FLASHBACK: Miami White Party (Thanksgiving 2003)

As circuit seniors who'd had a fabulous time at another White Party in Palm Springs over Easter, Dan and I were determined to dance our asses off whenever and wherever we could even if it meant blowing off our annual Thanksgiving ABC travel.  We flew to Miami instead, staying in South Beach at the Royal Palm Hotel.

To say I was enchanted with our hotel is an understatement.  Even though I'd recently turned 50, I had never paid for nicer lodgings.  It was a definite upgrade from the Holiday Inns where I had stayed with my parents in the Sixties.

Even the floors had style!

The neighboring hotels weren't too shabby, either.  Developers finally had caught up to the South Beach scene.

I couldn't get over seeing Christmas decorations while wearing shorts.  That would change, big time, 17 years later.

Chilly, overcast weather prevented us from tanning our first full day in town.  We shopped for outfits instead.  Or at least I did.  It seemed ridiculous to have to buy a white shirt at Banana Republic that I would wrap around my waist as soon as I hit the dance floor.

Whenever visiting Florida, I had a rule:  ALWAYS rent a convertible.  Too bad no Karmann Ghias like this one parked on Ocean Avenue were available.  My father bought his first, a hard top, in Munich nearly 50 years before.

Our Chrysler Sebring took us to the Norton Museum of Art, now completely re-modeled.

I miss the spiral staircase.

A visit to the Miami Zoo provided the only continuity with our ABC trips.

An intimidating bus, full of chattering hunks who had taken the dress code far more seriously than I drove us to Vizcaya for the White Party where, if memory serves, Deborah Cox performed "Absolutely Not" early in the evening for a crowd that knew every word.

Right or wrong, you judge the same

My picture never fits your frame

What you thought, you'll never know

You can't see me with your mind closed

Should I wear my hair in a ponytail?

Should I dress myself up in Chanel?

Do I measure me by what you think?

Absolutely not, absolutely not

Wanna bet?

No incriminating pics exist to document the dance-floor debauchery, although I do dimly recall that we appeared in online photos with other high, sweaty circuit boys.   In those pre-selfie days, it felt like a new kind of validation:  yes, we WERE there, in a fantastic, intoxicating environment that existed purely for pleasure.  Clicking on the link, long vanished, triggered a new rush of serotonin.

We had glimpsed the future.

More ABC Thanksgiving Travel:

Amsterdam

Berlin

*Moscow/St. Petersburg

Copenhagen

Dijon/Paris

*exceptions make the rule

More South Beach

South Beach Redux (2026)

Recreating the Pines Experience in January (2019)
FLASHBACK: Alligator Alley (1996)

FLASHBACK: Bye Bye Kurt (1994)

Miami Day Trip

Bidding Chris goodbye at the Miami airport after four months of cohabitation at the Folly dramatically increased the utility of Thom's two-seater.  He picked me up at the Tri Rail station a little after noon.

We headed to the Plaza Seafood Market in Little Santo Domingo.  I expected it to be on the scale of the Fulton Fish Market, where I spent one of the happiest mornings of my childhood with my father.

From the storefront, it appeared to be little more than a take-out restaurant.

Fortunately, the man in the coral shirt encouraged me to take a peek inside.

Thom ordered the seafood rice; I got the butterfly fish special.  Both came with fried plantains.

After lunch, we followed our sweet tooth to Azucar in Little Havana.

I pigged out on a scoop of the Girl Scout Cookies flavor.  Way more memorable than the butterfly fish.

"The Father" was playing at an Art Deco theater across the street.  I haven't bought a movie ticket since seeing "Parasite" in February 2020.

Domino Park remains closed.

But that doesn't prevent the locals from enjoying a masked game.  Life definitely goes on in South Florida.

What would I do without the New York Times?  An article last week recommended visiting the Fairchild Tropical Botanic Gardens which occupies 83 acres in Coral Gables, a densely vegetated neighborhood just south of Miami.

If you read between the lines of the Wikipedia entry, you get the sense that the Price Waterhouse founder who established the garden in 1938 named it after a plant lover who may have been his boyfriend.  What an amazing tribute.

Frederick Law Olmsted, one of my heroes, influenced the garden's design, which emphasizes three principles:  variety, consistency and contrast.

Misters keep the rainforest content.

You'd never know orchid season already has peaked.

Butterfly gardens can be as depressing as they are beautiful.  Somehow it seems cruel to trap the winged creatures indoors.

Banana splits offer some degree of compensation.

Chihuly glass shapes and colors can't compete with Mother Nature's.

Even bled of color, plant leaves can astonish.  Polka dots!  Who knew?

I'm reading The Overstory by Richard Powers.  I'll never take trees for granted again. Misters Montgomery and Fairchild would have approved.

Truth be told, I enjoyed driving through the condo canyons of downtown Miami in a convertible as much as anything we did, even though the afternoon sun made us feel like a couple of chickens in a rotisserie oven.

A floral bike on US 1.

Our perfect day ended in Wilton Manors where we dined al fresco with Andrew & Steven. Go for the happy hour, stay for the food.