Last night about 5:40 p.m., before it got dark:
About 8 p.m. a little dusting of snow came down, but it quit by about 9. As I turned out the light about 10:30, I didn’t think work would get called off. But surprise, suprise, the phone rang about 5:55 a.m. with a message from our automated system: work was closed due to “driving conditions.” Well, I couldn’t imagine it was THAT bad, but I’ll take it. So I slept in until about 8:30. When I looked out the window, here’s what I found:
And the snow is falling steadily now. We’ll see what the day brings. So far I still have power.
We’re on storm watch here in northeastern Oklahoma. Schools closed early and my office let us out at 3 p.m. The storm was expected to hit around noon with freezing rain and power outages, but so far, not a drop from the sky. This is what it looks like outside, at 4 p.m.
Some friends around the block told me to come over if the electricity and heat went out. They have a fireplace. I think that’s a great plan, (smores!) and if my driveway is too icy to back out, I’ll just walk. During the last blizzard we got so stir crazy after 2 days I walked the half mile to Hobby Lobby in a foot of snow.
I’ll keep you posted as to whether I survive.
I just had to show a little more of this beautiful, but crumbling city to you.
Several of these were taken on an afternoon walk around my Playas neighborhood.
The afternoon light was really nice.
This park around the corner from my casa particular was shaped like a ship, for some reason.
This is from downtown.
The balconies are so picturesque.
I’ll finish with a detail from the gorgeous National Theater.
On a whim, we’re thinking of heading to Costa Rica. A bit blase, maybe, since it seems like everyone has already been there. Out of the four of us going, though, only one person has been before, so it will be a fun adventure.
So we used kayak.com to get an idea of plane tickets, and then we’ll book them.
I used travel.state.gov to check out visa requirements and travel safety. I messaged a couple people on Facebook asking more specific questions. I looked at frommers.com for general getting-a-sense-of-where-we-are-going tips, and I checked out a few of their hotel recommendations. Finally, I used our friend google.com for other hotel and attractions information.
What sites do you use to plan a trip?
So you want to take a trip to Havana. But where to stay?
You could always stay in the ostentatious Hotel National, former home to gangsters and playboys, now home to very pasty looking tourists from Canada and the US.
You’ll get the white-glove treatment there.
And don’t forget paying 5 times the normal price for a ride in a fancy taxi.
When I was looking for accomodations, I didn’t find many hotel options, so I asked around for recommendations and booked a hotel through a Mexican travel agency.
We ended up at Hotel Vedado. Not recommended. The water was hot, but that was about all. Bad food, bad beds. Should have listened to Frommers. Especially on the surly staff. The front desk staff were most unhelpful and nearly rude.
Casa Particular Ana Iris
I would highly advise choosing a casa particular (private home where you can rent a room) instead. I can’t speak for them all, but ours was clean, bright and comfortable. I realized later everyone I spoke who visited Cuba multiple times stayed in casa particulares.
We had our own private entrance.
Casa Particular Ana Iris
If I needed advice on catching a taxi or the best beaches, proprietor Ana Iris directed me in the right place while chatting in her living room. Right after she made me a cup of that hot, Cuban coffee, that is.
Casa Particular Ana Iris
Plus, the neighbors are friendly.
So, to sum up: look for the casa particulares for clean, comfortable and a place to stay with the personal touch.
The iconic photo:
And the coffee that kept me going daily:
We were offered coffee in every home we visited. It was always a bit awkward when my travel partner turned it down. Cubans make their coffee in old-fashioned stove top coffee makers and automatically over-sweeten every pot with several tablespoons of homegrown sugar. Everyone was shocked that I drank my coffee black.
Cuban Convertible dollars in the Vedado hotel:
That’s right folks! Only available in Cuba. Because they aren’t real money. Not actually convertible outside Cuba, not used on any stock exchanges. Kind of like monopoly money, but you have to give the bank tellers US dollars if you want some of these. Then they’ll charge you an automatic 20% to give you their precious CCPs and give you .7 CCP for each USD. I’m not a math major or a business person, but isn’t that called artificial inflation? Just checking. Anyone who understands this more, feel free to weigh in.
Not to be overly dramatic, but what future do these two little guys look forward to? Their dad is a university professor who can barely keep food on the table.
Motorcycles with sidecars were everywhere:
Some where left over from the Soviet era, but most were of the newer Japanese variety. They were so funny! I’ve never been anywhere else in the world where there were so many sidecars running around.
They crack me up and make me think of cartoons.
Ok, last sidecar picture:
Moving on, how about some propaganda?
Today: "A North American Crime" 8 p.m.
