Frugal Traveler does South Beach

Babylon on a Budget: A Weekend Challenge

By MATT GROSS

THERE’S a very fine line between tackiness and glamour, and in Miami Beach — itself a very fine strip of sand — that line sometimes vanishes. Is that maximum blonde’s minimal swimsuit cringe-making or heart-racing? Is the hotel pool scene high-class or crass? Is the cityscape, which veers from boxy condo towers to candy-colored Art Deco, an architecture buff’s dream or nightmare?

Amid this bewildering display of taste and antitaste, one thing is certain: Whichever side of the line it falls on, it will be expensive. With just $500 for a weekend there with my wife, Jean, I did not expect to stay at the $1,765-a-night Setai, nor to crack claws at Joe’s Stone Crab for $22 a pound. I would be lucky to find a reasonable hotel in a good location for less than half my budget. . . .

When Jean and I finally made it to the beach the next morning, fueled by grapefruit and watermelon juice from Las Olas Café ($7), I began to understand the city’s appeal. On its own, the golden sand was fine, but it was our fellow beachgoers who made it exciting. They were, in my humble estimation, the most attractive people I’d ever seen on a beach.

There were Brazilians in Brazilian bikinis, and Brazilians out of Brazilian bikinis. There were tattoos in abundance, and muscles and curves glistening with sunscreen. There were sights to make a plastic surgeon swoon, and enough brick-hard abs to repave Collins Avenue all the way up to Bal Harbour. Jean and I stayed for a very long time, and left only to grab a quick lunch (tamales and a Cuban sandwich, $6.15 at Las Olas). . . .

But making sense of Miami — as the exhibition demonstrated through vintage furnishings and archival photos — was pointless, for this postwar vacation paradise was designed to upend expectations. Expensive handbags would be made of plastic, hotels would feel like circuses, and the baring of skin would become the height of fashion. “Dreams don’t make sense,” one placard explained, and we had to agree: amid the sunny, half-naked contradictions of Miami Beach, you don’t need resolution, just SPF 30, a beach towel and some fresh watermelon juice. . . .

"FRIENDLIER THAN YOU MIGHT THINK"

Story here. Slideshow here. (Photo: Alex Quesada for The New York Times)