I tasted Hemingway through the sugar cane straw of my perfect mojito last week and I may never be the same.
No matter that it was three o’clock on a Sunday afternoon and I was the only member of my party to imbibe, that lime pulp danced on my taste buds like a wily marlin on the cool blue sea and I savored it as long as I could.
Later, we strolled through Miami’s Little Havana and feasted on the glorious colors there.
A wise old marketer sat on a bench outside his cigar shop and smoked, luring patrons in with the scent of his fat stogie and the winked promise of crusty stories. A line snaked out a famous ice cream shop and, across the street, serious gamers sat in the crowded Domino Park studiously ignoring (or covertly posing for) passing tourists assembled there.
Bright street art covered happy walls, and painted roosters stood sentry everywhere.
I followed our able tour guide, my nephew and fellow blogger Robert, through the neighborhood, cell phone camera cocked and ready to record. Again, I could have spent days exploring the food and shops, but we had a schedule to keep (and a Miami Heat game to attend), so we pressed on.
Later that night, we exited the American Airlines Arena and saw Miami’s Freedom Tower lit up in green and orange (in honor of University of Miami president Julio Frenk’s inauguration).
I felt, for a little while, as though we had traveled to Cuba…and I really wanted another one of those muy deliciosa mimosas. Viva La Pequeña Habana!
