The Road Less Traveled

I went to the cafeteria again and ordered breakfast.  This time my Spanish failed me–I understood the server when she asked if I wanted my eggs fried or scrambled, but when she asked how I wanted my fried eggs (rico? suave?) I asked her to repeat it and she did–in English (over easy or medium).  A few minutes later, I had a plate of medium-fried eggs, bacon, fries, Cuban toast, and cafe con leche for $3.75!  Such a deal!

From the cafeteria, I took bus 27 north to 8th Street.  It was a short ride, but it would have been (or at least felt like) a long walk.  It was further evidence that a car might have been handy. 

Calle Ocho

I got off the bus and saw a sign welcoming me to Calle Ocho, the Spanish way of saying 8th Street and, in Miami, a sign that one is in the heart of Little Havana.  I walked for several blocks past Latin supermarkets and restaurants, music stores with salsa music pouring out of them, and clothing stores with dresses and shoes that are appropriate for clubbing and salsa dancing, but not for my doctoral student/teacher life.

I saw a tour bus and a sign indicating that there was a nearby historical Domino Club. At first I thought it was a music hall (a la the Cotton Club), but it turned out to be an outdoor park where people (mostly men) can play in domino or chess tournaments.  Out of respect, I didn’t take pictures.  I did  take pictures of monuments to various martyrs in the efforts to liberate Cuba from Castro.

My guidebook said that 12th Avenue is the end of the Little Havana section of 8th Street. It didn’t say that 12th Avenue is also named after the late President Ronald Reagan.  I can see now the split personality Florida has, and why it is so hard  for the state to choose a president.

A Curious Code-Switch

I walked up 12th Avenue to Flagler Avenue to catch a bus to Miami Beach (actually, the southern part of Miami Beach, known as South Beach or SoBe).  A man in the Walgreens parking lot saw me waiting and kindly told me that I couldn’t catch the bus where I was; he directed me back to 1st Street to wait. 

 I decided to stop in Walgreens to get some water and money, and found that my studies were not going to waste just because it’s spring break.  I’ve read some articles about code-switching (changing from one language or language variety to another). One article said that bilingual Spanish-English women in the U.S. will often speak Spanish to their children, but will switch to English when they are scolding or making a strong point. I’d never witnessed anyone doing this with a child, let alone with an adult.

As I was in line at Walgreens, a woman walked in with a shopping cart and told the clerk in Spanish that she was going to leave the cart near the front of the store while she went to the bathroom. The clerk gently indicated that that was not acceptable. Suddenly, the woman switched to English, saying “This is America! I’m an American! I know my rights! I know the rules and regulations!” She seemed to repeat these facts again in Spanish.  The poor clerk seemed shaken by the encounter.

South Beach

Half an hour later, I’d left this incident behind and arrived at the corner of Washington Avenue and Lincoln Road.  I saw in my guidebook that Lincoln Road was a pedestrian mall, and yellowpages.com said there was a bike rental on Lincoln Road.

Lincoln Road was a pleasant surprise.  Not only were there shops for all price ranges, there were several cafes with outdoor tables.  Most tables had umbrellas with a covering to match the restaurant’s awning–orange, blue, tan, etc.  After walking the length of Lincoln Road, I settled on Pizza Rustica. I got a huge slice (more like a square individual pizza) with a wheat crust, greens, veggies, and chicken on it for $5. 

After lunch, I realized it was well after 3:00, and I really didn’t have time to both ride a bike and lay out on the beach.  So I went straight to the sand.  I like a good Southern California beach, but I couldn’t believe how clean and clear the water was in Miami Beach in comparison.  The water wasn’t as cold, either. 

Evening in South Beach

After a few hours of splashing in the water and napping and splashing and napping (and not feeling guilty for a minute that I didn’t crack open a book), the wind started to feel “cold”. I packed up and walked to Collins Avenue, a street with many hotels and restaurants built in the Art Deco (1930s American) architectural style.  I walked into the nearest one, the Marseilles, and changed clothes in the bathroom.

Maybe because the doorman asked if I was checking in, or I was blinded by the lime green walls at the reception desk, or it was a small hotel, I felt guilty for using the facilities without spending money.  I went to the bar and had a couple of drinks.

At 7:45, Halle was still en route but I didn’t want to stay in the bar and drink all night.  I settled the bill and started walking towards 8th and Ocean, where we’d be meeting Halle’s former roommate Carla for dinner.  Along the way, I passed more Art Deco hotels. I also moseyed down Espanola Way, a narrow street of Mexican and Italian restaurants ending in a small cobblestoned plaza.

Around 13th street, I crossed over to Ocean Avenue, where it really started to feel like Spring Break Central.  There were lots of young girls in bikinis or dresses, some of them already drunk, and young men trying to talk to the young girls.  There was one bar with a frozen drink called “Call-a-Cab”.  At the same time though, there was an air of gentility on the street as well. There were palm trees and tall white buildings and restaurants with lobster, steak, and expensive stone crab.  It was busy but it wasn’t uncomfortably crowded. But then again, it’s probably early in the spring break season.

I made it to Lario’s, aka Bongos, the Cuban restaurant owned by Gloria Estefan.  I found Carla based on Halle’s description, and Halle reached the table a short time later.

 We started with mojitos (a Cuban cocktail) in souvenir glasses, and tostones–plaintains that are sliced, smashed, then fried.  The tostones were good but Carla said we should have had dipping sauce, especially after we asked.  We wondered if we weren’t getting good service because we were women and might not tip as much, or if it’s because a 15 percent tip was already included in the bill so the servers did not have as much pressure to provide good service.  (Carla said the tip is included because many foreigners come to Miami Beach and don’t know that it’s customary to tip servers in the U.S.). 

