PART 1
Miami here I come.
Dragging suitcases from baggage reclaim in the heat of Miami airport was always a potential heart attack, and I scanned the lounge amazed that no one was physically slumped over their trolley, overcome with stress. One of the baggage handlers might have tossed them down some revolving carousel if they looked that vulnerable.
The freezing air-conditioning never helped the intense atmosphere as this was the gateway to South America, with bad tempered immigration officials who stared through glassy cold eyes treating us like felons, regardless of which flight we came in on.
I ignored the customs agents and lumbered with determination towards the exit door hauling over-packed, bulging suitcases.
Heading out towards the beeping, chaotic traffic the electric doors opened, throwing me against a wall of buzzing heat, and the first breaths of humid, still, thick air filled my lungs like syrup.
This was Jurassic, like the beginning of time; when the earth was bubbling hot, insect-ridden and dangerous.
Suntanned Spanish drivers hooted and braked like emergencies and fought for position as if arriving with dying patients. I lumbered past them all.
Then whisked away in a white limo I fell back into a world of still motionless cold air, tinted windows, gentle noises and relative safety.
He hit the pedal, I hit the vodka, and we headed top speed up the I-95.
The Interstate 95 gleamed like the yellow brick road, generously accommodating thousands of screeching cars and trucks rushing north and south like escaping insects.
The race was on…‘hello Florida’.
* * *
Early the next morning, the sun rose to a perfectly clear blue sky and I jumped out of bed, grabbed the car keys and set out for supplies.
I bought a ludicrously small amount of food and some fresh rolls to ensure I would have to return the next day and every day from then on.
Florida was bathed in a late November golden morning glow; the air was crisp and a few little puffs of white clouds drifted overhead like small children going to school.
This was the beginning of their winter season with crisp morning, a few showers, blue skies and gentle breezes; a climate the rest of us only dreamt about.
Water sprinklers angled in all directions, dribbled and spat watering the pathways like mini waterfalls in an aqua show without the dancers. Dewdrops clung to the Colombian emerald grass; shimmering in the sunlight it looked succulent, nourishing yet untouchable.
Pulling into the empty parking lot, I headed for a large primrose-yellow supermarket with eyelash awnings in striped black, white, and yellow. Young palm trees stood in line waiting endlessly, slim, proud, with green feathery tops and not a hair out of place.
I pulled in wide, with the choice of any parking place I wanted. Overhead the sound of melodious music and native birds competed with each other, or perhaps the birds all knew the chorus to the songs that were playing?
Electric doors parted and a blast of freezing air slapped me hard in the face, like an invisible iceberg.
Abundant pyramids of fruit and vegetables lay before me in perfect array all brightly polished, the same size and facing forward.
Every one was a jewel, a fine specimen, a perfect replica of each other, and too beautiful to touch. They looked like family.
Avocados, red peppers, oranges, bananas, and lemons; a rainbow of colors with not a hint of soil, dirt or farmers hands on them to be seen.
I stopped, stared, appreciated and admired but I passed on as I today only needed two bread rolls for breakfast but I would be back tomorrow at same time for the same thing.
This was heaven, but I couldn’t stay too long.
Welcome to Florida.
* * *
Unpacking in someone else’s house was exciting, especially one as pretty and well taken care of as this which we had rented for the November to April winter season.
As we entered the security gate of the golf development, another smart security guard carefully inspected our details, made a call, and lifted the barrier.
Heavy with gold brocade and black cap, he looked like he had fought in the last war, but had missed out on the medals and was now in command of a golfing community.
At the junction was the biggest Banyan tree I had ever seen which became an important landmark; we turned left, continued past several identical turnings that felt surreal like a Levittown development.
They had the same gardens, same driveways, same post boxes and front doors but with different small black numbers.
We were at 125th Avenue, two houses in from the right like a huge parking lot just full of the same houses. It looked like Lego land made of geometric shapes, angular roofs, some round windows, and equal driveways.
The gardens were all landscaped exactly the same way but with a few very subtle variations of about six different plants so they matched up like uniforms.
I looked for open garden gates, children climbing over and under; young mothers chatting to neighbors, baking fresh cookies, and everyone being part of a close community but I saw none.
Cream garbage bins stood like pillars to the left and right on the drive, and a little paved path ran down the side of the house for pool access, but there was no individuality.
I was going to have to learn that was the point - smart, simple, and designed living not cluttered by lots of messy ‘individuals’.
There were going to be signs of life, but this was a Florida Gated Golf Community, behind a wall, and they were not going to be what I had imagined.
* * *
Moving into our cappuccino-cream contemporary new house with white floor so clean you could role pastry out on them, was exciting, fresh, and sheer pleasure.
We had a white corner bath, with a Jacuzzi, double sinks, and a huge walk-in shower all lit up from a skylight above so we could see a galaxy of stars at night. Tall mirrors on each wall reflected us naked, and into infinity.
The bedroom had two walk-in closets, one on each side, and a piece of large decorative furniture for a huge TV and two bedside tables with elegant lamps.
Most importantly, we had French doors leading straight to a screened in pool! How romantic, how sensational, how thoughtful of the builder! He could have simply put in windows and saved the money.
The outdoor screens puzzled me at first as they dimmed the view, and I didn’t see any bugs so immediately opened them and the windows up, but Tim quickly slammed them shut and mumbled about air conditioning.
No matter, I was still happy, so I ignored it all and never thought to wonder just how cold-blooded Tim really was.
The small pool wasn’t heated but I imagined lovely evenings, Martinis, music, and midnight swims.
For a girl born in the tropics, taken to England to shiver and freeze, I was now close to blue skies, yellow sun, and fresh air, but the doors and windows had to remain firmly shut so we could live in a fridge.
This was a Florida Golf & Country Club community and I was naïve - happy, but naïve.
* * *
Passing the magnificent clock tower at the gate on the way out I didn’t bother to check the time as it was like being in Disney World, and time would not have mattered.
The immaculate security men, clothed in brocade and military style coats waved us on as we left; they were not in the business of keeping people in.
The automatic barrier lifted and we drove passed rich green hedges, fountains, and flowerbeds, and headed for the outside world.
It felt like time passed by differently out here, and we only went out for necessities like petrol, food, newspapers, haircuts, and anything else that didn’t revolve around country club living.
One could lose a couple of days, miss world events, forget the date, and only watch the selected American news they chose to air including snippets of useless adverts or information mixed with an unusual amount of local violence.
There were no seasonal changes here, just slight temperature changes that could throw a day’s activity into turmoil.
People originally from huge distances away that had been used to extreme conditions in the Northern USA or Canada, were now suddenly very indignant that a golf tee-off time might be postponed if some rumbling nebulous grey clouds gathered on the horizon.
Bad weather put fear into men’s hearts, and frizz into women’s hair. The car parks emptied like War of the Worlds, and golf carts were abandoned on grass verges.
In the odd storm palm trees panicked and swayed, thrashing their green limbs about. Rains fell like a tantrum and manicured shrubs begrudgingly gave up a few odd leaves to the wind.
This picture perfect golfing community was not succumbing to climate change, as in a few hours, everything went back to normal like nothing had happened.
The weather was pure emotion; unpredictable, intense, then exhausted, submissive, and tranquil.
No wonder ancient man worshipped the sun.