Miami

Washington has been rainy and gloomy, we had airline credits, and the Nats were heading south for a series with the Marlins, so the only sensible course of action was a weekend trip to Miami.

Emma, Meg and I landed late Friday afternoon, leaving us enough time to check into our Miami Beach hotel, dip toes into the Atlantic, and head to Marlins Park, which is not the average baseball stadium. I was listening to an audio book of Joan Didion's Miami, a bleak portrait of crime and extremist political violence in the Cuban community in the '80s, and she noted that the city's Anglo establishment had still been giving a stiff arm to the Cubans a generation after the revolution.

There is no stiff arm at Marlins park. While Friday was Cuban Heritage Night, every night the park throbs with Latin music, Latin dancers between innings, and everywhere a Desi Arnaz vibe. Others can say whether all that is condescending or inclusive, but regardless the explosion of pastels and goofy fish sculptures around the park were all great fun for weekend migrants from the dreary mid-Atlantic. And there was a baseball game. Tanner Roark recovered his footing after a few rough outings against the Marlins and held them to 1 run; the Nats' 4-run fourth was more than enough. But honestly the most memorable part of the evening was after the game, when the Marlins rolled back the roof of the stadium and launched fireworks into the steamy Miami sky, all back-lit by a full, tropical moon.

The girls were happy to go to the game but really joined the trip to go the beach, where we headed Saturday morning. Our beach outings have changed significantly in recent years -- I do much more umbrella sitting and much less tossing kids in waves -- but anyway we all made the most of a lovely morning on the sand. Afterward we walked down Ocean Ave to take in South Beach, and when a storm rolled in, we retreated inside an Art Deco museum after spending a bit too long trying to wait out the weather under the semi-cover of trees. The forecast had predicted rain, but this became much more, like Bogie and Bacall riding out a Key Largo hurricane -- rain blowing sideways, palm fronds flying, water rising on Ocean Avenue, beach refugees raising their arms to embrace the downpour, at least until the lightning and thunder started to synchronize. We took the opportunity to learn about pre-war beach architecture and also became experts on the thermal properties of wet clothes in air conditioning. (They are cold.)

Undeterred, the girls opted to continue on to dinner in Little Havana - black beans, fried plantains, the yummy standards -- and another baseball game, which became another pitching duel. Joe Ross kept up with Nats' nemesis Jose Fernandez but the offense wasn't much help, and we are glad to have left just before the Nats' ninth-inning rally petered out. Marlins 3-2.

On return Sunday, Washington was rainy and gloomy. But the Nats, finishing the rubber match in Miami just as we walked in the door home, came away with a series win. As we unpacked, I snuck a glance at the schedule to see whether they would be heading south again in September.

This is not Miami Beach, but it does bracket one end of our beach experiences. Tunisia, February 2003.

Miami Beach, the other end of the bracket (at least for now.)

Top right is the home run sculpture, which Marlins fans have apparently adjusted to. Everything lights up and spins when the Marlins go deep.  It is not the kind of thing you would have found in Ebbets Field, but it does say Miami.