Quarantined in the North Georgia Mountains

After several weeks of shelter in place in South Florida, my husband and I decided to ride out the coronavirus pandemic at our mountain home in Helen,Georgia, as numbers of confirmed cases grew in Broward County.  The mountains are less crowded, with beautiful spring weather  and opportunities to spend time in nature abound. We loaded up our plane and waited for a good flying day. It turns out our timing was perfect, any other day may have left us stranded due to weather, a situation we needed to avoid.

When we arrived at our home, I immediately felt less anxiety and more relaxed. I felt like myself again as the situation in South Florida worried and stressed me out. I listened to birds sing off our back deck instead of helicopters flying overhead.  Squirrels crunching on decomposing leaves  replaced sirens screaming in the distance.  I breathed fresh oxygen rich air, cool and crisp, rather than the thick humidity of the south.

I wanted to cry.  I had been so emotionally on edge for what seemed like forever.  Instead I said.  “I feel better already.  We are so lucky to have options.”

“Yes we are.”  He agreed.

I found my new normal over the next few weeks.  Running in the morning through our desolate little town center, side roads and nature trails.  Yoga in the afternoon on the back deck, surrounded by nature.  I use my iPhone to guide me through my practice, with videos posted by the studio I attend.  Fighter jets from a nearby military training area even flew overhead one day, adding a bit of excitement to my flow.  I spotted a red fox in the distance while in tree pose.

My husband has home improvement projects to keep him busy.  We just built our house last year, leaving several tasks unfinished.  He cut and fertilized the grass, planted more trees, stained wood, built shelves for his tools and a framed our fireplace.  It’s an ongoing list but  now has the time to complete them.

One day he called me out back.  “Come here.”

A large bird attacked a tree off our deck.  “What is that?  A woodpecker?”

“Yeah.  The largest one I’ve seen.”

I found new recipes and dinners to make.  We went to grocery store to stock up, a first for me in a month.  We both had masks and gloves and followed the arrows of which way to go up and down.  It felt good to pick out food, although I think many items were overpriced, especially the produce. I had a list for most things, then a random note to buy drinks and frozen food.

In the evening my husband noticed something through a side window.  “Bears.”

“They’re so quiet.”  I whispered.

They looked in the trash can, picked through it. Then checked out our golf cart, sniffed around and left.  Three of them, a momma and two cubs I imagined.  Although they all looked pretty big.  Our dog didn’t even know they were outside, she usually  hears and smells everything, then barks like crazy.

We are fortunate to have access to hiking trails and golf.  We learned that federal trails are closed but state parks open.  I personally think all outdoor activities should be accessible.  It’s a great way to escape and find tranquility and peace in our current world.  Something we all need.  Please find nature, love, compassion, health and hope during this difficult time, and reach out to those that need the same.

 

 

Advertisement

Croatia and its fortified cities along the Adriatic.

We landed in Dubrovnik around noon after an evening stop in Dublin to break up the long flight from Florida.  Dublin was fun as we pub hopped in the afternoon and evening with an early awaking for a three-hour flight to Croatia.  Upon landing I immediately felt the Mediterranean climate, and the dry scrub brush mountains reminded me of California. We rented a car and drove to a sea-side town for a lovely lunch at a gastropub. A small citrus arugula salad and a local beer was the perfect choice after hitting the pubs in Dublin the night prior.

Winding roads along the Adriatic and through the mountains led us to a scenic view above old town Dubrovnik.  We parked on the side of the road as my heart raced seeing the fort from above.  We ran across the busy highway for a better glimpse, the first impression which would become minuscule compared to the following days of amazing panoramas from all angles of hiking, trams and exploring.

Another spectacular scene awaited us at the Hotel More overlooking the sea.  We strolled the promenade of sunbathers, restaurants and shops in the village below old town and then had a cocktail in the hotel’s cave bar.

We spent a full day exploring the fortified historic city, entering through the pile gate. We climbed the walls enclosing the fort spending a good hour above, looking into the ocean on one side and the buildings and people below on the other. Clothes hung out to dry as it was still a functioning city with permanent residents among the dominant tourist industry.  The ancient pathway was quite narrow and I could imagine during season, July and August, they’d have to limit the amount of visitors doing the wall walk.

We worked up an appetite for lunch below, settling in the town square at the bottom of a set of stairs.  As it turns out the stairs were famous from the hit series, Game of Thrones.  As many of the scenes from Kings Landing, the fictional city from the TV show, were filmed in Dubrovnik and the stairs were famous for the walk of shame scene.  “Shame, Shame, Shame,” the nuns repeated to Cersei as part of her atonement.  As we enjoyed our lunch I heard people shouting “shame”.  Afterwards, I couldn’t refuse to  walk the stairs myself, and I’m sure I deserved it from something I’d done in my youth.

We popped into a few museums to gain a deeper understanding of Croatia’s history including a photo history of its most recent wars in the 1990’s.  Strolling down alleys and into churches, I admired the character of old town.  We watched tourists line up for gelato, as dogs and cats strolled by.  We decided to have a local beer prior to climbing the hundred stairs leading back to our car.

