversation and expressed an interest in joining us. We were a little wary of him by this point, but we figured there was no harm in letting him tag along.
Then he asked which company was organizing the party.
As soon as I told him, he launched into a story about knowing the people behind the operation. Apparently, they were from Cali, and we had some history with them. There had been issues in the past, he explained, although everything should be fine now.
The guys and I exchanged looks. Wait a minute. Who exactly was this we he was talking about?
Ah, yes. Our Colombian compadre was from Medellín.
We didn’t need to say anything. We were all thinking along the same lines. The more we learned about this guy, the more suspicious he seemed. We had no idea what his connections actually were, but the whole conversation had a distinctly shady undertone.
When we returned from the Everglades that afternoon, we were ready to finalize the plans and book the boat party. However, Sicario was nowhere to be found, so we couldn’t confirm whether he was joining us.
Eventually, we decided to go ahead and book without him.
We felt a tiny trickle of cold sweat running down our backs as we wondered whether he’d take offence at being left out. Given the stories he’d been telling us, none of us particularly fancied finding out whether our roommate had a gun.
The Waiting Game
Fast-forward a few hours, and we were back at Bayside Marketplace in downtown Miami, searching for the pier where our boat party was supposed to depart.
The instructions in the booking confirmation weren’t particularly clear. We looked up and down, left and right, but couldn’t find the right place. There was no sign of the company name, no obvious boat waiting for us, and nobody around seemed to know what we were talking about.
I started asking people who looked as though they worked around the harbour. Nothing. Nobody knew anything. It was beginning to feel as though we’d been scammed.
Had those Cali guys somehow been involved after all? Had our suspicious roommate known something about a potentially dodgy operation? Or had we simply booked something with terrible instructions? At that point, all possibilities were on the table.
Eventually, we ran into a group of other guys wearing Hawaiian shirts who were looking for the exact same boat. They were just as clueless as we were, but at least we weren’t alone anymore. If this was a scam, we’d apparently all fallen for it together.
After what felt like an eternity, a rather raggedy-looking boat full of senior citizens finally pulled up to the pier. We watched as a staff member approached and confirmed that, yes, this was indeed our boat. Well… didn’t look like much, but at least we hadn’t been scammed. However, the boat wouldn’t actually be ready for another couple of hours.
Right. Well, off we went wandering around some more.
The Boat Party
After nightfall, the crowd had grown considerably, and we were finally allowed to board. Apparently, we’d simply arrived way too early in the first place.
The boat itself had undergone quite the transformation. The rather underwhelming vessel we’d seen earlier was now decked out with neon lights, bars and party decorations. The music was pumping, the drinks were flowing, and the atmosphere had completely changed.
Now we’re talking! The party was already in full swing before we’d even left the harbour.
The crowd was as diverse as Miami itself. People of all kinds of ethnicities, ages and backgrounds had gathered for the evening, creating a colourful mix of personalities and partygoers. And somewhere in the middle of it all, there we were: a Frenchman from Canada, a Mexican, and an Eastern European.
What a cast!
Our booking included unlimited drinks from the open bar, and Oscar had made his intentions for the evening abundantly clear. He was going to take full advantage of that offer.
Antoine and I, on the other hand, planned to be a little more conservative. I wanted to enjoy the night without completely losing my senses and ending up sleeping with the fishes—or whatever other surprises Miami might have in store for us. Besides, someone had to keep an eye on our pal if he started drifting toward La-La Land.
After a few drinks and some dancing, the boat finally set off. We cruised along Biscayne Bay, with the Miami skyline glittering against the night sky. The views were fantastic, and the atmosphere aboard the boat was electric.
Now, I should mention that the music wasn’t always quite my style. I’d never been particularly fond of the modern hip-hop and trap that dominated the playlist. You know the kind: heavy beats, catchy hooks, and rappers who all seemed to be copying one another, whether in English or Spanish. But they eventually switched to some oldies from the eighties. And suddenly, I was groovin’!
The party continued, the drinks kept flowing, and the crowd became increasingly uninhibited. As the evening progressed, we were treated to more and more spontaneous bursts of entertainment.
One of the highlights was a rather large lady who suddenly took over the dance floor with some enthusiastic twerking. Absolutely no hesitation, no holding back. She was there to have a good time, and everyone else was simply along for the ride.
Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, there was free pizza! And plenty to go around. Hell yeah, Miami!
Meanwhile, Oscar remained a man of his word and made the most of the open bar. We eventually lost count of how many vodkas or whiskeys he’d put away. To his credit, though, he held himself together remarkably well. The man had clearly come prepared for the challenge.
