Travel: Miami memories

Five of my closest friends and I are in a boat floating through the Florida everglades, and the captain is trying to convince my friend she should take up Burmese python hunting.

Until the snake talk starts, this spot at the tip of the Everglades National Park is a serenely peaceful place. Our boat slowly glides through Florida Bay, 800 square miles where salt and fresh water mix and mangrove islands grow out of the shallow, warm water. The captain points to the biggest ones, tangles of tree roots and branches and vibrant green leaves, and tells us they are thousands of years old. Before we leave, we spot a pair of manatees, gentle giants who come right up to the edge of the dock to mesmerize us

The water laps to the horizon, and it's easy to feel lulled into a contemplative relaxation. Until I start picturing the massive snakes colonizing this park, that is.

The Burmese python is an invasive species that was likely introduced into Florida's wilds by pet owners releasing their snakes after deciding, for some inexplicable reason, they no longer wanted to live with giant predators. The government licenses people to hunt and remove them, and my friend, Natalie, who we are here to visit, is showing serious interest in the concept.

For now, to my relief, she's not stalking snakes, though she is hunting less deadly invasive species - she is taking a Master Gardener course, after which she'll be authorized to remove invasive plants when she spots them. On my last day in Florida, she takes me to the site of a recent class field trip - the Fern Forest Nature Center in Miami suburb Coconut Creek, where on a tour around the boardwalk she points out cypress trees and native ferns. We see a raccoon ambling through the forest, while tiny lizards dart across branches and butterflies hover among the air plants.

Natalie lives in Miramar, a suburb between Miami and Fort Lauderdale, which is where I flew in - the airport there is much smaller and less hectic than Miami's. Five of us gathered from around the country to stay at her house and have a miniature reunion - we have been friends since high school. Now scattered, it's not often we are able to all gather in one place. That would have been enough reason to make the trip, but the thought of South Florida after an Iowa winter didn't hurt either.

Though Natalie, who left Iowa for warmer climes years ago, complained it was cold and overcast for much of our trip, none of us cared. Her idea of cold was our idea of balmy, the humidity wrapping around us like a blanket when we stepped off the plane.

We headed to the ocean immediately after leaving the airport. The wonderful thing about the Miami suburbs is that, no matter where you are, you can look at the map, follow your finger east until you hit the water, and then look up whichever beach is nearest.

Over the week, we went to Hallandale Beach, Pompano Beach and the Mid-Beach section of Miami Beach. We avoided the spring break crowds at South Beach, instead opting for quieter stretches of family-filled sand. Each beach had different charms - at Hallandale we ate crunchy fish tacos with fresh mint mojitos at a cafe overlooking the water, at Pompano we strolled to the end of a long pier that jutted into the waves, and at Mid-Beach we bought fresh coconuts, complete with straws, from a vendor on the boardwalk.

The less wonderful thing about the suburbs was the amount of driving on congested six-lane highways required to get anywhere. My friend warned us to budget 30 minutes to two hours extra for each activity, just to account for driving time. For most vacationers, renting a room on the water would cut down on the driving time, and though it was nice seeing different beaches, I would gladly have traded that for less car time if I wasn't staying with friends.

Midway through the week, we decided it was time to sprinkle a little city into our suburban experience, so we headed into Miami for a stroll through Little Havana.

Named for Cuba's capital, Little Havana is the heart of Miami's Cuban community. We stopped at the tiny welcome center, where a very nice old man assured us the best sandwiches and coffee could be had at El Cristo Restaurant. After ambling down Calle Ocho past art galleries, flower stands and pausing to watch a group of men playing dominoes before buying freshly-rolled souvenir cigars, we were ready for lunch. The advice we'd gotten was solid - the Cuban sandwich at El Cristo, complete with the traditional fillings of ham, pork, Swiss cheese, pickles and mustard, was delicious, the melting cheese oozing from between the slices of Cuban bread. I also ordered a cafe con leche and a freshly-squeezed orange juice, neither of which disappointed.

El Cristo was good, but we passed a dozen other cafes and bars that looked just as intriguing, and there were just as many beaches we didn't have time to visit, not to mention hiking trails in the Everglades we had to pass by, snakes notwithstanding.

I guess I'll have to return, or at least dream of it, during the next long Iowa winter.