Beneath the Palm Trees of the Magic City - Dear America

Dear America,

I've been away for a few days. Did you miss me? Don't think for one second that I've been giving you the cold shoulder! I've merely been on vacation taking in the wonderful sights and sounds of an American summer breaking free from the shackles of a pandemic.

For the majority of my life, I've always considered my heart to be in New York City, but my soul will always belong to Miami. Maybe it was a bit too much Miami Vice, but Magic City has always spoken to me on a deep level. It's a land of beauty, neon lights, sunshine, and some of the best damn coffee you'll ever have (uno cortadito, por favor!). In every sense of the phrase, it is my holy land, and I had always regretted not having actually ever been there.

Last week, I finally made the pilgrimage to my promised land and it certainly didn't disappoint. The smell of the ocean mixed with the scent of good food and cigars, while the pastel colored buildings stood like bright towers. There was plenty of fun to be had in Miami Beach, and words could not describe how I felt when I finally walked down Ocean Drive past the Colony, Breakwater, and the Hotel Victor. A man roller-skated by, grinning from ear to ear, while the sound of parakeets and seagulls filled the air.

My journey took me to Little Havana where I saw the home of a true resistance. I dined on the Calle Ocho Special and bought cigars from a man who'd been in the real Havana when the Castros took power. I gambled on Jai Alai and watched the pelotaris play their hearts out. The Cuban culture has always been deeply fascinating and it was incredible to see a mix of what these proud refugees had brought to the American Way.

On my last morning in this wonderful place, I took one last look before driving north. The birds sang goodbye and there was a sleepy sense of calm as the sun caressed my face. I'll be back again, Miami, I promise. Wait for me on the sun-washed streets beneath the palm trees.

-Calhoun