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      

                                                                         

Girlfriends' Night Out

My sister sent me this on the internet several years ago, and it's worth another chuckle.  Unfortunately, I don't know the original author.  I'm re-posting to celebrate the wonderful holiday lunch I had with girlfriends this week.

A group of 15-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner. Finally, they agreed to meet at the Dairy Queen next to the Ocean View Restaurant because they had only $6.00 among them and Jimmy Johnson, the cute boy in Social Studies, worked at the Dairy Queen.

Ten years later, the group of 25-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner.  Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the beer was cheap, the restaurant offered free appetizers, the band was good, there was no cover charge, and there were lots of cute guys.

Ten years later, the group of 35-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner.  Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the cosmos were good, it was right near the gym, and if they went late enough, there wouldn't be too many whiny little kids.

Ten years later, the group of 45-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner.  Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the martinis were big and the waiters had tight pants and nice buns.

Ten years later, the group of 55-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner.  Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the prices were reasonable, the wine list was good, the restaurant had windows that opened (in cases of hot flashes), and fish is good for cholesterol.

Ten years later, the group of 65-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner.  Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the lighting was good and the restaurant had an early bird special.

Ten years later, the group of 75-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner.  Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because the food was not too spicy and the restaurant was handicapped-accessible.

Ten years later, the group of 85-year-old girlfriends discussed where to meet for dinner.  Finally, they agreed to meet at the Ocean View Restaurant because they had never been there before.

A Restaurant Encounter

We met a friend for drinks at a popular south Florida restaurant last week.  Maria had half a martini left when we arrived.  "Good thing I got here early," she said.  "It's Happy Hour!  I'm going to try to hold this seat for Steve, but I think Derek might come, too." 

Charley and I perched on high stools across from Maria in the middle of the room.  The bartender was hustling along the length of a granite slab behind us.  Two women sat across from each other on the right end of our island.  Someone whose head was barely visible over the granite top stood waiting next to them, with her husband.  Those end stools would be vacant for maybe thirty seconds after the two women had licked their last drops.

A couple nursed Margaritas to our left and another couple cut into their appetizers across from us, next to Maria.

Steve came in, leaned in to give Maria a peck, and claimed the empty chair she'd saved.

Derek came in, cradling his pekingese against him like a babe.  The two women at the end got up to leave and Derek moved in. 

"Oh no,"  said Bobblehead from somewhere near the floor.  "We've been waiting for these seats."

"But I'm with this group," Derek said.

"Too bad," Bobblehead said, raising her haunches toward the bottom rung of the stool.

Derek came behind us. "Guess they're in a rush," he said, while I searched Lily's long hair tied into  bows, trying to find ears to scratch.   She was swaddled in a green jacket.

"Oh my God, it's a dog!  Dogs aren't allowed in restaurants," the woman next to Maria yelled, spitting some of her appetizer toward us.

"Yes they are, if they're service dogs," Derek said.

"I'm allergic!  You've got to get that dog out of here," the Spitter said.

"I don't have to do any such thing!  It's a service dog.  See the green jacket?"

"What kind of service could that pipsqueak perform?" Spitter asked Maria.

"I really don't know.  But they're allowed.  If you don't like it, write the Governor."

Maria turned to speak to us but didn't get a word out.  "Get that f______ dog out of here!" yelled the Spitter's husband from the left end.

"There's no need for that kind of language," I said.

"Everyone calm down," Charley said, pushing his palms downward in slow motion.

"I'll go outside and see if there are any tables where we can finish our drinks," I said in an attempt at peacemaker.  I still had half a Bloody Mary to finish.  No seats outside.

Mr. Foul Mouth wasn't finished.  "My wife is allergic!  Get that f______ dog out of here!"

Steve found his way to the hostess.  He and Derek had a dinner reservation, and Steve motioned to Derek the table was ready. 

Lily went along for the ride, and maybe for leftovers.   Maria, Charley, and I drained our drinks and found a quieter place to eat, as three women jumped in to take our stools.