In Underrated Miami, we take a look at very cool Miami things that, for some strange reason, we don’t seem to appreciate as much as we should.
Recently, I have accidentally stumbled into the ownership of a kitten who, I suspect, spends the majority of its free time thinking of ways to drive me insane. Even now, as I type this, it’s plotting. I see it. Over there. Thinking. Watching. Waiting.
But here’s the problem: it’s really, really cute. So even when I find it with half its head in the guacamole I spent all day looking forward to making, or when it reaches under the bathroom door while I’m showering and steals my towel, forcing me to nakedly sprint to my room for another, it’s hard to get mad.
That’s kind of how I feel about our two main causeways to Miami Beach: the Julia Tuttle and the MacArthur Causeway. Julia is my gal of choice. I take her to and from this job that pays me to write about my cat (among other things) and inevitably there will come a morning or afternoon when I merge onto her and encounter what is, at first, a dreadful sight: brake lights as far as the eye can see. A trip that normally takes only five minutes suddenly jumps to 35 minutes and I feel my face getting hot and my grip on the steering wheel tighten.
But then, during the slow crawl up the Tuttle’s first camel hump, a familiar thought creeps in: How on earth could you be mad at that? Just look at it. Biscayne Bay, all blue and glittering. There’s the South Beach skyline, looking like the world’s biggest postcard. And you get to see it all in slow motion. Suddenly 35 minutes doesn’t feel like enough time.
It’s the same feeling on the way back home—with the sunset bouncing off the Downtown skyline— and it’s no different rolling through the MacArthur’s panoramic water views or even our charming little Venetian Causeway.
What’s that phrase? Too blessed to be stressed? Yeah, it’s sort of like that. We need our own mantra for causeway traffic. Too pretty to be shitty?
Meh, we’ll work on it.
In the meantime, try and remember all this next time you find yourself in gridlock on your way to or from Miami Beach. Take a breath. Roll down the window. And just look at it. Could be worse, huh? You could have a small cat stepping on your trachea at 4am.
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