Last Day In Cuba. Couldn't Come Too Soon This Time

Cuba Trip.  The Last Day: July 29, 2012

Well, this is it.  Up early and out the door for a trip to an artist’s house in Miramar.  An amazing place.  I can’t wait to post the pictures on line.  Not only is his house decorated with all this amazing art work, his stuff is all over the neighborhood, on all his neighbors houses.  It’s very surreal.  I took a lot of pictures, but since he works mostly in tile and I’m concerned about baggage weight, I didn’t buy anything.

Then it was off to the National Art Museum in Havana.  Deb and I saw this in 2003, and has nice as it is, I had no desire to walk through it again.  Neither did Deb or Danny.  They took off to find a street art fair a few blocks away and stumbled upon an amusement part.  Danny gave away a couple of baseballs to some kids there.  No word on if they started to kick them or not.

Yesterday, he gave one to a little kid, maybe four or five years old, and much to Steve Williams chagrin, the kid put it on the ground and started to kick it like a soccer ball!  It was really funny.

I walked across the street to the Museum of The Revolution.  I’d never had a chance to see it.  I thought I would be going in the big glass house in the middle, and seeing some interesting stuff.  And they charge foreign visitors $6 to get in.  No so.

The big glass house in the middle houses only, “Granma”, the boat that Castro and Che and 80 some other people came over from Mexico in, to start the revolution.  And the glass is not, non-glare.  So even though the boat appears to look like new, you don’t get a very good view of it, because you can’t go inside.

The rest of the grounds are old military vehicles, a car that belonged to Castro, and on the north side of the building were some tanks, a missile and some wreckage from the U2 that was shot down over Cuba during the Missile Crisis.  But that side was roped off, and like everything else in this country was undergoing renovation.  I believe that’s Cuban for, “It’s all screwed up, but we don’t have the money to fix it.”  Probably the worst six bucks (er, Pesos) I ever spent.

So, I went back to the Museum, and spent an hour watching some Cuban kids dance.  Mostly girls from probably five years old, to in their teens.  And I noticed something.  Dance club moms are the same in Cuba, as they are in West Jordan, Utah.  Fawning a little too much.  Putting on a little too much make up.  Running back and forth from the stage to the dressing room because some kid has forgotten some piece of clothing, or head wear.  It appears to be the same the world over.

But I will say this, these kids were talented.  Especially the older girls.  They could really dance.  And they moved so smoothly in those Spanish style dresses, where they pick up the dress and it looks like they have wings.  They were wonderful to watch.

When one of those girls put that dance shoe heel down on the tile with authority?  It sounded like a gunshot!  I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen Flamenco dancing in person.  I was impressed.

After the museum, Edelso decided that we needed a photo opportunity at the Capitol.  It was built in 1929, and is a copy of our Capitol in Washington DC.  I don’t think they would do that now.  All things considered.

While we were there, and it was like everything else, closed for remodeling, there were some guys out front with beautifully restored cars from the 50’s.  And since they are on a public street, they would have a pretty hard time arguing that you couldn’t take a picture without paying them.  So they have come up with another scam.  And poor, Dave in our group, fell for it.

I was talking to the guy with the Pontiac and asking him if he’d restored it, and telling him how beautiful it was, while taking some pictures.   He kept saying, “Here, get inside.  I’ll take your picture for you.”  Over and over again he’s saying this while giving me one word answers to the questions I’m asking about the car.  You would think if he was the guy who did all the work, he’d have been happy to talk about it.  He would have been proud of his work.  Now that I know what I know?  I’m pretty sure he DIDN’T restore the car, but he was using it for bait.

You get in the car, he takes your picture, and if you haven’t negotiated a price before hand?  It’s going to cost you.

Dave took the bait.  He got in the car.  And the guy asked for FORTY PESOS!  He was really pissed off.   He said he was able to talk him down to 20 pesos, but it still stung to get hit like that.

