A Merry Air-Conditioned Christmas

Even though I’m not a fan of being squeezed into a club where I can barely breathe while having a drunken European tourist rub up against me in his attempt at "dancing," any visitor to Miami has to endure the snooty glances from aspiring models, numerous perilously large breast implants, and bruising pushing and shoving—and all of that is just while trying to get in the door—to brag about having the experience of a Miami nightclub.

If you have tons of money to blow, as most Miami tourists do, I’d highly recommend living it up in one of the infamous Miami Beach hotels, particularly in one of the all-white, thousand-dollar-a-night suites at the celebrity-filled Delano. But if you’re a just-starting-out college grad like me, make friends with someone who works in reservations, or better yet, become chatty with the concierge, because after an employee’s first 6 months of working at The Delano, guess who’s hooked up with those aforementioned thousand-dollar suites for one night?

But, of course there’s more to Miami than Cristal champagne and showing off your 7-day gym marathons in those 4-inch "shorts." We ex-Miamians are very proud of our absurdly large swamp, otherwise known as the Everglades, where you can ohhhhh and ahhhhhh at the alligators popping their eyes just about the water surface as you breeze past on an airboat. And what better South Florida experience could there be than paddling in your own one- or two-person, if you’re a skinny-armed girl like me, kayak under the glowing full moon (http://www.fullmoonkayak.com/). The added pleasure of a truly tropical Miami sunset, blossoming in deep colors of red and orange, could be just the thing to rid yourself of the shudder-inducing club moments of the night before—that is, if you even remember the night before.

Quick Tips:

Turning a bit more serious, Miami has earned a reputation as a fairly tough city, and even though, like New York, it’s bearing more and more of a resemblance to Disney World, certain precautions should be taken.

In other words, when driving around Miami, especially downtown Miami, make sure you know exactly where you are and where you’re going at all times. A mistake as simple as taking NW 2nd Street instead of NE 2nd Street could land you smack-dab in the middle of a ghetto even my heavily tattooed boyfriend would never venture into.

One more thing before turning back to the happy, cheery side of things—to be blunt, use a condom if you plan on being sexually active. When I was a sophomore in college a mere few years ago, Miami had by far the highest growth of new HIV cases of any U.S. city, beating out number two New York by a long shot. And guess which city was number three? Ft. Lauderdale.

Back to thinking happy thoughts, pick up The Miami Herald on Fridays. While not my preferred news source, they have a pretty comprehensive party planner and events guide for the weekends.

Best Way To Get Around:

Ahhhhhhh, how should I describe the public transportation system in Miami? Practically non-existent, useless, a waste of money... yep, those words adequately describe the state of public transportation down here.

If you plan on spending most of, if not all of, your time in South Beach (oh, and no one from Miami calls it that—just call it the beach) and the immediate surrounding areas, don’t bother renting a car, or else rent it only for the times you’ll be going on day-long excursions. Everything worth walking to on the beach shouldn’t be too far from your hotel of choice, and there are a good amount of taxis available for when you really would rather cab it.

Yet, if you think you’ll be traveling all over South Florida, from the fabulous Cuban restaurants of downtown and Little Havana to the kitschy stores of Key West, a car is a necessity. To save a couple bucks when going this route, I highly recommend flying into the Ft. Lauderdale airport instead of Miami International. The amount you’ll save, especially if you ride JetBlue, on airfare actually makes renting a car sound like a viable option.

Conveniently located in the heart of the Miami Beach strip on Ocean Drive, News Cafe is popular with tourists from Berlin and Idaho alike. This café/newsstand/bookstore (around since 1988) once deserved its reputation of dishing out tasty but relatively cheap lunch plates while giving you the special privilege of watching the Miami low-riders thumping out deep bass rhythms as they cruise past the beach. But, unfortunately, scarred from my first and intense case of food poisoning that hit me late one night and the definite decline in food quality, this South Beach icon, which still manages to entice hordes of tourists each day, is no longer highly recommendable.

The offerings here range from the usual appetizer of fried calamari (still one of their redeeming qualities) and sandwich and pizza meals to Middle Eastern entrées. Although I used to have mouthwatering cravings for their grilled chicken with tomato and onion, with their still-delicious mashed potatoes as a side, they quickly disappeared, as this dish is the suspect of my etched-in-memory food poisoning incident. And because I’m such a risk-taking adventurer (ha!), I have even indulged in this dish since then. Food poisoning aside, this chicken dish no longer gave the same full-belly satisfaction as before—it just wasn’t good enough to leave less than half of it on my plate, even for someone like me, who gobbles up food faster than a food-deprived, cigarette-smoking, coffee-drinking New York model.

Even after hearing complaint after complaint from me, you may still decide to dine here purely for the atmosphere, as it is still better than most of the empty restaurants lining Ocean Drive. Keep in mind that even though there is a chance you could enjoy the rare warm, instead of hot, relaxing mid-day meal looking toward the equally as warm ocean, there is also the chance that a leather-clad, beer-bellied metalhead could spend a half-hour steps from your table, revving his motorcycle in a poor attempt to show off his machismos.

