Escape Clause: Miami Edition

I detest cold weather. I know I’m supposed to relish the vaunted “change of seasons,” but for me that fluctuation should stay between 70 and 90 degrees. And before all my Northern readers assail me, I once lived on your frozen tundra. My first job out of graduate school was a college professor in northern Indiana, where I shoveled more snow in those five years than I’d seen in my first twenty-eight.

I’d like to say that this broadened my horizons. Truth is, it only cemented my determination to avoid descending mercury—a narrow-mindedness that I warmly embrace. While my brother flies to western ski slopes every winter, I seek the Valhalla of soft breezes on Caribbean beaches. 

Our recent cold snap was as welcome as a dental exam. The television meteorologists’ gleeful predictions of menacing precipitation elevate this to a scheduled root canal. Visions of grocery store chaos, roadway havoc, and electrical outages quickly seal my resolve to flee south, and favorable temperatures in Miami Beach set my destination. I even find a Marriott that will host me on points. How often does that happen on short notice? This must be what my Baptist friends call “God’s will.”

It’s nearly freezing when I enter Hartsfield-Jackson Airport, and three hours later, I exit Miami International to 80 degrees—not a bad pick-up for only 600 miles. 

Spanish, usually delivered with a Cuban accent, feels like the official language of Miami—making Uber the most efficient transportation for a man whose bilingualism ends at “gracias.” The drivers politely smile, comprehend little of my English, and unfailingly deliver me to the right destination anyway. Bravo! I can’t wait to don shorts and sandals. 

The intense sun scorching the beach makes me think I might have overcorrected my meteorological quest. I feel a bit like Goldilocks, needing to escape each extreme to find that comfortable middle. With no bears in sight, I’m up to the challenge.

Shaded Lincoln Road Mall is “just right” this afternoon. Gillie Schattner and Marc Schattner’s animal sculptures appear on every street (sans bears). The larger-than-life bronzes depict animals engaged in unmistakable human activities—riding bikes, gossiping on park benches. Dogman and Rabbitwoman are most prominent, standing erect and wearing business suits—much more serious than any of the people strolling these streets. With oodles of eateries and sidewalk tables, the afternoon passes pleasantly.

Later, sitting by the pool and sipping a cold drink atop my hotel, I watch the sun descend over Biscayne Bay. I think of you folks back home watching the temperatures tumble into the teens and warmly applaud your grit and creativity—secure in the knowledge that I would last roughly eleven minutes in your driveway.

Warmth overwhelms me on Saturday morning. While you brave the dipping mercury, I tenaciously navigate the two-mile beach walk to South Pointe Pier. I’m sure our tasks are roughly comparable. With all of the slower foot traffic I must overtake and the bicycles I must avoid during this power walk, I know that I garner your empathy. A slow return along the Art Deco district of South Beach is my reward, just as securing that last loaf of bread and gallon of milk brightens your souls this morning. We are brothers and sisters indeed.

Between strolling the surf, rooftop sunning, and outdoor dining, the balance of my day feels almost tediously pleasant. While you ration bottled water and debate the physics of black ice, I ration sunscreen and debate SPF levels. The symmetry is undeniable.

Since I’m already on the southern tip of Florida, I might as well hop aboard a ship. With all the reluctance of a kid forced into a candy store, I set sail for the Caribbean, bravely confronting temperatures that refuse to dip below 75—not to mention the sun’s encroachment on my deck chair. Your winter winds howl; my palm trees rustle. Alas, nature tests us all. 

If the balcony breeze gets too frisky, I’ll think of you scraping windshields and whisper, “Stay strong.” And when my tropical drink requires a second umbrella for structural support, I will bear that burden with dignity. I’ll tip my glass toward the north—in solemn solidarity.