Castro and his buddies are convinced the Americans are at fault, somehow. I watched several clips of Castro’s speeches before I visited. According to him, Americans are imperialists, whose only goal is the downfall of Cuba. Imperialism, a word I haven’t thought much about since high school history, is a big talking point in Cuba: the US forcing its will on other countries. I know our country has an official agenda in the country, but I really don’t think they are as high on the priority list as they think they are.
I also picked up a book on the Miami 5 while at a shopping area in Varadero. I vaguely remember hearing something about their arrest, but again, not high on my radar. Apparently it’s a big bone of contention in Cuba-another example of US imperialism. I have no idea who is right, but it is curious that there is no English Wikipedia entry on the group. (Any German readers?) Government intervention?
Any visitor to Havana will see my pal all over town:
Seriously. That is in the in the grocery store parking lot. Busts of Mr. Vladamir Lenin, father of communist thought in Russia, were on street corners, in parks, in windows, in people’s front yards.
On to more pleasant things: Lunch in Old Havanna.
Marinated, grilled pork, black beans and rice, boiled potatoes and banana chips. Yum, yum, yum. Especially the banana chips. And I have to say, I literally had the best crème brulee I’ve ever had in my life here. I didn’t actually order any, but then I had a bite of someone else’s. And then I stole it from them.
The pharmacy:
Not a lot available. There are a few things on the shelves, but if you’ve seen Sicko, you might expect the paragon of perfect social health care.
And now for something a little more fun. The gratuitous beach shot:
Yep. Recommended.
This is a public beach not too far from Havana. They’ll rent you a lounging chair for about $2 and deliver drinks and food right to you as you lazily sit there. Not that I would did that or anything.
Stay tuned for a few more details from the trip, like fun architecture photos and where to stay.
**UPDATED BELOW.**
The little girl vomited into a crumpled plastic Walmart bag. Her scraggly hair was tucked into a “Happy New Year!” headband, making her look like she had stayed up too late partying and woken up, surprised, in the terminal.
“Poor thing!” I thought as I boarded my flight. “She’s sick and probably just wants to be at home.” I wondered if I had any medication in my travel stash that would help. Nope, just Imodium, which wouldn’t do her much good.
Later I watched the little girl, two sisters and her concerned dad wrestle their bags to the back of the Frontier Airlines plane.
Shortly before take-off, a flight attendant sprinted from the back to the front. Soon, the copilot rushed past to talk to the girl’s father. After a flurry of activity, an anonymous intercom voice announced the Frontier crew was waiting for clearance from a doctor to fly with the sick child on board. After about a half an hour of waiting, we were cleared to go.
Until… they announced a maintenance issue that delayed us further. In all, we left an hour and 35 minutes late. I worried about missing our flight to Tulsa, but the flight attendant assured me we would be rebooked in Denver. I wasn’t too worried, since we were flying into Frontier’s hub city.
It wasn’t as simple as I thought. We waited in the customer service line for more than an hour. When we spoke to the representative, she told us Frontier couldn’t get us to Tulsa for 3 days! Every single flight was full, with long lists of standby passengers.
Frontier told us they could put us on a flight four hours later to Oklahoma City, 150 miles from home, but they would not help pay for a rental car. No meal tickets for the airport either.
The reason Frontier would not take responsibility for the missed connection was because they said the problem was “medical” (remember the sick little girl?) and out of their control. They neglected to remember the maintenance part of the problem. Without that, we might have made our Tulsa flight.
Instead of flying to OKC, we opted to fly to Dallas, where we knew our friends Adam and Emily were driving to our hometown on the next day. We stayed in a hotel, at our own expense, though with a discounted “distressed passenger” rate.
Now, here I sit in a Dallas hotel, 350 miles from home, waiting to catch our ride. In retrospect, we should have taken the flight to OKC and just paid for the rental car. Flying to Dallas was less money out of my pocket, but if I had gone the more expensive route, at least I would have been home today. My time is worth more than the rental car. I was just upset about paying for a flight that wouldn’t even get me home.
I was really disappointed in Frontier. Because they are a small airline, they have no partner agreements with other airline who might have been able to get us to Tulsa.
The icing on the cake was that only two of our pieces of luggage made it with us. The other, a fragile painting from my dad went to Tulsa without me. I have no idea what condition it is in.
**UPDATED: After tweeting the problem last night, I was contacted by a Frontier Airlines representative. We’ll see what happens.**
***Fly Frontier contacted me last night (1/4). “Truly sorry 4 ur experience. Policy doesn’t cover uncontrollable delays (medical, deicing) but will send $25 coupons 2 u & travel companion.”
