heh.
So, I honestly never had a clue where we were headed, and had the fun of hanging back at the airport when checking the luggage so Brad could tell the harried-looking Delta employee that this trip was meant to be a surprise and not to blow it with a casual mention. Apparently his charm is infectious and so was his effort, as I watched the agent's facial worry-lines smooth away as she broke into a smile while they exchanged a few more comments. It can't be easy being on the front lines of an airline these days. I appreciated being a happy customer. Baggage checked, onward through security and then, finally, coming up to the gate whose sign read...."MIAMI".
.....Miami? Brad almost laughed at my doubtlessly comical expression while I carefully arranged my face to look more pleased than puzzled, while my peripheral brain was doing a rapid-fire check of what could possibly be down in the city of Miami that would suddenly register with a click so I could leap into the air and shout, "YES! MIAMI!!!!"
It didn't happen. Amused and patient, Brad carefully explained that our actual destination was South Beach, Miami....and that he had rented us a room in a restored 1930's hotel in an area called the Art Deco District. I'd never heard of it, but then, neither had he, so we were going in relatively blind - he with the upper hand, of course, since he'd been avidly studying the area and restaurants online.
What, me worry? Foolish Terri.
It.was.amazing.
Brad had landed us a penthouse room - no doubt smallish for a penthouse by today's standards, but it was all about the balcony patio and the art deco feel of the whole place.
We were here:
on the top floor towards the back, where the penthouse patios overlook the pool. We were in PH8. For 5 straight days, we either swam in the pool or camped out on the beach, and endlessly walked the area. Block after block was little more than architectural eye candy; I tried to take artsy shots and breathe it all in. There was a long street closed to through traffic, given fully over to pedestrians to access on foot all the shops, restaurants and bars that remained open to silly wee hours. Whether we walked down them at high noon or at midnight there was the same level of music, laughter and general street-party hijinx type of people-watching. No one went home, it seemed, and the stores never closed and people shopped and dined and drank and laughed and wore South Beach clothes. It was a world unto itself, unreal and glittering, and we were happy to wander in it.
We were barely becoming assimilated into this particular collective when the ugly reality of check-out time was upon us.
I'll have more pictures to pop in. This image of the Albion is from a quick test print of an HIE negative. It looks a little blown; I'll do better after more time in the darkroom. I returned having shot only 2 rolls of HIE, a roll of slide film that's sort of blah and one still-undeveloped roll of 120 from the Holga. Could be a handful of potentially interesting shots...could be crap. We'll see.
But South Beach is a delicious place to go lose oneself. And "PH8" will forever be a buzzword in our household.
