Cuba, Part 2

Enough of the details about licenses and currency (Part 1 of Cuba) - let's get to the adventure part. ;)

Day 1: NY to Habana

The flight is a flight. We arrive mid-afternoon and do the customs/ currency/ taxi to city stuff. Get checked into our casa particular. Boring stuff.

1st casa in havana had a sitting room, so when KK would sleep Dave and I could hang out - too bad KK didn't sleep

We're staying in Centro Habana, which is much poorer and dilapidated than I expected. Our street has piles of trash, stagnant water, skeletal dogs, ruins of buildings. There are few cars on the street, so people just walk in the middle of the road.

centro streetscape

Day 2: Habana Vieja

We spend most of the day in Habana Vieja, which is better restored and maintained than Centro. A cruise ship docks, and then it feels like Disneyland. Glad we're staying in Centro.

restored architecture

Low point of the day was food. We're starving by mid-day, but most of the options are the tourist traps, which just aren't our speed (and are probably government owned). Ended up at a cafe that had literally 2 choices: hamburger or ham sandwich. The hamburger was DISGUSTING.

On the bright side, KK discovers coconut ice milk and I discover ropa vieja (for dinner).

that's ok mom i'll just eat ice cream

Day 2: More Habana

Today got easier - my Spanish is coming back, we trolled the guidebooks and dropped a bunch of pins on Maps.Me to mark paladar/restaurant options, and it doesn't feel as stiflingly hot.

old buildings off the Malecon, the famous sea-side drive

Spend the morning playing in a little playground. I talk with the attendant for a long while about this and that, while KK plays with a little boy who was there with his grandparents because his mom was home with the new baby. (Some things are the same everywhere.)

wheee!

After dinner, Dave brings some frisbees to a local park and starts throwing with the young'uns. When it was time to leave, though, one of the older guys seems upset that there wasn't a frisbee for each of the group, saying that it would be unfair to give it to only one. Kind of an interesting and unexpected response.

universal language of frisbee

Day 3: Habana to Viñales

Hire a car and drive 2.5 hours to Viñales, a small town west of Havana, the center of outdoor activities in Cuba (as much as there is one).

random rural home

Get checked into our casa.

1st casa in vinales, where we stayed the longest

Pick a restaurant because it advertised 2 CUC mojitos. ;) We chat with the friendly restaurant host, Yande. He mentions he has a second job and Dave has to ask what it is before Yande says he's a hiking guide, and even then he doesn't offer to guide us. (Overall, the lack of hustlers (jinteros) in Viñales is striking.)

KK plays at the front of the restaurant with a random passerby who stops to talk to Yande. Soon she's handing out stickers and rolling a tennis ball back and forth while Dave and I enjoy our meal in peace.

don't ask how dirty she got...

Cuba is the most child-friendly country I've visited. Everywhere we went, Cubans were welcome and accommodating to children. There isn't a ton of kid-specific infrastructure in Cuba - they're considered people like any other person and do whatever the adults were doing. And it seems like all adults look out for the little ones. One time, KK tripped and fell, and some random middle-aged Cuban farmer got to her before I did. Musicians would hand her maracas and encourage her to play and dance while Dave and I sat nearby.

Day 4: Climbing!

Viñales has the best climbing in the Carribean, maybe the best in Latin America (right up there with Potrero Chico). We're climbing with a kid, and we're on vacation and have only shoes, buuuttt...

...we have a great time. Our guide, Fidel, picked a crag that was flat and shady at the base, so KK could play while Dave and I climbed. Incredibly, Fidel had a child-sized harness, so KK had her first roped climb on rock!

will climb for Clif Bars

Climbing is legal in Cuba, if you have a government guide, and there are no government guides. It's theoretically possible to import gear, if you go through the proper government channels, which don't actually exist.

