I drove A1A to Miami Beach yesterday, at rush hour. I hit 15 red lights, a third of them while trying to get out of Fort Lauderdale. Gliding through Hollywood, Golden Sands, Sunny Isles, I found the closest thing there is on South Florida roadways to a green wave. And when I stopped, there was always something to look at: condos, shops, people in scarves, the scent of mothballs almost penetrating through my closed windows. The only thing close to a tie-up came as I entered Surfside, but it lasted only a couple of minutes, and soon I was going too fast to notice the shops and restaurants (but not the menorah in front of the Police Station).
I parked in the lot next to the Eden Roc 55 minutes after leaving home. Tourism representatives from Quebec were up on the penthouse level, standing at little round tables in geographical order, starting with Montreal and moving east. About halfway around I was told by a woman from Baie-Comeau that my French would be tested by the time I got to Isles de la Madeleine.
There is nothing like spending time with Quebecois to put your cold spell into perspective. Martin Lachance showed me pictures of his departure that morning from Montreal, the blanketing snow, the de-icing machine that his plane availed itself of twice. But it took off. Monsieur Lachance a eu de la chance.
The young man from Iles de la Madeleine was not difficult to understand. He showed me a map, and pointed out two nearby islands - Saint Pierre & Miquelon - that he said were territories of France. France had kept them, initially, for fishing rights; now, he said, there were fewer fish, but France held onto them anyway. My travel writer wheels started turning.
