Fri 17 Apr 2009
Unlike Eastern Europe, Miami does have laundromats*, or at least one anyway. And that’s where we are now. Because I chose to bring ten books and two laptops and not check luggage, I didn’t have much space for clothes. That means I ran out on day two. So here I am on day five, having paid three fifty for an ancient, medieval washing machine that, to start, took the foreign attendant reaching into a gaping space filled with electrical wires where the control panel should have been and flipping a switch a few times, before, with a loud knock, the machine sputtered to life.
I don’t mean to blindly follow the trend of incessant Twittering about mundane minutiae, but who am I to oppose such a momentous tide? As I sit here, watching the rotors on the machines turn back and forth, I’m lulled into reflection about Miami.
It seems that the majority of people in Miami speak a language other than English. For instance, on the cab ride back from the Vizcaya mansion last night, the cabbie (from Haiti) and I conversed in French. PAUL, a great sandwich shop where we’ve eaten every day, is staffed by French people, though they haven’t been particularly enthusiastic about talking to me. We’ve meet friends from Italy, Canada, South America, various island nations, etc.
Spanish language people must account for half of the population here. As a result, though it irritates my brother, I like trying out my foreign language skills with the locals. Do you appreciate diversity?
* Most people (including you) pronounce the word lawn-dra-mat, instead of lawn-dro-mat like it’s spelled.