A few hours later, the party finally came to an end, and we returned to the harbour. It was time to make our way back to South Beach.
Suspicious Substance
There was some street tomfoolery on the way back, courtesy of our increasingly inebriated states, but nothing particularly dramatic. Antoine and I were pleasantly buzzed, while Oscar seemed to have entered a more melancholic phase of his evening.
The real highlight, however, was waiting for us back at the hostel.
Throughout the night, we’d all wondered whether we’d run into Sicario again and how that encounter might go. Would he be annoyed that we’d booked the boat without him? Would he even be there?
When we arrived at our room, everything was dark and quiet. Nobody in sight. But there was something else.
Right there on the floor, in front of the couch, was a palm-sized patch of suspicious-looking white powder. We stared at it for a few seconds, completely dumbfounded. There was no way. Was that what we thought it was? Before either Antoine or I could say anything, Oscar immediately dropped to the floor and pretended to snort it.
We absolutely lost it.
The sheer absurdity of the situation was too much. Here we were, returning from a boat party after spending the day exploring the Everglades, and now we were confronted with what looked suspiciously like a stash of yeyo right in the middle of our hostel room.
Of course, we had no idea what it actually was. It could have been something entirely harmless. Baby powder, perhaps? But then why would that even be on the floor in front of the couch? And if it really was cocaine, who on earth would leave it lying around like that for anyone to find? Our suspicions about Sicario had been growing all day, and this certainly wasn’t helping.
It’s Miami, baby! At least we hadn’t come back to find an armed Colombian waiting for us.
As the laughter eventually subsided and we started settling in for the night, another realization hit us: this was Antoine’s last evening in Miami. The next day, he would be flying to New York for a few days before heading back to Montreal.
That realization hit Oscar particularly hard. His already Oscar took the news particularly hard. Already melancholic, he became downright dramatic. He began repeatedly pleading with Antoine in the saddest, most puppy-like voice imaginable: “Antoine… please don’t gooo…”
It was hilarious. And it would become one of those inside jokes that would stick with us long after the trip was over.
What a night it had been. We eventually went to bed laughing our hearts out, grateful for the time we’d spent together and for the ridiculous adventure we’d somehow found ourselves living.
But the night wasn’t quite over yet. Because after we finally fell asleep, there was one more surprise waiting for us.
The Return of Sicario
Sometime during the night—or, more accurately, in the early hours of the morning, a few hours past midnight—I was startled awake by the dorm room door being slammed open. Obnoxiously loud, clearly inebriated voices filled the room, speaking Spanish. I instantly felt as though I’d been thrown back more than a decade to certain unpleasant nights in the student dorm where I’d lived during my third year at university.
I could only assume it was Sicario, talking to someone on his phone with the speaker on, of course. And he just kept going. And going. The conversation dragged on for what felt like an eternity. I could hear my compadres shifting around in their beds, too, most likely just as awake and annoyed as I was.
But neither of us felt brave enough to confront the Colombian.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. I don’t know how long it actually lasted, but eventually I heard him climb into bed. He continued mumbling for a while, his voice growing quieter as exhaustion finally began to catch up with him.
At last, he drifted off. Of course, the loud snoring followed, but at least I could force myself back to sleep through that. What an asshole.
I woke up later in the morning to the sound of Antoine already climbing out of bed. I got up too. He still had about half a day to kill before leaving Miami and wanted to take one final walk along the beach.
I was happy to join him.
We would have asked Oscar to come along, but he still seemed to be asleep behind his closed curtain, and we didn’t want to disturb him.
One Last Walk with Antoine
Antoine and I returned to South Pointe Beach that morning for one last walk together. He’d be leaving Miami later that day, with New York and its famous Halloween parade waiting for him. That parade had actually been one of the main reasons he’d planned his holiday this way, so at least there was something exciting ahead of him.
Oscar and I would be sticking around a little longer, although we wouldn’t be sharing the same roof anymore. No, we weren’t getting a divorce. It just so happened that this was the day I’d be moving out of the hostel and into a hotel for my final two nights in Miami.
Honestly, after the previous night’s episode with Sicario, I was more than ready for some peace and quiet. And it wasn’t just the Colombian keeping me awake. Our dorm room had an air conditioner that sounded like a miniature jet engine, buzzing away relentlessly throughout the night. Unfortunately, turning it off wasn’t really an option, as the room heated up remarkably quickly without it. Between the industrial-grade air conditioning and our mysterious roommate’s nocturnal activities, I’d had quite enough of hostel life for one trip. My decision to book a hotel for the final two nights was looking better by the minute.
