Caribbean Cruise & Hollywood, Fl Jan/Feb 2017 Part 10

2/6/17 2:20pm 
The Taco Spot, Hollywood Beach, Florida


I’m having chicken tacos and a Corona again at the Taco Spot (not to be confused with the Taco Bar, which was the setting of last night’s adventure). I am not drunk anymore, although, it was touch and go for much of the early morning hours.

I woke sans hangover, surprisingly enough, around 9am. I was groggy and wobbly, but no headache or nausea, despite all the rum. I ate a bowl of cereal for breakfast with a heavy sprinkling of cinnamon and I began to feel less wobbly. I went to the beach and laid out in the sun on the beach mat again.

The ocean was much rougher today and very cloudy, so I didn’t go in. After a couple of hours of laying in the sun listening to my vacation playlist, I went back to my room for a quick sec and then went down to the pool. I took a couple quick dips in between laying in the sun.

I started to get hungry, so I came here. I love the smell (and taste, of course) of Mexican food. Tacos rule. Nachos are a close second place and quesadilla’s come in third.



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2/6/17 6pm 
Curb. Near Starbucks in Hollywood Florida.

My mini pen ran out of ink and so I stopped at Walgreens to buy two pens because you can’t buy just one pen; it’s simply not allowed.

After lunch, I went back to the beach for more sun. There really was tons (literally) of seaweed on the beach and in the water. I did not go in because one would need a machete to get past the piles of seaweed.

















































I took lots of pictures on the beach today.



Look at that pile of seaweed!

















After an hour or so of baking, the sun began to slip down in the sky. So I went back to my room and showered and dressed before heading off in the general direction of Miami. 

I stopped at Starbucks because the map app showed a lot of traffic (rush hour) and I decided it would be a better waste of time to drink a decaf white mocha and write than sit in traffic.

The barista complimented me on my “look:” which was a plaid a shirt, fedora, gray shorts, and sandals (Compliment Count: 4). I told the barista that I liked her hair, which was blue.

I am sitting near traffic on the curb of the sidewalk because there was a heated race discussion taking place on the Starbucks patio. I didn’t want to make things weird by being the middle class white male that randomly wandered in, so I sat down on the curb to write…





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2/6/17 9:00pm 
Miami, Florida. Bayside

Whilst writing on the curb outside of Starbucks, a young woman said from behind, “Are you journaling? That’s so fucking cool.” (or something similar to that). She sat down after apologizing for interrupting. I said I didn’t mind and explained that I write while traveling, so that I can go back and relive the trip by reading my journalings. She said she hoped that she didn’t interrupt any important thoughts. I explained that I mostly write about what I do and see and that, only sometimes, do deep thoughts sneak in. 

She was bruised and bleeding about her legs and wrist. She explained that she fell skateboarding after seeing her husband driving her car. She wants a divorce and things are not good. The husband is a “crazy drug addict.” She talked about doing crack with her mother when she was fifteen, her first tattoo at age sixteen, bands (Zeppelin and Sublime, of course), her kids (ages three and almost one), her lousy marriage, how much Hollywood Florida sucks, and her sordid past of drug related felonies and arrest warrants. Her forehead was creased in a worrying look for most of the conversations, even when she laughed, and she drank alcohol out of a water bottle. She said she had been clean for almost five years (since becoming pregnant with her first child) of everything except for marijuana which is “half legal now anyways.” She asked me if I’ve ever done acid and talked about a shaman who takes people on a trip in Peru to use some plant with D-something. She described the trip as “trip” and I wondered what type of “trip” she really meant.

The sun set and it was getting dark. I asked her what her name was and she said she wanted me to give my name first. I told her. She said her name is Morgan.

As we went our separate ways, she hollered, “It seems like paradise, but it’s not, James!”

I got in the blue Hyundai Accent, turned on my playlist, and headed toward Miami.


I drove straight to the Hard Rock CafĆ© in Miami, passing through the city. I do love city aesthetics: the tall buildings, the lights. I despise the traffic and the eight lane highways merging into other eight lane highways, doubling back on top of each other, looping around like roller coasters entwined. Driving in cites is much unlike driving in Upstate New York. 




















(Hard Rock Cafe Selfie Count: 5)
I paid $10 to park and picked up my pin (just one; it's the exact same as the one I that I got at the Hotel/Casino -- I'm really worried that this new style is going to replace the old ones that I have been collecting. There's a slight difference: they are a little smaller and they are the same color. (The pins that I've been collecting are all different colors). There was no gigantic guitar outside of this Hard Rock CafĆ© and I couldn’t find a good spot to get my selfie.






This Hard Rock is on a harbor among many other restaurants, bars, and stores. I love a good harbor area like this. It reminds me of Baltimore, Maryland’s harbor area. 




























There is a band playing and some people are about. It’s not crowded (it is Monday, after all), which is nice. I found a somewhat deserted spot with a nice view of things and hung out by myself for a little while. Soon, a couple also decided that it was a nice view and so they came over and smoked cigarettes nearby. I stood up to walk away and they asked me to take their picture. I complied and then left, giving up my nice spot to let them do whatever things couples do in deserted spots with nice views.



I was somewhat hungry and decided to sit down at a Cuban restaurant right on the bay. The band is pretty “meh.” 

All, literally, of the conversations around me are in Spanish. My server is a huge muscular man wearing a t-shirt that is probably my size, which is to say that it is incredibly tight on him and he probably had help putting it on.

I ate a chicken fajita and drank an especially strong mojito. I am going to have to walk around for at least an hour before driving back to my hotel. I am quite buzzed and I only drank three fourths of this thing. I thought mojitos were girly drinks?!

So, tomorrow… I am going back to winter. I don’t feel so good about it…. I really don’t care for eight lane highways and the sheer amount of people driving cars on them and the people just generally being everywhere, but there ain't enough warmth and taco bars in central New York.

I need more ocean in my life. That’s for certain. But I don’t want to be around this many people all the time. It’s tolerable for a few days to a week, but dealing with this daily would be a huge pain.