It's a long story, but I was sitting in a bus station in central Miami last Saturday afternoon when a middle-aged woman came up to me and asked if I spoke English. This is a common question in Miami, where Spanish is all but the first language. So, although the city has a dangerous reputation and the bus station was almost deserted, I assumed the woman was making an innocent request for information and said yes. I regretted this immediately when, as my blood froze, she sat down beside me and spoke the dreaded words: "Are you saved?"
My life flashed before me - or if not my life, a selection of plans that might get me out of there, fast. None seemed feasible, however; except the one that involved being rude to a well-meaning stranger - not an easy option. The woman was only doing what she had to, I told myself, and she probably had more reason to fear me than vice versa. So I sat there, trapped, having a genuine religious experience (in the sense that I was now praying for a bus).
Everyone who can in Miami drives. But I hadn't hired a car for my short stay, partly because one of the infamous scams in the city involves rental vehicles being rammed near the airport and the occupants mugged; and partly because, having observed the locals driving, getting rammed near the airport didn't seem such a bad option.
Of course, you can take taxis everywhere. But Miami is so spread out that, after the first couple of trips, I decided the only people who could afford to take taxis everywhere were taxi-drivers. So, although it was a working visit, I took public transport where possible (a point I draw to the attention of one or two special readers, in support of the argument that while the expenses may look bad, they could have been a lot worse).
Unfortunately, the voluntary use of public transport is regarded as eccentric behaviour in Miami. In a university I visited, the news caused major excitement among the staff in the president's office. Sure, they'd heard rumours for years that there was a bus service, but this was the first hard evidence, and they were anxious to share the moment with each other: "Hey Jean, you gotta see this - there's a guy here who came by bus!" (It just cracked them up them when I admitted I'd walked part of the way, too).
You'll realise by now that there's nothing glamorous about this sort of trip. Yes, south Florida has certain superficial attractions, such as the fact that since the pastel-wearing cops of Miami Vice revived the city's beach district as a tourist attraction in the 1980s, indirectly turning it a major fashion centre, the place has been overrun by models. Who, because of the temperatures, dress as though they've just got out of bed to get something and are going straight back.
But this only adds to the feeling of danger in the city. Several times during my visit, I was nearly knocked into the street by violently swinging hips. And the heat really can be intense.
It was 91F one of the days I was there, and even higher than that in Little Havana, where Elian Gonzales was being held hostage by (delete as appropriate): (a) a bunch of right-wing zealots nursing a 40-year-old grudge against Fidel Castro and shamefully flouting the law of the very country which has given them refuge; or (b) the refusal of the bearded devil in Cuba to allow Elian's father to act as a free agent, with the shameful complicity of President "Pinocchio" Clinton and Janet "Whore of Babylon" Reno.
Because of the climate, most hotels offer a choice of ways to keep you awake at night. You can have the oppressive heat or, for no extra cost, you can have the oppressive noise of the air-conditioning unit. So, although I had some mildly enjoyable experiences, such as going for a jog on Miami Beach on a balmy evening as the sun went down on a sea of unbelievable lingerie - er, unbelievable calmness, I mean - you can imagine how good it was to get back into Dublin on Monday to freezing temperatures, wind, rain, snow on the hills, and the heavy traffic of commuters who didn't know the bus strike was over.
WHICH reminds me. Based on my experience and despite what many in the city think, I can confirm that Miami has quite a good public transport service, including an amazing elevated rail system which is completely computer-run and has no drivers (normally a circumstance that would make you nervous, but not in Miami).
I had decided to play for time with my friend at the bus station, agreeing she could read a tract (A Nation Gone Astray) for me while I considered the option of full salvation. But before she even got started, my bus arrived. In sincere gratitude, I took the tract from her, promising faithfully to read it. And as the bus pulled away, I felt well and truly saved; at least for the moment.
Frank McNally can be contacted at fmcnally@irish-times.ie