Oscar, too, was planning to leave the hostel that day. He’d arranged to spend his final night in Miami at a friend’s place.
It was strange to think that we’d only spent three days together as a group, exploring Miami and the Everglades. It felt like much longer. Somewhere along the way, the three of us had formed a genuine brotherly bond, the kind that doesn’t necessarily need months or years to develop. Sometimes, a few days of shared experiences are all it takes.
As Antoine and I lay on the beach, gazing at the silhouettes of fishermen and seagulls around the distant pier, Oscar began texting us.
“Guys, where are you? You left me alone with these crazy Colombians! I’m afraid to get out of bed.”
Wait, what? Colombians? Plural?
As it turned out, Sicario hadn’t been talking on the phone when he’d returned during the night. He’d brought a Colombian buddy back with him. Oscar later explained that he’d spoken to the two of them and learned that Sicario had met the guy at a club. Apparently, he was going to help him find a job in the States. Then Oscar mentioned a phone conversation he overheard Sicario having with his mother, who was apparently worried about him getting into trouble again and wanted him to return home.
Between the mysterious connections, the mysterious job prospects and the late-night visitors, our suspicions about Sicario were hardly diminishing. Oh, and apparently, the two Colombians had shared the same bed that night. GAAAAAAAY!
By the time we returned to the hostel, Sicario and his new buddy were nowhere to be found. We finished packing our things and prepared to go our separate ways.
We said our farewells to Antoine, but not before Oscar made sure to deliver several more dramatic pleas for Antoine not to go. I wished him the best for the rest of his journey and knew I’d be seeing him again in Montreal.
The Popeyes Quest
Soon after settling into my new hotel room, I messaged Oscar to see if he wanted to meet up. It didn’t take long before we were back together on the beach, ready to embark on another mission.
We may have lost one member of the crew, but our appetite for exploration hadn’t diminished.
I had an idea. Pulling up the map on my phone, I proposed that we explore the beach in the opposite direction this time. North Beach and beyond. Our ultimate destination would be a Popeyes far away from South Beach, which we could reach by bus later in the day.
Oh yeah. The Popeyes propaganda was back! And there’d be plenty to see along the way, including one particularly intriguing stop: a nudist beach.
Oscar was sold.
So off we went, slowly making our way north along the shoreline. The purple flag was still flying that day, so we decided against doing much swimming. Instead, it was going to be a day of walking, sunbathing and enjoying the scenery.
North Beach stretched out before us in a seemingly endless expanse of sand. The terrain was uneven, and we occasionally stopped to take photos or admire the views. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but all that walking across soft sand turned out to be quite an ankle workout. My legs would have a few things to say about it later.
Eventually, we reached the Collins Avenue bridge and crossed towards Haulover. I can’t remember whether we did this stretch on foot or hopped on one of the neighbourhood trolleys. They were always a convenient option for getting from one part of Miami Beach to another.
Checking the map again, I realised we still had a considerable distance to cover. There was another long stretch of beach towards Newport, followed by a trip inland towards Uleta to reach our promised Popeyes.
The more I studied the route, the more I began to appreciate just how far away this particular restaurant was. We’d definitely need to take a bus at some point. But first, the nudist beach awaited.
A Sausage Fest
Sometime in the afternoon, we finally arrived at the northern part of Haulover Beach and its famous clothing-optional section.
Oscar had clearly been looking forward to the prospect of seeing some attractive nude women. Unfortunately, the reality proved rather different. Instead of a visual feast of sun-kissed beauties, his eyes were assaulted by a veritable army of naked male appendages flapping in the breeze.
“Oh, Patrik, this is not good. I will need to see a psychologist after this.”
I was laughing my ass off.
Fortunately, it wasn’t a complete sausage fest. There were a few members of the opposite sex who were easier on the eyes and helped restore some balance to the landscape. After all that walking, we decided to plop ourselves down on the sand for a much-needed rest.
Beyond the beach, a row of luxury residential towers dominated the skyline, including the Ritz-Carlton Residences and Trump Tower II. Quite the contrast with the natural spectacle unfolding along the shoreline.
Eventually, we gathered our strength and pushed onwards. By the time we reached Newport Fishing Pier, the sun had begun sinking behind the urban landscape. We were getting hungry and thirsty, but Popeyes was still a long way off.
We stopped at Sandbar at Newport to grab some water before walking out onto the pier.
