Miami Vices: Drink, Ink and Drag Queens

Note: Mum, you might want to skip this one.

So we tripped the light fantastic out of New Orleans, although at the time there didn't seem to be anything light or fantastic about it. Three days of vampire hunting in sub-zero temperatures, nothing but beignets for nourishment, and next to no sleep left me battling against the mother of colds. That, coupled with the fact that I absolutely did not want to leave, did not make me a happy chicky.
The next morning, however, after a good (although freezing) night's sleep--our hostel ran out of blankets, so we had to sleep under our coats--and drinking a cocktail as big as my head, I was feeling much more optimistic about Miami. On our second day we made the pilgrimage down to Key West to visit Ernest Hemingway's house. They still have his writing studio set up the way it was when he used it, and fellow wordsmiths, I am so so so jealous. It is a huge, airy room full of bookshelves and recliner chairs on the second floor of the pool house overlooking a garden full of palm trees. AND (this is my favourite bit) Hemingway had an iron catwalk built from his bedroom to the studio, and that was the only way in or out, creating a totally private writing haven in the middle of a tropical paradise. While at the property, I also had the pleasure of meeting the great great grand kittens of his infamous six-toed cats, which are said to bring good luck.
Now Hemingway was as serious about having a good time as he was about his writing, and I decided that while in Florida, I should do as Hemingway did and promptly set about finding a party to crash. Fortuanately, I needed to look no further than our hostel, which was just one block back from South Beach. Did Mads tell you her analogy that our New Orleans hostel resembled a school camp? Well, our Miami hostel was like school camp where the students have mutinied, locked the teachers in a broom cupboard and got their hands on copious amounts of alcohol. I bumped into fellow Aussie, Samara, in the hallway and she invited me to join some of the other backpackers for drinking games, and we stayed up rather late playing a fun mishmash between Kings' Cup and I Never. I got to know some really cool people: Samara, whom I've already mentioned; her friend, Amy (also equally cool); Leon, an Israeli just finished military service, and an excellent chess player; Joe the Swede; Bill of the Mid West; a couple of German guys whose names I've sadly forgotten; and Lloyd, who, being fair haired and blue eyed, I at first thought was cute, then I found out he had an English accent and I got a little doe-eyed, and then he casually picked up a guitar and started playing and I practically fell off my chair in a dead swoon.
On our last night in Miami our little group decided to take its revels beyond the hostel. Not quite sure how it happened, but someone knew a Michael Jackson impersonator, who performs at the local gay bar, Twist, and who had been drinking with us earlier in the evening. Much to the boys' horror, we decided to check out his show at Twist. MJ scored us free drinks, Samara found some foam swords and we took over the dance floor. After the show (and after the boys had been sufficiently freaked out by a particularly CrAzY drag queen) we went to Duce and started an England vs. Australia pool tournament (and, Hell yeah, we beat the Brits!). We finished the night with giant slices of pizza and watched the sun rise on the beach.
I only got two hours sleep, and we were all looking a little sorry for ourselves at breakfast the next morning, but it was worth it! I HEART MIAMI!!!

Love Margs : )