Surveying the Miami Fun Machine

I had this dream that I woke up in this city in a “Barton Fink” hotel with the ocean at my feet. Turns out, it wasn’t a dream but a sample of Southern surreality, the kind that envelops those who surrender to South Beach. Like Cheap Trick, I surrendered, and I’m still dreaming the dream.

Cue up Miami Sound Machine here: “C’mon baby shake your body, do the conga, I know you can’t control yourself any longer. ... “ Oh yeah, I saw the nightlife and Ms. Estefan is correct. You feel the heat as the music moves your feet.

From Latin clubs like the Samba Room to provocative hotspots such as Bed, Miami goes off.

From the moment I checked into the fabulous ‘40s-style hotel, the Raleigh, I heeded the advice of “Miami Vice”: I donned pastels and hit the streets running. I heard music everywhere. Tropical island sounds ring throughout South Beach during the day, and everyone seems to bounce as they walk. The dazzling beauty of this historic Art Deco district is enhanced by lightning-quick rainstorms that periodically dust off the vintage facades and make Florida’s sweet sticky weather tolerable.

I didn’t know a soul when I arrived; I was on assignment by a music mag to interview the great DMX. But by the time I left, I knew everybody. South Beach is Mayberry on the Atlantic, but Aunt Bee’s from Jamaica, Opie’s from Vegas, and Andy, well, he’s bicoastal.

Seriously, I didn’t “think” I knew anybody until I picked up the local New Times the morning I arrived and chanced on the name Brad Packer. I scanned his name through (what’s left) of my mental Rolodex and bingo! Packer was someone I met in Vegas, who now works for record industry mogul Chris Blackwell’s hotel properties. It was like saying, “Open sesame,” to the Miami scene. In addition, Andi Campbell, the Jamaican-born concierge at the Raleigh--a truly spectacular Art Deco hotel that will delight Jim Jarmusch and Coen brothers fans alike--put me on the guest lists for Bed, Level, Tantra and Opium, four of Miami’s hottest spots.

The only problem: I was staying in the Raleigh’s Bridgette Bardot suite and needed movie star locks. Acting on a hot tip from Packer, I headed over to Salon Blu, where colorist Shohn Wilkes sparked it up from basic brown to strawberry blond. Now I was ready for the stunning Raleigh swimming pool. Built in 1940 and used in early Esther Williams flicks, the seaside pool makes you feel like a starlet, and it’s the hot place to be on Sunday afternoons, where South Beach scenesters gather for cocktails.

The only thing that could tear me away from my strawberry CinemaScope visions was lunch at the Tides, one of Blackwell’s boutique hotels and renowned for its white-on-white interior. There, I met Tides G.M. Jim Kostecky, who also manages the red-hot Marlin Hotel. Apparently, I’d just missed J. Lo, a frequent guest of the Tides, who was dining with manager Benny Medina. I also learned Weezer recorded its last album at the Marlin, an 11-room hotel with a built-in recording studio.

After checking out the Lucite Suite at the Kent--a hipster hotel that’s like the Hollywood Standard for Miami’s rocker set--it was time to go clubbin’.

First stop, the Raleigh Bar, an exquisite spot with a drop ceiling and an old-school vibe so strong, you’re convinced Bogie’s about to walk in.

After Bogie didn’t show, I popped into the Marlin Hotel’s tropical lounge, which just went karaoke on Saturdays after an employee visited Hollywood and caught karaoke fever.

At Bambu, I met up with my new best friends, Kostecky and Packer, who treated me to a tres chic Japanese dinner and the tiniest portions of sushi I’ve ever seen. The air was so warm and inviting, I wandered down Ocean Drive, where South Beach kids go cruising. Hip-hop, techno and Latin dance music pounded out of the car speakers, while clubs continued to fill up with luscious night owls.

At Bed, a white-hot nightclub on Washington Avenue, there were no tables, no chairs--just beds, with people in all states of dress and undress. (Now we know where L.A.’s Pig ‘n Whistle got the idea for its VIP lounge.) Here, some were having dinner in bed, others were lounging under the sheets, and everybody was having fun. The thumping house music got me inspired to check out Level, South Beach’s biggest nightclub. The 2-year-old hotspot is held in an Art Deco palace, with 40,000 square feet of fun and four dance floors. It’s true what they say about Miami; people really let loose on the dance floor and everyone seemed approachable.

After soaking up the scene at Level, I headed over to the Samba Room, an indoor-outdoor nightclub with Latin fever. Here, the women were really turning it up, on and out, wearing clingy bright dresses that hugged every curve. Before retiring, I ran my feet through the grass at the hip supper club Tantra (like the Hollywood Canteen’s sake lounge, Tantra’s floors are covered with soft grass) and also stopped by the Opium Garden, where a giant terrace attracts Miami’s jet set.

After pausing in front of the Versace mansion and offering a moment of silence, I nestled back into the Bardot bed in the Bardot suite and dreamed of Miami nights. Sweet dreams, indeed.