Someone had asked, Edelso to show them a typical Cuban, neighborhood market.  I’d like to see that, too.  So we drove to a couple before it dawned on him that it’s Sunday, and they are all closed.

So, back to the Hotel Nacional.  They have arranged for us, a lecture by a former Cuban diplomat, who has been stationed in Washington DC, Miami, Canada, and the Netherlands and spent the last four years as part of Cuba’s delegation to the United Nations in New York City.  He is going to talk about the relationship between the USA and Cuba.  And that he did.

He said that since we all knew the version from OUR country, he was going to give his countries version.  And that he did.

He traced the problems between the two counties back to John Quincy Adams stating that Cuba should fall under the US's influence, and not Spain’s.  I have to say, I think that’s a stretch.

He talked about how the Cuban people were looking for a way to get out from under the repressive and corrupt Batista administration, and how, Castro and crew saved them by running him off.  And the whole country was proud and happy.

OK.  I, and I’m sure most American’s would understand the desire of any people to be rid of a corrupt, puppet government who was killing people and oppressing people for their own ends.  Not a problem.

But what he failed to address is the fact that the same guy who lead the revolution, for alleged freedom, was still in charge 50 years later!  At some point, the, “revolution” turned into a, “Dictatorship”.  Because, no matter how much you like the leader?  You’re going to want a different one at some point in the next 50 years.

Unless you live in Utah, and keep voting for that asshole, Orrin Hatch.

There were some other lies this man told, but I didn’t want to be, “The Ugly American” so I just let it go, since I was in his house.  And he was a nice enough guy.  The bulk of what he said was true.  We do treat Cuba badly, and if we didn’t, I believe, the communists would be gone shortly.

We didn’t knock over the Berlin wall with a bomb.  We knocked it over with Van Halen records, and Levis jeans.  And we could do the same thing in Cuba, but we don’t have the guts to try.

Tonight’s dinner was awful.  It was at a touristy place on the other side of the Bay.  It was like any touristy restaurant at home.  The better the view and the more people rave about how much they liked it there?  The more it sucks.

This place is on the East Bay, and its right between the two forts.  I’m sure it gets a lot of tour group traffic.  It should not, but it does.  The Lobster was cold, and the beer was warm.  Nothing else needs to be said.

Then it was off to the cannon ceremony.  They do this every night.  In Colonial times, they would pull the chain up at the mouth of Havana Harbor every night at nine o’clock.  The harbor mouth is only 350 feet wide.  So it’s easy to defend if you can pull up a chain, and you have something like five forts all around the entrance.  And when they would do this, they would fire off a cannon, to tell the whole city of Havana that it was nine o’clock, and the harbor, was closed for the night.

I lost Deb and Danny in the crowd.  But since it’s dark, and even a good flash on an average camera, won’t get you any really, interesting pictures?  It didn’t matter.  You just watch the ceremony, and you wait for the, “BOOM!”

According to Deb?  The, “BOOM!” scared my son.  I guess he had no idea what to expect.  Deb said he about jumped out of his skin.  And she knows, she was hanging on to that skin when it happened.

We got back to the hotel, we got packed, I wrote this, and we went to bed.  End of story on Cuba.

I don’t think I’ll come back here.  This trip was not good.  Not only could I NOT bring back cigars, even though I’m here legally, I spent way too much time on a bus, and not enough time interacting with the Cuban people.

I was thinking today about what I have to declare when we go back home tomorrow.  And it appears NOTHING!  I bought cigars and rum, but I enjoyed them here, because I was told I couldn’t bring them home.  Deb bought no jewelry, because we didn’t have time to shop.  Danny bought two paintings, but the total value on both is $13.  Deb and I bought some ceramics at the studio we went to as part of the tour in Trinidad, but that HAS to qualify as ART!  Shit, we went there to meet the ARTIST who is so famous that he does this stuff and sells it worldwide!  And we spent a grand total of ten pesos for two items.

I brought $3K with me.  I spent, including tips for the tour guide, our Cuban, “Handler/tour guide” and the bus driver?  Less than $600 dollars, including what I converted to get out of the country tomorrow morning.