A Spectacle at Newport Pier
Fishing rods lined the far reaches of the pier, with people of all ages patiently waiting for something to bite. The air was thick with the smell of fresh fish. Nearby, a huge, gorgeous pelican was chilling out, seemingly just as patiently waiting for its next meal.
I started taking photos of the magnificent bird, and it almost seemed to pose for the camera, standing there with the confidence of a creature that knew it was the main attraction.
A final boss, perhaps? Not quite. This bird was merely the gatekeeper. Nearby, a kid tending to one of the fishing rods suddenly began making quite a fuss over something he’d caught.
Initially, I assumed it was just a bit of childish overexcitement. You know how kids can be. But the struggle continued. And continued. More and more adults began paying attention, and it became increasingly clear that something substantial might actually be on the other end of that line. I got my phone ready, sensing that we might be about to witness something worth remembering. After a little more careful reeling, the catch finally revealed its frightening head.
A shark. The kid had caught a freaking shark!
Now we knew what the purple flag’s warning about dangerous marine life was all about.
What an experience. Once again, Miami had managed to deliver something spectacular.
All the while, we kept in touch with Antoine, who was now exploring the streets of New York and recounting his own wacky tales. Even though we’d gone our separate ways, the adventure was far from over for any of us.
The Final Boss
As the sunlight began to fade, Oscar and I finally accepted defeat. Popeyes would remain a distant dream for the time being. After all the hype I’d built up around it, perhaps it was better that way.
We decided to catch a bus back towards Mid-Beach and find somewhere good to eat there instead. First, though, we had to get across Collins Avenue.
We walked back along the pier and approached the enormous intersection separating us from our bus stop on the other side. At this point, Collins Avenue was an eight-lane monster, with an elevated road passing overhead and additional traffic moving through the surrounding junctions. A dizzying maze of asphalt, traffic lights and fast-moving vehicles.
We crossed the first section and waited at the pedestrian lights for the second. And waited. And waited some more. Eventually, I began to realise that something wasn’t right. The traffic lights had already cycled through several times, yet our pedestrian signal remained stubbornly red. We pressed the button repeatedly, hoping to trigger a crossing signal, but nothing happened.
We were stuck on a little patch of pavement in the middle of Collins Avenue, surrounded by traffic.
This was the final boss.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. I began sweating profusely. Were we going to be stuck here forever? Would we have to establish a little settlement on this tiny patch of land, living off whatever we could scavenge from the roadside? We should have brought a tent and sleeping bags.
Eventually, a few other people joined us from the beach side, apparently unaware that they’d just walked into the same trap. Our little stranded community was growing. The prospect of simply running across whenever the traffic briefly slowed down seemed suicidal. Cars were moving fast, and there was barely a moment when the road looked remotely safe to cross.
We must have been there for well over fifteen minutes when another person joined our group. This one was wearing a uniform. A police officer, perhaps? Finally! I thought. Surely this guy could call for assistance or somehow get the traffic stopped long enough for us to escape. Instead, he simply bolted across the road like the Flash, taking advantage of a small opening in the traffic.
What the heck?
So much for our hero.
Oscar had had enough. When the next brief window of opportunity appeared, he dashed across like a madman. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed, my knees trembling as I hurried through the traffic. The moment we reached the other side, the pedestrian signal turned green.
WHAT?!
I suspect the uniformed guy had pressed the button on the other side after crossing, triggering the signal we’d been waiting for all that time. Somehow, we’d failed to notice or simply hadn’t realised that the button on the opposite side could activate our crossing, too.
So, after all that, risking our lives had been entirely unnecessary.
Still, it made for one hell of an experience.
A Peruvian Feast and Halloween Night
Having survived the Collins Avenue traffic trap, we enjoyed our final stretch of walking before catching a bus south.
After another day for the books, we were ready for a proper, hearty meal. This was also going to be our last evening together, as Oscar would be leaving the following day. I was particularly keen to try something exotic, something I hadn’t eaten before. And then I found a Peruvian restaurant.
Heck yeah!
I ordered a huge plate of assorted ceviche. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was eating in every case, but it was exotic, it looked delicious, and that was good enough for me. Another cuisine added to the ever-growing list of things Miami had introduced me to.
Later that night, Oscar and I went for a stroll along Ocean Drive and stopped for a few drinks. Halloween was in full swing, and decorations were everywhere. The streets were filled with people in all kinds of costumes, while exotic cars rolled past with equally colourful characters behind the wheel.
The most memorable sight was a guy in an enormous chicken-head costume cruising around in his Lamborghini. Of course. Because why wouldn’t there be a giant chicken driving around Miami in a Lamborghini on Halloween?
