Savannah, Georgia-Not Over 'Til It's Over

Feb. 2, 2018- Savannah, Georgia-Not Over 'Til It's Over

Our adventures continue, albeit with humor.

As we checked into our hotel tonight, a large group was at the desk also checking in. They looked as if they walked out of a casting call for the film, Deliverance. They had Alabama hats and t-shirts and many were carrying battered cases. One of the women turned to a teen-aged boy and asked if he was "packing." I looked at the cases again and realized they didn't have musical instruments in them. They had guns...large guns. 

Relieved that there was a vacancy for us, we checked in. David asked one of the men if they were here for an "event." He was told that this is a big weekend for these kids. They're juniors and seniors in high school and are competing for college scholarships in skeet and trap shooting.  

The sickest person from our group made it home, but is in the hospital. She's on IVs for dehydration. She'll be fine, but the severity is her own fault. The others all medicated and hydrated. She doesn't like water so didn't drink for two days. 

Toby

Home Soil

Feb. 1, 2018- Home Soil

Our flight left Havana on time and we arrived in Miami early. We're starting our trek home. We'll take it easy and may take three days. Our own bed will feel so good. 

Thanks for coming along on our latest adventure.

Toby

Last Day in Havana

Jan. 31, 2018- Last Day in Havana

We were serenaded at breakfast by a guitarist and violinist playing Yiddush music. Maybe they're available for bar mitzvahs?

Our speaker this morning was Martiza Corrales, a historian and professor. Everyone here seems to be a professor of some sort. She insisted, by using statistics and social history that, despite four popes visiting the island, Cuba is not a Catholic country. They are not Communist either. They're religious, but not attached to any faith or institution. They're superstitious. They cover their bases and do what's expedient. They wear symbols of many religions interchangeably and display them at home. This is not a change since 1958. Cubans have always been that way.

Class and color matter more than religion. An example was that Batista wanted to join an exclusive yacht club while in power. Although there were Jewish members, he was blackballed because he had some African blood. When the English were here, they came with their families. Spanish did not. They mixed with slaves, but invented "white certificates" for their offspring. In future generations, as they married whites, the progeny would have proof that, in the beginning, they were "officially" white. We teasingly asked Jose if he had his certificate. His mother is Haitian and he is dark. He said his family is so mixed it's a United Nations.

Few Muslims were here when Cuba decided to give them a small area for a mosque. Cubans were afraid the Shiite and Sunni wouldn't get along among themselves and would cause religious dissent. Things were ironed out and now Muslims have a real mosque where both sects pray together. One part of history Cubans are ashamed of is when they rounded up Jehovah's Witnesses and homosexuals and placed them in concentration camps together. The Jehovah's Witnesses refused to salute the flag or serve in the army. Cuba knew JW's hated homosexuals and hoped they'd destroy each other if in the same camps. That's in the past.

Survival is the goal. Protestantism became popular as a way to stick it to Spain via the Catholic Church. All Protestant denominations are represented in Cuba except Scientology. Cubans are too poor for them. Schools are strictly secular. Whenever there's an increase in socio-economic problems, religiosity increases. As outsiders, we see Che and Jose Marti becoming objects of worship. In his will, Fidel strictly forbid streets bearing his name or making him into a deity.

The Fine Arts Museum was next. The art displayed was indeed fine, the five-story ramp we climbed to begin the tour wasn't. The elevator didn't work. Surprise! The docent described what we saw as Cubanity, a melting pot of religious and cultural influences as well as a blend of the masters the Cubans studied abroad. Some were exquisite. All were fascinating. During the 1958 revolution, artists and museum workers lived in the building armed with guns to defend the treasures. Fortunately, the war didn't come to Havana.

We drove into the Miramar neighborhood towards Casa Espanola, our lunch stop. Miramar houses Embassy Row except for those of Spain and the US which are elsewhere in the city.

We enjoyed lamb and chicken. Although the lamb tasted like beef, it was a nice change.

