
Keys, gators and Latin flavors: Why Miami continues to captivate visitors
Miami. Just saying the name is enough to conjure thoughts of vibrant nightlife, streets aglow with neon and Art Deco architecture that lends everything a hip, 20th-century feel.
This Florida gem is in your face and proud to be so. Yet it hasn't always been like this.
Miami is a city that has changed beyond recognition over the past 40 years. A tourist boom set off by the hit TV series 'Miami Vice,' which first aired in 1984, saw the famous Art Deco buildings get a new lease on life as clubs and bars sprung up along the waterfront.
What had been a struggling city was transformed as the decades passed, somewhere people could be themselves, with a diverse community that helped foster a sense of pride in the place they called home.
Now, Miami has matured into a destination that retains an artsy vibe with a love of its Latin heritage, as well as being a world-class financial hub. People don't just want to visit Miami. They want to stay and make their lives here too. And it's easy to see why.
Wynwood is perhaps the Miami district that has seen the biggest changes. A working-class neighborhood since its inception in the 1910s, home to garment factories and retailers, by the 1980s drugs and crime had made Wynwood into a place that residents wanted to leave as soon as possible.
Yet when the South Florida Arts Center snapped up the beautiful but derelict American Bakeries factory, everything began to change. Soon artists were drawn to the area thanks to cheap rent and abundant space available in old warehouses.
Today the American Bakeries factory is known as the Bakehouse Art Complex and is a nonprofit incubator for new artists.
In the 1990s and 2000s, property developer Tony Goldman saw Wynwood as ripe for further development, creating Wynwood Walls, a space that uses the facades of buildings as canvases for street art.
Goldman died in 2012, but his vision has seen Wynwood become an essential stop for anyone exploring Miami and its arts and nightlife scene.
In fact, Wynwood is just one of many Miami districts that have become destinations in their own right, whether it's Coconut Grove, Miami's oldest neighborhood with its leafy streets and street-side cafes, or the planned community of Coral Gables, just south of Downtown.
Yet nowhere stokes the fire quite like Little Havana.
Little Havana came into its own during the 1950s and 1960s, when waves of Cuban exiles fled their homeland and the ongoing revolution for safety in America.
Since then, it has been the epicenter of Cuban-American life, with restaurants, bars and cafes catering to those craving a taste of home, especially delicious Cuban coffee made with evaporated milk.
For musician Juan Turros, Little Havana's central street Calle Ocho and the surrounding area are what make this neighborhood so special.
A saxophonist, he's also CNN's guide to the area, yet can't help himself when there's the chance to play. Having guzzled a quick coffee, Turros darts into Old's Havana, a palm-fronted building with orange neon beaming, to do his thing — jumping in to join a performance by other musicians.
Does he know the other musicians?
'No,' he replies, laughing.
So how did they know he was any good?
'Oh,' he says. 'They can hear it!'
With that, Turros leads the way into the night, making time for salsa and a few drinks to round off the day.
Miami isn't the end of the road when it comes to South Florida. Pick up a rental car and drive 160 miles (257 kilometers) along the Overseas Highway over 42 bridges, all the way to the end of US Route 1, and you'll find a slice of paradise: Key West.
Key West is the most southerly of the Florida Keys — the archipelago of islands off the state's southern tip — and more of a state of mind than a destination, a place that is welcoming, friendly and has a vibe all its own. It's known for its party scene, its effervescent and kind LGBTQ community and, of course, year-round sunshine.
It's also close to the largest coral reef in continental America, its marine life heavily protected and cared for by the locals.
Key West is renowned too for the people who have called it home. Famous writers Tennessee Williams and Robert Frost once lived here.
But it's Ernest Hemingway who remains the city's most celebrated former resident. His former home and writing studio is now the Hemingway Home and Museum.
While you can see the typewriter upon which classics such as 'The Old Man and the Sea' and 'A Farewell to Arms' were written, there are some proper oddities on show too.
Chief among them is a series of 17th-century 'birthing chairs' which, the museum's director, Andrew Morawksi, says helped ease the author's back pain.
It's not just the furniture though. The Hemingway Home is also the home of a barely believable 59 cats, many of which have six toes on their front paws. They are absolutely everywhere you turn, each one named after someone famous. We catch sight of Walt Disney and Jackie O, as well as the latest addition to the family, June Carter Cash.
'They get 60 pounds of food a week,' smiles Morawksi. 'We have a vet that comes here about once a month that checks on them [and] takes care of them.'
Even the pool here has a story to tell.