Instead, I recommend heading to their slightly better sister restaurant, The Van Dyke Cafe, at 846 Lincoln Road (305/534-3600). My love for crab cakes was solidified with their unbeatable (this isn’t Northeast quality, but still) crab cake appetizer, and upstairs is a lounge with a cooly refined, old-world atmosphere, where you expect everyone to be drinking a Manhattan. Or, skip eating altogether and just head for Wet Willies, an almost equally as famous bar across the street from the News Cafe. Who needs food when two of their shock-inducing, and aptly named, Call-A-Cabs will set you in tipsy mode for the rest of the afternoon. Just avoid this place after dusk, when the FSU frat boys come out to play.

A pair of jeans that fit snugly in the most important figure-enhancing places for a mere $450? How about a flimsy but soft cotton shirt (sleeveless and belly-baring, mind you) for around 700 big ones? If such indulgences make your wallet spring open in joy, then Steam, not surprisingly near the Stepford Wives-esque suburbs of Pinecrest and Coral Gables, has just the gathering of Chloé, Dsquared, and D+G clothing to whet your designer-starved appetite.

As soon as you enter through the narrow door, you immediately want to grab the wide belt clasped together by a large stone buckle, but you resist when you remember the fashion testament of the smallest items usually being the most expensive. But, usually spending his days here or at the South Beach Steam, not nearly as tempting as the South Miami one, the South Africa-born owner is there to make you feel calm and collected, ready to be thrown oodles of clothing costing at least as much as your rent, maybe even double.

You enter into the usual Miami racks of tropical-colored clothing, a nice relief for me from the black-on-black pickings of New York. My fashion-confident best friend quickly wisps her head around, eyeing everything that would interest her in this minute area before I even have the chance to yank my eyes away from those belts that are probably more than my monthly food allowance. Moving swiftly to the back of the long and narrow store, past the softly cushioned bed serving as a waiting area for the dour boyfriend or impatient friend browsing through the latest issue of W, she greets the owner as if he was a long-lost uncle returning from 7-year jungle trek.

As he helpfully flings clothing at her to solve her "problem," one of being too skinny to fit into her size zero clothing, I contently browse the three- and four-for-the-price-of-one racks filling the back of the store. I have a glimmer of hope that I can justify buying a $170 tank top if I get three other shirts basically for free, but the majority of smalls and extra-smalls cling unflatteringly to my size six body. I determined that, with the exception of my friend, Yasmine, who finds several great deals, most of the clothing is on sale for a reason.

Wandering back upfront to the rows of sequins and silk, I find various beautiful dresses and tops that would suit my body, but they are far beyond my monetary reach—as of now.

Once again we begin to leave another store, my picky hands empty and hers clutching a bulging bag. Even though Yasmine did have a tiny, at least for this place, store credit, she amazingly left Steam only about $180 in debt -- but with seven more items to stuff in her slender closet. As I allow myself one more longing glance at those chunky look-at-me belts, I think, one day... one day...

Ahhh, yes, I remember it like it was yesterday. Skybar has carved out its own special place in my memory, as it was the place of my first true B-list celebrity sighting (Simon Rex).

Okay, so maybe America’s celebrity-worshipping culture has gotten a little out of hand (I had you going there for a few minutes, didn’t I), but that doesn’t reflect on the quality of places like Skybar, which would probably install a celebrity-tracking system of South Beach if one existed.

This lounge/club has gained It-status by offering up a relaxing, hip, and fun atmosphere, probably due the lack of space to partake in some true Miami-style booty dancing (not a fan). Located inside the upscale Shore Club hotel, Skybar is actually supposed to be restricted to hotel guests, but in recent years, persistent and confident clubbers have pushed their way through the strong-armed bouncers. But they trick you. Once you get past the entrance to the Shore Club, which was guarded like it was the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier the Friday night I went, when you think you’re all through batting your eyes and lifting your skirt a little, you have to do it all over again to get into the place du jour—The Red Room.

Obviously, this room is aglow in sexy shades of red, but it is also the only place to be at Skybar, even though there are two outside bars around the pool. Once you sway yourself into this rather small room, you can hit the bar for a trendy pomegranate martini after you elbow your way up front. In order to avoid spending $50 in 3 hours, though, start up the schmoozing you used on the bouncers and grab the attention of some poor fellow at one of the tables lining the sides of lounge, preferably one with some fancy-schmancy champagne. You’ll usually score at least two free drinks from a wee bit of innocent flirting.

Once you’re done making your rounds, brushing past the lone pool table in the back, make your way into the fragrant Miami night air flowing around the pool. Groups of three or four people are scattered about, lounging on the white-sheeted beds dotted around the lit pool or in the cabana-like enclosures separated by sheer white curtains. This is the place to catch up with old friends while slowly sipping caprihanas.

But wait, you want to go back to the enviable crowd in The Red Room. Well, don’t think that just because you got in once means you’re going to get in again. That’s right, purse those lips and lower that shirt because it’s time to do the bouncer-flirt one more time.

Piece of advice: For a better chance at getting in, do not—I repeat—do not bring anyone of the male gender (sorry, guys). Oh, and the earlier you get there (10 or 11pm), the more lax they are about letting you in.