Still awake and ready for another encounter, we went to see the Havana Queens. It wasn't what I thought it would be, a drag show. It's a group of forty 18-30 year-old dancers who do everything from acrobatics to hip-hop to rhumba with a Cuban beat. They've performed overseas and leave tomorrow for Germany. They rented an auditorium in an old school now used as a cultural center. To say it was falling down is an understatement. The stair railings were in pieces or gone except for deadly metal sticking up from the treads. The ceiling in the auditorium was pocked with bulges of rain damage, mold, and decay. Pieces were hanging over us waiting for the next deluge before collapsing. Our guides are seriously considering not taking groups to that venue again due to safety issues.

One more pass and photo op at "the most important" revolution square, and we were done. Or so we thought. Manuel had a surprise back at the hotel. He hired 1957 convertibles for a half hour cruise around town. It was a treat and we acted like teenagers taking pictures of each other in our three-car parade.

Cuba is just coming out of Communism into a more Socialistic society. What can be expected? Growing pains. What can be the end game? Bulgaria and Romania, which we toured last year, have many more years of freedom. Their progress has been facilitated by embracing democracy and free enterprise. We've been living in a democratic republic for almost 250 years & still haven't mastered it. We're all works in progress.  Maybe Cuba's mistake was in not losing a war to a rich country and cashing in on its own Marshall Plan.

Our farewell dinner was a long ride from the hotel. Usual food. A more upscale atmosphere. We didn't get back until 9pm. We're more or less packed. Trying to get those liquids in order. We'll wake up at 4 AM, breakfast at 5AM, and leave the hotel at 6:30 AM. Our plane is American's first to leave Cuba on its shuttle to Miami, so we should be on time. 

What this group really needs is a healer. There are three sick enough with "tourista" to stay in their rooms and not tour and two with "funny tummies." They're improving and will be able to join the flight tomorrow. It was touch and go for some. 

Toby

Hemingway's Fave For Daiquiris

Juan (driver), Manuel (U.S. Guide), Jose (Cuban Guide)

Dancing Queen

Ceiling in Rehearsal Hall

Ready to Ride

Hotel Nacional

Havana Rematch

Jan. 30, 2018- Havana Rematch

And then there was the dirty sock I found in the corner of our room.  What a dump. I realize there are different levels of rooms depending on what you pay, but sloppy housekeeping doesn't change. The coup de gras was when David found out the plug near his CPAP only worked when the overhead light was on. That meant getting his extension cord out and running it across the headboard to another plug. And, BTW, the carpeting in the halls and rooms is ripped indoor-outdoor felt. In fairness, we spoke to the desk & Manuel got our room changed. We declined. I'm only going to re-pack once and that's when we leave. They did give us a new floor lamp and blanket that covered us both. Oh yes, the sock was removed.

Our lecture at 8:30 AM was by architect Pedro Vasquez. He gave an architectural and historical overview of Havana. When Columbus arrived in 1492, he realized it was the key to the world. It's equidistant from Canada, the South Americas, and Spain. And it has a protected natural deep-water port. 

Havana has been sought after by many countries who left their mark architecturally and culturally. Between 1898 and 1902, the US presence influenced expansion of the city and contributed to its infrastructure. Our hotel, the Nacional, was built by a US firm, but never was privately owned. It has always been a government hotel. In 1959, laws were reformed to equalize the people. Eviction was illegal, property couldn't be privately owned or sold. Everyone had a place to live and didn't pay rent. The results was there was no pride in ownership. Even when allowed to buy their own apartments in recent years, it is like having a condo complex with no association. If the roof leaks, that's the problem of those on the top floor. The ever-increasing floods are the problem of those at street level. After six decades, and with no central interest in property maintenance, buildings are falling apart.

Money is short. Salaries are low. The population is aging. People aren't having babies. The burden of caring for elderly and the infrastructure is falling on a shrinking group. Foreign investment is pouring in although only Cubans can own property. Foreigners pay rent and taxes. The world is coming here for economic opportunity. The US is missing the party.

We hopped on our bus for the short ride to San Francisco Port and Plaza. Cruise ships were moving in and out and we contended with those crowds as we made our way to Plaza Vieja. Somehow the money was found to restore the ornate pastel buildings around that square. The old glamor is apparent.  

We found the Museum of Chocolate and settled in for a thick cup of bitter hot cocoa seasoned with pepper and nutmeg. It was too bitter for David, so I drained my cup and half of his. The thin cookies served with the cocoa literally stood up in the brew. We could have sat all day and sipped at $0.55 a cup.

