Tag: miami

You had me at ‘Baby Gator’

You had me at ‘Baby Gator’

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 11 Comments

I’m not going to lie, when I pictured myself taking an airboat ride through the Florida Everglades I pictured myself standing at the front of the boat, the wind blowing through my hair, shades on and hands on my hips taking in the scenery like it was no big thing

I also had an image of Horatio from CSI: Miami standing on one in a similar pose floating around in my head and that’s kinda what I was trying to embody..

Caine

“Drive by…Miami style.”

In reality I was sitting in the second row from the front on the edge of the boat in a bright sundress.

Sometimes because my eyesight is so bad I would switch from sunglasses to my extra strength prescription glasses to try and get a glimpse of an alligator lurking in the shade of the trees.

This was not the Horatio image of myself I had pictured.

The night I arrived in Miami the concierge handed me a stapled stack of papers with information they thought a tourist might need to know during their stay. Nearby restaurant and entertainment options, map of the surrounding area, special tour options, etc.

Because I was traveling by myself and needed more to do than eat and lay on the beach (which in itself sounds amazing enough) I booked a couple of tours to take up my weekend.

Saturday morning I woke up, dressed and walked to the meeting point for the Everglades tour. I walked right up to the red tour bus, said my name and panicked when the tiny german woman told me my name wasn’t on the list.

I went into the office made a stink about how the concierge made my reservation and Dylan in their office confirmed it and then promptly walked out when they said there was no one by the name of Dylan working in their office.

I freaked out a little more on the sidewalk as I dialed the number given to me by the front desk until someone from the correct tour agency reassured me that the bus driver would be arriving in a few moments to pick me up from where I was currently standing.

The bus pulled up and the doors opened, “Jenny Kastle?” The driver asked

“YES!” I rushed onto the bus and took a seat right behind him.

We chit chatted a bit as we picked up the rest of the people going on the tour. Eddies Torres, from Puerto Rico (don’t hold that against me ) was driving a big bus of tourists from South Beach down the Tamiami trail to look at some gators.

“It’s nice. You’ll like it. They even let you hold an alligator and take a picture with it.” I nearly died from the overwhelming excitement.

I’ll let you in on a little secret, I love alligators. I think they’re absolutely adorable. I don’t know what it is exactly, maybe it’s their wide bodies and their chubby baby legs or something about their sassy walk.

We arrived at the aptly named “Gator Park” and made our way to the dock. I truly realized we were not in Miami anymore, Toto, when I hear the accents of the workers. It’s a strange southern accent that sounds different from all the other southern accents I’d heard before. This wasn’t just the south, this was southern Florida. Gone were the sing songy caribbean accents with their long vowel sounds.

We’re handed ear plugs that we’d need for certain parts of the ride and we climbed aboard.

We headed down the river of grass and kept our eyes open for gators and other critters. The captain told us about the history of the Everglades, about the creatures who lived there and about the indians that used to live on the tiny islands throughout.

At one point to illustrate the shallowness of the water he stopped the boat and dipped his hand in pulling out dirt and leaves from the bottom.

On our way back to the dock we did see a couple of tiny baby alligators sunning themselves on lilypads and it was totally presh.

The rest of the trip was spent in the big hut where another one of the workers introduced us to some of the animals they have there at the park.

We watched as he walked through the crowd with a tiny snapping baby gator in hand and then demonstrated the proper way to wrassle a gator. We watched as he wrestled and subdued a full grown gator named Norman and all lined up happily to take our photo with a younger and smaller alligator whose real name I can’t remember and who I’ve since named Trevor.

It took everything I had within me not to cuddle him a little.

I held a baby gator and was forever changed.

“I have a friend that cuts hair”

“I have a friend that cuts hair”

by TheSecretLifeOfPandas ♥ 5 Comments

When you are alone in a new city, especially an expensive one, you have to ask around for recommendations.

I asked the concierge last night, Alex, a fabulous Colombian man, if he knew of any good salons nearby the hotel, he said he’d check on some for me.

He works the night shift so I wouldn’t see him again until after I needed the appointment. 

A girl needs to have her hair did for a formal wedding. 

Especially when the girl in question only really knows how to air dry her hair and pray to God that it dries cute.

Which, since the Lord has been merciful, it usually does. 

However those big messy curls wouldn’t work for this wedding. I needed professional help.

So after going for a swim and sunbathing this morning I meet Ricardo, the morning concierge, and he recommended his friend Jay.

“He’s been cutting hair for years.” He says. 

After I set the appointment, in Spanish of course (this is Miami after all), he says, “You’ll know him. He’s the bald one with a tattoo across the back of his head.”

It is a credit to my parents that I don’t even blink when he says that; they raised an overly polite child. In spite of the dark sense of foreboding that last sentence gave me I smiled and said thank you before running to my room to wash off the sand and salt water.

I changed, basked in the glory of air conditioning before heading off towards the area around Lincoln Avenue. I located the salon first, but since I still had about an hour and a half till my appointment I wandered towards Lincoln mall to grab something to eat. But wandered too long, so indecisive about what I wanted and I ended up getting a small cup of gelato and sat in the outdoor seating under a palm tree.

I really cannot get over those palm trees.

Once it came time for my appointment I walked back over to the little salon.

Now, I’m not a snob, but when it comes to salons I am a super snob. I once pulled wet feet out of a pedicure tub when I saw the guy clean the one next to me with dish soap. Guys, I do not fuck around.

I like them fancy, and I like them modern. However, I don’t have South Beach “fancy” kind of money so this little neighborhood salon had to do. Also, it’s a Friday afternoon, everyone knows that’s the busiest time for a salon. I took what I could get.

So Jay, the bald man with the tattoo on the back of his head, leads me over to get my hair washed. 

There was no gentle scalp massage and my top got a little wet. Small strike. But I let it slide because of the small talk and he sent someone to bring me coffee.

We head over to his station and he starts to blow dry my hair. He doesn’t really ask me what I want, which bothered me. I am very particular about my hair, down to the point of micro managing. So I tell him I like volume and that I would like him to use the round brush.

The ladies from the salon are watching me. They like my hair color. They like my hair.

A nail tech asks Jay if I want a manicure (in Spanish). She looks at me. I say no thank you. She grabs my hands. Looks at my nails. Shrugs.

My manicure has not held up. I do need one. I will not pay for one.

I just a lot of pulling and brushing and mild teasing.

I am concerned but I don’t say anything. 

A lady is trying to sell me shampoo to brighten my red. 

She says it looks good.

I’m like ok.

He asks if I want hair spray. I beg for it. The humidity here is not a joke. Keeping my hair straight under these conditions is not a game, it is a battle to be waged.

He turns me around and I look in the mirror and I hate it.

It looks old fashioned and helmet-y. 

I don’t know how to say that.

So I smile and formulate a plan to fix it in my room. There is too much spray and my hair feels crunchy.

I cannot stand crunchy hair. 

“Have you tried having your hair longer?” He asks. “Not that this doesn’t look good. You can pull it off because you have a pretty face (tienes la cara linda), but you should try it long.”

“Thanks.” I say. “It’s usually really long. I just chopped it off.”

I go to pay. This is South Beach. It’s pricey, even for this small place. I pay. I leave a tip. I put on my sunglasses and head out.

I bought a curling iron at CVS. I combed out the hairspray.

It looks much better.