I went to the Miami area this weekend to visit my brother in his new apartment. He moved there for a new job a few months ago and I had a free weekend, so I booked a flight. I was greeted with South Florida humidity as soon as I left the terminal, and it felt like I was back in Latin America again after a few years away.

I ordered in Spanish for dinner on Friday. Fair enough since the place was Venezuelan food, but I was disappointed in the arepas. We watched the US beat Mexico dos a cero and talked about how his new job is going working to improve the efficiency of giant cargo vessels to and from ports throughout Latin America. He is the only native American in his office and none of the routes he works on serve American ports, but that doesn’t seem to bother him.

Saturday we drove to Wynwood so he could see the street art and murals of that artsy neighborhood for the first time. It is one of those neighborhoods where developers cannot build apartments fast enough, the sort of neighborhood where the feel will change and become more sanitized. I had been there during my previous trip to Miami and ate better food that time, but it was fine to be walking around in shorts and t-shirt in November. Then we drove out to Miami Beach and up Collins Avenue a few blocks from the water. Ocean Avenue is now pedestrian only along most of its length, which was the correct decision even if it meant I didn’t get to ride past the famous art deco hotels this time. The traffic was terrible there and everywhere else around the city. The volume is one thing, but even more than that is that the traffic rules are treated as mere suggestions. People weave in and out of lanes, cut you off even when it’s unnecessary, and generally act like driving is one big game of bumper cars. It grated on me just as it did when I drove the judge around during my prior trip to the city. I want no part of that in my everyday life.

Sunday morning we went to Don Pan, which roughly translates to Boss of Bread. I had some refreshing passionfruit juice, but what was more notable was the setup of the bakery. Inside it were three separate additional businesses, a travel agent, locksmith, and money order business. We were also the only ones speaking English and the place was full. It gave new meaning to the trope that the best thing about Miami is that it is close to the United States. None of this bothered me, but I did find it annoying and a little soul crushing that we had to get in the car to go such a short distance from the apartment. Six lanes and never-ending strip malls may be the norm in Florida, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

We drove down to Key Biscayne and out to its end where there is a lighthouse. My brother just had to get his beach fix for the week even though I was with him and wanted no part of being on the sand. It was also part of his efforts to continue to explore his new home.

Then we went home to eat wings and watch football. This was the first football game I have watched in its entirety all year and will probably remain so until at least the opening round of the playoffs. Yelling at the television together, though, was enjoyable. A little while later I got to deal with the chaos that is the Miami airport. Miami is not my town—it’s too loud, too brash, too showy—but that’s okay. I got a reminder I didn’t need but got to see my brother making the most of a new start. That alone was worth the trip.