In the evenings we stayed close to the hotel, with plenty of good restaurants nearby. The waves, dim lights and ambiance reminded me of Positano, Italy only less busy.

The following day we decided on a different view of the city, one from the mountain above where within minutes the tram hauled people from the old town to the sky.  Initially we skipped the tram ride and drove to the top of the mountain, and it was the most terrifying drive of my life.  To start with it should have been a one way street, it was to narrow for two cars,  but a taxi coming down confirmed it was the only way up.  We attempted three times to ascend, only to be met head on by a car where we had to reverse down the mountain to let them through.  We let a van behind us pass so we had someone to follow, a bully to push through.  We drove on cliffs with no room for mistakes.  My hands sweated and I tried not to look over the edge of death, a real possibility with one miscalculated inch.

Once I saw the view up top I decided the heart palpitating ride was worth it.  We rented an ATV for an hour tour of the mountains where we sped though the dusty hills to arrive at a fort which played an important role holding off the Serbs during the 1990’s war, defending the city from occupation.  Goats, cows and a donkey roamed as we took photos of the bay from above. We then hiked down a rocky path for about an hour to arrive in old town for a late lunch.  My husbands feet were done and we took the tram back up to our car for the equally nail-biting ride back down to our hotel.

 

The following day we drove to Split.  We parked our car below Hotel More via a car lift which we had no problems until our departure day.  It was rush hour on the lift and about a half hour wait.  I was eager to get on the road, so I felt helpless during this time.  I practiced patience, a trait I’ve been trying to master the past few years.  The drive along the Adriatic simply breathtaking with the mountains on one side and quaint villages on the other.  We stopped at Ston, a small fortified town along our route famous for its shellfish farming.

Along our route we passed through the Bosnia Herzegovina border and enjoyed lunch by the sea.  Although a different county and one with a recent war-torn past, it seemed just as lovely as Croatia. While planning this trip I had considered going to Sarajevo for a night, but time didn’t really allow for it and I chose a few nights in Prague instead.  I  read many books about the war and had a fabulous lunch there, so maybe next trip.  I do love history including conflicts, religion and ever changing borders.  The former Yugoslavia is a classic and recent example of all elements.

Split was bigger than I imagined, but where we stayed among the red tiled roofs with a view of the harbor and within walking distance to the must see Diocletian’s Palace was ideal.  From our fifth floor balcony I watched pedestrian traffic below and ferry’s arriving an departing just beyond to the islands visible  in the distance.  I’d watch the lady hanging her laundry on the adjacent rooftop, and another resident cooking her dinner in an apartment below.  As in all of Croatia, olive trees and herbs in gardens and rooftops seemed abundant.

We toured the palace, the only Roman Emperor to ever retire did so in Split and he built a spectacular fortified residence with three entry gates, the silver, iron and gold surrounded by a moat.  He also had a lions den to use at will. It was expanded upon in medieval times and today houses museums, churches, shops, and restaurants.  We meandered through the narrow streets, ate traditional Croatian cuisine of goulash and spinach pie for this vegetarian.  Evening involved a random concert, dancing and just simply hanging out on the promenade.

After a morning visit to the mediocre archaeology museum, (as an archaeologist I’m picky) we headed to the ferry for our crossing to the island of Hvar, a playground for Europeans and celebrities.  I expected nothing and just wanted to relax by the sea.  Our hotel was again in a prime spot with a cool pool, lounge chairs on the Adriatic, and a promenade close to the town center.

We managed to find a fort and a winery to visit prior to relaxing by the salty sea. It was a pebble beach and quite cool, but a nice change from the Atlantic beaches of Florida and the Bahamas. Our trip to Croatia came to an end but continued to Prague for a few days which is a near future blog.

 

 

 

 

The homeless problem: From condemnation to compassion

My recent visit to southern California left me frustrated by the rampant homeless  problem seizing the golden state.  I lived in the heart of L.A for over a decade, and homelessness existed, but it didn’t seem permanent or ubiquitous.  Mostly confined to Venice Beach, downtown at Skid Row, and the freeway ramps with beggars holding honest or creative signs.  This time I noticed them everywhere, even in the out-of-the-way, senior living town of Sun City.  This desert town was once only occupied by the 55 and over crowd, retirees looking for cheap living in a safe community.  The youths were watched closely, and vagabonds non-existent.  This visit I watched backpackers and cart pushers wandering though town with all their belongings.  A few were passed out in bushes, others displayed burnt hard faces of the street life, and some lived in their car.  I felt disheartened, and disappointed that this seemed to be the new norm.

 

On the evening news, they showed permanent homeless camps along the L.A. river.  What in the hell is going on in this state, I thought.  Do people seriously want to live a homeless life?  Why can’t they get a job, or move to where they can live a better life?  The trash they leave behind is unbelievable!

A homeless encampment along the Santa Ana River in Fountain Valley, California, on Tuesday, August 1, 2017. (Photo by Jeff Gritchen, Orange County Register/SCNG)

I visited Santa Monica for a few memorable days to enjoy my old playground on the beach and in the mountains.  My morning runs took me though Venice Beach, where the homeless have always migrated. Again, it was out of control. Camps with tents, personal belongings, bikes and stoves.  They’d wake, use the public toilets and drink their lattes.  An ambulance was called for a dispute or injury between two of them.  Great, your tax dollars at work for those that don’t contribute.