Lunch was at Acuzar above the square. It's a modern cafe serving sandwiches. That hit the spot after the heavy meals we'd been eating.

I napped on the 25-minute ride to Hemingway's farm, Quinta Vigia, where he lived with 60 cats. We couldn't enter the house, but it was easy to walk on the loggia and peer into open doors and windows. It's a tranquil tropical oasis that provided the solitude in which he could work. Unfortunately, peace of mind was never his. 

After touring the property we prepared to re-board the bu.The man from Minnesota was sprinting towards us. They'd found hippos, lots of them. We had our choice of 3 sizes! They were almost as thrilled as we. The group was amazed. We did it!

Dinner was on our own. We went to a hotel bar to redeem our free mojitos & met up with some people from our group. They wanted to stay at the bar and have Cuban sandwiches. We ended up in a hotel cafe eating pizza. I know. It's our fallback.

Toby

Waking up to Storm

Plaza Vieja

Hemingway's House

Hemingway's Boat

Elusive Hippo

Cocotaxis

Havana

Jan. 29, 2018-Havana

Jose's description of the Cuban government: Every move you make, every breath you take. I'll be watching you.

It was such a Cuban touch. When we had our Shakespearean moment on our way to Havana, I had a cappuccino. It came with two pieces of sugar cane to use as stirrers. I may need to see the dentist for a special cleaning when we get home. 

We watched a video about Hemingway on the bus after our rest stop on the 4-hour drive West to Havana. Ernest Hemingway spent half his life in Cuba. The island inspired many of his works. He was 29 years old the first time he visited. He returned for the great fishing. He rented a boat from a rum running bootlegger with whom he became lifelong friends. His second wife had a hard time giving birth. She was advised not to have more children. As a Catholic, she chose abstinence. Hemingway began having affairs & met a new love. She was married to a man Hemingway considered too weak to hold on to her. When her husband found out, she tried to sneak into Hemingway's hotel room by climbing along a ledge. Some people say it was suicide, but she fell and died.

Hemingway fancied himself a naturalist. He wanted to preserve animals to hunt them. He maintained that you can't get closer than at the time of killing. In 1939, he met his third wife. She didn't want children so he befriended local kids & organized a baseball team. 

For a time, he tried to track and destroy a Nazi U-boat. Then wanted to capture one seen off the coast. When he finally saw the sub he couldn't catch it. He met his 4th wife & had the wedding reception at his favorite bar, La Floridita. It was his final and longest marriage. Even then, he met a 19 year old woman whom he invited to Cuba. Some said he needed to be in love in order to write. 

He was starting to suffer physical problems including impotence. In 1954, he won the Nobel Prize after writing Old Man and the Sea. After two airplane crashes and other ills, he went to the US for treatment. He felt betrayed by his body and knew he'd never return to Cuba. Suicide in 1960, was his solution. 

After his death, his connection with Santeria was researched. It's a combination of African animism and Catholicism. He may have participated in it.

More on Che, the person. He was a physician who grew up in a wealthy Argentinian family. He had asthma since he was four. He used a primitive inhaler and had difficulty when with troops in the mountains. His first marriage produced a daughter. His second marriage yielded four children. All five of his progeny are educated and productive citizens of Cuba. Che's grit is best illustrated by the statue atop his memorial. He has a rifle in his right hand and a cast and sling on his left arm. It portrays the time he fought on while injured.

Jose elaborated on Cuba's connection with the outside world. They have complete and easy IT access for a pittance. The government knows of it and doesn't interfere, but it's a private enterprise. El Pacquete are internet cards that allow Cubans to download anything on line: movies, newspaper, tv shows, etc. They call the person selling the card and it is delivered to their home. Hot spots are available in many public parks. Jose says Cubans are the new Pirates of the Caribbean. Where there's a will..... 

The approach to Havana was along the water and promenade. Soviet apartments painted in bright colors were everywhere. The paint didn't help the uglies. There's no gambling in Cuba anymore except for secret cock fights. Myer Lansky took a contract of a million dollars out on Fidel after his casinos were closed. Obviously, it didn't work.

