Books, Books, Books

A  brief break in the Cuba travelogue to mention something about books. From today, March 5 through March 11, Smashwords, one of the distributors for Crossroad, is celebrating read an ebook week and has discounted their books by 50 percent. So now you can read any of our novels and books for 50 percent off. Here’s the code. Just enter the title of the book or our names. Some of the books appear on the right side of the blog and many excerpts can be found in the masthead.

Happy reading!







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Exploring Havana!

We quickly learned that if you plan 8 things to do on a given day in Cuba, chances are you’ll get to only two or three of them. Part of this is due to the fact that everything takes time. Exchanging currency isn’t just a matter of walking in a casa de cambio or a bank. It means you spend time in line, waiting for your turn into the bank, which usually is just one or two people at a time. Finding your way around this labyrinthine city also takes time. We had a map, but until you get oriented to Havana, a map isn’t much use.

So our first night there, to get to a restaurant – El Biky – we used the GPS on my phone. I had bought a $40 passport for Cuba before leaving the U.S., which was supposed to entitle me to free texting and a certain amount of data. The next morning, I received a text message that I’d used $111 worth of data! When I called the international ATT, I was told the passport wasn’t active yet in Cuba, so the charge had been removed. Lesson 1: take nothing for granted in Cuba!

The GPS, though, got us to our restaurant and what a perfect intro it was to Cuba. It was mojito night – and Cuban cigar night for Rob, who looks like the Mad Hatter here!

The restaurant walls were decorated with old photographs like this one of an early theater.

It’s a pleasure to walk anywhere in this city. Everything is old and historic, although you also see semi-modern buses alongside a 1950s car.

We returned to our apartment – a casa particular – owned by Jose and his brother. They live downstairs, we had the entire second floor with four bedrooms, four bathrooms, a kitchen and a rooftop porch festooned with plants.

Jose offered to fix us breakfast the next morning – for 5 CUCs apiece – and what a feast it was!

Once Nick arrived at around 10 a.m., the eight of us set out to find a currency exchange place for Nick and to explore Havana and Havana Vieja – the old town.

Historic hotel – used to be the Hilton in pre-Castro days.

concert in old town – full orchestra

The bar Hemingway made famous

Rob chatting with Hemingway

We loved old Havana so much we returned on Sunday. But on Saturday, we drove to Vinales, an area three hours outside Havana. That’s the next post.

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Cuba, si!

Cuba, si! That was our battle cry, fists pumping the air, as seven of us boarded Jet Blue’s Flight 1499 from Fort Lauderdale to Havana. Our excitement was palpable and obvious.

But beneath it lurked misgivings that we, parents in our sixties, were traveling with our 27-year-old daughter and four of her friends to a country that was completely unknown to most Americans until Jet Blue’s first commercial flight to the island on August 31, 2016, the first in 55 years.  Flight 387. We were concerned we might be chasing the twentysomethings, none of whom spoke Spanish, all around Havana as they partied the nights away. Cuba, after all, is still a communist country, with spotty WiFi and Internet connections, and if they got lost or into trouble, it wasn’t as if they, like E.T., could call home.

As it turned out, Havana at any hour of the day or night is probably safer than most large cities in the U.S. The Cuban people are gracious and accommodating and deeply grateful to President Obama for opening a door between their country and ours that had been shut for more than 50 years. And the twentysomethings taught us a few things about traveling on the wild side without spending a fortune!

The island had been closed to Americans since the embargo began in 1962 but the door opened again in December 2014, when Obama and Raul Castro announced they would re-establish diplomatic relations.

Our Jet Blue Flight 1499 departed Fort Lauderdale on the morning of February 23.  We left our house at 8 a.m., drove the hour to Lauderdale, found parking in the economy parking lot at the airport, took a shuttle to the Jet Blue terminal, and arrived two hours before our 12:14 p.m. flight. We traveled under two categories – humanitarian and in support of the Cuban people, a category Obama added, broad enough to support most American travel to the island. Erin, who works with dolphins at Sea World, brought a large supply of food and medicines for an animal shelter on the island, so she qualified under the humanitarian category.

Going through check-in at the Lauderdale airport was a breeze. We encountered no resistance or questioning whatsoever. The cost of the ticket includes health insurance in Cuba. We each paid a $50 visa fee that covered us round trip. Jet Blue allows you to check one bag for free and to carry two personal items on board at no cost. The round trip ticket was $150 from Lauderdale and $120 for Nick, who joined us on Friday, February 24. The only glitch is that you can’t check in online.