Pretty darn generous of them, no? Considering the extra day, the hotel, the meals out, the gas for the car… They are using the medical delay as an excuse for the longer maintenance issue.
C’mon, guys. This isn’t the way to get out of bankruptcy! Treat your customers well!
DON’T FLY FRONTIER AIRLINES if you want to get where you are going.
I went to prison last week. I wasn’t just visiting; I stayed for a whole week. The prison is on an island, and the whole island is the prison. But it’s no small island prison like Alcatraz. No, this island is about 750 miles from tip to tip. Prisoners are able to move around the island. But what they aren’t allowed to do is leave. So where is this island prison? You may have heard of it—it’s name is Cuba.
For Americans, Cuba seems like an unreachable far-off paradise destination in the Caribbean full of cigars and smiling people. It is an untouchable enigma to us because of the embargo, which included travel, placed against the Cuba by our government 40 years ago. And why would our leaders impose such a harsh measure? Because of Cuba’s steadfast commitment to communism and continual denial of basic human and democratic rights to its people.
At first glance, visitors today might miss the long lasting effects of this policy. Havana’s diverse architecture is incredible. Everywhere, from Old Town to the quiet Playas neighborhood we stayed in, is crammed with neoclassical mini mansions, Roman columns and baroque filigree. (I don’t actually know what I’m talking about. I had to look that up. But it was amazing to see.)
In addition to newer cars, Havana’s streets teem with those classic Chevys and Fords. We stumbled on a quintet of musicians practicing for a gig from the living room of their ancient apartment in Old Town. Our taxi drivers made certain to point out each cigar factory and rum house.
But behind the façade, everything is crumbling. The paint on those gorgeous old houses is peeling, and the insides are dusty, cracked and worn. The bodies of those classic cars have been patched and filled over more patches. It is a national pastime to cobble together a few pieces of metal to keep those old engines running just a little while longer. No one has any extra income for house paint or that broken wooden shutter. And if they did, they’d probably spend it on something else anyway, because ultimately all property belongs to the government. Why improve something that isn’t yours?
Only those who have a government connection or who are somehow connected with tourism can ever dream of owning a new car. All the classic American vehicles arrived in the country before communism’s takeover. After that, imports stopped. The average person survives on government food rations that last about two weeks, and they stretch whatever pitiful income they earn for food for the next two weeks.
I left the island feeling very sad. It was the first time I experienced communism’s effect on a society firsthand. Freedom suddenly seemed so precious. I can live where I choose, buy whatever I have money for, purchase gasoline without showing my I.D., live wherever I want without reporting to a neighborhood committee — the list goes on and on.
The Cuban people are beautiful. They are smart and well-educated. Communism has provided them with excellent schools, but after graduation there is very little work. We met an English professor who spoke near-perfect English who was working as an under-the-table house painter. Our bicycle taxi driver was a civics teacher who supplemented his teaching salary by driving tourists around three days a week. A retired marine engineer lost his pension and all his benefits when he left the communist party.
Two dance teachers and a factory worker conned us into buying lunch for them, then tried to get us to give them money for milk. Why milk? Because the government only gives milk to households with children under the age of two. Black-market milk that goes for more than $10 a quart might be watered down. Nearly everyone we spoke to had a relative in the US or else planned to get to the US. A housewife proudly displays photos of her two adult sons, who had left for Florida in a row boat. They made it, and are now relishing America’s freedom, but as defectors, they can never go back to visit their mom.
I felt like every Cuban Convertible Peso (they have a separate currency system for foreigners that has an inflated and false value) I spent went directly to a government that I agreed with less and less. Until communism falls, I don’t think I can ever go back. I just can’t support a government that chooses to treat its people like prisoners.
Translation: "I live in a country that's FREE!"
There are hints of change in the air. International investment is slowly creeping in, and there are some signs that the new Obama administration will ease restrictions against Cuba. This beautiful nation needs so much more than a few more beachfront hotels and restaurants. Its people are crying out for freedom.
As I fastened the latest Christmas card to my gardener’s twine strung atop my bookcase yesterday evening, I felt a nostalgic twinge. Cheerful paper cards strewn with glitter balance on top of the bookcase, and glossy photo cards of families and friend’s babies hang from tiny clothespins below.
Christmas has always meant family time to me, ever since I left home for college in 1997. Christmas break was the only time I returned home to Ecuador to see my parents and sister every year. I remember the exhilaration of glancing out the plane window as the airline crested the fierce mountains that guard Quito’s valley. Quito’s city lights twinkled, and I knew I was home.