Thus, in practice, the development and preservation of these incredible climbing areas rely on the dedication of local Cuban climbers on the ground and whatever donations they receive from abroad. In advance, we researched the best way to donate gear to make sure it goes to climbers and doesn't get used as farm equipment and packed a bag of gear collected from our Ithaca climbing community.

sharing is caring

Day 5: Cueva de la Vaca

Our casa hosts in Viñales are Marisol and Juan, a late middle-aged couple, and their daughter Yudi, who is about our age. Marisol is extremely talkative and friendly - too bad I can only understand every other word, and Dave understands her every 5th word! She always spends some time talking with/at us in her beautiful patio after breakfast, yelling for me to translate when Dave gets lost.

the 1st casa in vinales had a BEAUTIFUL patio/garden, with banana and coffee trees, tropical flowers, etc

After a lazy morning, we walk up to Cueva de la Vaca, an easily explored cave outside town.

cow cave. you walk by a lot of cows to get there.

Day 6: Beach! Cayo Jutías

Marisol hires a driver to take us to Cayo Jutías, a beach on the northern coast of Cuba. Eloha has a baby son, 8 months, but we don't talk much more than that - it's a rough trip. The car is a seatbelt-less Lada about my age that sounds like a lawnmower. Doesn't matter that the Lada doesn't go fast; the roads are SO BAD in places that we crawl along at lawnmower speed. Back windows don't roll down without the wrench Eloha keeps in the glove box, so we asphyxiate on fumes for the first part of the drive.

wheeee!

At one point, we pick up a hitchhiking police officer. Because why not?

...oh, ok.

The beach wasn't the most incredible beach I've visited, and it got really crowded as the minibuses and hired cars arrived, but coming from Upstate NY in March... it was heaven.

ahhhhhhh

Day 7: Cueva Larga

We meet up with a random climber who found us, looking for partners, while we were climbing with Fidel. We go to Cueva Larga, not really a cave as the top is open, more like a narrow chasm in the incredible cliffs all around Viñales.

cueva larga

I stay on kid duty most of the day, sneaking in 1 climb and otherwise pointing out all of amazing things in the cave, like snail shells and lizards.

hi :) 

The climbing is just so. good. here. I would definitely come back (after I visit all the other places on my bucket list, of course).

Day 8 - Los Acuáticos

Originally, we weren't sure if we would stay in Viñales so long, or perhaps move on to Trinidad, so we only booked 3 nights at Marisol's. She had vacancy 2 more nights, but for our last night in Viñales, we needed to move to her next door neighbor's house.

2nd casa in vinales

Our Cuban acquaintance, Yande, from the restaurant on our first night in Viñales guides us up to Los Acuáticos, an old colony built around hot springs. It's a super easy walk, we definitely don't need a guide, but it's nice to chat with a local who's our age (and had a daughter a few years older than KK).

checking out a very cool "undiscovered" (i.e. not in the guidebooks) cave

Unfortunately, on the way up, I got stung by wasps. Kind of scary - it took 3 Benadryl to keep the swelling under control, and even then, my mouth/nose broke out in hives. Might be time to get an Epipen...

serious ouch

Yande felt so bad about the sting, but it didn't spoil the day. Just made it a little sleepy and loopy (yay Benadryl!).

views of the mogotes - hills that look like they were formed by a preschooler with playdoh

Day 9: Viñales to Habana

It takes a while to convince Marisol that yes, we do want a vehicle with seat belts to drive us to Habana, even if that means getting a nicer car and getting it all to ourselves. It's true that it's astronomically expensive for a Cuban, but, having already made the journey once, I know that the highway is straight and empty, and the driver will go as fast as the vehicle will allow.

We say good bye to Marisol, Yudi, and Juan and Viñales in general. I hope I'll be back, someday.

adios to our host family

Uneventful drive to Havana deposits us at a casa in an old colonial house with a gorgeous interior courtyard and enormous room.

last night in havana (sounds like a movie title)

After dinner, on a whim, I ask Dave if we can walk past the synagogue (actually, "a" synagogue - there are 3 in Havana). I had read a little bit about the Jews of Cuba and was interested to see for myself. Turns out, it's the first night of Purim! Which I admit I forgot - I knew Purim was happening while we were away, but by the last night of the trip, I had completely lost track of the days.

