Orlando

Orlando is the place between Venice and Bangkok. None of that lazy nothing-to-do attitude of sleepy Venice at 1 a.m. on a Wednesday night. It’s alive, jumpin and bumpin to the tune of its own heart beat, pulsating through the artery boulevards teeming with drunks dancing together to techo club beats of the wild bar iBars over flowing with college kids of care-not lives, bodies reacting to the sounds and flashing lights of the clubs. It’s packed to the brim with big, bright, lit up billboards down all the nitetime neon streets of central Florida, with a drinking age that is too high.