Miami

Miami is not just a city, it is a brand — the perfect parable of a life engineered to look good on screen: a city of neon, pastel, too-tall coconut palms, loud sports cars and a strip of beach that looks like an endless photo shoot. It is hot, sweaty, insanely expensive, and it does not try to apologise for it for even a second. Its essence lives in South Beach, where the streets — above all Ocean Drive — are not a road but a runway: mesmerising Art Deco architecture in pastel colours (pink, sky-blue, yellow) that turns at night into dramatic neon, people half-dressed, Latin music from every corner, and air saturated with the smell of tanning oil and the jet fuel of luxury cars. But the real Latin heart is in Little Havana, the gateway to Latin America: on Calle Ocho (Eighth Street) locals play dominoes in the park, the scent of fine cigars is opened on the spot, and salsa spills into the street from every little bar. And to do it light and with style: skip the big coffee chains and look for the Ventanitas — small walk-up street windows — and order a Colada, a sweet, strong Cuban espresso as black as the night, served in a little cup with miniature plastic cups to share with friends; when you tire of the sand and humidity, go to Wynwood, a former warehouse district turned the world’s largest open graffiti gallery (Wynwood Walls), with third-wave coffee roasters and independent designers’ concept stores; and in the evening grab a simple cocktail (rum and coke or a mojito), sit at a waterfront bar in Brickell or the South Beach marina, and watch the skyscrapers light up one after another against a purple-orange sky. The bottom line: Miami is a city of show — excessive, loud, living on the edge of visual aesthetics; just put on big sunglasses, drop the formality, and flow with its rhythm.

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