Vizcaya was finished in 1916, which in Miami terms is almost prehistoric. The city was twenty years old, the land boom had not yet happened, Coral Gables and Miami Beach did not exist in any recognisable form, and James Deering — vice-president of International Harvester, wintering south for his health — built a seventy-room Italianate villa on a mangrove shoreline south of the Miami River.
The result is stranger and better than "rich man's mansion" suggests. Deering's decorative director, Paul Chalfin, bought whole rooms in Europe — ceilings, panelling, chimneypieces, doors — and the architect F. Burrall Hoffman assembled a house around them. The interiors therefore run through several centuries of Italian, French and Spanish work in the space of a single corridor, which sounds like a mess and is in fact coherent, because the organising idea was a villa that had been lived in and altered for four hundred years. Landscape architect Diego Suarez laid out the formal gardens to the south, working with the problem that Miami has no hills, a high water table, and light far harsher than the Veneto.
The gardens are the reason to allow real time here. They are terraced, hedged, and worked in coral rock — oolitic limestone quarried on site — with a theatre garden, a secret garden, a maze mount and a long basin. Beyond them the ground is deliberately left as subtropical hammock, so you can walk from clipped parterre into native forest in a minute. Out in the bay sits the Stone Barge, a carved breakwater shaped like a ship, with sculpture by A. Stirling Calder facing the house across the water.
It is a National Historic Landmark, and it is also a building on a shoreline in a warming, storm-prone city. Hurricane Irma pushed water through the ground floor and across the gardens in 2017. Restoration is continuous and visible, and some areas are closed on any given day.
Allow two to three hours, go early, and do the gardens before the sun is high.