The day before, we had exchanged American dollars to Canadian dollars because Cuba imposes a 10 percent surcharge on American dollars plus a 3 percent tax. We got the best deal at a local travel agency, which charged us only $5 for the exchange. The American dollar is the only currency that is penalized in that way – probably a result of a 55 year embargo. Cuban currency is two fold – CUPs for locals and CUCs for visitors. By exchanging Canadian dollars, we bypassed that 10 percent surcharge.

Once we were in the air, the flight was just 33 minutes. When we landed, the pilot announced in perfect English and Spanish Welcome to Cuba! And everyone on board applauded. Imagine it – 33 minutes and you’re in a foreign country!

Jose Marti Airport was jammed with tourists that morning. Multiple lines at immigration, more lines at customs.

We slipped into a short line and were out of there within 45 minutes. Our host, Jose, had arranged a pickup for us – two cars because Cuban cars are typically small and don’t accommodate more than 4 people.

We walked out into the main area, where many locals were holding signs for the people they were picking up and wandered round, looking for someone who held a sign that read, Casa Jose, the casa particular – private home or apartment – where we were staying. Rob finally found a woman with that sign. Maria, a friend of Jose’s, and her husband, Roberto, led us through the crowd to their taxis. Only official taxis in Cuba are permitted to carry foreigners to and from the airport and the fare per taxi is standard, set by the government – 25 CUCs. Here’s the first thing we saw as we walked outside:

Maria was terrific- informative, immediately a compadre, pointing out interesting landmarks. There, she said, is the stadium where the Rolling Stones put on a free concert a couple years back and people from all over the world came – except for Americans, unless they went through Mexico. And down that street in old Havana is where Hemingway drank with the likes of Ezra Pound, Graham Greene, and Pablo Neruda. Stuff like that.

But our first order of business was more practical – exchanging our money to CUCs, which we finally did, at a local bank. This, like everything else in Cuba, was an adventure. Banks and the Casas de Cambio – money exchange houses – are strange creatures. At the doorway of these places stands one person – usually a man in uniform who is part of a special agency in Cuba that does only this. One or two people are allowed inside the building at a time. You show your passport, your $, identify the type of currency – and they tell you the exchange rate.

If you don’t speak Spanish, however, you’re at a disadvantage. Because the country is so poor – average government workers make between $20-40 a MONTH – there may be some slight of hand, magician tricks. It happened to two people in our group.

Our host, Jose, who owns Casa Jose where we stayed, walked us to and from the bank, through fascinating neighborhoods of crumbling buildings and open doorways that led up dark, mysterious staircases to lives I can’t imagine. Yet, there’s a certain spirit of joy that flourishes in this city. I was struck by the general happiness and joy of the Cuban people, who go about their lives like the rest of us, but with a vivid, subterranean awareness that they can’t leave the island.

You don’t see boats in the harbor – not even fishing boats – because people aren’t allowed to fish in boats. The government controls the fishing industry. You can cast with a rod and reel from the seawall along the malecon– the five-mile stretch of boardwalk that borders the Caribbean- but you can’t climb over that wall, to the rocks and water below, to the freedom that lies less than a 100 miles from where you stand.

The thirst and hunger for that freedom is palpable. In fact, the perfect metaphor for this hunger for freedom, for the complexity of Havana and Cuban life, is this exquisite spiral – a staircase of a restaurant, El Biky, where we ate our first night in Havana:

Stay tuned for part 2.




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This is the first of many posts on our recent trip to Havana. This video is from a Santeria celebration that happens every Sunday and is jammed with people. It’s fascinating to watch this musical enactment of the melding of African and Catholic beliefs. This street was so crowded with people that at one point, when I was trying to get back to our group, I felt agoraphobic, squashed between two lines of dancing human beings!




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We don’t get may synchronicities about other star systems. But here’s one about Arcturus, courtesy of Connie Cannon. Connie has provided us many unusual stories over the years. And this one is right up there. Enjoy…and maybe you can even answer her question.


With permission from the MacGregors, I have a story to share.  There is a question in it, and also a profound synchro. So, here goes…..and I promise to not add or omit anything.