Later that evening as I walked to dinner they hung out on main street, and I didn’t feel safe turning some dark corners.  Why let these people invade prime property?  Why do locals accept and support people who do nothing  to better society?

Back in Florida we also have a homeless problem as do many towns.  Sometimes they harass me, other times I smile at them.   I’m trying my best to hold compassion for everyone, including the destitute.  After all, I don’t know their story.  Many jobs have gone overseas, and the cost of living is increasing, especially in California.  I have since opened my mind and heart and compassion is my new word of the month.  With the holidays upon us, I hope to keep my eyes and heart open to those in trouble and need.

Total Eclipse from North Georgia

Like many others I eagerly awaited August 21, 2017 for a chance to see a total eclipse. In Helen, Georgia that meant 1 minute and 41 seconds of complete darkness. People flocked to our town and others within the path of totality. Many events took place in the surrounding wineries, parks, schools and communities.  Wanting to avoid gridlock, we chose to have our own celebration at the Innsbruck Club house overlooking the golf course, and a regular meeting place for local residents.

About 50 people showed up with side dishes to compliment the burgers my husband cooked on the grill.  Moonshine cake and moon pies sat among the salads while the bartenders served up Tequila Sunrise cocktails.  The sky was clear, a telescope for viewing sat on the veranda porch alongside golf clubs, balls and corn hole games. Everyone brought their viewing glasses and excitement, the eclipse had just begun with the moon slowly casting a shadow over the sun.

I’d glance up at different stages, taking a few photos with my iPhone.  We milled about, socialized, ate, drank and looked up again.  An amateur photographer with a professional camera rigged a solar filter by duck tapping part of the eclipse glasses to his lens.  After an hour and a half the sky became grey. Everyone spread out on the porch, parking lot and even the golf range for the moment of totality.  It was easy to spot through the cardboard glasses since everything including the sliver of light went black, then it was safe to look directly at the sun.  I stared in awe, mesmerized for almost two minutes until the sun, known as the diamond ring, peeked through the other side.

Afterwards, about half of the crowd left, not really interested in the waning of the moon passing over the sun.  The rest of us shot golf balls off the deck with the goal of hitting the 9th hole about 100 yards in the distance.  A young lady in her early 20’s hit her ball closest to the flag, as professional golfers competed against her shot to no avail. Drinks and some new age conversation flowed until the sun and heat returned full force and the party dwindled.

I had witnessed partial eclipses in the past, but it doesn’t compare to a total eclipse. During the brief moment of totality the world seemed so different and so small in comparison to the universe.  I later learned that this phenomenon occurs every two years in different parts of our world.  I found it so memorizing that I’d consider myself a total eclipse chaser.  Here I come South America in 2019.

Photos by Josh Garrison

 

 

Cuba after Castro’s death: Nine days of mourning.

A few days prior to a second visit to Cuba, I turned on the TV and Fidel Castro’s death headlined the news.

“Holy Shit,” I shouted to my husband.  “Our trip just got more interesting.”

His funeral would take place during the end of our brief five-day visit.  I figured it was an opportunity to see Cuba in a different light, in a positive way.  Until I learned of the mandatory nine-day grieving period.  No celebrating, no music, no alcohol.

Mixed news and comments came from the online news regarding how these rules applied to tourists.  Absolutely no alcohol, from a few sources.  Plenty of drinks available reported others.  How appropriate, typical conflicting news coming from Cuba.

I suggested we buy a bottle or two of alcohol from the duty-free shop at the airport, just in case.  After all, the four of us traveling together to Cuba enjoy our evening cocktails.  A complementary food buffet awaited at our gate.

“This is nice, do they offer this on every flight?” A friend asked?

“This is the inaugural flight for Jet Blue from Fort Lauderdale to Havana.”

We also enjoyed a special bag full of goodies, including a special t-shirt marking the occasion.

Waiting for our luggage and rental car in Havana took three times as long as the flight itself.  But we easily found our way to our base for the next few nights, the famous Hotel Nacional’.  At the hotel there was no music, but conversation and drinks flowed. It hummed with energy. We ran into Jesse Jackson in the lobby.  I smiled and he naturally extended his hand, I shook it and turned around for a photo opportunity with our friends.

We took to the town for dinner, a short walk to a recommended restaurant.

“What do you mean no wine?”  I expected it, but we still asked.  The food was excellent but the place was eerily quiet, not even music played overhead. This seemed true everywhere we went, including the rooftop bar at a neighboring hotel.

Starting my day with a run along the Malecon always brings a smile to my face and sets a positive attitude for the rest of the afternoon. We waited for the red hop on/off bus a little too long, and ended up taking a tok tok style wagon powered by a man on a bike.   He decided to give us a tour along the way, the ghetto tour as we later referenced it.  Everyday living up close in personal along streets and alleys.  Everyone stared and we wondered what kind of sign was plastered on the cart as they all gazed from us down towards the tires.  Although interesting, when we finally arrived at the artisan market I was ready to disembark.

