But after quitting my full-time job and before starting over in Mexico, it felt right to pause somewhere warm. Somewhere bright. A close friend flew in from Canada, and we met somewhere neutral — Miami.
I landed first and took the bus from the airport into South Beach. Slow, local, and exactly what I needed. My home for the next few nights was Generator Hostel — a place I already trusted. It was stylish, clean, and perfectly located, with a sister hostel nearby offering discounts on food and drinks. Once my friend arrived, we spent the evening catching up over cocktails, easing into Miami at our own pace.
Jet lag woke us early the next morning. We walked along Miami Beach as the sun came up, the light soft and golden, the shoreline surprisingly clean and calm. It felt peaceful in a way I hadn’t expected. We ended our walk on Collins Avenue at Café Americano, where strong coffee and a slow breakfast grounded us for the day ahead.
Later, we left the city behind for the Everglades. The air changed. The water sat still. Alligators surfaced quietly, ancient and unbothered. Our guide brought the landscape to life, and I was glad we’d chosen to see it this way — informed, respectful, and just a little wild.
From there, we headed to Calle Ocho in Little Havana. This was Miami in full colour. Music drifting through the streets, locals gathered in conversation, the smell of food everywhere. We drank horchata and Cuban coffee and watched life unfold around us. It was vibrant, warm, and unforgettable — a place that stays with you long after you leave.
That afternoon, we returned to the beach. The ocean was warm — warmer than I’m used to — and for once, I didn’t rush back to shore. We swam as the sun dipped low, watching the sky change, just as we had at sunrise.
Dinner was birria tacos and margaritas at Oh, Mexico — simple, perfect, and exactly what we wanted.
Sunday came quietly. We wandered a farmers market, more for the atmosphere than the shopping. Then my friend headed back to Canada, and I stayed one more night, alone but content. I treated myself to a yoghurt bowl at Pure Vida, wandered pastel streets, read on the beach, and let the city slow me down.
That evening, I walked forty minutes for a burrito I’d been told was worth it. It was massive. It was delicious. It felt symbolic somehow.
Miami surprised me.
I’d heard stories of unease, of tourists feeling unsafe — but I felt the opposite. Comfortable. Free. At ease.
If you go, take your time.
Walk the beach.
Lose an afternoon in Little Havana.
Embrace the Latin rhythm of the city.
And if you can — go find the alligators.
Miami has a way of staying with you.
The Taco Stand, Miami
Molly Levi Travels 