Travel Blog

Yesterday I gave a friend my tour of Miami, which I hadn’t given in a while. This one, unlike all my previous ones, began at the historic Gesu Church downtown, where Andy had attended 8:30 mass. I had never been inside before and, looking for the men’s room, we nearly entered a confessional. Andy commented on the ceiling, which he thought was surprisingly low for such a large sanctuary, and wondered if it was because of hurricanes. The church was built in 1922.

From there we headed to Coconut Grove, Andy taking pictures of some peacocks, and then – because he expressed an interest in coffee – to Calle Ocho. Unfortunately, a large section of the street was blocked off for the weekend festival, eliminating a good number of ventanitas, so we settled for Versailles, where a group of women from Argentina queued for cafecitos.

Refreshed, we drove down Ponce de Leon to Coral Gables, turned right on Miracle Mile, and then left onto Columbus Avenue with its fairy tale tunnel of sculpture-like ficus trees. At the Biltmore we strolled through the cool, high-ceilinged lobby – admiring the birds in their cages – and the never-ending swimming pool (at one time, the largest in the country). On the way out, we spoke to the receptionist at the spa, who was born in Russia, adopted, and then grew up in Austin, Texas. She had moved to Miami a few years ago from Minnesota. She looked to be in her 20s and had already lived an interesting life.

Brunch at Bulla, which has some of the best eggs Benedict in South Florida – though they call them huevos Benedictinos. (Take that, Trump.) Our waitress was from a small town outside Havana. Then we stopped at Chocolate Fashion for a flourless chocolate cookie.

A spin up Coral Way, to admire the thick green line of banyan trees, and then on to 95 to the Design District, a quick drive through, and then Wynwood, where we parked and walked the streets crowded with tourists. At Panther Coffee we saw a man doodling quite beautifully on an iPad. I asked if he was an artist, and he said he was. I asked if he lived in the neighborhood, knowing that few artists do these days. No, he said, he lived in Brooklyn.