Occasionally I have mentioned my Dad here on the blog. That is because during the eighteen years he was in my life prior to his death at 42, he had the most significant and permanent influences on the person I am. When I was in high school, we lived in Arcadia, CA, which is next to Pasadena. Dad, as previously mentioned, was a cattleman. He was strong, extremely grounded, down-to-earth, had been an award-winning athlete in track and field and swimming when he was in school, he was a 33rd Degree Mason, and he was a math genius. But there could never be a sweeter, more kind, more quietly spiritual man.

From the time I was able to walk, he took me with him to the farms and ranches where he bought cattle, and we rode our horses among hundreds of cattle in meadows and pastures and sometimes n pens.

Our home was located ten blocks from the base of the mountains, and on clear days, the white dome of the Mt. Wilson Observatory could be easily seen. From time to time, before he became ill, my Dad would drive me up to the Observatory. Inside, we would sit in reclining chairs in the darkened arena, and the heavens would very slowly revolve around above us, with an unseen narrator describing what we were seeing.

During out initial visit, Dad leaned over and whispered to me, pointing at a very large, very bright orange orb. He said, “Honey, that Star is Arcturus. It is our Home. We came to Earth from there, and we go back to there. It’s our Home”. My Father had never lied to me, and I had no reason to doubt what he was telling me. As I gazed at that bright orange Star, a tremor of a thrill enveloped me. I asked, “Daddy, how did we get here, and how do we go back?” His response: “Deep, deep within the Great Giza Pyramid in Egypt, deeper than Man can go, there is a portal; a vortex. That is our
doorway between Earth and Arcturus. We come and go through that portal.”

I was completely absorbed, enthralled, astonished, and I KNEW, even tho I was only 17, that I was looking at my True Home.

That was in 1958, so of course computers were not available, which meant encyclopedias were the sources for research. I went to World Book and Compton’s and every text on astronomy that WAS available. I learned that Arcturus is close to us, just 37 light years away, and that it is actually a giant red star but appears orange to the naked eye. I learned that it resides in the Constellation Bootes, and other similar facts.

Once in a while I would ask to be taken to the Observatory, and Dad would drive me up the mountain again, and I never ceased feeling such a powerful sense of BELONGING, and of YEARNING, whenever I gazed at Arcturus.

It became totally stunning to me fairly recently…..decades after the fact of learning where I belong. And here is what I learned: Arcturus derives from the Greek words
“arktos”, meaning “bear”, and “ouros”, meaning “guardian”. But THIS is what has blown me away, and it was not available to us in 1958 except perhaps in university library texts. As stated, Arcturus is in the Bootes Constellation, Bootes is pronounced “boo-oh-tees” and it’s meaning? “HERDSMAN” I couldn’t believe what I was reading, because what was my Dad? He was a HERDSMAN, a CATTLEMAN, who spent his working years herding and buying cattle. He could not possibly had known that about Arcturus, except perhaps and probably on his Souls Level.

That is one of the most astonishing synchros I have ever seen, and it simply takes my breath away.

But, I have a question for anyone and everyone on the blog; Is anyone else here who originated from Arcturus? I would so very much like to know!

One more comment…..I had a dear friend for many years, Sherry, who was born eight days after I was born. She lived a few blocks down the beach from us, and was
incredibly spiritually evolved and knowledgeable. (She died three years ago.) Sherry and I often exchanged books, and one day she dropped by to bring me a book. I had never mentioned anything to her about Arcturus. It was something I have felt extremely cautious about disclosing, even to my closest spiritually-minded friends.
The title of the book Sherry brought me that day: “WE, THE ARCTURIANS”. I almost fell to the floor is shock. She told me she had been “guided” to bring me the book….thst SHE was Arcturian! She’s gone Home now.

Are there any more of us HERE?

Thank you all for listening. I’m Homesick, I think.

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H.L. Mencken’s Prophecy


When I (Rob) was studying journalism at the University of Minnnesota in the late 1960s, I considered H.L. Mencken one of my journalistic heroes. He was brash and outspoken in his columns in the Baltimore Sun in the early decades of the twentieth century. He was a journalist, a satirist and a cultural critic.

Menken was highly critical of religion calling it a hypocritical institution, as the above quote suggests. He opposed America’s entry in both world wars, and certainly would’ve opposed the Vietnam War if he’d been alive. Yet, he wasn’t exactly a pacifist or an isolationist. He spoke out forcefully against the smug and powerful. Truth to power could’ve best described his work.