Last time we were here, and had some free time?  We pumped a LOT more money into the Cuban economy.

So I don’t know who’s setting the amount of time these kinds of tours need to be occupied?  But if it’s the Cubans?  They are really screwing up.

Cuba, Day Six

The Cuba Trip Day Six:  July 28, 2012

I punched an old man in the face today.  Well, more like two minutes worth of an elbowing penalty  in a hockey game.  I didn’t mean to.  And to tell the truth, it was his fault.  We spent part of the afternoon in the Square of the Cathedral, where the Cathedral of Havana is located.  Until 1968 (could have been 1986.  Our Cuban guide doesn’t always make himself real clear) Christopher Columbus’ body was there.  Then Spain wanted it back.  The Cubans gave it to them.  Which was nice.

We are walking out of the square, and this old guy, with a crutch, is coming toward me with a picture.  It’s a picture of Che, or Fidel, I don’t know.  The usual suspects down here.  And I held up my hand and said, “No”.

To those of you who have never been here, in Spanish, the word, “no” translates to, “no”.  It’s the easiest of Spanish words to learn.

But this doesn’t stop him.  He puts the picture RIGHT in my face!  And the whole time he’s yelling at me in Spanish.  Right in my left ear.  He’s really close.  So I hold up my arm, and this time, I say, “NO!” like I mean it.

Doesn’t stop him.  He reaches out and grabs my shirt sleeve and pulls on it!  The line has NOW been crossed.  Once you put your hands on me?  You are open to whatever I have to do to get you to stop it.

I jerked my arm away from him, and as I do, my elbow hits him in the chin.  Turns out, not hard enough.

This dumbass keeps yelling and following me.  And now, the crutch he was leaning on?  He is now holding above his head like he’s going to hit me with it!  Really?

 I go back into Cop mode.  I see a threat, and I’m about to deal with it.  Which means going into the area so close to this guy that he can’t swing on me, and I’m going to hurt this old man really, really badly.

Good thing, Barbara, our tour guide got between us and spoke Spanish to this jerk.  Neither one of us wanted to hurt HER!  Then I get on the bus.

This shit didn’t happen in 2003.  Beggars, especially, aggressive beggars like this jerk, were NOT tolerated.  No one would approach us; the Cops would whisk them away.  Now?  Not so much.

I am officially tired of Cuba.  I’ve had enough.  It’s not as pleasant as I remember it.  It’s dirtier.  There are more beggars and aggressive vendors.  This tour has too much scheduled in a day.  And even though you were warned there would be no leisure time?  You don’t really expect to have NO time at all.  Hell we don’t even have time to have a cigar with the other folks at the end of the day.

The day doesn’t end until ten o’clock at night and you have to be up and get a shower have breakfast and be on the bus by eight in the morning!

We went to Ernest Hemmingway’s house this morning.  It was a beautiful place.  And just way he left it in 1961.  A real trip back in time.  But you had to view everything from the windows, because you can’t go inside.  And the guide went on and on about his toilet habits, his writing his weight down on the wall in his bathroom and the other weird shit this guy did.  It really was, TMI.  So that put us behind.

Next stop the Santeria museum.  And not the same one Deb and I visited in 2003.  This one was in the suburbs.  But the show was spectacular.  The dancers were really wonderful.  It was a great show.

Then, from that suburb, to the other side of Havana.  To Miramar.  This where all the embassies are.  The nice homes.  The rich Communists.  Sound like a contradiction in terms?  Remember, some are more equal than others.

If you know nothing else about Communism, know this:  Someone is getting rich, while the great majority of the people provide the labor, cheaply, and with no prospect of ever bettering their situation.  And your lot in this mess is decided WAY before you have any possibility of deciding it for yourself.  You better be BORN rich and well connected, or you never will be either one.

Sound like someplace else we all know?  Think about it.

