It’s impossible to go on a 10 day trek from the cold, icy delph of Phila to the sunny, bustling beaches of Miami without learning a thing or two. I, it just so happens, learned nine.
- I learned that in Miami, based on a mayoral decree, all DJs, radio stations, bars, cabs, convenience stores, inconvenience stores, street corners and boombox lugging hobos are contractually obligated to play this song at least once an hour, on the hour:
- I learned that, surprisingly, no cab drivers know how you can get to Cuba in the middle of the night and the Cuban ones may inspect to see if you are wearing a wire before dropping you off in Little Havana.
- I learned that Little Havana is exactly as adorable as it sounds, and is not a neighborhood, but is actually a scaled down representation of all of Havana, small enough to fit inside a city block, complete with lego-sized Cubans selling thumbtack Mojitos on street corners and dancing evocatively to the tiny tunes being played by miniature mariachis.
- I learned that, despite what we are all told as children, there is no such thing as too much of a good thing. Except maybe that phrase, because of it’s inaccuracy.
- I learned that text messages rise in hilarity between the hours of 9-1 before a precipitous crash between 1-3, only to then become more hilarious than ever around 4.
- I learned that I actually like cab drivers. For a long time I wrote them off entirely based simply on their trade, like cobblers, but after talking to a few of the funniest taxi-men around, about everything from Lady Gaga to Big Foot to their opinion of break dancing and their fear of robots*, I have a new appreciation for them. Perhaps it’s time to give cobblers a second chance too.
- I learned that among the droves of revelers at any once-in-a-life kind of party, there will always be a few forecasters of apocalyptic doom at the hands of a vengeful god, and that these people love when you try and high-five them.
- I learned that it is always a good idea to look through everyone’s cameras the morning after a party like in that movie The Hangover. Not only is it a funny way to recount the night, but it’s a great way to figure out ridiculous things you didn’t do so you can properly plan for the night ahead.
- I learned that letting your friend write your phone number as well as your blog address on the chalkboard bar-top at Lost Weekends is a great idea if you like cryptic random phone calls and text messages from strangers at odd hours, which I, of course, do**.
*These are all actual conversations I had with cab drivers in Miami, some of which I recorded and will be up here soon for you to enjoy.
**If you read this because you wrote down the address from the bar-top I’m talking about, please go back and erase it.