Nautilus

Pro tip: when travelling in South America, never rely on the hotel clocks. Having just spent the week working in the blazing heat of Medellín, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to flying back to the blizzard wreaking havoc in New York. On my last night in Colombia, I got back to my room at 3am and set my alarm for an hour later, to give myself time to pack and head to the airport. But, as is not unusual, the power had gone out at some point during my doze, and my clock had reset.

I was woken up, fully clothed, just after 5am by the hotel bellboy pounding on the door. My driver was pacing anxiously in the lobby below. We drove through the dark at an uncomfortable speed, up the mountains surrounding Medellín to José María Córdova International Airport. I made it onto the flight just as they were closing the gate. But then… my early morning connection to JFK was via Miami. In my sleep-deprived state, the temptation was too great. I made the not-very-difficult decision to ‘miss’ my flight back to the snow. I cleared customs, and strolled out into the sun.

I checked in to Nautilus in South Beach, and headed straight up to my room – it was artfully designed to resemble the cabin of an elegant yacht. The expertly stocked bar was built into a split luggage chest that looked like it belonged in the cargo hold of a Pan-Atlantic steamship. It was glorious. But something smelled off… and it was me. Thirty minutes later, after a shower and a gin and tonic, I was a new man. I ventured down to the pool to scope out the scene and find something to eat. It was a Monday morning, so it was quiet; I realised I'd need a companion for the two days that lay ahead.

I called Mrs Smith, back in snowy New York, and convinced her to skip out on work and book a last-minute flight to Miami. Meanwhile, I swam some laps in the pool and tucked into a grapefruit mimosa and a grilled-chicken sandwich, then napped happily on my lounger till late afternoon. Eventually, I relocated to the lobby bar with my laptop – ostensibly to work, although the art, palm trees and constant coming and going made it pleasingly difficult to focus. At a few minutes past eight, Mrs Smith walked through the doors and ordered a margarita, and soon we were off to meet friends at Nobu, nestled off the lobby at the Eden Roc hotel.

Three hours later, the four of us were still drinking 1942 on the rocks and downing Nobu's famous crispy rice. (If you’re Nobu-bound yourself, we particularly enjoyed the yellowtail sashimi with jalapeño, quail egg with tobiko, and sautéed scallops with wasabi sauce.) No one was in a rush to go home, so our next stop was the Faena hotel for a nightcap. We ordered another round of margaritas in the Living Room, Faena's decadent lobby lounge, and sipped them on a sofa while the DJ spun an upbeat remix of the Meters’ 1969 classic, Cissy Strut.

The sun was beaming when we woke up (late) so we breakfasted by the pool from the Nautilus’ Driftwood room. Celebrity chef Alex Guarnaschelli has turned it into a place all of her own, sourcing local ingredients to create a Mediterranean cuisine inspired by her roots in the French culinary-arts scene. After breakfast, Mrs Smith and I walked the boardwalk to Soho Beach House to use the gym and book a couples’ massage for later that afternoon. We spent the remainder of the morning on some beach chairs by the ocean, making plans to avoid next year's New York City winter at all costs. By the time we headed back for our massages, we were both convinced that next year we'd be moving to Central America in December.

By 3pm, we were back at the Nautilus, napping poolside in a cabana – there’s really nothing like it to help you recharge before a big night. Later, we made our way to the Edition hotel for drinks and a memorable dinner at the Matador Room, followed by a trip downstairs to Basement for some late-night bowling (and another round of cocktails). Our party ended the night back at the Nautilus, where we snuck into the pool with some beers smuggled from the room. I'm pretty sure security knew what was going on… but they played it cool and let us be.

As we were packing up the next morning I realized I’d left my credit card at Soho Beach House so sprinted up the boardwalk… and managed one more ocean dip before the flight to New York.

Thanks, Nautilus. We'll see you next winter.