After the incident in the square with the aggressive beggar, old man?  I decided I’d had enough Cuba for one day.  Deb and Danny are going to dinner and then to see, “The Buena Vista Social Club” at a local jazz bar.  But I just wanted to relax.

I came back to the hotel.  Changed some money, bought another 12 hours of internet, washed my face, changed my clothes, took off my sandals, bought a big bottle of water for the room, a bottle of rum for me, ordered a bucket of, “yelo” (ice) from room service and I’m just going to crash here in the room.

At this point?  I don’t think I’ll be coming back to Cuba. But I hope my son gets to at some time in his future.  I want him to be able to tell his kids what he saw when he saw it.  And that his dad brought him here.

And while we are talking about my son?  I gotta say, I’m very, very proud of him this week.  Not only has he been a big help to his mother and me.  He’s been the hit of the tour.  He’s taken everyone’s picture.  He’s helped Frank, the oldest member of our group in SO many ways, from taking his picture to getting him to his room.

He’s kept, Steve Williams alive, by reminding him to quit talking to musicians, and eat.  He’s a great kid.

The other afternoon, some of the tour folks were sitting in front of us in the bus, and didn’t know his mother and I were sitting behind them.  And they were going on and on about how awesome Danny is.  I feel good because they decided that it was a combination of his being a really, good person, and great parenting.  I liked to hear that.

Hope it’s true.

My son rules.

Cuba, Day Five

The Cuba Trip, Day 5:  Friday, July 27, 2012 

Not a good day.  Guess we should have been paying attention when the bus pulled up the, Casa de Cholera for lunch yesterday afternoon.

None of us could get out of bed.  We had all been up all night, spending time between the bathroom and the bed.  Sick as dogs, we got no sleep, and we got dehydrated.

None of us got out of bed until about one o’clock.  Danny wasn’t too bad off, but he said he would stay home and take care of his mother and me.  It was a lie. He just slept.  But he probably needed it.

Deb didn’t eat until dinner time.  Danny and I went down to the restaurant in the hotel about two o’clock and got a hamburger.  Biggest hamburger I’ve ever seen.  And I’ve never had one before with shredded carrots and cucumber on it.  But it was good.

I went to take the history tour of the Hotel Natcional today but they said they were not doing it.  No explanation, just that they weren’t doing it.  OK.  Island time, maybe?

Dinner tonight was very good, but uneventful.  Loved the coconut ice cream for dessert.

A few of us headed out to the patio to smoke cigars tonight, and it was good conversation with interesting people.  I wish this trip had more of that, and less being marched around

Cuba, Day Four.

Cuba Trip, Day 4:  July 26, 2012.

It’s a holiday in Cuba.  It commemorates the day that Castro first attacked a Batista Garrison on July 26, 1953, and was defeated.  He went to prison, was exiled to Mexico, and generally, it was a tremendous failure.  But in Cuban culture? He came out on top.

We left the shittiest all-inclusive in the world early this morning, and drove to the Bay of Pigs.  Watched a propaganda film, and had to listen to Ed (his real name is, Edelso) spew more bullshit. 

Look, I know it’s this guy’s job to give us the party line, but it’s just getting ridiculous.  Yesterday, he couldn’t give a straight answer when someone asked about the lack of celling fans in the restaurants.  Bottom line?   They cost money, and Cuba doesn’t have any money, because the Castro family keeps it all and nothing, “Trickles Down” to the people.

This guy has spent all week trying to spin the fact that everyone in Cuba is given a ration book for their food every month!  “Because of the ration book, no one goes hungry in Cuba.  We have no hungry baby’s, and here is no one living in the street.”  Well, not exactly, but I’ll play along.

When we were in Havana in 2003, there were no beggars.  There were no homeless people.  Vendors didn’t get right in your face, like they have all week in Trinidad.  Which might be the shittiest town I’ve ever been in.  They might ask you to buy them some milk for their child, just before the police whisk them off, but they didn’t beg for money.

Now?  Not so much.