'This was actually the first in-ground pool put in the city of Key West,' says Morawksi. That alone would make it special. Yet there's more.
It's said that Hemingway's second wife — Pauline Pfeiffer — built the pool in 1938 as revenge for his suspected infidelity.
'She got rid of his prize boxing ring, donated it to the local brothel and she put in a $20,000 pool,' says the museum director.
On arriving home and hearing the news, Hemingway was said to be furious.
'He took a penny out of his pocket, threw it at his wife, and said, 'Pauline, if you're going to spend my money like this, you might as well take me for my last penny.' She actually took that 1934 penny and stuck it in the ground.'
You can still see it today, stuck fast in the cement deck.
No trip to South Florida would be complete without an Everglades adventure. Back on the mainland, southwest of Miami, the largest subtropical wilderness in the United States is home to alligators, manatees, American crocodiles, the elusive Florida panther and many more animals and plants.
Robby Price is captain of an airboat, something synonymous with the Everglades. They skim across the vegetation and shallow water in search of the abundant wildlife that calls this special place home.
Price's boat is powered by a huge Chevrolet car engine, all the better for going farther, faster and deeper into the far reaches of this two-million-acre wetland ecosystem. Despite what many think, this is not a swamp. In fact, it's the slowest-flowing river in the world.
Price grew up on these waters and he knows them like his own backyard. Just watching him search for his favorite alligator is inspiring.
'I call her Lily,' he says. 'She normally lives back there, in the lilies, but, in the daytime, I'll catch her hanging out throughout this trail because she gets pretty good opportunities for food.'
After a brief search, she appears. Then it's off to see another of Price's favorites, Snaggle Tooth.
'You could see he's got a bunch of scars and bite marks on his body,' he observes. 'It's all chewed up from fighting other alligators.'
Just a glimpse of these creatures is frightening, but Price insists that there would be little danger from falling in the water.
'If you just jumped in and did a cannonball, they would most likely get scared from the splash and take off. When people get attacked by these animals, it is always a freak incident. It is definitely always a mistake.'
With that in mind, it's easier to relax and enjoy one of the United States' and the world's most beautiful corners, all just a stone's throw from Miami itself.
CNN's Richard Quest contributed to this story.
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American Beyoncé fans travel to London for 'Cowboy Carter' tour: Here's why it's worth it
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Atlantic
7 hours ago
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When Mick Jagger Met the King of Zydeco
The story I'd heard was that Mick Jagger bought his first Clifton Chenier record in the late 1960s, at a store in New York's Greenwich Village. But when we talked this spring, Jagger told me he didn't do his record shopping in the Village. It would have been Colony Records in Midtown, he said, 'the biggest record store in New York, and it had the best selection.' Jagger was in his 20s, not far removed from a suburban-London boyhood spent steeping in the American blues. I pictured him eagerly leafing through Chess Records LPs and J&M 45s until he came across a chocolate-brown 12-inch record—Chenier's 1967 album Bon Ton Roulet! On the cover, a young Chenier holds a 25-pound accordion the length of his torso, a big, mischievous smile on his face. Bon Ton Roulet! is a classic zydeco album showcasing the Creole dance music of Southwest Louisiana, which blends traditional French music, Caribbean rhythms, and American R&B. This was different from the Delta and Chicago blues that Jagger and his Rolling Stones bandmates had grown up with and emulated on their own records. Although sometimes taking the form of slower French waltzes, zydeco is more up-tempo—it's party music—and features the accordion and the rubboard, a washboard hooked over the shoulders and hung across the body like a vest. Until he discovered zydeco, Jagger recalled, 'I'd never heard the accordion in the blues before.' Chenier was born in 1925 in Opelousas, Louisiana, the son of a sharecropper and accordion player named Joseph Chenier, who taught his son the basics of the instrument. Clifton's older brother, Cleveland, played the washboard and later the rubboard. Clifton had commissioned an early prototype of the rubboard in the 1940s from a metalworker in Port Arthur, Texas, where he illustrated his vision by drawing the design in the dirt, creating one of a handful of instruments native to the United States and forever changing the percussive sound of Creole music. Within a few years, the brothers were performing at impromptu house dances in Louisiana living rooms. They'd begin playing on the porch until a crowd assembled, then go inside, pushing furniture against the walls to create a makeshift dance hall. Eventually, they worked their way through the chitlin circuit, a network of venues for Black