Jose & Manuel tried out a new paladare for lunch, Decameron. It was a step up from what we've had. I think they'll keep it in their repertoire. We had complimentary daiquiris and I added to the 3 coffees I'd already imbibed. When we left, my body didn't know if it wanted to pass out or run a marathon. 

With that, we hit the streets in Old Havana. We covered Cathedral Square, Plaza de Armes, & walked the promenade across from the iconic El Moro Castle. Havana was well fortified in the day and was never overrun. No revolutionary battles were fought here. I hope Trump doesn't know of the success of this defensive wall. We found Hemingway's favorite bar for mojitos. He had another one for daiquiris. My takeaway from the walk was the smell of fish, cigars, and auto exhaust. 

Our last destination was the cemetery, established in 1871, where Columbus isn't buried. His body was returned to Spain. Still it's called Columbus Cemetery. We had a special guide for this visit. He told us the cemetery covered 138 acres. Original plots had to be paid for in gold. It's a conglomeration of ostentatious mausoleums and tombs. Graves can be 10 feet deep or more. Some go down several stories inside the mausoleums & have elevators. Fidel put an end to the elaborate display and today's graves are more modest. There are 40 funerals/day. There were three hearses that pulled in during our short visit.

Originally a Catholic cemetery, now others are permitted burial. The guide pointed out the tomb of a Jewish man, Steinhart, who was the first US consul to Cuba. He became a wealthy man starting businesses and investing in the country. With the help of the guide who knew the tradition, David & I found rocks to place on his tomb & we said a "misheberach." Steinhart's family lives in NYC but there were many rocks from other visiting Jews.

We passed the sky-scraper that is the US Embassy on our way to check in to the hotel. It sits on the waterfront and has about 20 concrete barriers with iron poles imbedded at the front entrance. It is all but abandoned. We didn't hear any strange noises as we cruised along. 

We're staying our last three nights in Cuba at Hotel Nacional built in 1930. It's significant to us since our parents stayed there in the 40's. It's a sad old lady now. The grandeur is in the grounds, exterior, and main rooms. Our room is a fire trap with exposed wires wrapped in tape and a lamp plug that is frayed. The toilet has what I call a pump flush. It takes about six quick consecutive flushes before the bowl clears. The A/C works, but we can't control the temperature. The phone repeatedly rang, but no one was at the other end. Every time we answered, the phone fell apart. We're on the waterfront side, but the windows are so dirty it's hard to see out. But it has the best FREE wifi  that works in our room, and we have separate codes for the phone and iPad. Living large!

Dinner was an elaborate buffet in the hotel. We had pasta bar which was pretty good after weeks of rice and chicken. We sat with the folks from Minnesota. It was quite fortuitous. We talked about Wendy and Julian moving to acreage in Hinckley. The couple knew the town well. Then they told us his niece was a lesbian. She and her partner live in the Twin Cities. His sister-in-law was having trouble accepting it. We talked about PFLAG. Who'd a thunk. 

Tomorrow we go back to the old city to plaza hop.

Toby

Iconic Cars

Cathedral Square

Hemingway's Favorite Mojito Bar

Steinhart Tomb

Santa Clara

Jan. 28, 2018-Santa Clara

We were assigned rooms by perceived physical condition. There's no elevator. More able-bodied people are higher up. We're on the lowest floor. The A/C in our room blows on my bed. There's no adjusting the direction. Last night I had a choice of having the room cold enough to reduce humidity and enable easier breathing, or having it warmer. I froze.

I sat near the pseudo Trump supporter at breakfast. Over the din of an early morning serenade, we talked about other issues. I later told him that he had a brilliant intellect, and it scared me if he was right about Tr. He thinks Tr is an asshole, but he's being made into a clown. People aren't taking him seriously enough. If the Dems don't get their act together we may end up with Tr's successor solving the economic problem by killing the poor. The savings by taxing the top 1% more wouldn't solve our budgetary problem. Eliminating the money we need to spend on maintaining the poor might. That's his opinion.

