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Miami is Hell

Being an observant reader, you're probably asking yourself "why Lord Bob, why are you updating your blog when, theoretically, you're at Florida International University Stadium watching Canada take on Costa Rica?

I'll tell you why. Miami is the worst city in the universe.

Google Maps says the distance from my hotel to the stadium is about seven kilometers, almost straight as an arrow down two streets. It is, in short, walking distance, and I chose this stadium for that reason. So I checked Google Maps and made sure I was going the right way. I drew a brief sketch on the back of my print-at-home ticket and made sure to ask the helpful concierge if I was going the right way.

"Why, no!" the helpful concierge said. "You don't go left then right! You go right then left!"

Yeah, that was pretty much completely untrue.

I got lost, and it was made worse by the fact that Miami is the worst city in the universe. When I realized I was lost, I knew I had to get to the highway, which was marked on my map as US Highway 41/8th Street. I was on 6th Street, and I knew 7th Street was a block to the north since I had just come that way. So I said "I am clever. I will go two blocks north and still make the game."

Yeah, it was a different 8th Street. It was so close to the 8th Street I was looking for that I could have spit the distance if I'd known it, but I didn't.

Miami also hates pedestrians. Some cities don't put sidewalks on the both sides of some streets. Miami builds sidewalks that end in random places, or sidewalks that don't go anywhere, or sidewalks with chainlink fences at the end, or just chainlink fences that keep you from getting where you want to go, or sidewalks that lead to intersections with no pedestrian signals and rampant traffic, as if Miami pedestrians usually just turn into helicopters.

Also, no gas station in this god-forsaken city seems to sell road maps.

After walking for two hours through brutal heat, trying to make logical guesses as to where I wanted to go and getting lost each time because of the completely random street layout, I wound up at a Wal-Mart where nobody spoke English and couldn't understand that I wanted a map despite the fact that, as far as I can tell, the Spanish word for map is "map". I was able to find one myself, realised that if I tried to get to the stadium I'd arrive just in time to watch the winner do a victory lap, went back to my hotel, and am currently trying to tie my bedsheets into a crude noose.

If Canada gets to the World Cup final and the match is held in Miami, I still won't come back to Miami. This is the worst city in the universe.