Last night just before midnight our Cuban neighbor called to tell us that the water in the garage was up to his knees and that we should move our car. I recently had seven stitches removed from my lower leg (basal cell carcinoma) so he kindly and successfully got the car out for us, and parked it in an impromptu parking lot in front of our building, which is on a slight rise. Hania and I spent the next hour trying to empty the back seat of water. (The floor in the front was a little damp but otherwise OK.)
This morning we discovered that both canals overflowed onto the dock – first time we’ve seen that in 34 years here. I might take a bike ride later today; for now, my car is blocked by about half a dozen others. The garage now is one extensive puddle streaked with dirt, so there’s no returning there until it’s cleaned up.
At least now perhaps the snowbirds will leave.
Hoping for an all-South Florida NCAA final tonight, I now find myself thinking I may not even watch the game. Instead of two teams I have some connection to, there are two teams I care nothing about.
Had there been a University of Miami and Florida Atlantic University final, I probably would have favored the latter. I liked the UM team, and I’ve spent a lot of time over the last few years at the university’s medical center. But I once audited a course at FAU.
It was 2003 and I was planning a summer trip to Greece for the Sun-Sentinel. I had never read the Iliad, and thought that doing so alone I would miss a lot. FAU offered a Greek Literature in Translation course at its Broward campus and I asked the professor if I could sit in.
It was time well-spent. The professor was in his 40s, short, quiet, rather nondescript, but he brought that ancient text to life. He not only explained but enthused, and transferred his passion onto the class. When the course was over, I read the Odyssey on my own and didn’t enjoy it nearly as much – and it’s a travel story!
I was delighted to hear that the World Baseball Classic was coming back to Miami because, I thought, I’ll get to see a game with the roof open. This has been my biggest complaint about the Marlins: that from opening day to the last game of the season, they invariably play with the roof closed. The city, or Loria, or whoever robbed Miami’s taxpayers to build the stadium should have saved a bundle and just built an indoor stadium. A retractable roof that’s never opened makes no sense.
The traffic to the stadium yesterday evening was much worse than for a Marlins game; the cost of parking in the garage – I discovered only after it was too late – was twice as much. But there was a buzz, a rare sense of excitement as fans – most of them in Puerto Rico jerseys – headed to the stadium.
Where the roof was closed. I moaned to anyone hanging around who looked is if they might speak English: two cops standing outside the stadium, a man checking tickets in the outfield, anyone wearing a lanyard. One statuesque woman who worked for the Marlins took me to Guest Services, where the young woman there said nonchalantly, “They never open the roof.” No one shared my outrage. “People like to be comfortable,” someone told me. Someone else said they make the decision about the roof two days before the game, based on a number of factors. I thought: Yea, it probably has to be 76 degrees, with zero humidity, zero chance of precipitation, and wind speeds of less than 5 miles an hour. I said I'd heard it was the players who demanded a cool, climate-controlled environment, but that I thought that worked for spoiled professionals, not teams in an international competition (though most of Puerto Rico’s starting lineup plays in the majors). I asked one young man in a lanyard whom I can write to, and he said he would take my concerns to the top himself. Still, I am going to write to Ng, explaining that, after sitting indoors all day, most people like to be in the fresh air. This is why restaurants have outdoor tables – even in summer. Not to mention the environmental cost of air-conditioning a huge stadium. Of course, climate change, and rising seas, are not things Miami has to worry about.
I eventually settled down, and briefly got into the noise and excitement. I stood out behind the left field stands, where I bought an arepa from the nearby cart, the only decent foodstuff in the stadium.
By the third inning I had a headache. And I’d lost my voice by complaining over the din. At the start of the fourth I took the escalator down and exited the stadium. It was a beautiful evening in Miami.
One of the tips I always give travel writing students is: Always arrive at events early and stay late. That’s when you witness unscripted moments, moments that most of the other spectators miss.
Saturday evening Hania and I went to see the Miami City Ballet at the Broward Center, and, as usual, we arrived early. We strolled the lobby, which was populated by quite a few other early birds, and then headed outside to the courtyard, which was practically empty. At the west end the window blinds were open, revealing dancers on massage tables getting physical therapy. I pulled out my phone and took a picture. Then we headed into the performance.
The dancing was as exquisite as the music, which ranged from Henry Purcell to Philip Glass.
At the conclusion, we didn’t rush to the parking garage. It was a beautiful evening. The Center, set on a man-made hill overlooking the New River, has always had a commanding view, and now it’s enriched by downtown towers. Walking with the crowds, we heard two couples speaking Polish. Hania immediately engaged them in conversation, which continued all the way down to 2nd Street, where the policeman assigned to ensure a safe crossing happily joined in. He was, he said, from the south of Poland.
Yesterday morning, instead of writing my blog, I attended a talk on the future of F.A.T. Village. I learned that this is the new designation for the area that includes the old F.A.T. Village and the current Flagler Village, and that, instead of Flagler Arts and Technology, the acronym now stands for Food, Art and Technology. The new development on the site of the old F.A.T. Village, we were told, is going to incorporate art as an important component, with artists occupying space at extremely low rents. It was suggested that the monthly art walks might also return. But, like everything in Fort Lauderdale, it is going to take a while.
Walking down Lincoln Road Monday afternoon I thought of Jeffrey Bernard, who once wrote in his Low Life column in The Spectator: “I wish the police would block off memory lane.”
It had been over a year since I’d been on the pedestrian street and I was pleased to see it was as crowded as ever. But then I walked past the building that once housed Books & Books; a little later the old site of the bustling Van Dyke Café. I even felt nostalgic for the vanished Banana Republic. Passing the large H&M store, I remembered the theater it once was, and the night it was packed for an evening of poetry from two Nobel laureates, Czeslaw Milosz and Derek Walcott. There have been many improvements to Miami over the years, but a lot has been lost.