Later, Christmas was the time my younger sister Kelley came back to California for a rushed two week visit from her college. Now, after marrying and moving away, Christmas is when my sister, our husbands and I descend on my parent’s house in Idaho, anxiously anticipating cooking, teasing and laughing together. It’s the only time of year we are all together, flung across the country as we are.
Those shiny cards on my bookshelf represent friends, old and new. Friends who I saw last week, and friends who I haven’t heard from since their card last year. But no matter. I’m feel honored to receive a piece of their lives and hearts as I rip open the envelope and hang their card.
Each person represents a piece of my life. In my nomadic life, there is no one place that means home to me. But each person, each friendship, makes a piece of home for me wherever I have a friend.
I totally meant to do this a long time ago, but I got busy and distracted as usual. I think distraction is the main reason why I get so little accomplished. I start something, get distracted doing something else, and never accomplish item number one. So, for the purposes of just banging something out, I’m blatantly stealing my sister’s post. You can see the whole thing at her blog, if you wish: kelleyann.wordpress.com.
In Kelley’s words:
From now until Christmas is all about tradition. Even though it’s always a packed season, I love that this time of year brings people together in ways that we don’t always prioritize the rest of the year.
We hosted Thanksgiving Day at our house. It’s always been a big blessing that all of Nate’s siblings live in the area. We don’t get together as often as we might like, but it means that family is near when the big stuff comes. And as my sister and her husband [that's me!- ed.] have done in the past, they were gracious enough to drive 11 hours from Oklahoma to spend the long weekend with us as well.
(Kimber [that's me!- ed.] and Nate handled the turkey beautifully, while I stayed mostly on the raw poultry sidelines. Nate has become quite the proficient carver, from our first Thanksgiving when I remember cleaning shredded turkey meat off the walls and cabinet for a week.)
Kim and FP were able to get here earlier this year than in the past. Usually they roll in at about 3 a.m. on Thanksgiving morning. It was really nice to have them show up at 7 pm the night before and have a little time together before an exhausting day of cooking, hosting, and cleaning. It was still an exhausting day for me and I appreciated Kim’s help a lot. It’s nice that she’s my sister and I can depend on her to just take charge of something when I need it.
We spend Friday doing what every crazy American does: shopping. However, we decided to forgo the early bird rush. Instead we woke up at our leisure and didn’t actually get out to the mall til 12pm. Still, we had some definite shopping success for Christmas gifts, house items for Kim, and maternity clothes for me. Seven hours later, we headed back to the city and I rewarded all of my standing and walking with dinner in front of a movie.
Saturday we spent the morning at Trader Joe’s and a gourmet grocery store. (Yes, this is considered a fun event in our family.) We then came home and made a big brunch before heading downtown for more sightseeing and walking. We planned to do the Sears Tower Sky Ledge, but skipped it after finding out it was a two-hour line. We headed to the Christkringle market, a German Christmas market packed with kitschy items no one should buy and way too many people. After that it was, yes, more shopping on State Street followed by an early dinner in the West Loop at an Indian Restaurant. FP loves naan so he was happy. Nate and I both confirmed that we really don’t like Indian food, but I was glad we gave it one more try! Dinner led to a walk up to north Michigan Avenue for beignets and cheesecake for dessert overlooking the Mag Mile.
In total, we walked about 5 miles on Saturday and I determined that is the last time I’ll do that for the next 4.5 months. Nobody told me that pregnancy makes you feel like you have the body of a 100-year-old. If you push too hard, you can’t just sleep it off. The next day you just wake up 100 or like a brand new cowboy on his first cross-country ride. I’m realizing that I’m going to have to slow down now, yet I’m not sure how I can do it without letting things drop. Oh and let me note for now and any other time I decide to be pregnant that I should never, ever plan a trip to a foreign country during that time. This weekend, I spent more time than I care to count waiting in bathroom lines. I can’t imagine how much worse it would be in a location that has far less commodities readily available.
Despite feeling like a Grandma, it was a great weekend and I so appreciate Kim and FP making the effort to come and see us semi-regularly. Because we have lived so far apart since Kim’s marriage, we have never had an extended period to get to know FP well. Our trip to Panama was the most time we’d ever spent with him. I liked realizing this Thanksgiving our time in Panama and their effort to come our way and spend time when we can is paying off and now he just feels like “one of us.”
[And this is MY voice again:]
I love my sister. She is just so darn awesome. And she’s a great speller! I wish we lived closer. Once upon a time we came up with a plan where we would live in a duplex, and she would do all the cooking, and I would do all the cleaning. I might not go for that plan now, but it would be nice to hang out with her and Nate more often!