Santa Clara was founded in 1689 by coastal settlers fleeing Corsican pirates. Historical names are unfamiliar to us except for the top three (Fidel, Che, Martin). Names of parks dedicated to their heroes don't ring a bell. But the park near our hotel has a statue of a woman. That's unusual even though there was a heroic woman who fought in the last revolution. This statue of Marta Abreu is that of a philanthropist, not a warrior. Be that as it may, the park is named for a warrior. Santa Clara is the site of the last battle fought and won before Che marched to Havana in 1958. Batista, the deposed ruler, fled to the Dominican Republic. Trujillo didn't want him to bring trouble, so Batista moved to Spain where he found a friend in Franco.

Our first cultural exchange today was hearing Trova music played and sung by a Troubadour. The term, troubadour is from the Italian. Italian music was Cubanized when adopted. The singer gave examples of how it sounded before and after the Cubans re-arranged it. He sang a song as Enrico Caruso did when he performed here and then the Cuban version. There was a marked difference, but our entertainer could give Caruso a run for his money. He was trained in opera in the days before microphones were common. His recordings were nominated for a Grammy, but even though he had a visa to go, he didn't win so never got there. He was accompanied on violin and piano by his son. They each have their own bands and have travelled abroad. Not to the US.

Our next encounter was with abuelos, meaning grandparents. They're members of a senior club of 130 members. They must be retired and active. Ages in the group we met were from 74-84. Past professions ranged from auto mechanic, cook, teacher, chemist, nurse. They demonstrated a dance called "Danzon" before asking us to participate. It is a couple's dance to a 3-count beat. All our partners counted as we danced. It was one of the first dances in Cuba where couples touched. The hold is classic ballroom and the step is akin to a waltz with a Cuban beat. Participants in Danzon have to dress properly. In the days of chaperones, the young women had fans which they used to convey a code to communicate their desires to the young men.

We asked some questions about aging in Cuba. Most live alone or with family, but provisions are made for those who can't. Seniors are lobbying for access ramps for sidewalks and buildings. They have the benefit of receiving a pension, and if they work after retirement, a salary as well.

To illustrate their fitness, they introduced us to the game of Quimrumbia. It may stem from the indigenous Cubans. No one is sure. It is played with a wooden object shaped like a spool of kite string. That is placed on the ground. A stick is used to hit it at one end so it pops up. When it's airborne the batter hits it with the stick. There are 3 strikes to an out then the teams change sides. We were able to purchase a set. We paid in Cucs and got a combination of Cucs and US dollars as change. I think we lost out on that deal.

The abuelos joined us for lunch at Paladare Sabor y Arte. Our welcome drinks were a fruit juice filled with slivers of fruit into which a generous portion of rum was poured. The meal was average from there.

The rain had stopped and we bussed to Che Guevara's memorial. Che is remembered as Fidel's best commander. He is the main symbol of the Cuban Revolution. But Che was more into the cause than Cuba in particular. From 1958 until he left Cuba in 1965, he tried to foment civil uprisings in Africa, Mexico, and Bolivia. He was unsuccessful. He was murdered in Bolivia in 1967, by those who didn't want his radicalism to catch on. The memorial is a dramatic monument to Che and 37 of his men whose bodies were brought back.

Cars from the train that Che and his merry band derailed in Santa Clara to win the last battle are parked near our hotel. We walked the ten blocks through neighborhoods of falling down apartment buildings. Since Cubans feel free to look through the wrought iron decorative screens when we're in a restaurant, we peeked in at them. Most were in rocking chairs watching a baseball game. The interiors weren't fancy, but livable. One window revealed an adorable girl of about a year who was entertaining relatives and friends who were passing by. They moved aside so we could see her. I wanted to take a photo but was afraid it would be rude to ask. Other wrought iron bars provided lofts for dogs to supervise the passing traffic. Most barked a greeting. Only one showed teeth. As we crossed the street, a motorcycle zoomed by with a girl on the back balancing a large cake in the palm of her hand.

We continued on to Hotel Central across from a lovely park. We made our way through swarming birds and children to check out the menu for dinner. The selections read better than they tasted. They were out of at least four items and only had lemon cake for dessert. I took a picture of the menu to capture the English translations: 

beef bowling larded with bacon (roast beef wrapped in bacon)

chicken pizza stile (sp) (chicken breast with cheese and tomato on top then pan grilled until the

    bottom was as hard as pizza crust)

Petit beef filet flamed in Cuban Ron (rum)

Pork braid (unknown)

We joined others from our tour for this unusual repast then walked back to the hotel through the park. A band was playing in the gazebo, but no one was dancing. Then we noticed a gray-haired man wearing a suit and carrying an umbrella dancing alone in the crowd. He was so graceful he seemed to be skating.