While Menken supported scientific progress, oddly enough, he despised mathematics and physics and called  mathematics a hoax. He repeated the contention often enough to make it clear he wasn’t being satirical. The guy did not like number, and in one column asked how physicists and mathematicians were going to measure infinity.

He was called a racist by his detractors. But while he did point out certain propensities he saw in some ethnic groups, he didn’t defend his own as superior – which is the mark of a racist. In 1923, at a time when a sense of white racial superiority was commonplace, he wrote an essay in 1923 entitled, “The Anglo-Saxon,” in which he argued that if there was such a thing as a pure “Anglo-Saxon” race, it was defined by its inferiority and cowardice. “The normal American of the ‘pure-blooded’ majority goes to rest every night with an uneasy feeling that there is a burglar under the bed and he gets up every morning with a sickening fear that his underwear has been stolen.”

Mecken was impressed with the novel, Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, because much of the book plays on the gullibility and ignorance of country folks who are swindled by con men as witnessed by Huck and Jim as they travel down the Mississippi River. Noting that such country folk are easy marks, Mecken made a cynical sounding prediction in 1920 that today sounds like prophecy. It’s definitely a  synchronicity. Here it is…

Narcisstic Moron

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Our Trip to Cuba

Verdadero Beach, Cuba


When we mention to other people that we’re going to Cuba, the reactions are mixed.

Some people think it’s not safe, and yet tourists from Europe and Canada and other countries have been visiting the island for decades. Only Americans have been denied the experience. It’s why the resorts and hotels are so expensive. It’s why there are tours offered for sightseeing spots all over the island. It ‘s why restaurants are divided between government run- and privately owned. The latter supposedly have the best foods and prices. It’s also why airbnb has such an active site for Cuba.

We have 4 days on the island and that means jamming a lot of stuff into that time frame. We’re targeting Matanzas for a day trip. We plan a day of exploring Havana, with some particular spots to see – the Santeria museum, the museum of arts, the finca where Hemingway lived, a restaurant bar where Hemingway, Neruda, Ezra Pound and Graham Greene hung out.

Beyond the city – Matanzas, the city Lonely Planet touts as the place to go. Just beyond Matanzas lies Verdadero, a beach town my Cuban friend Marina describes as the best in the Caribbean, with blonde sand and blue water so exquisite it’s a kind of paradise. There are some caves, too, that we hope to see, with petroglyphs and crystals embedded in the walls, and stalagmites that are nearly forty feet tall.

I hope to meet the descendants of Yoruba slaves who were brought to Cuba, who became the crucible of the Santeria and mystical culture of this island. On Sunday afternoon, we will be in a plaza in Old Havana, watching and listening as santeros play their drums. Lonely Planet describes this as “hypnotic.”

Internet and WiFi are spotty in Cuba, but stayed tuned….! We’re expecting a lot of synchros with this trip.



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Signs and Symbols


We live in a collective sea of signs and symbols. Nature, the universe, Source, God, whatever you want to call it, constantly chatters to us. But we’re so mired in the business of physical life that we don’t always hear that voice. Or we hear it and ignore it. Or we hear it and think, Yeah, sure, I’m kinda losing it here.

You’re in your car. Maybe you’re on a road trip. Or picking up your son or daughter from school. Or maybe you’re backing out of your garage to head off to the library, the park, a friend’s house. Your car dies. It just goes flat out dead. What do you do besides call AAA? Your spouse? A friend?

When our daughter was in elementary school, Rob and I had an arrangement. He would take her to school because he was the lark, up at the crack of dawn, and I would pick her up in the afternoon because I’m an owl, rarely in bed before one or two. On this particular day, I was in the pickup line and my car suddenly went dead. There I was, my car refusing to move, cars behind me honking because hey, why wasn’t I moving forward?

In those days, I had a clunky mobile phone, called Rob, and he came over and jumped the car. We got Megan home. There was a message on our answering machine from a writer friend. The literary agent we’d had for 15 years had died suddenly of a heart attack.

Standstill. The battery dies. The car has to be jumped started.

 If there are no accidents, as Robert Hopke theorizes in his book by the same name, then the death of the car coinciding with our hearing about the death of this agent isn’t random. This connection, this experience, though, has puzzled me because we had left this agent eight months earlier. I did, in fact, become somewhat superstitious after this about departure, about ending relationships. Less than a year after Kate Duffy, my editor at Kensington, didn’t renew my contract, she died.