 

We shopped, found the historic old quarters and stumbled upon the only lunch spot in town serving beer.  It was crowded but we scored a table and people watched while waiting for food. I even bought a copy of Granma, the official communist newspaper covering the life and death of Castro.  I got it for its historical value.

We did take the red bus around town and back to the Hotel Nacional.  Along the way we passed revolution square where they disassembled the stands and speakers left over from the previous days of speeches, honoring and remembering Fidel prior to their southern march to his final resting place in Santiago De Cuba.  I wanted to witness the large masses of people in the square, but as my husband pointed out the traffic would have been a nightmare.

The following morning I ran into the vice president of China in the lobby. His security forces swept though the hallway just as I passed in the opposite direction.  I noticed one of the security guard’s eyes widen, so I stepped back as he passed straight through to his limo awaiting outside.  Li Yuanchao and his men wore small pins of Mao and the Chinese flag.  He was short and walked with determination.  I smiled at the thought of almost completely blocking his path by accident.

We left Havana for the next portion of our stay in Varadero, a beach side resort described as having beautiful water and beaches.  For lunch we stopped at a crowded roadside grill along the way. It was one of the best meals we had in Cuba and as a bonus they served cold beer.  Our all-inclusive resort seemed charming at first until we realized we had to walk a half mile to our room.  Not a big deal, if it’s a once a day stroll. But all the action, restaurants and bars revolved around the lobby.  Overall, I wasn’t impressed by Varadaro. The beaches were marginal, food bland, rooms unattractive and activities lacking.  We made the best of it and explored some nearby caves and went shopping in town.  We even ventured into another dilapidated town to see “the real Cuba” with many horse-drawn carriages one last time.

Our last evening we finally heard music, the mandatory ban was lifted the following day. Cuba without music is like sunbathing on a beautiful beach without the sun or sand.  It is a large part of their culture and when music and dance is taken away, the people seem disheartened.

Were they sorrowful because of Fidel’s death?  I’m sure some were since he was the only leader they knew.  He is portrayed as a hero in all Cuban media.  But the ban came about because people were openly celebrating in the streets.  Imagine all the income lost from tourists due to the ban.  Perhaps they should have had nine mornings of mourning.

 

Hurricane Matthew’s Destruction in Andros

On October 5th, the eye of a category 4 hit the northwest tip of Andros, the largest island in the Bahamas.  For weeks, no news came from this part of the island and we couldn’t reach a friend who lived there.  When we finally heard from Diane, she had been living without power, no generator and everything she owned was destroyed.  She was thankful to be alive with her pup, but she sounded exhausted.

We arranged to fly to Andros with some basic relief items they couldn’t get on the island: Tools, giant garbage bags, tarps to cover leaking roofs, a generator, and three of us to help as needed with a positive attitude.  Basic supplies such as food, water and gas were being delivered from Nassau to the ports.  But moral, with such a loss and no electric were low.  We wanted to help as needed and assess the situation for the afternoon with a bigger plan on how to help.  Communication up until this point was limited with spotty cell service and no internet.

A 15 minute drive from a small airport called San Andros took us to the center of Nicolas Town. A cell phone tower built to withstand winds of 140 MPH was cut in half.  I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Holy crap, this is bad.” I said.

Most of the homes looked fine from the outside, just tarps covering some roofs. We placed supplies we brought at a temporary house, a safe house where our friend withstood the hurricane.  The roof had a huge hole in it, and water damage although evident especially on the wooden floors seemed minor in comparison to the larger picture. The place was organized and clean thanks to Diane’s adopted kids.

We set out to assess the damage at Knoll’s Landing, Diane’s quaint B&B on a lagoon.  A bulldozer paved the way through the trees and around dislocated boats as we followed to her unrecognizable resort.  Her remaining personal belongings scattered the landscape.

“I have nothing left of my 25 years here.” She confessed.

Together we felt two of her three buildings were structurally sound.

“Do you want to rebuild?” I asked.

“This is my home.”

“O.K. Let’s come up with a plan, and we will return for a few days to help.”

My husband and I returned to Florida, gathered more supplies and headed back to Andros. The power was still out, and the town seemed desperate but strong and connected to one another.  No help from the Bahamian Government or other relief organizations since the news didn’t cover their loss.  Haiti, Freeport and Nassau were also hit, so North Andros was forgotten.  Also, the political debate in the states controlled and dominated the media.

This time we stayed for two days, the most we could do with our schedule. We brought supplies from our previous visit list:  chain saws, flashlights, batteries, generator, roof tiles, more tarps, more garbage bags, and some food for dinner. Our plane loaded to the maximum capacity.

I helped clean up the yard. One section at a time, one day at a time, one large bag at a time. My husband and an adopted local kid secured her one surviving room with power via a generator, a makeshift water pump to provide fresh water, flood lights and enough security to live and feel safe until power is restored, perhaps months from now.  At the bottom of this bungalow sat another cottage with a 1000 lb tree trunk in the center. Oh, the power of storm surge.  Only water could move this into her home.  It tore though the storm shutters, sliding doors and sat there among the debris.