performers and audiences. They played Louisiana dance halls where the ceilings hung so low that Cleveland could push his left hand flat to the ceiling to stretch his back out without ever breaking the rhythm of what he was playing with his right. Influenced by rock-and-roll pioneers such as Fats Domino, Chenier incorporated new elements into his music. As he told one interviewer, 'I put a little rock into this French music.' With the help of Lightnin' Hopkins, a cousin by marriage, Chenier signed a deal with Arhoolie Records. By the late '60s, he and his band were regularly playing tours that stretched across the country, despite the insistence from segregationist promoters that zydeco was a Black sound for Black audiences. He started playing churches and festivals on the East and West Coasts, where people who'd never heard the word zydeco were awestruck by Chenier: He'd often arrive onstage in a cape and a velvet crown with bulky costume jewels set in its arches. Chenier came to be known as the King of Zydeco. He toured Europe; won a Grammy for his 1982 album, I'm Here! ; performed at Carnegie Hall and in Ronald Reagan's White House; won a National Heritage Fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. He died in 1987, at age 62. This fall, the Smithsonian's preservation-focused Folkways Recordings will release the definitive collection of Chenier's work: a sprawling box set, 67 tracks in all. And in June, to mark the centennial of Chenier's birth, the Louisiana-based Valcour Records released a compilation on which musicians who were inspired by Chenier contributed covers of his songs. These include the blues artist Taj Mahal, the singer-songwriter Lucinda Williams, the folk troubadour Steve Earle, and the rock band the Rolling Stones. In 1978, Jagger met Chenier, thanks to a musician and visual artist named Richard Landry. Landry grew up on a pecan farm in Cecilia, Louisiana, not far from Opelousas. In 1969, he moved to New York and met Philip Glass, becoming a founding member of the Philip Glass Ensemble, in which he played saxophone. To pay the bills between performances, the two men also started a plumbing business. Eventually, the ensemble was booking enough gigs that they gave up plumbing. Landry also embarked on a successful visual-art career, photographing contemporaries such as Richard Serra and William S. Burroughs and premiering his work at the Leo Castelli Gallery. He still got back to Louisiana, though, and he'd occasionally sit in with Chenier and his band. (After Landry proved his chops the first time they played together, Chenier affectionately described him as 'that white boy from Cecilia who can play the zydeco.') Landry became a kind of cultural conduit—a link between the avant-garde scene of the North and the Cajun and Creole cultures of the South. From the July 1987 issue: Cajun and Creole bands are conserving native music Landry is an old friend; we met more than a decade ago in New Orleans. Sitting in his apartment in Lafayette recently, he told me the story of the night he introduced Jagger to Chenier. As Landry remembers it, he first met Jagger at a Los Angeles house party following a Philip Glass Ensemble performance at the Whisky a Go Go. The next night, as luck would have it, he saw Jagger again, this time out at a restaurant, and they got to talking. At some point in the conversation, 'Jagger goes, 'Your accent. Where are you from?' I said, 'I'm from South Louisiana.' He blurts out, 'Clifton Chenier, the best band I ever heard, and I'd like to hear him again.' ' 'Dude, you're in luck,' he told Jagger. Chenier was playing a show at a high school in Watts the following night. Landry called Chenier: 'Cliff, I'm bringing Mick Jagger tomorrow night.' Chenier responded, 'Who's that?' 'He's with the Rolling Stones,' Landry tried to explain. 'Oh yeah. That magazine. They did an article on me.' It seems the Rolling Stones had yet to make an impression on Chenier, but his music had clearly influenced the band, and not just Jagger. The previous year, Rolling Stone had published a feature on the Stones' guitarist Ronnie Wood. In one scene, Wood and Keith Richards convene a 3 a.m. jam session at the New York studios of Atlantic Records. On equipment borrowed from Bruce Springsteen, they play 'Don't You Lie to Me'—first the Chuck Berry version, then 'Clifton Chenier's Zydeco interpretation,' as the article described it. Chenier was in Los Angeles playing what had become an annual show for the Creole community living in the city. The stage was set at the Verbum Dei Jesuit High School gymnasium, by the edge of the basketball court. Jagger was struck by the audience. 'They weren't dressing as other people of their age group,' he told me. 'The fashion was completely different. And of course, the dancing was different than you'd normally see in a big city.' The band was already performing by the time he and Landry arrived. When they walked in, one woman squinted in Jagger's direction, pausing in a moment of possible recognition, before changing her mind and turning away. Chenier was at center stage, thick gold rings lining his fingers as they moved across the black and white keys of his accordion, his name embossed in bold block type on its side. Cleveland stood beside him on the rubboard. Robert St. Julien was set up in the back behind a three-piece drum kit—just a bass drum, a snare, and a single cymbal, cracked from the hole in the center out to the very edge. Jagger took it all in, watching the crowd dance a two-step and thinking, ' Oh God, I'm going to have to dance. How am I going to do this dance that they're all doing? ' he recalled. 