Oscar was still up for a little more partying, but my energy was beginning to run out. I could feel the end of my own trip approaching, and I was starting to crave a quieter, more reflective kind of evening. The wildness had been great, but even the most enthusiastic adventurer eventually needs to recharge. And I still had one last day ahead of me.
One Last Day with Oscar
The following morning, Oscar had a tattoo appointment and asked if I’d accompany him. I agreed without hesitation. I’d never been to a tattoo parlour before, so I was curious to see the process up close. I hadn’t quite appreciated how long it would take, though. What I’d imagined as a relatively quick visit turned into a much longer affair. Still, a promise was a promise, and I was happy to keep him company while he got his new ink.
Once the appointment was over, we headed to the beach together for one final visit. I was keen to make the most of having Oscar around and to enjoy the Atlantic waves one last time before my own departure the following day. Oscar, however, kept his distance from the water. Given his freshly inked tattoo, it was probably for the best. So I went in for one last swim while he relaxed on the sand.
Antoine was already in New York, and Oscar would soon be heading back to Mexico City. The trip was clearly winding down. In the space of just a few days, we’d gone from three strangers exploring a new city to friends with enough shared stories to last us for years.
What a week it had been. I had come to Miami partly because of my love for a video game that parodied the city. Yet, somewhere along the way, I found myself living through a real-life parody of my own. Miami really was Vice City.
From the moment I arrived, the trip had felt like a wacky video game. I’d travelled down from the frozen north, met a couple of fellow protagonists, and set off on a string of main quests and increasingly bizarre side missions. Along the way, we’d encountered all manner of side characters: some friendly, some eccentric, and some whose intentions were considerably harder to figure out.
We’d explored beaches, ridden airboats through the Everglades, encountered suspicious Colombians, stumbled upon government chickens, watched a kid catch a shark, and nearly become permanent residents of a traffic island. We’d danced on a boat, sampled various cocktails and cuisines, and somehow turned a handful of days into stories we’d never forget.
And the best part? None of it had been scripted.
I doubt we could ever recreate that exact combination of events, even if we tried. The characters, the timing, the sheer absurdity of it all had come together in a way that felt almost too perfect to be real.
But the adventure wasn’t quite over. I still had a few loose ends to tie up before leaving Vice City behind.
The Solo Epilogue
With Oscar heading back to Mexico City, I was on my own again. I still had a few things I’d wanted to do before leaving Miami, and there was no reason not to make the most of my final day.
First on the list was a bike ride.
I rented a city bike and set off along the length of Miami Beach, cruising through the streets with my Hawaiian shirt flapping in the breeze and eighties hits blasting from my increasingly screechy phone speakers.
The sun was setting, the city was glowing, and I was in my element. No schedule to follow, no one to coordinate with, no destination I desperately needed to reach. Just me, my bike, the ocean air and a soundtrack straight out of Vice City. It was a simple pleasure, but a perfect one.
My next little mission was to sneak onto the beach after nightfall. Technically, the beaches were closed for the night, and the stretches around Ocean Drive seemed to have plenty of police patrols keeping an eye on things. But I could see other people doing the same, and I wasn’t planning anything particularly adventurous. I just wanted a quick stroll and one last look at the ocean after dark.
So I took my chances. Nothing dramatic happened. No police chase, no wanted stars flashing on the screen. Just a quiet walk along the beach, with the dark Atlantic stretching out into the distance. I knew I had to get back here one day. Hopefully together with my two new pals. One day… in the future.
For my final night, I wanted a proper farewell. And I knew just the place.
I returned to the hostel where everything had begun. It had several bars, including one that, at the time, was considered among the city’s top cocktail spots. After several days of mojitos and other drinks, I’d developed a genuine appreciation for a well-made cocktail. This seemed like the perfect place to indulge that new interest.
Finding the bar was an adventure in itself. I had to navigate a maze of corridors and hallways before finally reaching the elusive establishment hidden somewhere below the hostel. The final stretch led through an elegantly decorated lobby, where a well-dressed doorman stood ready to welcome guests into what felt like the inner sanctum of cocktail culture.
The place was packed. Guests waited outside for someone to leave before they could get in, and the prices were certainly on the steep side. But the drinks were unlike anything I’d had before: carefully crafted, beautifully presented, and worth savouring.
After all the chaos of the previous days, it felt like a fitting way to bring the trip to a close.
Just a good cocktail, a final evening in the city, and the satisfaction of having experienced it all for myself. A little piece of me stayed in Miami, and the city had found a place in my heart.
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Odyssian
An adventurous soul in a never ending quest to find home.
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