This is Jose's first and last group trip this year. Americans are afraid to come due to government travel warnings. Now, the only work he will have will be day trips from cruise ships. We feel so badly for him.

Tomorrow we go to Havana for three nights!

Toby

Abuelos

Che Memorial

Cienfuegos and Santa Clara

Jan. 27, 2018- Cienfuegos and Santa Clara

Cienfuegos is another UNESCO town. It was settled by the Spanish who later wanted to make the population more white. They enticed the French to come to paradise and provide more white blood to mix with former slaves. The French did that and left their architectural mark as well with iron lace balconies to compliment the heavy Spanish carved wood.

We visited with a guitar orchestra that was unreal. The seven played a variety of Cuban, Spanish, Pop, & Classical numbers. They made the music sound like a full company with many different instruments. The players are classically trained and teach and/or play with other groups.

We had time to look at another flea market. There were some different items. Vendors were trying to help us by asking each other about a hippo. A man who did wire art said he could have one in 2 days. He and we were disappointed that we were leaving shortly.

Lunch was a surprise. The paladare, Carmelina, was the real deal. The owners lived on site, it was family run, and fresh foods were purchased from farms daily. The roasted pumpkin, their term for squash, was succulent. There were deliciously seasoned mini fish sticks bearing no resemblance to what we get frozen in a box. The family style meal was complete with black bean soup and rice, grouper, chicken, and ice cream. I had frozen non-alcoholic lemonade, which, for some reason was blue. David drank a strong lemony drink with either rum or another liquor. We disagree on the ingredient. He walked to the bus just fine. Luckily, it was right outside the door. There was the usual serenading by a local group joined by Manuel, our tour leader. Neither he nor several of our compatriots were feeling any pain. I saw many gin and tonics being downed.

The bus actually drove on a modern 6 lane highway to Santa Clara. It was raining when we arrived at the Che Guevara Memorial. Evidently museums and the memorial close when it rains. The floors are tile or marble and get filthy and slippery. Perhaps tomorrow. We're staying 2 nights at the Americana Hotel. Our room has no windows at all. We're pretending it's an inside cabin on a cruise ship. They have wifi, but it's temperamental. We couldn't get on until there was a short blackout during which time it must have re-booted. 

Food seems to be improving the closer we get to Havana. Our group walked to Paladare Casona Jover.  And enjoyed a feast of ropa de carne (shredded beef), whole snapper, and chicken legs. When it's chicken it's usually legs. Maybe they have 6 legged chickens. We were given complimentary sangria and a large flan for the table. There was enough for seconds. The guava sauce was a bit much for me, but others loved it. I haven't gotten over thinking it's a bowl of chocolate whenever it appears.

Tomorrow we will walk the city of Santa Clara and meet with Cuban abuelos, grandparents. 

Toby

Guitar Ensemble

Curious Passerby 

Hotel Guest

Trinidad

Jan. 26,2018- Trinidad

After we sent the mail last night we walked to an ice cream and chocolate shop. The cases were empty, but it was still open. All they had was strawberry ice cream. Sad faces. Reminded me of the old Soviet Union.

Manuel committed one of the ultimate sins on a tour. We were 20 minutes from the hotel on our way to Trinidad when he realized he'd forgotten his laptop. We pulled into a gas station, he hailed a ride, and was back in 15 minutes. Jose entertained us with history and stories while we waited. He explained about hand signals used by hitchhikers. They will hold up money and indicate how many passengers. They also signal to drivers if there are police ahead or if it's clear. 

Once Manuel returned and profusely apologized, he explained about shopping in Trinidad. He said the market had many tsochkes. To him that meant gifts for your neighbors you do not like. I was napping when the driver of the camel-bus in front of us stopped, walked to the back of his bus, turned his back to us, and peed. Speaking now of peeing. David couldn't wait. We have an emergency bathroom on the bus. He wobbled to it as the bus reached speed and made it back in one piece. He said he's probably bruised in all the wrong places from being tossed around as he aimed.

