More Travels

After a lovely Shabbos, albeit cool and rainy, we checked in with the kiddies left behind, and got ready to go visit a cousin who lives in North Miami Beach. Another cousin and aunt and uncle were also here on vacation, so we had a mini reunion. It precluded another trip to a restaurant, but they had decent pizza. I’m trying to figure out how many pounds a person can gain in four days, so everything I’m eating is being eaten in the name of science. I am doing this for the good of mankind. Too bad I skipped the Krispy Kreme, then this would be a truly selfless exercise.

We got back fairly late, and after some more schmoozing with the in-laws turned in fairly later, recharging for a day of fun and sun in the morning. We awoke to a sunny South Florida morning with the slightest chill in the air, one that foretold a day of perfect temperature. Not sweltering and not too cool. Not blazing enough to have packed beaches, but not cool enough to get in the way of a day of all outdoor activity.

First, however, was brunch. There’s a place in Surfside that I love. It’s run by a French family, and is a small French café, serving salt and sweet crepes, croissants, eggs, lattes, etc. The kind of place you just want to go, because it’s so quaint and quiet and just…perfect. Fresh squeezed orange juice comes in stemware, the baguettes are toasted and served in a basket, and the bistro tables are wrought iron with matching chairs covered in a an eclectic mix of cushions.Unfortuanely there were no tables available outside, so in we sat.

MBB agreed the place was indeed quaint and wonderful, but opined that that all would be moot if the food were lousy, which it isn't. It is quite good, and very fresh tasting. Plus, when you see the chef come out of the four by nothing kitchen, with a wisp of her hair coming out of her pony tail and framing her flushed and slightly plump face, you can’t help but smile when she starts speaking to the very tall mustachioed proprietor in their native French.

Full and smiley we made our way up A1A to Hollywood, where we found parking on a side street near the north end of the famous Hollywood broadwalk. For the uninitiated that is not boardwalk spelled wrong, it’s a different type of seaside walkway. For starters, it is not raised. It abuts the beach as it meets the sand, separated only by a very low stone wall, with frequent breaks to allow for unfettered access to the sand. At some points the ocean waters are pretty close to this wide stone pedestrian paradise, and thus you get a day at the beach without all the sand in your shoes, toes, hair, nails, etc,. The broadwalk was bustling on a Sunday afternoon, the restaurants were packed, the bike lane was full, and the walkers were many. Live music pulsated from many of the eateries and bars, though the atmosphere remained “family friendly.” Not surprising really, considering that we did not see anyone between the ages of fifteen and thirty. Unlike Lincoln road where the age of the people ran from weeks old to possibly a century and everything in between, we only saw pre teen and younger and thirty and older in Hollywood. We walked about three miles or so, total, and introduced the boy to the beauty of the ocean, he seemed fascinated. The rolling waves, the crashing sounds, he was mesmerized. Unlike his parents he did not get to feel the sand in his toes, and we doubt he appreciated that salty air scent.

Late lunch, gifts for the kids, a slow drive back, and a late dinner out after depositing the boy with his doting grandparents, rounded out the day.

This morning we went for brunch again at my little café, this time a party of four. It was nice and leisurely, and when we got back I made sure to spend time on the terrace just enjoying the view and the sunshine. Then off to the airport and back to the the windy cold temperatures of New York. We got lucky with our flight crew. Not only did they speak clearly on the PA system (I’ve often wondered if pilots needed to pass a deep voice test to get their license), but they updated us continuously. Like when we were put in a holding pattern, and when we turned over Atlantic City, and when we were put in a second holding pattern, and when we landed and needed to be towed into our gate, and when the jetway had no power and we would have to wait longer to get off the plane, and when we would have to sit down, re-stow all our items because the jetway really wasn’t working and we would have to change gates, and then GOOD NEWS! When the jetway did work before we pulled away and changed gates we were all able to deplane. ( I wonder if there was some guy who had flipped a switch and there was a flurry of activity and everyone trying to fix the problem, and this one little guy was just like …ooops, sorry…and flipped it back on).

So now it's back to real life.

I can't wait.