Ah, Miami Beach in January. Conference planners rule. What more could one's cold, British bones wish for than lunch and dinner taken out of doors by a resort swimming pool, while the normal state would involve braving icy winds in London?
For real Floridians (if those exist), gas heaters toast every street cafe in South Beach should the natural temperatures drop below 68 Fahrenheit. By contrast, today in London I spotted people suffering uncomplainingly through sidewalk coffee and newspapers in 37 degrees. And they weren't even wearing gloves.
But let us not tarry in that scene. For one thing, it's far too cold here to stand still. Rather, let's revisit Miami Beach, where a short stroll down the boardwalk reveals a place mightily in transition.
For every art deco hot spot or workaday budget hotel, another property sits as a shell, either waiting for or undergoing complete renovation. Old yellow school buses sit incongruously amid oceanfront construction rubble and workmen in hard hats mingle with vacationers as they wander back from their sand-sunk lounge chairs.

As a first timer in Miami, I enjoyed the decay and abandonment almost as much as I relished sitting in art deco lobbies, browsing along funky Lincoln Avenue, having dinner at Touch, where the well-prepared meal was variously accented by lasers, a House DJ, a live drummer, two Vogued-up dancers on pedestals, as well as a belly dancer, a roaming flautist and a man playing a tiny saxophone. Such theatricality!
And yet, in all this a certain sunny bleakness emerged, leaving me to wonder, even allowing for the off-season effect, what did I miss? Is that all there is... to Miami Beach?