I admit, I didn’t see homeless folks in Trinidad, but it didn’t take long in Havana to see a guy with a backpack setting up shop in the grass across the street from the Hotel Nacional this evening.

This leads me to believe that their Mental Hospitals are still so full of political dissidents, that they have no place for the REALLY mentally ill.

At one point, earlier today, on the way to the Bay of Pigs, we passed a monument to a guy who fought in the Bay of Pigs Invasion.  A great hero.    His last name was, Reeve.  Ed went on and on about how Cuba had put together a group of doctors and aid workers, and a lot of humanitarian aid, to go to Haiti after the earthquake a few years ago.  And they named it the Reeve Battalion in this guy’s honor.

Someone on the bus asked if they had actually gone to Haiti?  And he said, “No.  Bush canceled the Visa.”

WTF?  I’m no fan of George W. Bush.  He could fuck up a rock fight.  Just about everything he did was wrong.  No, I was wrong.  EVERY thing he did was wrong.  But I can’t imagine even that guy denying a Visa to humanitarian aid workers after a Hurricane, no matter what country they were from.  But here’s where the serious lie comes in.  How does a United States President, have any influence over the free travel of people between the independent countries of Cuba, and Haiti?  You think the Republicans give Obama shit for blaming, Bush?  This is a REAL stretch.

The lies at the Bay of Pigs were epic.  I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say that if anyone believes that the American Military, and not the CIA, were responsible for painting old, American war planes in Cuban colors to confuse the Cubans, and that Americans were actually flying them?  They aren’t paying attention.

Then it was lunch.  It tasted pretty good, but by the time we got to Havana?  Half our group couldn’t go to dinner.  Deb stayed in bed.  I made it through the bread course, and then took a taxi home, leaving Danny to come back on the bus.

We stopped at an environmental station for information about a swamp.  No one wanted to go.  I stayed on the bus.

Collets?  You’re losing me!  So far this is the worst vacation I’ve ever been on.

One, too much planned time.  I know, I know, you have to have so much cultural exchange time in a day. I don’t know who makes that rule, our country or Cuba, but you guys have gone way overboard!  We leave at eight in the morning, and don’t get back to the hotel until ten o’clock at night?  When are we supposed to have any kind of, “exchange” with the actual people?

When Deb and I were here in 2003, we had a few evenings, and afternoons off.  To do a little shopping, find our own dinner.  It was much more relaxed!

Now?  Shit, we don’t have time to have a cigar in the evening with the other folks in the tour group because by the time dinner is over, we’re all exhausted!

And the last two days?  Total shit.  Completely worthless.   A total waste of time.  I learned nothing about culture, but a lot about lying, and how bad Cuba needs the money, because they will call any bullshit trip a cultural exchange trip.

On the bus ride to Havana from the Bay of Pigs, Ed decided to play us a movie.  Ed is going deaf, as he screams into the microphone on the bus, and today, he turned this thing up to, “11” and there were two speakers right over my head, so sleeping was impossible.

He played, “13 Day’s” about the Cuban Missile Crisis.  Deb asked me if it was a good movie, I had to tell her I didn’t know about the movie, but I knew how the story turns out, because I read books!

Despite the fact that this whole thing took place ten years before his communist ass was born, and he was on a bus full of Americans?  He actually applauded and laughed when the U2 got shot down.  This is going to affect his tip, trust me.

For crying out loud, Ed!  KNOW your audience.  Dumbass.

The rest of the day was a blur of bus ride and too loud movie.

By the time we got to The Hotel National, Deb, Danny and I were all sick.  Yep, the runs.  Deb had an awful stomach ache.  Four or five other folks were in the same boat.  The bus to dinner looked like the walking wounded.  Most of us would have rather not gone, and some of us couldn’t.  But I left Deb in bed, within reach of water, and took Danny to dinner.

Turns out, we were having dinner in a place Deb and I ate in 2003.  The Oriental, right on San Francisco Square.  It’s a great place.  But by the time they brought the bread, and one drink, I was falling asleep.  Taxi home.

