The first day of 2025 I took a bike ride along the New River. The Deadheads were gone from in front of the Broward Center, but diners at the House on the River performed a modern imitation of Renoir’s “Luncheon of the Boating Party.” Then I entered the urban canyon, passing more flaneurs, all the way to the Stranahan House, where a small crowd waited for the water taxi. Boats, people, buildings, trees, bicycles, dogs all beautifully cast in soft winter sunlight.
Saturday morning we drove to Palm Beach. Carols emanated from the large tree on Worth Avenue and Santa strolled the sidewalk past parked Jaguars and Bentleys. But the wind, whipping off the ocean, kept the crowds away.
After lunch, we drove to The Breakers but weren’t allowed in; the guard was very apologetic but said three conferences were currently at the hotel and he wasn’t letting visitors through, not even for a quick glimpse of the decorated lobby. It was, he insisted, a one-time thing. So we drove across the bridge and had tea and pastries at Johan’s Joe, where the staff were preparing for that evening’s Swedish Christmas dinner.
At home I got on my bike and rode to the New River. East of the Seventh Avenue bridge docked boats with Christmas lights appeared, including a tug that sported a marlin, a peacock, a pink flamingo and a Santa in a Hawaiian shirt. Farther along, I found people sitting in folding chairs in front of the closed Downtowner. More people sat past the Third Avenue bridge, and a man was making tacos in front of Masa & More, the restaurant with possibly the windiest outdoor dining in Fort Lauderdale.
Then yesterday afternoon we drove to Trinity Cathedral in Miami for the service of lessons and carols. A few of the lessons were read in Spanish; one of the carols was sung in French. Over a hundred people joined the Anglican Chorale on the familiar carols – “Joy to the World” and “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” – and for a few moments, there in the century-old sanctuary in the heart of Miami, all did seem wonderful and bright.
I went to Fogo de Chao for lunch yesterday and heard "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" sung in a kind of samba style.
Across our canal, a handful of houses stretch along a private road. I drive down it once a year to see the elaborate Christmas display put up by one of the homeowners, who puts out a bench for people to sit on. The other day I rode my bike to see if the decorations were up yet and, for the first time, noticed the old-fashioned lampposts that line the road. At the base of each post were four small figureheads (facing north, east, south, and west) and above them were the words: THE MIAMI RIVIERA – FLA – CORAL GABLES. Apparently, they are old streetlamps from The City Beautiful that someone, at some point, brought to Fort Lauderdale. These are the things you discover when you get out of your car.
Went for a bike ride yesterday evening, for the first time in a while, along the south side of the New River. The three high-rise apartment buildings, two still under construction, looked unimpressive from close range. The ground floor of the River Lofts has tall windows looking out to the street and I wondered if behind them there will be a restaurant or just a lobby (or worse, a gym).
Farther east, the restaurant advertising Nikkei cuisine still has its “coming soon” sign up. The longer one waits for a restaurant to open the greater one’s disappointment when it finally does. Riding past the closed Downtowner was particularly sad, though, nearby, I saw a woman walking a 10-week-old husky.
On the way back, I rode past Tarpon River Brewing and noticed that the big communal table had been removed and replaced by several small tables, making the place look more like a restaurant. Appropriately, I guess, now that it’s owned by The Restaurant People.
Across SW 4th Ave., someone had placed a chair in the middle of the empty lot. It seemed a kind of statement, but I don’t know of what.
Tuesday morning I dropped my car at the garage and walked with my book to the nearby café. The book, A Sunny Place for Shady People by Ryan Murdock, is about Malta. I left it on an outside table and went inside to order.
“How’s that book you’re reading?” a young man asked me.
I told him it was very good, written by a Canadian who spent four years on the island.
“I noticed the title,” the man said. “You know, that’s been said about this place.”
I told him that “a sunny place for shady people” was, originally, Somerset Maugham’s description of the French Riviera. He nodded as if that – or at least the author’s name – rang a bell.
I took my iced tea outside and noticed that the man at the neighboring table was reading For Whom the Bell Tolls.