Ah, South Beach

Rico says he's spent several glorious days on South Beach in Miami, and often wishes he were there now. This article by Mary Billard in The New York Times explains why:

It was a sunny Monday afternoon, and the scene around the yellow-and-orange cabanas at La Piaggia Beach Club was laid-back and effortlessly chic. Waiters brought trays of chilled rosé, goose pâté, and “les mini cheeseburgers.” Women, wearing cunning coverups that manage to cover up nothing, dipped their manicured feet into the sand. A few attractive young bodies were leisurely sunning near the saltwater pool, but nobody was in the pool itself. It was just for show, as was the plaque on the weathered wooden front door falsely stating that the club was “members only.” With the blue waters and swaying palms, the scene at La Piaggia could almost be mistaken for St. Barts or Mustique. Except, of course, for the surrounding sea wall of beachfront condos that screamed Miami. In recent years, the triangular district at the tip of South Beach has emerged as a chic yet relaxed alternative to the typical Ocean Drive frenzy farther north. It even has a hip moniker, SoFi, which stands for South of Fifth Street— the four-lane thoroughfare that cleaves the neighborhood from the rest of the area.
North of Fifth Street, club kids work off their hangovers at Ocean Drive madhouses like the News Cafe, bachelorettes prowl for gallon-size frozen margaritas (with four straws), and busloads of tourists search for the Versace mansion. All the while, menu-wielding hostesses canvass passersby with two-for-one drink specials.
In contrast, the area south of Fifth almost feels like a gated resort— though, in reality, anyone can waltz in. More European than Daytona-Beach-at-spring-break, the SoFi scene skews a little older, a little more arrived than arriviste, cushioned by the base of wealthy second-home owners from the area’s gleaming condos. And, just as downtown Manhattanites joke that they get nosebleeds north of 14th Street, SoFi residents have taken to saying that there is no reason to go above Fifth to socialize anymore.
For brunch-time gossip, locals pull up to Big Pink, a nouveau diner that functions like a general store. At sunset, Smith & Wollensky or Monty’s South Beach are the big draws, particularly on Fridays, to watch the looming cruise ships slowly move out to sea. If the wind is blowing in the right direction, strains of Y.M.C.A. or Bob Marley can be heard.
And for a crazier party atmosphere, there is the splashy Nikki Beach Club, where bronze bodies lounge on daybeds under private canopies, bottles of Piper-Heidsieck chill in ice buckets, and young women in turquoise Pocahontas-fringed bikinis dance to entertain guests.
While the beauty of South Beach is often obscured by the partying, SoFi denizens also make the most of this picturesque barrier island. Every day at 7 a.m. and 6 p.m., yogis meet for mixed-level classes at the pink lifeguard stand at the Third Street Beach, mastering their downward dogs in the ocean breezes while following the trajectory of the sun.
More yogis can be found at South Pointe Park, a 17.5-acre esplanade that reopened on the island’s southern tip in March after a $22 million renovation. During the day, the park is filled with young families, bikers, and dog walkers— all enjoying the dune grass blowing in the breeze, wildflowers sprouting, and waves lapping on the shore. At night, eighteen light towers glow in different colors, illuminating an area that was once a scary needle park.
SoFi rose from the ashes of urban decay. For decades, it was a dangerous no man’s land— the only destination worth visiting probably was the venerable Joe’s Stone Crab, where diners ate secure in the knowledge that valets guarded their shiny Cadillacs.
Then, starting in the mid-1990s, as the revival of South Beach attracted developers to the natural beauty of the point, towering condos with multimillion-dollar apartments began to appear. Restaurants and other businesses trickled back in.
Among the pioneers was Myles Chefetz, who opened Nemo, a trendy spot with an outdoor courtyard, in 1995. “There were no signs of life,” said Mr. Chefetz, who now runs numerous restaurants and other hotspots in SoFi, and is known as the Sultan of South Fifth. “Nemo is in a former bum-laden crack hotel where they used to film Miami Vice.” Hotels soon followed. Today, top-notch accommodations include a beachfront Marriott and the all-suite Hilton Bentley Miami/South Beach. They are joined this month by the Sense South Beach, a luxury boutique hotel with eighteen rooms and a rooftop pool. More hotels are on their way. In August, Mr. Chefetz is opening the Prime Hotel, a modern fourteen-unit resort next to Brown’s Hotel. Opening rates are set at $300 a night.
Not that SoFi is sleepy the rest of year; the demand for a happening scene is a Miami imperative. On a warm Thursday evening in late April, a crush of leggy patrons in miniskirts and high heels and their older boyfriends converged at the outdoor tables at Prime Italian, an offshoot of Prime One Twelve, the stylish steakhouse in Brown’s Hotel. (Both are owned by Mr. Chefetz.)
Prime Italian, with its clubby macho décor, is a restaurant conceived to separate pro athletes from their money via a culinary invention called Kobe meatballs. A crowd of overdressed and underdressed clamored for tables near the bar, where, recently, the NBA star Antoine Walker sat watching a Celtics-Bulls playoff game. The scene prompted one visitor to tag it as Bentleyville in honor of the gridlock of $300,000 cars.
Yes, it may be SoFi. But it’s still South Beach.

Rico says he's never stayed at this hotel, but he'd like to, next time...