“How am I going to move this tree stump?” Diane said.

“Make it a coffee table with a story.” I responded.

She has much work to do, and much-needed help and funding.  But I hope some day to see Knoll’s Landing up and running with the wonderful and welcoming host.  Diane has a go fund me page and every bit helps.

Check out and please share the link below:

https://www.gofundme.com/diane-knoll-knolls-landing-2v9fg9p8?utm_source=internal&utm_medium=email&utm_content=campaign_link_t&utm_campaign=welcome

 

 

Beauty and the Beast

The North Georgia mountains have a lot to offer during the summer, so my husband and I decided to spend a month at our cabin in Helen, Georgia.  This quaint Bavarian themed town is nestled near the Chattahoochee River and National Forest in the northeast corner of the state.  It is also close to the start of the Appalachian Trail (AT), so we decided to hike to the peak of Tray Mountain, described as an easy AT day hike with magnificent views.

It seemed like a harrowing feat driving the winding, bumpy dirt road up the side of the mountain. Steep cliffs dropping off on my side made my heart race and hands sweat. After an hour of this I was ready to hit the trail, but I was surprised we were the only ones in the parking area.  It’s supposed to be a popular day hike.

I recognized the white lines on the trees indicating the AT. It was all uphill and I welcomed the challenge, although my husband wasn’t as eager.  We discussed what we’d do if we encountered bears or wild boar, since they roam the area.  In less than an easy-paced hour we reached the top. I took pictures of the amazing view, and suddenly my husband jumped back and shouted “Holy Shit.”

A fat six-foot snake sun bathed on a rock, its tongue flicking next to his leg.  He moved closer to me.  “I almost stepped on it.”

My eyes widened, “I must have walked right pass it while taking pictures.”

“What is it?”  He asked.  “Do you think it’s poisonous?”

“That’s the biggest snake I’ve ever seen.  It looks dangerous.”

We were in a jam.  It blocked our path back down to our car, we had cliffs on both sides and in the opposite direction the AT trail continued for another 6 miles to a gap, but we didn’t know if a town existed at that junction.  Besides, I knew we weren’t prepared for a longer trek and we didn’t see another single hiker on the trail.

“Does your book mention anything about snakes?” He asked.

I took the trail guide out of my pack and paged through.  “No, but it has phone numbers to the park service.  They’d know about snakes in the area.” I hoped.

We finally reached someone at the forest service and described the snake.  We couldn’t see it’s tail, but it looked like a rattle snake to me. I’ve never seen one that large during my hiking days in California, and I didn’t hear a rattle.  Its size resembled a python.

She told us to treat it as poisonous.  “Don’t point any sticks at it and don’t cross it’s path.  Gather small pebbles and rocks and throw them towards the snake.  Stomp your feet because they don’t like the vibration. You want it to retreat.  But don’t get aggressive.”

I walked in the opposite direction down the other side of the mountain and found some small rocks.  A few pebbles hit its head and the snake didn’t budge.  We discussed our options, should we try to find a way down and around the cliffs, climbing through scrub brush?  

“It’s too dangerous, you risk falling off the cliff.” Hubby said, before walking off to gather some more rocks.  The moment he disappeared from the snakes view, it started to slowly turn away.

“It’s retreating.”  I whispered loudly.

We watched it slither off, lastly revealing a large rattle.  I shuttered and carefully walked down the rocks and then more hurriedly down the trail.  Believing we were safe, I stopped and breathed.

“That could have turned into a deadly situation.” I said, still freaked out by the encounter.

When we got home, I started researching Georgia snakes.  It was a Timber Rattlesnake described as a heavy bodied pit viper.  It is one of the most dangerous snakes on the east coast due to its long fangs, high venom and impressive size.  The females often bask in the sun before giving birth and they prefer not to strike, but will if threatened.  In fact, a man in this area recently died from its venomous bite.

At the end of the day I had a cocktail, embraced life and relaxed on our back patio.  I heard a large bang and my husband ran out.  “Bear out front.”

The bear had knocked over our garbage can and proudly walked down our empty street.  It too was large and beautiful.  We often found our bear-proofed trash can sideways, but this was the first time I’d seen one in the area. I smiled and welcomed a bear over a snake any day.

The next day we watched mama bear and her cubs lunching on our trash.  With four locks, I was shocked they opened it. Although I don’t think its a good idea for bears to eat human food, I certainly wasn’t going to stop her. She knew we were watching from the porch, along with a stray cat that adopted us.

After my wild life encounters the friendly cat scared the crap out of me the next morning with his warm greeting.  I really didn’t want strange creatures jumping at me before my morning coffee.  Maybe I was just a little sensitive.

 

 

Viva Cuba Libre

We left Havana in our rental car for a two night stay in Ceinfuegos, a three-hour drive southeast to a coastal town.  As we left the city we passed the port, and realized we somehow missed one of the most touristy areas, complete with a cruise ship. Somewhat shocked, I glanced past a few buildings and recognized the Plaza de Armas where we lunched just a few days prior.  It’s one of the downfalls of exploring on our own armed with only a map and a guide book.  I had wanted to ride the hop on/off bus, but decided against it without the security of credit card access for Americans. For me it’s a valid reason to return to Havana by the end of the year.

