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It was high season in Miami, and rush-hour traffic was compressed into an even greater mass of rolling metal than usual, due in good measure to the migratory return of seasonal residents and vacationers. Google Maps and the unforgiving female voice on my Garmin GPS device were having yet another disagreement: Google said I should go south via I-95, but my windshield-mounted scold (whose favorite word is recalculating) said Biscayne Boulevard was the preferred route this time.

Perhaps because she literally spoke to me, I followed the voice of Ms. Garmin and got to day two of my conference, in downtown Miami, with enough time to spare to reach the conference-venue cafeteria for my morning jolt of Cuban coffee.

Legal conferences being quite demanding, I did not get outside during daylight. From great picture windows, I would watch the sun course across Miami Bay, reflecting from catamarans, bulbous cruise ships and diligent container vessels as they entered and exited upon turquoise tropical waters.

Fortunately, I had done enough of these events to have predicted that, so instead of staying at the usual, business-friendly, soul-ignoring conference hotel, I booked at what some consider to be the best resort hotel in the region: the Acqualina, on the beach in Sunny Isles Beach, a resort town about 18 miles north of downtown Miami.

Anyone can walk barefoot on a crowded beach during the day, under a tropical sun. It takes a lawyer determined to enjoy small snatches of free time to walk barefoot on the beach at night, alone and in a business suit. Here is a tip: roll up those trousers!

On that second night, the moon was but a white smile amid the clouds, and the waves caught the muted shimmer from their master above. An anchored ship loomed moody and silent just below the visible horizon.

Acqualina, tall and quiet from this angle, rose overhead as does the Eiffel Tower over Paris. It is a tower hotel and residential complex, with two tall buildings in operation and another on the way.

Skyscrapers that wall off the ocean from the coastline are not unique to South Florida, but they are a signature of the region. It can take some adjustment in expectations to accept the Florida waterfront aesthetic. This is not Southampton and it is not Portofino; think big, American and affluent and take the riff from there. Just to the north of Acqualina, a rival tower bears the brand of POTUS. (It is with some irony that the owners of Acqualina are also the Trump family, from South Africa; no relation to the commander in chief.)

What I have liked most about my hotel since entering is that, although it is built on a Florida scale, it circumvents the regional predilection toward ostentation. That is not an easy thing to do with an ocean tower, but the drive-up entrance leads to a tall gallery in the Italianate manner, which directs visitors into the lobby, where Mediterranean notes and careful divisions of space help keep the architecture reasonably to scale.

Staffers seem to be everywhere, and to all appearances, authentically friendly. That is not as easy to do in Florida. Americans arm themselves to the teeth with protestations of equality, which is in part why an American waiter will introduce himself to you by his first name — to be sure you understand that, although he may be serving you, he is not your servant. Perhaps because its staff is from many nations and regions, Acqualina sidesteps of that earnestness, with the result that you actually feel you are being served by people who like earning a living by providing things at your polite request before you even think to ask.

As I arrived after dark on my third night, a security guard complemented me on my necktie (this being South Florida, only he and I were wearing them). A bartender came up to me and asked about my preferences for my nightly wind-down cocktail.

I took dinner just paces away, at the hotel’s new lobby restaurant, AQ Chop House. Although I grew up on a cattle farm, thanks to my cardiologist, Dr. No Fun, I now abjure most red meat; but tonight, my treat to myself was bone-in rib-eye steak, which I paired with a Meoimi pinot noir.

There are few places more agreeable for enjoyable alone time than the lobby of a luxury hotel. I dined amid a decorous contingent: parents with their children, young couples alone, older couples alone or with friends of many years. The hotel absorbed it all, accommodated it, comforted and reassured it.

On the fourth and final night of my conference, we got to leave a half-hour early. I returned to Acqualina, where I was again welcomed, feeling like the prodigal son. Dinner tonight was at the hotel’s gourmet restaurant, a Florida branch of the Il Mulino restaurants of New York, which feature the cuisine of the Abruzzo region of Italy. I had the fettuccine special, followed by the veal chop special.

The next day, I did something I had not done since the day I arrived: I saw Acqualina and its four pools (including the one at the spa), and the soccer field and, for that matter, the Atlantic Ocean, up front and in broad daylight. To get to the beach facilities, you have to stop at a booth and secure a wristband. There was a line, and out of nowhere came the general manager himself, Christof Pignet, an Austrian; he stepped in and helped the people at the booth hand out wristbands, astonishing a number of us. When he assisted me with mine, I asked him in German, “You do everything personally?” to which he replied with a smile, “Self-evidently.”

Members of the Florida contingent of my family swept in, and we all had lunch at the beachside hotel restaurant, the Costa Grill.

My self-made program had been a complete success: I got my job done and I had fun.

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