You can’t go to South beach without having breakfast at News. Well, of course you can, it’s just that I fall whichever way the wind blows,
and I was going out to drop off my laundry anyway so it made sense to stop in at this iconic café for their Benedict-style ham egg and tomato on an English muffin. The sauce was cream cheese rather than hollandaise (that’s their unique twist on the classic), and it came with enough coffee to float a small navy.
After last night’s confusing offering, I was pleased to sit down to a meal that looked and tasted like what it was.
The sun loungers around the pool were filling up, one of them with me. But a lazy morning spent working out how best to tackle the Art Deco hotels along the waterfront was not to be: storms were rolling in across America, and flights to JFK were disappearing like frozen margaritas. The hotel didn’t have any more rooms if tomorrow’s flight cancelled so what to do? Take a chance – and risk sleeping on the beach? Or stay with friends in Manhattan until I could get back across the Atlantic?
I don’t mind admitting that I was a little wistful as I swam a few sad, final breadths of the pool, rolling onto my back under the water to see the sun slide behind a cloud. The clouds had been occasional in the morning. Now, as the afternoon wore on, and I began to pack my bag, they were getting heavier, darker, and more frequent. Stopping only to pick up my laundry, we headed for the airport, and the rain began just as I was checking my bag at the kerbside.
Miami is a twenty-four hour city, which is just as well, because that’s how long I spent here.