Miami - Smells like Swiss Cheese.

Miami Travel Blog

 › entry 12 of 16 › view all entries
At The Clevelander. NO IDEA, who the guy on the far left is.

The sun rose over South Beach on a picturesque morning in Jazz, but went largely un-noticed by the majority of the residents in room 1E, who were engrossed in an impromptu under-arm farting competition between myself and Dylan. After an intense and well fought contest, Dylan eventually let common sense prevail and conceded defeat; my victory lap only tainted by a Togolese man who was half-asleep, rolling over and exposing himself whilst what appeared to be mid wet-dream. Never fails to please. After the excitement of the previous night, people were coming to terms with the day that lay ahead when Steve suggested a Subway in town.

The resulting fast-food didn't have the effect many of the group desired, and as we head towards the beach, no-one even batted an eye-lid when an extraordinarily beautiful woman sauntered past.

Me, Karim, Matt and Tomas.
To some members of the team’s annoyance we were coerced into a game of football by 3 Mexicans, a Cuban and a man who claimed to be Colombian. These men proved suspiciously popular and knowledgeable at the end of the game when it came to recommending places of night-time leisure. The game kicked off, and after a few minutes of Joga Bonito, was interrupted by a new player wanting to participate. The opposition (of which Kev, Steve, Tommy and Dylan were members) evaluated this prospective team-mate on his hairstyle alone, and dismissed him, meaning he joined Team Drug Baron (of which I was a member). Unfortunately for Team I Don’t Want 25 Years In Jail For Being A Narcotics Dealer, this player turned out to be an ex-professional for Lille in France, a freestyle footballer for Budweiser and best mates with Jean Makoun of Olympique Lyonnais.
Kev having a fag. Me dancing like one.
Upon the point of exhaustion, having watched this man expose them for an hour, Kev’s team accepted defeat and trudged back home.

Awaiting us were Karim Slimane and Matthew Mitchell, two lads from Leeds, who’d arrived in Miami via Southeast Asia and the rest of the USA. After I’d been castigated for wearing a red shirt which apparently made me look like I was employed by Pizza Hut, that night we cruised to The Clevelander, situated at the heart of Ocean Drive. Following on from the previous evening, Kevin hadn’t spoken to Denmark all day, and unsurprisingly she wasn’t in attendance. Not that Kev, or any of the rest of us realised as we were thrust into the midpoint of the dancefloor.

The Clevelander.
The oversize nature of those occupying the floor was initially prohibitive to those wishing to express themselves, but reports indicated that Ally and Matt were spotted discussing the merits of being English to two Venezuelan friends. Kev wasn’t about to miss out and promptly introduced himself to an American female after she’d finished interrogating someone else’s mucous glands. Our female accomplices eventually grew tired of being bounced from one side of the floor to the other by the arses of Queen Latifah and her mates, but that wasn’t before they’d found time to nickname Karim ‘King’ for being so unfeasibly good-looking.

The next day, I woke a little earlier than usual, at 5am approximately, to find the rest of the dorm in slumber.

Jean Makoun. (Football Man's Friend).
To my surprise, the room had a new female member who was lying coverless on the bunk next to me; however my view was obstructed by the position of my duvet. All I’m saying is that it must have just been coincidence that when I woke up again at about 11am, her perfectly formed arse was half a metre away from my face. Simultaneously appalled and impressed with my recently acquired subconscious re-positioning stealth perving skills, my feelings eased when I turned round and discovered that all the other guys on the top bunks were lying in similar positions facing the same direction as me. Had we all not started high-fiving in celebration of our espionage, we may have gotten away with it.

After the Togolese warrior had stood and watched Kev go to the toilet, we grabbed some food and went shopping, where I purchased shoes that were pointier than James Wilson’s eyebrows.

Swiss Cheese.
Not content with his Aldo shoes, Kev decided whilst I was trying mine on that he would put one of the socks over his head, not realising that whilst he was running around shouting ‘CONDOM HEAD’ he was being watched by the store’s staff. I added the now infamous ‘tea-cloth’ red and white chequered shirt to my assortment of purchases and we went home.

That night, dressed appropriately for the first time on the trip, we wound up in a classy house-music based nightclub. Lapping up the euphoric music, myself Karim and Matt could not have been in sharper contrast to Kev who stood flat-footed and without expression. That was until a group of girls appeared with, what appeared to be their pimp, and Kev invited himself up onto the podium. My gyration was momentarily interrupted by one of the aforementioned dancers standing on my hand at the bar, however I quickly returned to strutting about with the Tokyo Breakdancing Confederation. Matt meanwhile, had met a girl from Geneva, and was discussing the merits of being English whilst Kev was telling anyone who’d listen that he introduced them to one another, and someone was hollering ‘SHE SMELLS LIKE SWISS CHEESE’ in her ear. After some Mexican girls had finished shouting ‘little bird’ in Mexican at Karim we realised we’d lost Kev. It turns out our young man had had enough of the music, and in his infinite wisdom, had chosen to walk home on his own, drunk, through one of the most dangerous cities in eastern America. The next morning we were relieved to hear that two girls had pulled over whilst driving past, frisked him, strangely found time to get with him, and drop him back at the hostel.

What’s that Shona Sim? Never talk to strangers? What the ones, that are FEMALE, HOT, GET WITH YOU, AND THEN DROP YOU HOME, SAVING YOU A 40 MINUTE WALK OR 20 DOLLAR TAXI?! Sure, I’ll make sure I bloody ignore them. 


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At The Clevelander. NO IDEA, who t…
At The Clevelander. NO IDEA, who …
Me, Karim, Matt and Tomas.
Me, Karim, Matt and Tomas.
Kev having a fag. Me dancing like …
Kev having a fag. Me dancing like…
The Clevelander.
The Clevelander.
Jean Makoun. (Football Mans Frien…
Jean Makoun. (Football Man's Frie…
Swiss Cheese.
Swiss Cheese.
photo by: ellieperla