When you don't want to see pyramids, monuments or hula girls . . . when you just need to get away to eat, sleep and vegetate, I have just the place for you to go. (Although hula girls will always be on Sarge's bucket list, this is not his blog.)
South Beach in Miami, Florida is the ideal place for that, Number 74 on my Bucket List. Sarge and I put on the Ritz (Carlton, that is) and had ourselves a rejuvenating respite. I started off our vacation with a Hot Rock and Warm Sand massage. It set the tone for the rest of the week. If you ever get a chance to have one, it is simply invigorating! It gets the kinks out and the dead skin off all at the same time. What more could a woman ask for? (Don't answer that, Sarge.)
Then it was down to the beach with the two other couples we were traveling with. We laid and lounged and slept and tanned. The bartender there insisted (I swear he threatened to kill my firstborn) that we try a Miami staple, The Mojito. Believe me, it deserves the capital letters.
After repeating that scenario for a few days, we decided to take the Duck Tours. No, it's not a trip to sightsee mallards and gadwalls, because I don't even know what those are. The Duck Tours is an amphibious vehicle that drives on land, and when it hits water it becomes a boat. Incredible, huh? It took us to Star Island where P. Diddy, Gloria Estafan, Rosie O'donnell all have homes.
The real hot spot of South Beach, though, is Ocean Avenue. It's very picturesque with a lot of Art Deco boutique-type hotels. That's where the night comes alive. We danced our last night away there, then headed back to the hotel for an Epsom Salt bath.
All in all, it was a very vegetative vacation that Sarge and I enjoyed, even without the hula girls.
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