Cuban Travelogue, Part V

   

South coast looking toward Cienfuegos and Caribbean

Machete cutter of sugarcane climbing with ropes and hob-nailed shoes 

   

View toward Fla. Strait from former coffee plantation in the Sierra del Rosario Mts., northwest Cuba. Each seedling was planted.

     After four days eating the national cuisine of pulled or roasted pork, fricasseed or grilled chihcken, black beans and rice, some of us experimented with local specialties like ceviche or octopus. Mojitos, Cuba Libres (the national cola mixed with rum), and Pina Coladas were served liberally with ice cubes from the local water supply. As a result, several of our group began to have gastrointestinal ailments. There was a doctor on duty 24/7 in our hotel, who provided an antibiotic shot in the derriere. "Octopus is notorious for causing your problem," he told the patients. There was no charge.

    Excluding hotels, public restrooms throughout our tour had attendants standing outside with a roll of toilet paper. With the equivalent of a $.25 tip, one received several sheets before entering. There were none inside. A bucket stood next to each toilet to prevent paper from being flushed into the sewer system.

Havana skyline I

Havana skyline II

     At the end of our week-long sojourn we had the highly-anticipated ride through Havana in classic cars of the 50's. There were approximately 60,000 vintage cars throughout Cuba. Owners needed permits from the state to maintain their status, if they wanted to use the cars as vehicles for tourism. "Everyone must survive," our Cuban guide told us, "even the inspectors." Translation: the inspectors accepted bribes. "Car owners find spare parts on the internet. The engines are patched together with parts from Europe and the Soviet Union. Some owners have three old motors in reserve."

Artist Jose Fuster's casa outside Havana,  made entirely of ceramics

St. Francis Cathedral, Havana, across from the cruise ship terminal

     Our vintage car did not disappoint! Charley and I rode in a 1950 Buick with its original engine. Only one windshield wiper worked and the speedometer had died a long time ago. When it started to rain, the owner put the canvas top up. Each of us got wet through a two-inch gap, but we didn't even feel it!

A 1950 Buick for our ride through Havana

A fellow traveler took our photo in the rear view mirror

Batista's office in his Havana palace. During the Revolution he escaped through a side door and fled the country.

Cathedral o f Havana at night

Department of Tourism employees, Havana

Another Tourism Dept. employee

Park Havana

Ted doing a selfie

Ronnie and Amit in the back seat  
                                                                                                                                                                                    The End      

                                                                         

An Autotrain Story Part I

     Unable to see out the rear window because the SUV was piled with golf clubs, file crates, boxes,

and suitcases, Marge and Steve crawled for four hours from their Florida residence to the Amtrak depot in Sanford, Florida. They arrived just before the check-in deadline.
     "Pull your vehicle all the way forward," the loudspeaker said.  Each line of cars moved forward at an impressive pace.
     Marge and Steve had Hollywood visions of the trip from "The Orient Express" movie:  a private compartment with 100-thread/square-inch bed linens, a white-gloved porter, a dining car laden with silver and crystal.
     An attendant moved next to Steve's door.  "Please take all personal belongings you'll need overnight," he said to them.  "The car will be locked and inaccessible.  May I have your paperwork, please?"
     Steve got out and handed over the documents and keys.  He reached into the back seat for his blue blazer and shrugged it on over his striped button-down.  Marge got their Louis Vitton overnight bag with her matching tote out of the trunk.
     "Please proceed to the waiting room and check in at the counter," the attendant said.
     Inside was a room that held the former occupants of four hundred cars.  All waited to board the three-quarter-mile train.
     Steve handed the Amtrak clerk his ID and paperwork.  "Welcome, Mr. Thomas!  I see you have a private sleeping compartment.   I'm afraid the 7:00 dinner seating is filled, so would you prefer the 5 p.m. or 9 p.m. seating?"
     "The early one, please," Marge said.
      "You'll hear an announcement in just a few minutes to proceed to the numbered car that's marked on this boarding pass.  Yours is #89.  There will be a porter outside the car to take your suitcase and lead you to the proper compartment."
     "OK.  Is there a bar car?" Steve said.
     "Oh, yes.  The porter will show you, if you ask.  Have a pleasant journey."
     "Thanks so much."
     Steve took off his blue blazer and slung it over his shoulder.  There were too many people in one room to lower the temperature to his liking.  Behind him he pulled their suitcase, while Marge carried matching tote and purse.
     They dodged dogs on reprieve from their cages, coolers spilling bottles of water and soda, college knapsacks, and military duffel bags, but were unable to find two seats.  A cat perched in a woman's lap.  Because of the enormity of the woman's stomach, the cat actually perched on her knees.  The husband's tee revealed his midriff and tattoos rippled across his biceps.  Bulging beneath one sleeve was a square box.
     "Better smoke one of them things now.  It'll be your last chance outside for a while," the woman said, as Steve and Marge maneuvered around the cat's carrying case, heading for two remaining seats outside the toilets.
     "Quite an assortment of people," Marge said to the back of Steve's head.
     Within minutes they heard the announcement to proceed to numbered cars.  As promised, a porter met them outside car #89. No white gloves, but he led them up the steps of the train and up again an interior spiral stair, holding their overnight bag so there'd be no scuffs.  Marge and Steve followed down a long, skinny corridor to compartment #216. 
     "Well, there'll be plenty of beer and wine at dinner, no limits," the porter said, placing their suitcase inside.  "I'll make the bunks up while you're eating, if that's OK.  You have the early seating?  The late one usually gets rowdy.  If there's anything else you need, just let me know.  Towels and kleenex are right here, and an overnight kit, too," he said, pointing beneath the sink.  "Glasses are up top.  The bathroom light goes on automatically, once you lock that door."
     The train pulled out right on schedule.  After they'd put everything away and took a glance out the windows, Marge and Steve heard the announcement for the 5:00 seating.
     "I guess we won't have time for a drink in the bar," Steve said.  They moved along the thin corridor in the opposite direction from where they'd climbed up, bumping against the long windows and  sides of compartments.  Between cars Steve hit the big red button to slide the steel doors open, trying to maintain his balance as the train weaved and jerked.
     Five cars later, they found the dining room.  Glasses from a restaurant supply store sat on linen tablecloths.  Stainless steel forks, knives, spoons edged the plates that would go directly into a commercial dishwasher.  No fine china in sight.

.....TO BE CONTINUED