So that's how we ended up in an Orthodox shul drinking clear rum straight from plastic cups while watching kids scamper after the spilled contents of a piñata.

because rum hangovers on travel days are GREAT

Day 10: Habana to NY

It was a travel day. Meh. No problems coming back through customs, except the aforementioned boot washing. Hey, we'll do our part to protect American agriculture!

entering Florida

We've been back a month; I've been working on these trip reports in 10 minute increments in the wee early hours of the morning, before the family gets up. So if the story seems dry and disjointed, well, at least it got written! My future self will appreciate it.

Saved the best for last - here's the photo album.

Holy Week in Granada, Nicaragua

cruz de la catedral

Today completes my first week in Central America, which happened to coincide with Holy Week or Semana Santa.

For you non-Christians out there, Holy Week commemorates the week between Palm Sunday, when Jesus returned triumphantly to Jerusalem, through Good Friday when he was crucified and buried, to Easter Sunday when he was resurrected, according to the Christian Bible.  Because of Catholicism's strong influence in Latin America, Semana Santa is a Big Deal.

Granada's reputation as the tourism capital of Nicaragua had turned me off to the idea of spending a week here, as I expected everyone to speak English.  I've been pleasantly surprised, though—the vast majority of the tourism here is domestic (weekenders from Managua), and I've spoken exclusively Spanish for the week I've been here.  Every time I think I spot a gringo in shorts, I eavesdrop on his conversation and he's speaking Spanish!

nica family on vacation

For Nicaraguans, Semana Santa is a week of partying, beaches, and vacations.  Not exactly pious and religious!

I arrived in Granada on Tuesday of Semana Santa, and every day the streets were more and more crowded with vacationers.  The Central Park is packed with couples strolling arm-in-arm, families with young children, and vendors selling ice cream, fried snacks, and shoe-shines.  The city stinks of horse dung; families of vacationing Managuans enjoy little city tours in horse-drawn carriages, and I think every horse within a 20 mile radius has been recruited for this week.  Every evening, starting around dusk, party trains stuffed to the gills with men, women, and children would thump their way down our street, blasting Latin dance music behind a farm tractor straining under the load.

holy image displayed in bamboo and palm creche in the cathedral courtyard

There are some religious processions.  Every church has its own schedule and no one knows for sure what happens when (ask three different people, get four different answers).  Generally, all of the churches seem to take down their religious icons, display them in the courtyard for a few days, parade them around the city, then put them back in their niches to rest for another year.

preparing the holy image

I caught the procession of Christ interred coming out of the main Cathedral on the evening of Good Friday.  As a North American, the purple pointy hats freaked me out a little.  Then I felt bad for the poor guys wearing them—must be hot under there!

el santo intierro

Before leaving the States, I poked around a bit on the internet to learn about Holy Week/ Semana Santa in Granada, Nicaragua and couldn't find much.  So, if you've stumbled on this post wondering the same thing, feel free to leave a comment with questions.

If it helps... yes, you will be able to find a place to stay, though it might not be your first choice and you might have to switch hotels during the week.  Most of the Nicaraguans stay with family or in hotels catering to domestic tourists (not the ones listed in your LP guide).  Transport is definitely scarce (buses run less frequently and stop earlier on Thursday through Sunday, taxis are more expensive), but if you were desperate to move on, you could find a way or else book a private tourist shuttle.  Overall, though, I wouldn't count on “getting much done” in the North American sense this week.  If you're looking for a huge spectacle, you won't find it here (try Antigua in Guatemala, Sonsonate in El Salvador, or even Leon here in Nicaragua).  This is a week to relax and do a lot of people watching...  and stay away from inebriated Nicaraguans!