As we searched for the Autopista entry ramp, we got lost in a shady part of town.  I watched locals pick through trash and gaze at us, the crazy tourists driving in circles. With the help of our iPad GPS map we finally found it, although in a roundabout way and no noticeable signs. Hitchhikers stood on the side of the highway, hands extended with pesos or bananas in exchange for a ride.

We passed horse-drawn carriages carrying wood and supplies, trucks packed with agricultural labor workers, skinny cows, goats, and revolution signs displaying Fidel’s picture and occasionally Fidel and Chavez in unity.  I felt like the revolution was still occurring, although it’s been 57 years. We dodged a few potholes and stopped at a roadside grill for a bite to eat.  My husband enjoyed a grilled ham and cheese sandwich for a few pesos while I opted for my pre-packed American protein bar.  The bathroom was the typical toilet no seat, sit on the rim or squat and bring your own tissue.  I was prepared.

Our open-aired Jagua hotel was a welcomed gem on the outskirts of the city.  We spent a relaxing evening strolling the neighborhood and our hotel.  They offered a buffet dinner, and although average it was perfect for our mood.  As always I was craving veggies and nibbles of bread and cheese. Oh, and the sinful cake and ice cream.

We enjoyed live Rumba at the outdoor bar.  The band didn’t  really interact with the audience, so I went on stage and danced with the aging singer. He seemed thrilled and I tipped him at the end of the night.  The following evening he reached out to the crowd choosing a lady or two to join him for a dance. Perhaps I taught him a thing or two about American tourists, allowing him to profit more.

I explored the town a bit more during my morning run.  It seemed quaint but nothing noteworthy, except I was still in Cuba and loving every moment.  We’d spend the day in Trinidad, a short one hour drive through hills and along the coast to a well-preserved colonial town.  The two-lane highway seemed like a rollercoaster at first, winding up and down hills and around corners.  As I was reading my Lonely Planet guide and not paying attention, my husband screamed “Land Crabs.”

I glanced up and thousands of crabs were crossing the road, getting crushed in the process.  There was no stopping the massacre.  Traffic in front of us mulled through them, and we couldn’t stop.  I felt every crunch and cringed.  For this vegetarian it was a nightmare.  It smelled of death.

My husband was equally mortified and he said, “They’re raising their claws in defense.”  He tried to swerve, but it didn’t matter.

We parked in town and walked along cobble stone streets.  Cute artist shops lined the road alongside open-aired homes.  Many had TV’s and basic furniture, but they seemed small.  We found our way to Plaza Mayor, the cultural center.  It was filled with music, greenery, arts and crafts markets, and plenty of privately owned restaurants.

I spotted an interesting pirate statue and asked my partner to take a photo of me standing next to it.  He moved.

“Holy crap, you had me fooled.”

He stood for a photo and kissed my hand.

We wandered around town browsing artistic souvenirs and strolled through an archaeological museum.  Lunch on a balcony above live music was superb. We weren’t in a hurry, and Trinidad had a good vibe.  It wasn’t as crowded as I expected, or as it should be for such an interesting town.

Back in Cienfuegos we met a friendly Cuban lady who exchanged some Cuban pesos for an American dollar.  I wanted to take home local currency since the government was in the process of unifying the two currencies and switching everyone to convertible pesos.  I also gave her lotions and shampoo I no longer needed since we were leaving the following morning.  We had to plan our trip carefully to make it back to the Havana airport for a noon departure.

The first three hours of driving was uneventful.  Then our directions took us through a small but busy town with unmarked roads, a sketchy GPS, and a rental car about to break down.  We could see the runway, finally finding our way to terminal 2.  We parked, gave an employee our keys, and hurried to check-in.  Our flight was leaving in less than an hour and the line was long.  I waited among the crowd as my husband returned to CubaCar to collect our deposit.

The boarding process aboard Havana Air was chaotic and lacked any reasonable procedure.  It’s the norm, I learned from a Cuban-American who worked at the US embassy.  We departed a half hour late, with no pesos left except for my Cuban souvenirs.  The adventure was well worth it and we were back in Miami forty-five minutes later, with a renewed sense of the Cuba Vibre.

 

 

Viva Havana

We booked Havana Air for our first visit to Cuba, flying from Miami to Havana for a brief 45  minute flight.  At the time of booking, I didn’t realize it was part of the new Eastern Airlines until check-in. A group purchased the once famed but defunct airline’s intellectual property including their trademarks.  The flight was full and check in slow since most of the flight consisted of Cubans carrying 8-10 bags of goods they couldn’t buy in Havana.  Fashionable clothes, shoes and food, all having to be weighed for the flight.  My husband and I carried only our carry-on, weighing less than 20 lbs.

In Havana, it took us an hour and a half to clear customs, wait for our prearranged rental car and change money.  We arrived with Canadian currency for a better exchange rate since it’s a 10% penalty for American dollars.  We also had to leave the rental company an extra $250 deposit we weren’t expecting.