I’ve been on some bad trips in my life.  None caused by drugs.  But this might be the worst one.

I’m going to see what tomorrow morning brings.  I really want to see the cigar rollers.  But I might just stay in bed.  Communism sucks.

Lighten Up People

Fake outrage.

I’m sick of it.  That guy from Chick Fil A didn’t have his First Amendment Rights violated by a bunch of people deciding that they would no longer eat at his restaurant after what he said.

He got to SAY it!  That was his First Amendment Right!  He got to say what he did, in a public forum, and it was broadcast all over the country in a matter of minutes.  How much more free can his speech be than that?

If he kept getting punched in the mouth every time he opened it by someone who didn’t want what he was saying to be said?  THAT would be a violation of his First Amendment Rights.  Didn’t happen.

And the whole outrage over the Olympic Team’s uniforms being made in China?  Please.  If you are not wearing a pair of New Balance shoes that are made in Boston, I challenge you to start undressing, and when you find a label in any piece of your clothing that says it was made in, The USA, you can quit.  My money says most of you will be naked.

Spineless Governor Herbert couldn’t even say, “Hey! Quit target shooting in the foothills and deserts until it rains again, OK?” a month ago because he was afraid that would be interpreted as the Government coming for you guns!

Look, I like guns.  I have lots.  But I would have gotten that message.

It was still fodder for the NRA types to pump it as the Government wanting to take away your guns.  But it wasn’t.

It was more like a bad air day warning in the winter.  We would LIKE you to not burn wood, or drive if you can help it.  But if your only source of heat is a wood/coal stove, we get it.  And if you have a doctor’s appointment?  By all means keep it.  But otherwise?  Could ya not drive?  Just sayin…

If you could please avoid shooting into dry grass in the foothills and deserts, we would appreciate it.  If someone is breaking into your house at night?  Please, feel free to use your gun.  Just put them out when you are done killing them.  Thank you very much.

I don’t watch the Olympics.  At least not the Summer Olympics.  But tonight I’m hearing that there is some outrage over the young girl who won the Gold Medal last night in Gymnastics hair.

Really?  BLACK women are pissed at her for her hair!

She’s an Olympic Athlete, and a Black woman.  If you are complaining from your couch?  Shut the fuck up. 

Jerry Curl your ass over to the gym and see how well you do on the balance beam!

Her hair?  You think she didn’t, “represent” (as was quoted in one article I read) Black Women the right way cause her hair was not right?  REALLY?

She won a FUCKING GOLD MEDAL AS THE BEST GYMNAST IN THE WORLD!  That isn’t enough for you?

Man.  Some people are never satisfied.

What’s next?   Some white guy from the Midwest thinks the beach volleyball girls look, “fat”?

Cuba, Day Three.

The Cuba Trip Day 3:  Wednesday, Juyl 25, 2012

This should have been our, Ta Ra Ra day.  The first time Deb and I  came to Cuba we had the same restrictions.  You had to stay with the group, and it was all about cultural exchange, and not a leisure trip.

But one day, with the help of our Cuban guide, who was an American defector, we went to his house at the beach at, Ta Ra Ra.  The group was making the trek to Hemmingway’s house, and not being big fans, a handful  of us decide that we would rather go to the beach.

Ta Ra Ra is a gated community about a half an hour outside of Havana.  It’s where the diplomats from other countries live, and select members of the local government.  There is a country club.  The beach is a pristine as any beach in the Caribbean, and I’ve seen plenty.  This guy had a three bedroom house with two bathrooms, a one car garage with a car in it, and a wife who was a psychiatrist, and looked for all the world like Selma Hayek.

Some of the animals are more equal than others.

But we had a great day, and were still back at the hotel in time for dinner.  This time, we are already ON a beach.  I could have just said, no, I’m not feeling well, stayed home, and spent the day drinking rum on the beach.  And had I known what I was in for, I would have done, exactly, that.