The More I Learn, The More I Don't Know

In Israel, we stayed with two of Dave's father's cousins, Adela and Yoram (and his wife Yordana), as well as his friend from university, Steph.  All of them took amazing care of us.

sweet adela

After fending for ourselves for a year, it was so awesome to be totally spoiled.  They patiently listened to our travel stories, fed us delicious Israeli and Jewish foods, arranged our transportation, let us into their beautiful homes, and gave us a little glimpse into life in Israel.

caeseria with yoram

It was more than just a visit--they treated me like a friend and a family member.  If Adela, Yoram, Yordana, or Steph ever see this...
!תודה, תודה, תודה

dinner with steph (not pictured: enzo)

Other thoughts on Israel...

To be brutally honest, at first I didn't have much interest in visiting Israel.  Maybe because I didn't have many expectations, a crazy thing happened--I found a lot of meaning in my trip there.  It's a place I had to see for myself to begin to understand.

israeli flag at masada

Yeah, the traveling Israelis I saw everywhere in South Asia are generally rude, loud, and willing to argue over the equivalent of five cents.  But then I met two sweet, dedicated, 17-year old young women who are about to begin their military service.  I thought about what it would be like to dedicate my freshman, sophomore, and junior years of university to the defense of my country, how that would change me, and it became difficult to judge those young Israelis getting drunk in Pokhara.

Yeah, Israel is doing some nasty stuff to Arabs living in occupied territories.  But then I talked to multiple Israelis who believes that the two-state solution is the only solution (about 70% do)--anything else, everything else, would be perpetual war.  I thought about how the outlandish opinions of extremists and fundamentalists can alter the world's opinion of a nation.  Hell, I'm American, I know this too well.

praying at the western wall

On a personal level...  my dude pal, Davo, is Jewish.  We agreed early that, should we procreate someday, he would raise them with Jewish traditions.  (For the record, I would and should teach them about my family's Christian and Catholic religious heritage.)  Since Dave is not particularly observant, and I've had the most contact with Judiasm through him, I thought that raising Jewish kids would be as simple as lighting a few candles on special days.  I'm vegetarian--our kitchen would already be kosher!

After spending a few weeks in a Jewish State, where the buses don't run on the Sabbath, I see it's not that simple.  One of my former colleagues who now resides in Jerusalem, Oren, invited us to a Shabbat dinner on Christmas Eve.  When Dave celebrates Shabbat, he recites a few prayers before the meal, we eat bread and drink wine, and that's about it.  Oren is more observant, and so we went through everything:  the prayers before, the bread and wine, the ritual washing of hands, and many beautiful prayers sung in Hebrew after the meal.  An entire Shabbat world existed, and I didn't know about it!

The more I learn, the more I realize I don't know.  This is true of everything!  Languages, environmental issues, the economy, and yes, religion.  Dave goes through the routine of being Jewish in America, but when I ask why he does certain rituals, rarely does he know.  In 2011, we've decided to read the Bible (Old Testament) together.  And I'd like to attend adult education classes at a synagogue.  Even though I'll never convert, I've realized that there's more to being Jewish than matzo ball soup and bagels, and I want to know more.

Thanks, Israel, for inspiring more curiosity in my life!

Merry Christmas, from Bethlehem

I was talking to my Mummers on Skype a few weeks ago, just chatting about holiday plans and the usual.  In her usual motherly brilliance, she suddenly suggested that I visit Bethlehem for Christmas.

Nice idea, Mummers!

Since Christmas fell on a Saturday, and Saturday is the Jewish Sabbath, and Israel is a Jewish State, and therefore buses wouldn't run on Saturday, we took an Arab bus most of the way to Bethlehem (see below for details).