Of note was a huge pig walking along the road being led on a rope. We guessed he was going to market, but a better future was in store. His owner was a pig pimp and Mr. Pig was on his way to a date to make piglets. That brought up the subject of prostitution. It's legal in Cuba, but organized pimping or houses are forbidden.

The city of Trinidad was settled in 1514, by Velasquez. It is a UNESCO site and well preserved. It was the original target of the Bay of Pigs invasion, but the attackers were told it was too populous. They moved down the coast to the Bay. Jose said they never really entered the Bay before being driven back.

We had what my dad called a continuous "gulley washer" on the four-hour ride. Fortunately, it stopped in time for us to make our way along slippery river rock streets (I call them cobble rocks). Our lunch stop at the Vista Gourmet Tower restaurant was up a steep flight of wet tile steps. We held the railing for dear life. The view was spectacular. Back in the day when sugar cane was king, two wealthy brothers who grew sugar cane tried to outdo each other by building tall towers. One was in the countryside and one near our restaurant. 

The lunch buffet was a breath of fresh air with more choices than usual and ample fruit and dessert. Onions and garlic have taken over from sugar cane. We could smell it during lunch.

While waiting in line, a woman heard me speaking English and asked where I was from. When I told her, Ohio, and Peggy said Minnesota, the lady said she was from NYC. I told her I guessed that, and I could say it without insult since I grew up partly in NY. She horned her way in front of me. I let it go. Someone from the woman's tour group came up to Peggy later and told her she'd give us 100 Cucs to take that woman with us. 

People to People tours are the only kind allowed from the US to Cuba. Tour guides have to report how many P2P encounters we've had and with whom. When our morning program cancelled, the guides scrambled to find another one. We went to Casa Cofradia, a house from the 1700's. The owners are musicians who turned the place into a B & B for extra money. At first, they got a house from the government in the countryside if they agreed to fix it up. But they wanted to be in the town center so they could work on their music. The wife, a spitfire, found someone willing to trade his dilapidated city house for their newly refurbished country house. She then spotted the house that is now the B & B and nagged the owner into a trade again. They have turned the filthy decrepit place into a warm and welcoming home and cultural center with modern conveniences. They realized they needed fresh food for the breakfast they served so rented 35 acres from the government to raise animals and grow produce. They have enough to sell in the market now. They teach music to children and travel the world with their band, Jack and the Giant Bean. They love jazz and the blues. They sang and played for us. What a treat. People may own property here now, but only Cubans.

We had plenty of time to wander the colorful streets of Trinidad. Each building is another souvenir shop carrying the same inventory. There is also a flea market of stalls carrying the same stuff. We kept asking for a hippo in Spanish. They showed us elephants and lions saying hippos aren't from Cuba. We told them that elephants and lions weren't either. We wanted "solemente hippopotamo." They left us alone after that until one man ran to a few stalls and came up with a rhino. Nope. It wouldn't do. At several stalls people offered to trade anything they sold for my $5 sunglasses. They're bright green and orange with green lenses. Quite garish. One woman also wanted to trade for the small Purell bottle hanging from my purse. If they had a hippo I might have agreed. 

Tonight, we're in the "jungle" with no wifi. Hotel Maria Dolores is a series of adorable detached cabins joined along a boardwalk that branches out from a central thatched open air dining room. I love it here. They even have horses and other farm animals. Whoops. That means a rooster.

Dinner was lovely because of the tiki hut-like setting and the company. Our group has jelled. There is no one we avoid sitting with. We're usually at a long table exchanging life's memories and forgiving each other for repetition. It's hard to remember to whom we told what.

We start a half hour later tomorrow. The kitchen staff has to travel by who knows what means to get to our remote location. We can actually sleep until 6:30 AM. Our destination is Cienfuegos, only 1 1/2 hours away. 

Toby 

View of Tower-Gibara

Trinidad

Country Cabins

Camaguey Day

Jan. 25, 2018- Camaguey Day

 Manuel, our tour director, insists that if we have a problem we tell him so he can fix it. He doesn't want us to struggle alone and complain on the evaluation. This morning I didn't complain about the trickle from our rain head shower, but did tell him the sheets on our bed were the wrong size. Forget fitted sheets. The bottom sheet for our queen bed was a twin. We weren't the only ones. He fixed it and our sheet today will stay tucked through the night. We had quite a wrestling match. The mattress pad won.  