Our Hotel Habana Libre, sat in the heart of Havana near the Malecon.  It’s a high-rise full of character and history. Once the Havana Hilton, nine months after it opened Castro’s revolutionaries took it over and Fidel ruled the country from a suite on the 24th floor.  The leader’s pictures and propaganda are documented in the lobby, near the bar where we sat for our first mojito.  This refreshing rum drink became my drink of choice for the rest of our trip.

My immediate impression of Havana, it’s unlike anywhere I’ve been.  A city stuck in time with antique cars, beautiful but dilapidated buildings, and bustling with locals and tourists. The air smelled of diesel and gas outside and cigars and dust inside the hotel. Horns and music blared on the streets. People gathered near a TV/media building to access the internet on their smart phones and tablets.  It had a good and positive vibe.

 

We had dinner just two blocks away at a local joint recommended by Anthony Bourdain called Los Amigos. It was a small place but it had good cuban food and a nice ambience.

The following morning I ran along the Malecon, a historic stone sea wall.  The United States Embassy majestically greeted me as I began my trot.  Men fished off the wall, lovers walked holding hands, and fellow joggers and bikers passed by.  I grinned and danced around dents in the pavement.  Most smiled back, while a few mimicked my movements. A stone fort-like building turned restaurant signaled the end of the Malecon, and my turnaround point.

We spent the afternoon walking the narrow streets of Habana Vieja.  We explored shops, bars, plazas, churches, and street art.  We had an average lunch at a restaurant in Plaza De Armas. The location was great for people watching, but the food pretty bland. Stray dogs and cats gathered around the tables for scraps.  The cats didn’t mind pieces of my soggy pizza, but the dogs were a bit more picky. I didn’t blame them, since I was also unimpressed.  Hopefully they were just well fed.

We checked out two random wooden boats slightly bigger than a canoe.  A local in overhauls was busy working on one of them.  With the help of a translator, my husband had a fishing conversation with him. They discussed types of fish he caught, methods used, and while laughing they exchanged fishing stories.

We walked down Calle Mercaderes and Obispo, stopping to admire the Hotel Ambos Mundos, where Hemingway lived and wrote between 1932-1939 in room 511. We also visited a few places where he drank, including the famed Floridita. While having mojitos at Cafe Paris, we watched dancers on stilts perform a traditional dance.

We drove through a tunnel arriving on the other side of the harbor at Castillo del Morro, and learned about the British invasion of Havana.  The view of the city from there was amazing.  We parked out front and meandered through the exhibits, all written in Spanish, but we figured out the gist of it.

We unknowingly chose a state-run restaurant for dinner. Although the menu looked promising the food was horrible.  I laughed myself into tears over how someone could mess up pasta with olive oil.  Well they certainly did.  A late night dance performance at our hotel saved the evening.

My morning run along the Malecon in the other direction towards central Havana provided stunning views and I had a perpetual grin for five blissful miles.  A wave crashed over the seawall and left me drenched, so I crossed the street and ran alongside a quiet stretch of buildings until I noticed large chunks of rubble on the sidewalk.  I imagined one of them falling off the building onto my head, but I took the risk.

We drove a half-hour outside of town to the Hemingway Marina.  The drive was along a beautiful neighborhood and the Marina itself was pleasant but quiet without much to do. A restaurant back along the Malecon had decent local cuisine and live music. By now we started to realize if we ran out of pesos we’d be screwed since our American credit cards didn’t work in Cuba.  For me, becoming stranded and cashless became a big fear and we budgeted accordingly.

A drive through Chinatown proved there really weren’t any Asians left in Cuba as they fled at the first mention of Communism.  An a cute artistic area with Afro-Cuban roots called Callejon de Hamel was full of murals, rumba, Santeria, cafe’s, and culture-seeking tourists.

We visited the historic Hotel National for a
mojito or two and awaited the firing of the canons at 5:00 each day, except Sunday.  Well our visit was on Sunday, but we did learn about the missile crisis and the history of who stayed there including Lucky Luciano, Frank Sinatra, Vladimir Putin, and Winston Churchill.

The following day, we left Havana for a three-hour drive to Cienfuego’s for a few nights. Next week I’ll blog about our experience there.

Alaska Cruise- The Inside Passage

I’d heard a cruise is the best way to see the beauty and glory of Alaska, a true adventure in this rugged and often frozen land. From Talkeetna, just outside Denali, we took the Alaska railroad directly to our ship waiting near Anchorage. Our history filled ride included fun facts, games, cocktails, lunch and a spontaneous cigarette break with the train conductor on the side of the tracks. We were waiting for the ship’s customs crew to board, so my husband and I disembarked with him for a quick smoke.  The ride looked pretty, but not breathtaking like I expected.

The first two days at sea we enjoyed a scenic cruise across the Gulf of Alaska to Yakutat Bay and the famed Hubbard Glacier. From a distance the massive Glacier emitted vivid shades of turquoise, but I didn’t feel up close and personal with my first glacier experience.  After admiring the outside beauty we explored our ship, the Star Princess.  The outside decks were windy, cold and drizzly while the inside bars were toasty, lively and jovial.  We found our preferred drinking spot with music and a view.  Spiked apple cider became my Alaska cruise ship drink.

