This flat peninsula of land, no more than a mile wide, lies at the end of a network of causeways and residential islands, jutting out into the Caribbean sea.

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It is a balmy place of sizzling days and tropical nights where tourists and bikini-clad locals hang out in designer hotels and minimalist bars.

There are blocks and blocks of Art Deco hotels in powder blue, baby pink, primrose yellow and apple green, a giddy backdrop to the beautiful people who glide by in classic American cars or on roller blades and skateboards.

My surroundings were very stylish. I was staying at the Hotel Victor, a place so "in" that P Diddy dropped by for the opening party. It has a permanent "vibe manager" to strategically place scented candles and select music suitable for the time of day; jazz-funk at breakfast and Euro-Latin fusion at sunset. It's the kind of hotel that has an aquarium full of jellyfish that glow blue at night.

It isn't necessary to have your own transport in South Beach, but to get the lie of the land I hired a car and drove 30 minutes north, following the coast, to the enormous designer shopping mall of Bal Harbour. Then I cut inland, crossing the Miami causeways, passing cruise ships that slip silently by at dusk, to the villagey districts of Coral Gables and Coconut Grove. Mansions and glitzy boutiques line the streets, alongside restaurants such as Jaguar on Grand Avenue.

Wanting to try some of the city's Latin cuisine, I drove over to Little Havana, an area centred around Calle Ocho (8th Street) where you could spend all day and not hear a word of English.

While old men played dominoes in the park, bantering in Spanish and dreaming of a return to Cuba just 150 miles south, I tucked into chicken with rice, beans and fried plantains at Versailles.

On South Beach, the menus are much less calorific. In Tantra, on Pennsylvania Avenue, the mood is eastern and sexy. The food is intentionally aphrodisiacal, and frisky diners can get all foxy feasting on Tantra Love Apple, consisting of layers of tomato and goats' cheese, with basil oil and fresh pomegranate seeds. And if that doesn't give them a flush, there is always the filet mignon and black coffee sauce.

Unlike the rest of America, Miami eats late; indeed it is at night when the city really comes alive. Nightclubs are, like, so last century but the city heaves with lounge bars so I set out to tour a few with bar guide Nick McCabe, who runs the nightlife website http://www.cooljunkie.com.

The Sky Bar at the Shore Club Hotel was candlelit and intimate, but the entry line at Ian Schrager's Delano Hotel looked seriously intimidating, so we headed instead to the Sagamore, where a young glitzy crowd milled around sharing mini-burgers and chatting non-stop on their mobile phones.

Wandering back to the Victor, defeated by jetlag, I'd seen no sign of the mean streets of Miami, as patrolled by Crockett and Tubbs. Just plenty of glammed up people having a great time.