One Week in Miami – America, Supersized

From the 20th floor, Miami shimmers like a promise machine. Through the panoramic windows you see nothing but endless blue ocean and rooftop pools — a version of life that looks untouched by friction. That oversized, hyper-luxury film I saw at the Pérez Art Museum Miami became my symbol of the city. A place where excess feels like religion and making money is the only accepted form of prayer. In Miami, the American cultural script we know from movies goes through a brutal stress test.

Miami is America in a capsule. On one side: the polished luxury of South Beach and the leafy, prestigious enclave of Coconut Grove with its artsy undertone. On the other: raw inequality. Under bridges, despite the bans, cardboard “micro-lots” of people experiencing homelessness grow like weeds. A few meters away, oversized SUVs flex in traffic next to city buses that look like they belong to a parallel universe. This is a city that wastes exactly zero seconds. Every empty wall is a billboard. Every spare moment is a sales opportunity.

And yet — there’s something surprisingly human here. People who in Poland would be labeled “too nice” are simply… normal. Curious. Extroverted. Capable of genuine joy over small things. It’s a fascinating paradox for anyone who wants to see America only as a soulless turbo-capitalist machine (a caricature I sketched above on purpose). Even in a system that seems designed to squeeze every ounce of value from the individual, there’s still room for effortless kindness and small talk about absolutely nothing.

Maybe that’s the real lesson of Miami — not the panoramic windows.

A Brief Historical Detour: Beneath the Glass and Concrete

Long before Miami became the heart of global cruise tourism, it was home to the Tequesta tribe for over two thousand years. They lived to the rhythm of the ocean long before Don Pedro Menéndez reached Florida’s shores in 1567 and Jesuits drafted the first official document written there. The Tequesta story on this land ended abruptly in 1763, when they left with the Spanish for Havana, abandoning a place that would later reinvent itself.

The real turning point didn’t come from conquistadors, but from vision — and a woman’s persuasion. In 1896, Henry Flagler extended the railway here after being convinced by Julia Tuttle and William and Mary Brickell. That passenger train transformed provincial swampland into a living city.

Miami today smells like vacation, but its past can be rough. During World War II, the waters around Key West — once called the “Gibraltar of the Gulf” during the Civil War — were hunting grounds for German U-boats. Later, the same Key West became America’s summer capital, where President Harry Truman sought rest in his “Little White House.”

What fascinates me most is the region’s defiant spirit. Miami has always been a collision point of cultures and migrations — especially in 1980, when 125,000 Cuban refugees arrived from the port of Mariel in just a few months. This city has been tempered by crisis. My favorite example? In 1982, after repeated roadblocks by Border Patrol, residents of Key West declared… secession from the United States. Thus the Conch Republic was born. A tongue-in-cheek rebellion — but a perfect summary of what you still feel here: independence, courage, and the talent to turn any problem into a story worth selling.

Aesthetics on Steroids: From Wynwood to Brickell

At street level, aesthetics become currency. In Wynwood Walls, graffiti stops being vandalism and turns into choreography. Murals frame crowds that seem “performatively fit.” It’s fascinating — people aren’t just going to the gym; they’re performing the act of going.

A few blocks away in the Design District, that same obsession with form takes the shape of polished boutiques. Luxury tries to mirror itself in contemporary art at the Institute of Contemporary Art, Miami. Beautiful. Sterile. Very posh.

Brickell carries a different energy. Living there meant constant noise, but the open-air Brickell City Centre stole my heart. It highlights the difference between an American downtown and European gentrification. In Europe, city centers often feel like museum sets for tourists. In Miami, downtown — despite its sharp edges — still pulses with local life. And at the top of that space stands the Pérez Art Museum. I saw an exhibition there that will stay with me for years. I’ll tell you more about it in the next letter.

America, Maxi Version: NBA as a Side Dish

If Miami is America in a capsule, then an NBA game at the Kaseya Center is the capsule in XL format. I’m not a die-hard Miami Heat fan, but sitting in those stands was a small dream fulfilled. From a sports perspective? The Chicago Bulls seemed to forget to show up, trailing by nearly twenty points after four minutes.

But in the NBA, sport is only half the product. What I experienced was “presentation in maxi mode.” No free seconds. Flame throwers. Endless ads. Contests layered over contests. The game itself felt like a starter before the main course: pure, unfiltered stimulation. A masterclass in how American business captures and monetizes every slice of attention.

The Ghost of Hemingway and Six-Toed Cats

To catch my breath from Miami’s intensity, I drove south — through the Everglades swamps, where alligators remind you who owned this land first, down to Key West.

In the former home of Ernest Hemingway, where he lived in the 1930s, six-toed cats roam the garden. Descendants of Snow White, a cat gifted to him by a sea captain. Standing at his writing desk, you feel the weight of a complicated life. Hemingway wasn’t easy. He was brilliant, flawed, restless. And maybe that’s the point. In a country built on selling every second, the real gravity lies in imperfect biographies.

Miami Speaks Spanish

What’s most striking about Miami isn’t its Americanness — it’s how Cuban it feels. Waves of migration after Castro’s revolution and the Mariel exodus shaped a city where English is optional.

I felt it firsthand. Every taxi driver I had spoke only Spanish — including the one driving to Key West, battling time and traffic rules in near silence, adding cinematic tension to the ride. In Little Havana, branding is often exclusively Spanish. You could live here your whole life without speaking the official language of the country you’re in.

I saw the cultural mix best at an airport bar before departure. The bartender — likely Cuban — playfully threatened to turn off the Super Bowl broadcast just to energize his American customers into ordering more. Pure street-level marketing, Caribbean edition.

The Taste of Contraband and Fast Food

Cuban influence is most delicious on a plate. In Little Havana, instead of another burger (though Five Guys delivers and Wendy’s was… average), I had pastelitos with guava and cheese, croquetas, and pan con lechón.

Buffalo-style shrimp surprised me most — that sharp mix of heat and acidity mirrors Miami itself: a city blended from American influence and migrant energy from Cuba, Haiti, and beyond.

The Bill: How Much Does the American Dream Cost?

Miami doesn’t do moderation — not in architecture, not in pricing. In one intense week: about $350 on food, $100 on transport (mostly Spanish-speaking taxi drivers), $190 on attractions (from the Heat game to Hemingway’s house), and $620 on hotels. Key lesson? $100 per night in Miami buys survival, not comfort. Double it if you want something more than a place to crash.

My final verdict? Miami is a fascinating laboratory. A colorful, high-frequency city that challenges every simplified narrative about American “culture wars.” With over 60% of residents speaking Spanish, the idea of one coherent American identity feels naive. Miami isn’t a monolith — it’s coexistence.

I’ll return for another exhibition at the Pérez Art Museum and for the quiet side streets of Key West. But back to that 20th-floor view: Miami is a beautiful destination — as long as your wallet is as strong as your curiosity.