People used to call it "Liquordale." Back in the 80s, it was the messy, beer-soaked epicenter of Spring Break, a place where college kids jumped off balconies and the city basically begged them to leave. Then it changed. It got quiet. For a decade or two, Fort Lauderdale Florida Broward County felt like the place you went when you were tired of Miami’s noise but still wanted the heat.
That version of the city is dead too.
Honestly, if you haven’t been to Broward County in the last three years, you’re going to be confused. The skyline has exploded. The yachts are bigger—we're talking 300-foot behemoths that make your house look like a shed. There is a specific kind of energy here now that isn’t trying to be South Beach. It’s wealthier, sure, but it’s also weirder and more connected to the water than almost anywhere else in the United States.
The Venice of America is actually a maze
You’ll hear the "Venice of America" tagline everywhere. It sounds like marketing fluff. It isn't. Fort Lauderdale is built on a massive web of canals—over 165 miles of them within the city limits alone. If you look at a satellite map of Broward County, the eastern edge looks like a green and blue circuit board.
Living here means the Water Taxi isn't just for tourists; it’s a legitimate way to avoid the nightmare that is I-95. You can bar-hop via boat. You can see the backyards of billionaires on Las Olas Isles where the landscaping budget alone probably exceeds the GDP of a small island nation. But the real magic happens in the "finger streets." These are narrow strips of land where every single house has a dock.
It creates a strange culture. People in Fort Lauderdale don’t just own boats; they live on them, or around them, or for them. The Fort Lauderdale International Boat Show (FLIBS) is the largest in-water boat show on the planet. When that rolls around in October, the city’s population feels like it doubles, and the amount of money flowing through the Port Everglades area is staggering.
Why the New River matters more than the beach
Most people head straight for the sand. The beach is great—A1A has that iconic white wave wall and the neon glow of the Elbo Room—but the soul of the city has moved inland toward the New River.
The Riverwalk is where the actual locals hang out now.
Check out the Smoker Family Park or the area near the Broward Center for the Performing Arts. You’ve got joggers, people walking goldendoodles, and high-rise dwellers grabbing $18 cocktails. It’s a literal corridor of gentrification, but it’s kept a bit of the old Florida grit if you know where to look. Stranahan House, built in 1901, still stands right there among the glass towers. It’s the oldest surviving structure in the city, and standing on its porch while a 100-foot Princess yacht cruises by is a bizarre lesson in temporal displacement.
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Broward County: The diversity nobody talks about
When people think of Florida, they think of "Florida Man" or retired New Yorkers. Broward County is more complicated. It is one of the most diverse counties in the country. Period.
Take a drive west from the beach.
By the time you hit Lauderhill or Miramar, you aren't in a tourist town anymore. You're in the heart of the Caribbean diaspora. We’re talking some of the best Jamaican jerk chicken and Haitian griot you will ever eat in your life. The cricket matches at Central Broward Park are world-class—literally, it’s the only cricket stadium in the U.S. certified by the International Cricket Council.
Then you have Wilton Manors.
This is a city-within-a-city, and it’s one of the most prominent LGBTQ+ hubs in the world. The Pride Center at Equality Park is a massive community anchor. Driving down Wilton Drive is a masterclass in how to build a vibrant, walkable, and safe nightlife district. It’s loud, it’s colorful, and it’s an essential part of the Broward identity that has nothing to do with the beach or the Everglades.
The Everglades: The "Other" Broward
You cannot talk about Fort Lauderdale Florida Broward County without looking west. Eventually, the suburbs just... stop. They hit a levee, and then it’s just sawgrass and alligators for miles.
The Everglades are the lungs of South Florida.
A lot of people think the Everglades is just a big swamp. It’s actually a slow-moving river of grass. If you go out to Markham Park or Evergreen Recreation Center, you can see the edge of the world. The transition from suburban sprawl—with its Starbucks and Publix shopping centers—to the absolute prehistoric silence of the glades is jarring.
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- Airboats: They are loud, touristy, and actually kind of fun.
- Conservation: The Comprehensive Everglades Restoration Plan (CERP) is a multi-billion dollar project that is basically trying to replumb the entire state. Broward is ground zero for this because if the glades die, the saltwater moves into our drinking wells.
- Wildlife: Yes, there are pythons. No, they aren't going to eat you while you're at the mall. But the iguana situation? That’s real. They fall out of trees when it hits 40 degrees. It's a mess.