We started the morning with a rousing Flamenco performance by the Camaguey Flamenco Ballet Company. The dance style has returned to favor as a way to acknowledge their Spanish heritage. Of course, they put a Cuban twist on it. The host had a wicked sense of humor. He assured us that flash photography was permitted. If it caused the dancers to misstep and get hurt, the country provided health insurance. He poked fun at the rationalization for American visitors by saying that he hoped we had a meaningful experience, asked meaningful questions, and they would try to give meaningful answers during our official exchange. 

The group of three dancers warmed up on stage with stretches reminiscent of those I do in senior exercise classes. I thought, "I can do that." When the dancing started, I likened the arm movements to tai chi and the stomping looked easy until it picked up speed. I focused on the one male dancer who moved like lightning even though his pants were incredibly form fitting. I have photos to prove it. This time, we among others, were picked to dance with the troupe. They kept the pace slow enough so that no one fell off the stage or passed out.

 As we left the studio, we boarded colorful pedicabs and began our parade around the many squares of the city. It reminded me of Savannah with a park at every turn and labyrinthine streets. Our driver, Tyler, was talkative and his English was fine. He's in his 40's and married 22 years. The photo of his wife led me to assure him he'd never leave her. As he pedaled along, he reached out to touch hands with friends and once stopped to kiss his aunt and cousin. 

We met a leather artist who is unique to Camaquey and Martha Jimenez whose art is world renowned. She works in brass, ceramic, and paint. We thought her work was derivative, but bought a piece of leatherwork. 

Lunch was blah until dessert. We made book on flan or ice cream. We lost. They served guava marmalade with shredded cheese sprinkled on top. It was more a thick soup than a jam. I hesitated to taste it anticipating a cloying sweetness, but the cheese provided the perfect addition to create a strange but exquisite blend.

Manuel, seems to spend a lot of time drinking cokes at every restaurant bar where we stop. We suspect he might have rum in them. I had my first mojito at lunch. It was complimentary, so why not? Yum. Manuel must have been feeling frisky. He joined the woman singer who serenaded us. We all took pictures and promised to post them on Facebook.

On our walks today, Jose explained how addresses work. Many buildings have a number (210) and the next door will be 210A. After the revolution large houses and buildings were divided up for several families. Come the revolution we'll probably have three families living in our house.

We had a few hours siesta before walking to painter/sculptor Orestes Larios studio. He's a world-famous artist who describes himself as a tropical Jew or Jewban. His gallery is unusually large and he donates the space for concerts. He explained that there were 6,000 Jews in Cuba until 1958. The exodus was extreme. With that and attrition, there are now only 800. Most Cuban Jews were from Eastern Europe and were Ashkenazic. There was a sizable Sephardic community, but not the majority. His grandmother came from Poland in 1926. There is one rabbi for all of Cuba and he lives in Chile. He comes once a year. Kosher food has to come from Havana. Cuban kosher is beans and rice and beer.

Those who wanted to mounted pedi-cabs for a long ride to the synagogue. The drivers were reckless and fast as we careened around corners and over railroad tracks. Our return trip was after dark. They had headlights but relied on a bicycle escort who checked traffic at the corners.

The synagogue, with the permission of the government, was built in 1998. It is supported by the 40 members and overseas communities. The sanctuary is simple with painted white walls trimmed in blue. There's a small gathering hall with a kitchen to the side. It is a humble place of which Orestes Larios is very proud. 

Only six of our group went to the synagogue. It occurred to me that we've dragged into hundreds of churches around the world. I was miffed.

This is the process we go through when I send photos to you. I can't be on two devices while using their internet cards. I have to put the code into my phone and emai the pictures to myself. Then I log off the phone and enter the code into the iPad. It's a bit cumbersome, but it works.

Tomorrow we have an early departure for a four-hour drive to Trinidad. I'm able to sleep or read a book on the iPad to pass the time. There's only so much of green landscape and shabby houses to hold my interest. 

Toby

Our Carriages

Captivating Flamenco

Fancy Pedi-cabs

Leather Art

Simple Pedi-Cabs

Synagogue