In a strange way, it felt great to be in Bethlehem.  It's an Arab village now, and it feels that way.  Thing is, I've gotten used to feeling like the "different" one wherever I go.  In Israel, I'm constantly mistaken for Israeli.  And I haven't been in a place so similar to the United States since leaving Australia.  Going to Bethlehem was like leaving "civilization" again, going back to a place where I'm the oddball.  This is normal to me now.

the mosque opposite Manger Square

When we got to Manger Square, there was a group of Latin American pilgrims playing "Hallelujah, Alegría," absolutely rocking out on guitars, drums, trumpets, whatever.  People were dancing in a circle, waving their arms in the air, and generally having a grand time.  It was a lot of fun!

The Church of the Nativity is nice.  Not the largest or grandest church I've visited, but probably the most crowded--it was PACKED with pilgrims.  A long line stretched from the back of the church all the way to the Grotto of the Nativity at the front of the church.  Somehow, Davo and I managed to get to the front of the line by going to the opposite side of the church, then getting waved through to cross the apse.  The actual spot where Baby Jesus was supposedly born is just a silver star on the ground.  You can see it on Wikipedia, if you're interested.

sooo crowded!

I've had a few people say to me, "Wow, to be in Bethlehem on Christmas...  I'm sure that must have been very moving, very spiritual."  Well, it felt like a big festival.  Everyone around me seemed quite happy.  But the atmosphere wasn't particularly spiritual.

christmas tree at manger square

The most touching moment of the trip was in the actual Grotto of the Nativity.  There were three or four monks down there.  One said, "Merry Christmas" to each and every person entering the grotto.  The others gently took each person's shoulders and moved them along, single-file.  One smiled and said quietly to me, "I'm sorry, the line is very long," as he moved me along.  I thought it was very touching that these monks were trying their best to make the experience special for each individual visitor, all 90,000 of us.  I guess I'm more interested in these simple, kind human touches in the present moment, rather than obsessing over legends from 2,000 years ago.

Merry Christmas!

For future reference, here's how to get from Jerusalem to Bethlehem.  You'll need 13 schekels for the round-trip fare.  Don't forget your passport.

Father Abraham (In a Purple Headscarf?)

After Mr. Turkish Bull got our stupid, foreign asses onto the right bus, we found ourselves in the middle of Şanlıurfa. On a whim, I dragged Dave into a bookstore, where I scored a pocket Turkish/ English dictionary for 3 lira.

This came in handy, as shortly thereafter we were mobbed by a dozen young boys who would be our friends for the afternoon. Twelve-year old Mahmut somehow had a Turkish/ English phrasebook with him, so we swapped phrases such as, "I hope you have a safe journey" and "How many children do you have?"

little mahmut in the white shirt next to dave

The boys decided to take us to "Fish Lake." As the legend goes, King Nimrod got really pissed off at Abraham and threw him into a fire. God/ Allah was all like, "Oh no you don't," and He turned the flames into water and the coals into carp. The fish in this pond are huge, glossy, and very excited to eat the pellet food sold by vendors in the park.

"fish lake" at dusk

The next day, we made a pilgrimage to the cave where Prophet Ibrahim/ Patriarch Abraham supposedly was born. The sign next to the door noted the segregated sides for men and women and requested that women to wear long skirts and headscarves (and to refrain from taking photos during prayer). Fortunately, I happened to wear my long skirt and to have a scarf in my bag.

entrance to ibrahim's/ abraham's cave

I don't think I would have taken any pictures, anyway. The mood inside the cave is pretty intense. Women swathed in the purple headscarves typical of Şanlıurfa sat on carpet squares in tight rows, either praying or sitting quietly. One woman was reading a beautiful Arabic Quran. Some women were filling up cups or bottles with holy water from a spigot. A little boy ran around, occasionally shrieking. One woman was crying.