Just how are all of us, the dead and the living, connected, anyway? How are we connected to the larger world beyond us? I think of it as synchronicity, that phenomenon that exists between what we see and what we sense, that border between what quantum physicist David Bohm called the implicate (enfolded) order and the explicate (unfolded) order. The inner, the outer. Right brain, left brain.

I’m pretty sure, though, that the next time my car battery goes dead, that I find a dead frog in house (frogs here)  that something unexpectedly good happens, signs and symbols will hold a much different importance for me.


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The Orange County History Museum

The Orange County History Museum is a fascinating repository of Florida history that focuses on the central Florida area from the ancient past to modern times. There are some real gems in this museum, from quirky stuff like recipes of foods people ate in the early days to the struggles of the Seminoles, the evolution of the citrus industry, the dark days of segregation and discrimination against gays. There’s also a moving tribute to the Pulse tragedy.

squirrel soupsoup0.jpeg

This next image was particularly moving. We had just seen the superb movie Hidden Figures, about the contributions made by a group of African-American women in the early days of the space program, when separate bathrooms and other facilities existed for blacks and whites.



I remember these logos and images from my childhood, when Anita Bryant was the face of the industry – until her homophobic and  beliefs became well-known.


The popularity of Cypress Garden was during this same period:


The museum even addresses Florida’s infamous sinkholes:



And here’s the actual sinkhole:


Here’s the courtroom where Ted Bundy was tried and convicted:


And his name cut into the defense table, totally creepy!


And then the tragedy of Pulse:

gays origins





This is out of time sequence, but I wanted to end on something positive- the early space program days. This is a replica of the capsule that the women in Hidden Figures helped to launch into orbit.



And our gorgeous daughter in the courtroom


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A Duck is Watching

Duck1I put this meme up on Facebook for the fun of it awhile back. Kind of silly. But some people liked it. I didn’t think of it as a synchronicity not until about two weeks later when I was sitting at the kitchen table and happened to look up at the painting directly across from. I stared at it, then looked closer and realized…Those are ducks, and it looks like they’re staring at me!

So, yeah, a duck is watching. But I’m still not suffering from anatidaepobia. I fear not these ducks…even though I’ve been eating ducks, courtesy of the neighbors who hunt them in the wetlands. Trish, on the other hand, refuses to eat any ducks.

Here’s the watching ducks.


And happy Valentine’s Day! Be sure to hug the ones you love!

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Humans and Their Animals

There are people in the world doing wonderful and compassionate things for animals. I ran across this video this evening on a great site called Great Big Story – positive news!

And today is noble Noah’s 8th birthday! Not sure how we’ll celebrate… Dog park visit, maybe a bite to eat at Darbster’s. Here he is at the opening of Wolfgang Dog Bakery in Orlando, where our daughter Megan had her pet portrait table set up. Nika to the left, buddy Brody to Noah’s right.

dog bakery 2-4-17JPG

Keith Olberman, who kept me sane during the Bush years, encapsulates Trump’s latest regulation about cats and dogs. It’s disturbing.



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A Ghost Story


I received an e-mail earlier this month from a cousin who I hadn’t seen or talked since I was a teen. A long, long time ago. She was wondering what happened to my mother because her Christmas card to her went unanswered and her phone was disconnected.

I explained that she was living in an assisted living facility and had dementia. I started corresponding with Barbara and she told me about her haunted Victorian house. Well, formerly haunted. She’d found a medium who removed reticent spirits and was successful. Barbara provided a lot of details that I’ve already incorporated – with her permission in a book – STRANGE THINGS: True Tales of Alien Encounters and Paranormal Experiences – that I was just completing. When she wrote, I was working on the last chapter, which was called Haunting Experiences. A synchro there.

Barbara told me she wanted to visit my mother and I gave her the address. A snowstorm and the flu outbreak at the facility slowed the reunion. Recently, when my sister was visiting our mother, she called me and I told them both about Barbara’s plans. My sister was too young to remember her, and at first my mother didn’t know who I was talking about. Then she remembered and what she said to me was startling: “Barbara lives in a haunted house.”

