At long last, after driving interminably through the length of Florida, we reached Miami, the city of Crockett and Tubbs, Gloria Estefan, and crazy Cuban expats who like to fly Cessnas back into Fidel's airspace.
Miami is also the Tran Homeland, and so for me it has an air of familial chaos.
This time we were to stay at one of the numerous properties of Papa Tran, but one hour north of the city (at 10pm), we learned that most of the house was rented out, leaving only an office that had no bathroom. So when we arrived, despite being reassured that we could bathe in the pool or be hosed off, we opted to do a motel.
I can say happily that it rained quite a bit while we visited, meaning that the weather was bearably hot and humid, rather than completely hellish (I am not a big fan of the Gulf climate; checking the temperature late one night, it was 78, but due to the humidity, it felt like 84!). Staying indoors a lot certainly helped.
Mostly we just hung out with Papa Tran; we managed to see one of Vivian's high school friends only briefly. We spent one afternoon at the beach, and I must admit to liking the warm water, though I could have used a cool breeze while jogging along the shore.
We also had a hard-fought adventure to capture live coconuts. Days later, I still have scrapes from climbing up the palm tree. I managed to get only one before slipping down; we had more luck with Vivian standing on her dad and then me. Now if we could open the damn things.
Concerning food, you might be inclined to ask how the authentic Cuban food was. I don't know. Papa Tran is the King of the Boo-FETT, and every meal turned into a debate about whether or not we should go to yet another Chinese buffet. I'm still a bit scarred from the lukewarm, heat-table overcooked, mediocre food, surrounded by enormous people piling up their plates. Fortunately we managed to eat at some non-buffet establishments, with only a scattering of Papa Tran complaints. "We could get this at the boo-FETT," he asserted. "But this is fresh," I replied. "That's true," he had to concede.
Miami is our furthest point from California. Now we turn west, on to the long road home.
Miles: 7130
Posted by yozhik at August 5, 2003 11:21 PM