The Business Shift: Not just a vacation spot
For a long time, Broward was where you lived if you worked in Miami. That’s changing.
The "Wall Street South" movement is real.
Companies are fleeing high-tax states and landing in downtown Fort Lauderdale. The Brightline train—which is actually clean and fast, unlike most American rail—connects Fort Lauderdale to Miami in 30 minutes and West Palm Beach in 40. This has created a "tri-city" economy. You can live in a condo in Fort Lauderdale, work a tech job in Miami, and go to dinner in West Palm without ever touching a steering wheel.
The downtown core is currently a forest of construction cranes. Developers like Related Group are betting billions that people want an urban lifestyle that isn't as frantic as Brickell but isn't as sleepy as Boca Raton.
FATVillage and the Arts
Near the tracks, you'll find FATVillage (Flagler Arts and Technology). It’s an old warehouse district that got turned into a mural-covered arts hub. It’s currently undergoing a massive redevelopment to add even more residential and office space. Some locals worry the "soul" is being priced out, which is a fair critique. When a neighborhood gets "curated," it usually loses the edge that made it cool in the first place. But for now, the monthly Art Walk is still one of the best things to do on a Saturday night if you want to see the creative side of the county.
What people get wrong about the weather
"It’s always sunny."
That’s a lie.
In the summer, it rains at 3:00 PM. Every day. It’s not a drizzle; it’s a tropical deluge that looks like the end of the world. Then, twenty minutes later, the sun comes out, and the humidity turns the air into a warm, wet blanket. You don't "walk" in Broward in August. You move from one air-conditioned box to another.
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The real secret is the "Winter." From November to March, the weather in Fort Lauderdale is arguably the best on the planet. 75 degrees, no humidity, clear blue skies. It’s why the traffic gets so bad during those months—the "snowbirds" arrive, and suddenly the population of Broward County swells with people from Quebec and New York who forgot how to use a turn signal.
How to actually experience Fort Lauderdale Florida Broward County
Don't stay at a chain hotel on the beach and eat at the Cheesecake Factory. That's a waste of a trip.
If you want to see what this place is actually about, you need to get on the water. Rent a kayak in West Lake Park and paddle through the mangroves. You’ll see crabs climbing trees and maybe a manatee if you’re lucky. Mangroves are creepy and beautiful and smell a bit like sulfur, but they are the reason this part of Florida still exists; they hold the shoreline together.
After that, head to the Yellow Green Farmers Market in Hollywood.
It’s huge. It’s under a giant tin roof and features hundreds of vendors selling everything from artisanal honey to authentic pupusas. It’s loud, crowded, and smells like a mix of incense and grilled meat. It’s the antithesis of the polished, corporate version of Florida.
Actionable Steps for your visit:
- Skip the rental car if you’re staying east. Use the Brightline for inter-city travel and the Circuit (a fleet of electric shuttles) for short hops around downtown and the beach. Most Circuit rides are free or just a few dollars.
- Eat at a "Fish Camp." Places like Rustic Inn Crabhouse are loud, you hammer your food with a mallet, and the floor is probably sticky. It’s the real Fort Lauderdale experience.
- Check the tide charts. This sounds nerdy, but "King Tides" are a thing here. Some streets in the Las Olas area will flood even on a sunny day just because the moon is in the wrong place. If you're driving a low-slung car, pay attention.
- Visit the Bonnet House. It’s a 35-acre estate tucked between the high-rises on the beach. It’s a preserved piece of what Florida looked like before the concrete took over. There are wild monkeys there—descendants of escapees from a private zoo decades ago.
- Go to the Swap Shop. It’s a massive flea market and drive-in movie theater. It’s weird, it’s chaotic, and it’s a Broward County legend. You can buy a discounted tire and see a Ferrari museum in the same building.
Fort Lauderdale isn't trying to be Miami anymore. It's stopped apologizing for being a "boating town" and started leaning into its role as a massive, diverse, and slightly chaotic metropolitan hub. It’s a place where you can see a billionaire’s yacht and a wild alligator in the same afternoon, and honestly, that’s exactly why it works.
If you're planning a move or a long stay, focus your search on the "Neighborhood Improvement Districts." Areas like Victoria Park and Sailboat Bend offer a mix of historical charm and modern amenities that are far more rewarding than the sterile gated communities further west. The city is dense, it's growing, and it's increasingly expensive, but for those who value the intersection of tropical nature and urban utility, there isn't really anywhere else like it.