Welcome to Miami

This used to be an annual winter escape for us when we were living in New York, trading Manhattan's snow and Christmas deco for the perfect cocktail of highbrow and lowbrow, the high-minded and hedonistic that is Art Basel Miami. 

Alas, as I no longer work for the corporate sponsor of Art Basel, this junket's probably a thing of the past. Or at least access to the inner chamber of the VIP lounge, which positively reeked of high net worth, and where I might have a quiet conversation with a celebrity portfolio manager from Chicago, or the CEO of Italy's most influential bank. Then we'd adjourn for Iggy Pop or The Peaches, live on the beach, and drink vodka, neat, until dawn. One thing I will say for my former employer, they really knew how to throw a party, once upon a time. 

On this airport connection, we have just enough time to clear customs, check in for the onward journey to LA, and hit South Beach for lunch. Jeff is still there, working as the maitre d' at The Hotel of South Beach, which continues to age well with its timeless take on 50's glam. And to serve a killer hamburger. We've stayed here on practically every trip to Miami, once with Paul for Spring Break, with Kim and Misha on our stopover, bound for Grenada. And even once with Iris )aka "Iggy Pop"!), who accompanied us in a baby basket for gallery openings and pasta tastings chez De Niro.    

This time, we catch a glimpse of the beach, from a distance, down a glass of CA Chardonnay in preparation for LAX, and are bundled back into a cab for the ride back across the Causeway to MIA.