'But I managed somehow to fake it.' At intermission, a cluster of fans, speaking in excited bursts of Creole French, started moving toward the stage, holding out papers to be autographed. Landry and Jagger were standing nearby. Jagger braced himself, assuming that some of the fans might descend on him. But the crowd moved quickly past them, pressing toward Clifton and Cleveland Chenier. Before the night was over, Jagger himself had the chance to meet Clifton, but only said a quick hello. 'I just didn't want to hassle him or anything,' he told me. 'And I was just enjoying myself being one of the audience.' The next time Mick Jagger and Richard Landry crossed paths was May 3, 2024: the day after the Rolling Stones performed at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. During their set, the Stones had asked the accordion player Dwayne Dopsie, a son of another zydeco artist, Rockin' Dopsie, to accompany the band on 'Let It Bleed.' A meal was set up at Antoine's, in the French Quarter, by a mutual friend, the musician and producer C. C. Adcock. Adcock had been working on plans for the Clifton Chenier centennial record for months and was well aware of Jagger's affection for zydeco. He waited until the meal was over, when everyone was saying their goodbyes, to mention the project to Jagger. 'And without hesitation,' Landry recalled, 'Mick said, 'I want to sing something.' ' As the final addition to the album lineup, the Stones were the last to choose which of Chenier's songs to record. Looking at the track listing, Jagger noticed that 'Zydeco Sont Pas Salé' hadn't been taken. 'Isn't that, like, the one?' Adcock recalls him saying. 'The one the whole genre is named after? If the Stones are gonna do one, shouldn't we do the one ?' The word zydeco is widely believed to have originated in the French phrase les haricots sont pas salés, which translates to 'The snap beans aren't salty.' Zydeco, according to this theory, is a Creole French pronunciation of les haricots. (The lyrical fragment likely comes from juré, the call-and-response music of Louisiana that predates zydeco; it shows up as early as 1934, on a recording of the singer Wilbur Shaw made in New Iberia, Louisiana.) Many interpretations of the phrase have been offered over the years. The most straightforward is that it's a metaphorical way of saying 'Times are tough.' When money ran short, people couldn't afford the salt meat that was traditionally cooked with snap beans to season them. The Stones' version of 'Zydeco Sont Pas Salé' opens with St. Julien, Chenier's longtime drummer, playing a backbeat with brushes. He's 77 now, no longer the young man Jagger saw in Watts in 1978. 'I quit playing music about 10 years ago, to tell the truth,' he said when we spoke this spring, but you wouldn't know it by how he sounds on the track. Keith Richards's guitar part, guttural and revving, meets St. Julien in the intro and builds steadily. The melody is introduced by the accordionist Steve Riley, of the Mamou Playboys, who told me he'd tried to 'play it like Clifton—you know, free-form, just from feel.' It's strange that it doesn't feel stranger when Jagger breaks into his vocal, sung in Creole French. His imitation of Chenier is at once spot-on yet unmistakably Jagger. From the May 1971 issue: Mick Jagger shoots birds I asked him how he'd honed his French pronunciation. 'I've actually tried to write songs in Cajun French before,' he said. 'But I've never really gotten anywhere.' To get 'Zydeco Sont Pas Salé' right, he became a student of the song. 'You just listen to what's been done before you,' he told me. 'See how they pronounce it, you know? I mean, yeah, of course it's different. And West Indian English is different from what they speak in London. I tried to do a job and I tried to do it in the way it was traditionally done—it would sound a bit silly in perfect French.' Zydeco united musical traditions from around the globe to become a defining sound for one of the most distinct cultures in America. Chenier, the accordionist in the velvet crown, then introduced zydeco to the world, influencing artists across genres. When I asked Jagger why, at age 81, he had decided to make this recording, he said, 'I think the music deserves to be known and the music deserves to be heard.' If the song helps new listeners discover Chenier—to have something like the experience Jagger had when he first dropped the needle on Bon Ton Roulet! —that would be a welcome result. But Jagger stressed that this wasn't the primary reason he'd covered 'Zydeco Sont Pas Salé.' Singing to St. Julien's beat, Jagger the rock star once again becomes Jagger the Clifton Chenier fan. 'My main thing is just that I personally like it. You know what I mean? That's my attraction,' he said. 'I think that I just did this for the love of it, really.'