Wow! I hadn’t said anything to her or my sister about Barbara’s story. So thinking logically, I figured Barbara had written about it in the Christmas letter, which my mother had finally gotten. Later, I e-mailed Barbara and she said, “I didn’t tell her anything about ghosts.” She was not only perplexed by the comment, but concerned that my mother had used the present tense! Barbara doesn’t want any more ghosts around!

So the very next day she visited my mother, who didn’t recognize her or remember who she was, even though I’d told her about the upcoming visit. They chatted awhile and my mother did remember Barbara’s mother, Elaine. There was no mention of ghosts, but Barbara noticed, as my sister and I also have, that she seemed to converse on the side with invisible people. Dementia, I guess. But maybe dementia somehow opens the mind to invisible worlds and even to knowledge about things that are outside of her regular awareness – like the ghost story.

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We are going to Cuba!

Thanks to Obama opening up diplomatic relations with Cuba, American airlines are now flying to the island from various cities in the U.S. From Fort Lauderdale, the airfare round trip is dirt cheap, $150. Visas cost $100 round trip per person. So, for $250, we can fly an hour to a country that has been under a U.S. embargo for 60 years, an embargo that failed miserably. I want to get there before the old cars vanish, before franchises move in, before Cuba is transformed into resorts and casinos.

For lodging, we’ve opted for a casa particular – a room, apartment or home in a neighborhood that is rented out to travelers for far less than the hotels charge. I was surprised by the hotel prices- $400-$500 a night. Then I realized that for years, Cuba has been a tourist hub for travelers from numerous other countries who apparently are willing to pay those prices. Air BNB is the route we took.

Air BNB is one of those marvels that developed because of the Internet. They list hundreds of casas particulares all over the island with photos, prices, numbers of bedrooms and bathrooms, locations, every bit of information you need to make an informed choice. We’re staying at Casa Jose, an apartment to the west of Old Havana that sleeps eight. There will be 7 of us for the four nights, an eighth person for two nights. When we split the cost of the apartment, it comes out to about 40 bucks per person per night. The apartment is about a 20-minute walk from Old Havana.

The apartment has a kitchen, air conditioning, a balcony that overlooks the city. I’ve been in touch with Jose, the host, whose English is better than my Spanish, and he has answered all the questions I’ve asked.

We are going to be seven in the group that arrives first. The eight person is arriving the day after we do and leaving a day earlier. Jose will pick us up at the airport and the ride to the apartment costs 25 CUCs, not bad when you’re splitting the fare with others.

I have learned that there are two currencies in Cuba – the CUCs and the CUPs. One CUC is worth one dollar; this is the currency tourists use. The CUPs are the currency that locals use. It’s best to exchange money at the Havana airport, even though a 10% fee is imposed, which actually means one dollar is worth a bit less than one CUC. I’ve learned that local transportation is relatively inexpensive, so we don’t need to rent a car. However, if we wish to make a day trip out of Havana, there are inexpensive buses or we can hire a driver of one of those incredible cars from the 1950s.

I’ve also learned that the best places to eat are private restaurants and cafes, rather than those owned by the government. The prices are more reasonable and the food is better.

Lonely Planet has a fantastic book on Cuba and I’ve been going through it, selecting spots I really would like to see during our four days on the island. On Sunday afternoons, for instance, there’s a public drumming session by local santeros that Lonely Planet describes as “hypnotic.” There’s a Santeria museum that I hope to visit. Art and music are huge on the island and I’ve selected a couple of spots in Old Havana that are high on my list for both of these pursuits. There’s even a nightclub that features flamenco dancers.

Outside of Havana, I would love to see the island of Trinidad. The caves. The beaches of Matanzas. My friend, Marina, who was an ER doc in Havana and now works at our local Publix, has been advising me on which areas to see. I’ve got my Cuba book in my car, with my map of the island, so that when I see her again, we can pore over it.

I’m psyched for this trip. Cuba has been on my bucket list for years, ever since my dad told me about his stopover in Cuba during the Batista years. I actually never thought the island would open up to Americans in my lifetime, Thank you, President Obama.

Internet is sketchy on the island and when you have it, the price is steep. Supposedly, AT&T finalized a deal with Cuba in October 2016, but Verizon was there first. This Internet iffiness may be a challenge for me, but frankly, I just want to have photos and if I can’t upload them until we get home, well, so what. I’m ready to embrace the entire experience, whatever it may be.

Cuba, si!


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