Under the blazing sun, the ocean appears to be topped by a layer of glittering diamonds — fitting for a city that loves its bling. It’s rare to see an item of clothing, phone cover, or dog collar that isn’t diamond-crusted in Miami Beach. At the petrol station, where I go to fill up my mother’s 2005 Maxima, still chugging along nicely despite a trunk that can decapitate you if you’re not careful, we are surrounded by six (!!) Lamborghinis, a Porsche SUV, and a stretch limo. Every car features a vanity plate.
On Christmas Day, we aim to fulfil the American tradition of eating Chinese food. We land on Asiatiko, a swish kosher Asian fusion with absinthe cocktails kept cold with tiger-shaped ice. My kids, meanwhile, beg to try Chick-fil-A and the other endless fast-food options not to be found in England. Three doors down from my mom’s solid if dated building, where I while away the hours playing mahjong and Rummy for 10¢/hand with Holocaust survivors, there is construction on new glass-clad luxury condos with panoramic views of the ocean and intercoastal; prices start at $3.1 million.
Bienvenidos à Miami!
Ever since I was a small child, I’ve been coming to this city, full of high and low, and all things Jewish, every winter break. Moving to the UK made this journey more difficult, so we decided to come every second year; until the pandemic, that worked for us. It’s a trip that always includes abundant sunshine, daily swims in the ocean and pool, runs on the Miami Beach and Hollywood boardwalks, American sporting events, too much (if fantastic) eating, catching up with cousins and old friends and the poolside yachnas, and plenty of ogling of the massive amounts of wealth made manifest in sleek yachts, enormous mansions, and all varieties of plastic surgery.