The following day we cruised Glacier Bay National Park with its scenic natural beauty.  Unlike the previous day, Lamplugh Glacier took my breath away.  Awe inspiring off our stern I could see its height, depth and complexity.  We watched glacier calving several times where chunks of ice plunged into the sea, hearing it splash minutes after.  The glacier’s height towered above our fourteen-floored ship.  The captain performed a slow 360 degree turn as I admired it from the bow, the starboard side and our port side balcony.

The next morning our captain announced. “Attention ladies and gentlemen.  I regret to tell you we are unable to port in Skagway.  Winds are exceeding 50 miles an hour and we made three attempts.  We are now heading to Juneau for a late afternoon arrival.”

Ugh.  I was eager to disembark the ship and explore Skagway.  I even planned an early run in the quaint town.  I later learned from another passenger who was awake at 5:00 am, that the ship was leaning to one side. Later in the afternoon I met a crew member who was aboard the Costa Concordia when it sank.

“At the captain’s last attempt, the boat was listing.” He said, taking a long draw from his cigarette. “I was on the Concordia when it ran aground.”

“Oh, better safe than sorry.”  I said.

“It’s the first time in two years we’ve missed port.  Very unusual.”  His eyes appeared full of grief and regret.

Late afternoon I watched an eagle soar off the stern as we pulled into Juneau.  Our unexpected arrival left us without a dock, so we anchored using tenders to shuffle passengers to port.

Tourist shops littered main street, so my husband and I explored side streets to get away from Princess owned shops. I try to find beauty in everything but the capital had little to offer. We stumbled upon a historic bar resembling a brothel.  It had character so we had a few beers prior to returning to our ship.

The next day they canceled our anticipated helicopter sled dog expedition , leaving us to scramble for an excursion.   We quickly booked a whale sightseeing tour. We watched  humpbacks play and breach in the Pacific Ocean, majestically waving a fin or flipping a tail.  They were simply amazing, making our stop in Juneau worthwhile. 

Ketchikan was the cutest town we visited, but then again we only had two ports in Alaska.  The town had a nice layout, totem poles decorated the town and it had plenty of excursions.  It seemed like the seaplane capital of the world, so we choose a floatplane, bear sightseeing air adventure. A true bush pilot, our captain flew just above the tree tops, dipped into valleys and avoided fishing nets while landing on a lake where we quietly waited for a bear sighting.  Standing alongside the pilot on one of the floats, I watched an eagle perched in a tree.  We waited as dead salmon floated by, the other four passengers still sitting in the plane.  A mother and cub black bear came to the water’s edge and then quickly disappeared.

“We’re stuck on the rocks.” The pilot said attempting to take off.  “We need to wait for the tide to come in.”

“What?  That could take a while.”  My husband said.  “Let’s get out and push, it will also lighten the load.”

The two of them pushed us away from shore and within no time we were airborne, soaring above trees with steep turns and an open window allowing cold air to fill the cockpit.

That evening my husband’s forehead radiated extreme heat, so I called the ship’s doctor.  His temperature read 102 degrees and they tested him for flu.

“You have type A influenza, and we need to quarantine you for 24 hours.  That means you can’t leave you’re room and nobody can enter your room.”

At that moment he was so ill he didn’t seem to care.  But he asked, “How many people are quarantined?

“Over a hundred.”

They gave both of us medicine.  Since I was exposed, but not sick I had to take medicine although I was free to come and go.  I’d be his slave for the next 24 hours.

“It was the cold air that did me in.” He said, referring to the open cockpit window.

His quarantine lasted until the night before disembarkation in Vancouver. By that time he was feeling better and had cabin fever while I made friends with the bartenders.  I checked his progress regularly, bringing him drinks and room service.  It’s no fun being sick on a cruise, unable to leave your room.  Equally as frustrated, I quickly became bored without a partner.

Vancouver was simply amazing and my favorite city along our cruise. We stayed three extra days, a welcomed and lovely part of our adventure.  We rode bikes, visited farmer’s markets, strolled the park and enjoyed our rooftop view of the city.

Would I recommend visiting Alaska?

Absolutely.  It has so much natural beauty and plenty to see, but I think it’s a matter a travel style.  I’m a land lover and I don’t like days at sea without a port on someone else’s agenda.  If you like the cruising lifestyle then it’s a great way to experience Alaska.  I’d prefer to travel this great state by RV or small airplane adventure with plenty of time.

Leaving Vancouver we were singled out for extra inspection in U.S. customs and immigration.  After an hour of waiting and watching the clock in a separate room they called us for questioning.  I realized our plane had left.

“Why do you have so many stamps to the Bahamas?”

“We own a place in Bimini, and as pilots it’s a quick 20 minute flight.”

It was a long two-day flight home due to our flight rescheduling. Once home, I had a comfortable and peaceful night, but knew the hassles of travel would not stop me from planning our next adventure.