Halle said she had heard the food at Lario’s isn’t as authentic as that at Versailles, but that it’s good. I could not disagree with that description.  The grilled fish with garlic seasoning I had was tasty, as were the side dishes of fried plaintains and white rice.  The best part of the dinner, though, besides chatting with Halle and Carla, was the desert–tres leches (“three milks”).  According to Wikipedia, it’s a kind of cake that is soaked in three kinds of milk: evaporated milk, condensed milk, and whole milk or cream.  That explains why it was so sweet and so good (the fattening things usually are!)

Halle graciously picked up the tab, saying it’s a treat for her to have dinner out with friends.  We packed up the souvenir glasses as best we could, and walked back to Carla’s car.   As soon as we got back to Halle’s, I realized that my trip was all over except for the packing and getting the glasses back to Philly without breaking them (which I did). 

In the morning I took a cab to the airport.  There was a Versailles Cafe bakery before security. I ordered a pastry with guava filling, the last Miami experience for a while.  It was like my trip as a whole–short but very sweet.

After I left The Bookstore at the Grove, I walked down Grand Avenue to Bayshore Drive and turned left. I started walking up Bayshore Drive towards downtown. I stopped at a park, where I had a good and sunny view of Biscayne Bay. I sat for several minutes at a bench overlooking the bay, savoring the moment of being bayside in Miami.

Around 3:00, I continued walking towards Villa Viscaya, listed in my “1000 Places in the U.S. and Canada you Must See Before you Die” book (thanks Christie) as well as my AAA guide to Miami. Along the way I went down some side streets to see some homes that judging from their size and design were built for some very wealthy people. One house that looked like an Italian Villa I had to take a picture of.

From the AAA map Villa Viscaya didn’t look that far from downtown Coconut Grove. But it was getting close to 4:00 and I still hadn’t made it. I was beginning to think about taking the bus when I saw a sign that said “Viscaya 100 feet”. Finally!

I entered the gates and walked down a garden path with occasional statues along the way to the entrance. It wasn’t cheap–$11 with a $1 discount from AAA–but when I saw the house in the distance, I knew I had to go in.

If I had the trip to do over again, I would start at Villa Viscaya and end up in downtown Coconut Grove. As I said earlier, CocoWalk and its commercial neighbors weren’t quite awake at 11 a.m. In contrast, Villa Viscaya seems to be enjoyed best earlier in the day. I had already missed the last tour of the day (included in the price). I had enough time to enjoy seeing the house and gardens, but some of the exits were closed off as visiting hours neared the end.  I also would not walk, especially in new sandals. 

That said, Villa Viscaya, in my opinion, was worth every penny and blister and deserves its place in the guidebooks. The house is a 3-story, 22-room mansion with a huge stone courtyard in the middle. Most rooms have elaborate coverings of European-style tapestries or paintings (except the more modest decorations of the owner, James Deering’s, study and bedroom and the “Asian themed” rooms). Deering had a marble bath and sink. He had a dining room and a breakfast room, and two pantries. One side of the house has an opening right onto Biscayne Bay. The gardens have buildings that looked like they had been made from materials right in the ocean. My words are truly not doing it justice. Sadly, no photos are allowed inside the house, but I have many photos of the exterior on my Photobucket site:

http://s193.photobucket.com/albums/z72/reisefrau/Miami–Spring%20Break%202008/ 

I left Viscaya around 5:30. Despite the hours I’d spent walking, I felt refreshed. That said, I wasn’t eager to try to walk all the way back to Halle’s. Fortunately, there was a security guard in the parking lot who directed me to get on the nearest bus and take it to Viscaya Metrorail station where I could change buses and head down Coral Way to the intersection near where Halle lives.The bus ride was much easier than walking, and only cost $2. I was “home” at last–for a while.

When Halle got back from work, we put on our party clothes and called a cab. Our destination: Versailles Cafe. Not a French restaurant, but a famous Cuban restaurant in the heart of Little Havana.

It may seem strange to you that I say this (it didn’t seem strange to Halle), but when I walked into Versailles Cafe, I felt like I was in Jewish deli. There was a case of sweets right at the front door, many tables, mirrored walls like Brent’s at home, and a communal energy mixed with the promise of food for soul.

While someone could take the argument further and point out that both the American Jewish and Cuban communities are diasporas that dream of one day being reunited with their homeland, the sentiment is felt much more strongly at Versailles Cafe. Halle told me that people still picket Versailles Cafe with signs protesting the revolution, to which people respond cruelly, “Viva Castro!”. There is also a rock outside the restaurant with a plaque dedicating the rock to the Cuban exiles who are Cuban patriots and dream of returning to a free Cuba.

The food was also not Jewish (pork abounds) but it was darn good. I got the special– meatloaf, red beans and rice and fried plaintains for only $6.50. Halle got paella, which surprisingly had meat in it. We also got a side order of fried yucca with green dipping sauce (yum!), and Halle ordered a pitcher of sangria. Both the sangria and the food were very filling–Halle had her food wrapped up, but I had to scarf mine down because I knew I wouldn’t have a chance to eat leftovers.  We didn’t even have room for dessert.

We thought about walking around Calle Ocho afterwards, but, as Halle’s landlady/roommate Miriam had warned us, nobody walks around Calle Ocho at night. Not because it’s dangerous, but because it’s not a part of the city where people walk.  Halle spotted a cab and we took it back to the house. She slept while I drafted this blog.

I should begin by explaining how this trip came about in the first place. I am a student again, and had spring break coming up. I was trying to figure out what to do with this week of "free" time, ... [Continue reading this entry]