I have no idea what Haeundae beach in the southeast corner of Korea looks or feels like. If asked, I could not picture it. If asked, I would not be able to adequately provision for an excursion there. If informed it is widely considered to be the finest beach in Korea I would, rather presumptuously, pack quintessential fun-in-the-sun paraphernalia; my well worn budgie smugglers, a towel and a cricket bat - armed only with the knowledge that it's a beach. And beaches are warm.
Ten degrees closer to the equator, a world away, in the southeast corner of the Sunshine State of Florida, is Miami. Unlike attempts to imagine a stay in Korea's holiday hotspots, visions are instantly conjured up in the mind's eye, cultivated through the Don Johnson years and more recently David Caruso's contemplative, yet painful, Horatio. It's a place, you could guess, you'd safely sport the budgie's and drip dry at an art deco bar on Ocean Blvd. Where the population is bred to bolster the USA's chances of a beach volleyball championship. Where the country's plastic elite can go unabashedly disregarding decent exposure laws with, well, less than decent exposures. All. Year. Round. Right?
Maybe as an Queenslander I have a predisposition to the notion that most places, most often, are warm places. Less than temperate climes startle me with their severity. Jess mentions now I assumed Canadian winters, though able to yield more snow, were no less agreeable than a cold night in Port Douglas. Surprised was an understatement - Ice an inch thick formed and sealed our windows closed from the humidity inside our apartment - not to be opened until spring. Knuckles cracked and bled when exposed to the elements for a period greater than the time it took to run to the pub. It gets cold in Canada.
Never did I witness Detective Crockett wearing anything warmer than an Italo-casual cool white sport jacket.
So, past predictions aside, would I ever have considered packing anything warmer, enroute to Miami, than a flouro pink wife beater and a strategically placed sock. No one will tell you - It gets cold in the Sunshine State!
Something that may also surprise you; the illegal immigrant population of the United States in 2008 was estimated by the "Centre for Immigration Studies" to be about 11 million people. Other estimates range from 7 to up to 20 million people. At the top end that is five times the population of New Zealand, living and working illegally in the US. You yourself may know of someone that is working illegally in the United States - In a packing warehouse, in the flight path of a local airport perhaps, cautiously ensuring every box to leave on a pallet is of correct dimension and weight. Debate rages as to whether this type of work should be reserved for the native population - I for one except, that in any economy, there is a small minority of fringe people prepared to work harder for a smaller wage determined by his/her ability to endure below freezing temperatures and the roar of jet engine.
We are informed that there are other avenues to be exhausted outside of the aforementioned line of work. If one was wishing to announce a propensity to be employed aboard private yachts within the US, they would be well advised to do so with a gentle whisper, not a holler, unless you hold a green card. A typical (though not legal), accepted (though not openly discussed) opportunity for those wishing to gain experience within the super yacht community is the ephemeral chance at something seldom offered; "Daywork."
Ribovich Marina is in West Palm Beach. It's heavily fortified. Potential crew scour it's surrounds in the early hours of the morning for a way in. They hope that a day's work will be the key to a door that grants them the key to eventual super-yacht captaincy. Literally, to pass through this door on any given morning, newly employed security chief "Dennis" would have to be completely convinced of your legitimacy for being there.
Ribovich, at present, is home to some of the world's best yachts. Dennis's position would be in jeopardy if he was found to lack diligence in ensuring only the super-yacht-super-elite passed before him. Opportunities abound once you've negated the sophisticated systems Dennis has employed to guard his yard. Those who make it can expect, at worst, a substantial contribution towards next weeks rent. At best, it is a precursory step towards super-yacht-super-stardom. Be assured, you do know someone who is yet to outwit Dennis.
Unaware or unconcerned of the barrage of pretenders, the lobby staff at a local hotel have created the happiest hour in all of Ft Lauderdale. Daily, for two hours in the afternoon, they offer a Cuban's ransom in rum - for free - If you can convince them that you; a) have a room key in your wallet, Or b) have enough money to tip, and even the leanest wallet can provide enough gratuity to ensure they'll suggest some pretzels or fresh popcorn with your beverages. We are told that the breakfast, made-to-order,
is also [small] noteworthy.
Three birthday celebrations kicked off in earnest on Sunday. Jess's was the largest, anticipated by the local population due to an increase of invitations issued the night before - during Happy Hour. Planned all week, the BBQ put the housemates to work in the usual fashion - focused, but not without a headache from the previous night's exploits. We have two chef's (yes, I counted myself) three Deckhands, three Stewardess' and a fellow who seems to be willing to offer services for almost any task, with an inability to complete one. By three PM, nearly all of the 6 kilograms of meat and potato salad were laid out. Four Loko pong made an appearance (ensuring that this post was much later this week than anticipated,) and all of the invitees made an appearance, which was a surprise to everyone, Jess included. Only one guest made it into the pool. It laid to rest the questions of whether it really was as cold as the thermometer suggested, and whether Iphones can swim. "Aaaaarrggh!! F*&K! yes!" And sadly, "no, they cannot."
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