We went to the National Botanical Garden today. It took an hour on the bus to get there.  And then, we walked around and looked at trees for an hour.  It was interesting, don’t get me wrong.  But not THAT interesting.  And short of a summer work out during two a day football practices in high school?  I don’t think I have ever been that hot and sweaty.

Even the guy who was taking your change to, “run” the banos commented on the sweatiness of my shirt.  I didn’t understand a word he said, but I knew exactly what he was saying.  All I could think was, “You’re giving me shit, and you are a turd wrangler in Cuba?  Shut up and mop the floor, Julio.”

After the tour, a passable box lunch and a cold beer, then back on the bus for a ride to the town of Cienfuegos where we got off the bus, took a quick, and I mean quick, three block walk through the center of town, with no time to stop, or shop, or really see anything, then another cold beer, water break, and back on the bus.

I kept saying to Deb, “What was THAT for?”  If you want me to walk through the center of some town, I guess to, “get the feel” of the place?  Give me enough time to go in a few stores and at least look around. 

The only highlight of this little jaunt, was running into a kid wearing a shirt with a baseball player on the front of it.  He was about ten.  So I stopped him, and asked if he liked baseball.  He was kind of stumped, as he was with his dad, and dad didn’t  see me and kept walking.  So when I got him to understand, I took one of the University of Utah baseballs out of my pocket, and gave it to him.  He thanked me, and I don’t think I have ever heard a more appreciative, “Gracias, Senior!” in my entire life.  At least that little experience brought some light to a rather boring day.

Then  it  was a boat ride around Cienfuegos bay with a lovely talk about the local fishing.  Like I give a shit.  This bay is not historic, it’s not the bay in, “The Bay Of Pigs” and were it not lined by buildings, it would look a lot like taking a boat ride around Jordanell Reservoir in Utah.  In other words, hot, worthless and boring.

Another hour on the bus to get back to the all-inclusive (which should really be called the, “We’ll get back to you on that” when you ask for anything) and I was in need of a drink.  I had half a bottle of rum from yesterday, so I asked my son to please go to the lobby bar, and take a quart zip lock bag with him, and ask the bartender to fill it with ice.  He came back with a handful of ice cubes in the bag.  I asked him about it, and he said that was all the guy would give him.

Full service, ALL- inclusive, my ass.  If this is all-inclusive?  I want to try to make it on my own.  Even  in Cuba.

Danny has decided to make it his personal mission to save, Steve Williams, the KUER Music Director, and night time Jazz DJ,  life.  Steve is easily distracted.  If we are eating, and someone mentions a musician, or someone in the industry he knows, he’s got a story.  And he stops eating, and starts talking.  He is always the last one through with dinner, last one to get his desert, and I don’t think he’s eaten three quarters of any one meal since we’ve been down here.

Listening to him talk about music is like listening to, Cheech and Chong doing, “Santa Clause And His Old Lady”.  Every time someone brings up a name, Steve says, “I know that cat!”  Or, I played with that cat!”  And I’m sure he really did, but it’s pretty funny all the same.

So tonight, while we’re having dinner, Steve is sitting at our table, and every time he starts to tell a story, Danny looks at him and says, “STEVE!  Eat!”  To which, Steve would say, “Oh, yeah, right.”  And take at least a few bites of food.  He actually ate MOST of a meal tonight, and was only about five minutes behind the rest of the group finishing his rice pudding for desert.  So I think it’s working.

  Danny just came in to ask if he could go into town with his new Russian friends to some dance club.  That got a resounding, “NO!” from his mother and me.

I’m so tired, I’m going to go to bed as soon as I finish this.  We have a five hour bus ride to Havana in the morning.  And the roads here are so bad, you can’t sleep on the bus.

Tonight, we spend our last night in the rat hole that is The Brisas of Trinidad Del Mar, and we will go to bed tomorrow night in, The Hotel National in Havana.  I’m really hoping that we are going from the ridiculous, to the sublime.  But I’m not holding my breath.