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An local’s guide on what not to do when visiting MIA
Here’s the skinny when it comes to the infamous and legendary MIA: this isn’t just an airport – it’s a portal. A stargate to chaos, confusion, and the kind of psychological wear-down that could turn a hardboiled detective novelist or slasher film guru into a quiet suburban librarian out of sheer self-preservation.
MIA is a parallel dimension. One where the ink slinger of “True Detective” could come to do field research on human psychology —and leave saying, “Yeah, we need to tone it down.”
You’re found this blog because you shot your mouth at a family barbecue and said something downright innocuous. “We’re taking the kids to Disney this summer. We’ll fly into Miami International, maybe rent a car and do the four-hour Toyota walkabout up the Turnpike.” At that point, your cousin – the one who still wakes up in a cold sweat from the Stitch themed meltdown of 2016 – slowly turned to you and muttered, “I’ll have the preacher say a couple of prayers in your name.”
So now you’re thumping our page, staring down MIA like it’s the final boss in a Florida-shaped video game. And in a line at immigration, there’s a guy in front of you scratching his pant legs as something moves around and squeals.
Without further ado, and with a truckload of Hail Marys at the ready, let’s talk about how not to lose your mind in this fluorescent-lit purgatory. Here’s your survival blueprint for navigating Miami International Airport without ending up in Guantánamo or, worse, explaining to your spouse why you dropped $87 on a Miami fridge magnet that could’ve paid for your kid’s SAT prep.
MIA: A survival guide
Customs is a “Hunger Games” simulator
If you just landed internationally, congratulations – you’ve entered the “Thunderdome” and there’s no Tina Turner belting out a classic. Heck, it’s more along the lines of the “Squid Game” – to the point where you turn and ask, “What is that language? That’s not English? Did that TSA guy just shout in Korean?”
Don’t assume customs at MIA is a streamlined, smiling, TSA pre checked breeze. It’s not. It’s a lawless waiting room where time has no meaning, and the line never moves. But somehow you’re still expected to have all your documents ready. And no, your toddler melting down at 3 a.m. will not earn you sympathy. If anything, he’ll get out faster.
Here’s what you need to understand. MIA is where every bad egg sooner or later ends up. Why? Because so many international flights drop on its tarmac from dubious places. In a line you’ll find political dissidents that have somehow escaped the equivalent of Vietnam era POW camps. A couple of rows back is that right hand of the very same dictator that sent them to that hell hole – the man having swindled out a $1 million dollar book deal from Penguin.
We’re talking smugglers and narcos. Also, we’re talking deranged celebrity fans who are there to see their idol who’s playing in one of the many concert halls. We’re talking about folks who just had a 16 hour flight with two screaming hellhounds and now have to beat it to ALAMO rent a car and try to reach Orlando by nightfall.
So, in that miasma and petri dish that is MIA, TSA officers have seen it all and they have the experience and no nonsense approach to life you only get after having to break up a fight between a Taylor Swift fan and a Katy Perry fan – a fight that involved body blows, pepper spray, and a very lax and creative use of every “po-po” word in the dictionary.
So for the love of all things holy, don’t try to sneak through with Cuban cigars, unsealed coffee, or exotic meats. Customs agents at MIA were trained by the same people who monitor nuclear arms deals. They will find it and they will confiscate it. And they’ll do it with the same joy a gator feels when it spots a Chihuahua near a canal.
Don’t eat the “tuna”
Here’s some free life advice: never eat fish in an airport. But especially not at MIA, where time zones shift, gravity breaks down, and a refrigeration with sushi is just something the clerk thinks is a suggestion.
The tuna salad sandwich from that suspiciously beige café near Gate D’21 Is an emissary from some “Lovecraft” pit that makes Cthulhu back away in fright. It’s not even tuna – it’s something that has only some DNA strands that relate it to fish. If you want to test your intestinal fortitude, just go lick a handrail. It’s faster and free.
Best case: you get indigestion that makes you miss your flight. Worst case: you find religion at 38,000 feet and need to be escorted off the plane with a trash bag full of “I told you so.”
The great Skytrain betrayal
At first glance, MIA’s SkyTrain seems like a modern marvel. “Wow,” you think, “a quick train that zips me from Concourse D to E. How advanced!” That’s cute. Don’t fall for it.
The Skytrain has two moods: “broken” and “mysteriously missing.” You’ll follow the signs, ride an escalator that smells like despair, and arrive at a closed-off station with a sign that says “Temporarily Out of Service” which, in MIA time, means “eternally condemned.”
By the time you figure out how to get to your gate, you’ve walked 1.7 miles, aged two years, and watched a pilot order an Uber from Gate D60 to D12.
If you see a line, get in it – don’t ask questions
Lines at MIA obey no logic. Sometimes they’re there for coffee. It could be for security. But sometimes it is just a person leaning against a wall and people unconsciously start queuing behind them like lemmings.
Here’s the rule: if you see a line, get in it. You don’t need to know what it’s for yet. If you wait to find out, you’ll be rerouted, denied, or scolded by a woman named Lourdes in a polyester vest who has seen things.
Don’t argue, don’t think. Just stand. And pray. There’s a logic to them. MIA has lines and some of them you need – particularly if your final stop is Disney. Think of MIA lines as D-Day training for the Normandy jaunt.
The origin of the beast
Now, if you’re wondering how this circus became the third-largest international entry point in the U.S., here’s the backstory, told with just enough civics class jazz to make you sound smart at a bar.
MIA officially became “a thing” back in 1928, built on land that was once used as a military training field. Then the Cold War happened. The jet age happened. And the Pablo Escobars definitely happened. Miami grew into one of the busiest ports of entry in the country. Particularly for flights from Latin America and the Caribbean.
By the 1980s, it was known for its… let’s say energetic traffic in both tourism and narcotics, a duality that lives on today, except now the airport also offers vegan empanadas.
And it’s not just narcotics, it’s all types of slapstick. What type of Marx Brothers’ routine? How about a man who mummified himself in plastic wrap and tried to check himself off as luggage. Also, in 2024, green fluid – actual slime – started leaking from the roof.
So, when MIA staff members seem like strung out detectives in a “Lethal Weapon” film a day from retirement it is because they are always waiting for it to go postal. And you don’t mess with that kind of personality.
Let’s talk numbers
In 2023, MIA moved over 52 million passengers. That makes makes it the busiest airport in Florida and the 10th busiest in the U.S. It handles more international freight than any airport in the country and is the #1 gateway to Latin America. So yeah—big. And getting Kaiju shaped.
There’s an ongoing $7 billion capital improvement program (yup, billion with a B), supposedly to ease congestion, add space, and improve passenger experience. So far, the result is: more scaffolding and new places to lose your children.
Final boarding call
If you’re flying into MIA, don’t think, “ahh it’s another airport.” It’s not. It’s an ecosystem of pure insanity that’s being reigned in by John McClane. and Dirty Harry. Worship, respect and genuflect in front of it. Walk fast. Never eat tuna. Treat lines like lifeboats. And if the Skytrain looks functional, assume it’s lying.
This isn’t a travel hub. It’s a personality test with gates. It’s where dreams, layovers, and sanity go to get curb stomped. Or at least take a 3-hour nap next to a Cinnabon.
Pack light. Pray hard. And for the love of Pitbull, keep your cool.
What do you think? Have you flown at MIA? Let us know in the comments!