It blew my mind to think that Abraham was born here, oh, plus or minus 4,000 years ago. And this city has been continuously inhabited for nearly 6,000 years! Even the historical Buddha was born "only" 2,500 years ago. Such history! And how lucky I am to have visited so many sacred places this year. Too bad Christians, Muslims, and Jews seem to forget that they are all children of Abraham...

urfa's citadel

After visiting Abraham's cave, we climbed to the top of the Şanlıurfa kale, or citadel, to enjoy the great views of the city. Highly recommended, it was a lovely little walk.

other tourists at the top

Şanlıurfa fashion is... distinctive. Many women wear traditional clothing: a velvet, floor length dress with a leather belt, a velvet cloak, and then another light brown cape. It reminds me of medieval dress. Both men and women wear purple headscarves, apparently all the rage this year. But there are also many women who wear trendy long skirts and snazzy, urbane long jackets.  This is Turkey: part West, part East, part modern, part traditional.

women in typical urfa dress

How could I resist? My lone Turkey souvenir is a trendy purple Urfa headscarf.

this picture destroys any chance at holding public office in the united states.
(i'm not sure i'm disappointed.)
but isn't it a pretty color?

Did Father Abraham wear a purple scarf?  I guess we'll never know...

A Pilgrim on Thanksgiving

The historical Buddha was a man. Not a god or a demi-god, not created from the Holy Spirit—he was simply a human. On Thanksgiving Day, I became a pilgrim myself and visited Lumbini, the place of the Buddha's normal, messy, human birth.

hi, buddha

Lumbini isn't exactly Nepal's prime tourist attraction. Inside the Sacred Garden, the Maya Devi temple (named for Buddha's mother) encloses a stone, put into place a few millenia ago, which marks the spot where the Buddha was born. Just outside the temple, there is a sandstone pillar erected by the Emperor Akosha around 250 B.C. The brick-lined pond where Maya bathed before the birth is just around the corner. The Maya Devi temple is surrounded by sal trees covered in prayer flags on a grassy lawn.

maya devi temple, the pool, and akosha's pillar on the left

North of the Sacred Garden are monasteries and temples from every Buddhist country and several that are not (France, Germany). I stayed overnight in the Korean Monastery, which provides room and board for pilgrims and travelers for a nominal donation. The Korean Temple itself and the evening service held there were beautiful.

inside of the korean temple...  very beautiful

And that's about it. There's not much to see. Lumbini Bazar, the tiny village outside the park, has one street. Many of the temples and monasteries within the park are still under construction. If you're not Buddhist, there's not much of a reason to come here.

The local bus from Lumbini to Pokhara, where I met up with the guys, took 11 hours to cover 180 km, as it stopped every few hundred meters to pick up or drop off someone. Unfortunately, it didn't stop for bathroom or food breaks. The two women in the seats in front of me alternated vomiting out the window, so I sat on the roof of the bus for a while. When I went back inside the bus, a chicken shat on my foot. I'm not complaining, though—this was not the worst Nepali bus ride I've endured.

the bus from hell.  i recommend the roof rack seats.

The bus ride gave me plenty of time to think about pilgrims and pilgrimage. The obvious connection was between Pilgrim/ Thanksgiving and pilgrim/ Lumbini. But the first definition given by Merriam-Webster online is actually “one who journeys in foreign lands: wayfarer.” Under the usual religious devotee definition, the online Free Dictionary's defines pilgrim as “one who embarks on a quest for something conceived of as sacred.” By these definitions, I've been a pilgrim since February.

wayfarer

The end of the journey—the end of the quest, if you will—is nearly here. Lately, I've been reflecting on this trip, whether I've found something sacred, whether I've found anything at all, what happens once I reach the destination. I've determined...

I don't know!  I don't know what I'm doing in 2011.  I have no job, no home, nearly no possessions, not many ambitions.  I'm feeling, though, that the pilgrimage won't be complete when I land in New York City around the New Year.  Maybe, if I'm lucky, the pilgrimage will never be complete.

And that might be my deep thought of the week.

P.S.  Happy Thanksgiving!