baseball

capitol of the island that shall remain nameless
america's favorite pastime is shared by the islanders. on saturday and sunday, everywhere you go, there are kids playing the best game ever.

abandoned buildings make great diamonds

machete or baseball bat

balls are prohibitively expensive, as one might expect, so the players make do with whatever they can scrape together. i saw a lot of old balls barely stitched together, tennis balls, a few handballs and several spheres of tape, who knows what was inside. i also saw broomsticks, random bits of wood and broken bats being used. these kids will be great ball players one day!

giants fan?

as a huge fan of the game, seriously, a sunny day at pacbell park (or whatever they are calling it these days) watching my Giants play is simply the best, i thought about loading up a spare suitcase with baseballs to bring and hand out. the problem was i didn't know for certain whether or not i was going to get to the island, and in the end i gave up the idea. fortunately i had mentioned it to c, and she had brought a few. the smiles we got in return for a bit of leather and cotton were wonderful.

new ball, new team captain!

the big leagues

i did manage to go to one professional game, though the two teams were so ill matched, it felt a bit more like a minor league team vs goliath, and in the end, with the score 11-1, Industriales smashing La Isla, the losers didn't even get their last at bat. i felt cheated, but everyone else seemed happy.

my new friend Richard

i got lucky, too, because i sat next to a young fella who had the patience of Job and an interest in conversation with the gringa. he helped me figure out who i was watching and gave me the skinny on the retired superstars who were wandering the stands getting mobbed with autograph requests.
lastly, no matter how old you are or where you are from, if you are a fan, when you catch a game ball, there is nothing more thrilling!

foul ball

bvsc

capitol of the island that shall remain nameless
i don't get out much at night when i travel by myself. a sense of safety, i think. but there is also a desire to be part of the real place, not the stuff set up for tourists and, generally, i'm not in the know of these local haunts, so i forgo the pleasure.
music and dancing are a huge part of the culture on the island, it seems like everyone i met was a cantante or a músico and had a cd available for purchase. because of c and our loose tie to ernesto 'gato', singer extraordinaire, i got to venture out and experience club egram (see fortuna post). gato had invited c & e to see him perform and while there were a couple foreigners in the crowd, it was mostly made up of a crush of enthusiastic locals. the musicians traded spots on the stage regularly and dancers would jump up on stage and shake their tail feathers, much to the entertainment of the crowd.
too much fun, after c left, i went back on my own a couple more times - being an honorary habanera was awesome!

my buena vista social club

crumbs

capitol of the island that shall remain nameless
cubans love cake. it is everywhere. the oddest thing is seeing a large macho-ish man standing on the street with a makeshift cardboard tray holding a miniature cake frosted in white and pink like a wedding cake, offering slices for 1 cuc each (about $1.13), touting how delicious it is...just awesome, unlike the cake, which usually disappointed me, i suppose i have pretty high standards when it comes to baked goods. folks who like supermarket tray cakes would probably be more than happy.

just purchased from the macho guy

ultimo

capitol of the island that shall remain nameless
i believe i mentioned in jamaica that i am a wuss when it comes to cold showers.
i stayed with alba, intending to spend my entire visit with her. i was being eaten alive by mosquitoes but i didn’t care, she was swell, and she had helped me find c. i was grateful and i would show it. c immediately started trying to get me to move to la casa de candida y pedro. i said no, i’d stay with alba in her not so nice neighborhood. the casa was very nice, conveniently located in a slightly better neighborhood, candy and pedro were swell, and they didn’t seem to have mosquitoes, but i was grateful to alba. right up until i went to take a much needed shower. cold water. ugh. i couldn’t bare to step in, so i opted to just wash my hair in the sink. i despise cold water.
i asked c if they had hot water - yes they did.
how soon could i move in?
so much for loyalty to saint alba.

i spent my first full day wandering in old havana with c. she showed me the ropes, from buying peanuts to waiting in line at the best restaurant in town - and this is important to know! they have a very civilized queuing system, you go up to the last person in the line and ask them 'ultimo?' if they say yes, you are now the last person in line, but if they say no, they point to the last person they handed off the ultimo position to and you go up to them and ask 'ultimo?' and again they either say yes, or point to someone else. this way you can wait in line, comfortably lounging against a wall down the way, or sitting on a bench, or in the actual line, up to you, ultimo!

C reflecting on old dodge

we got hot chocolate at the chocolate museum, went to a modern art museum, ate wonderful pesto pasta at los nardos, wandered the streets with me snapping wildly at every amazing car i saw.
c assured me i would grow accustomed to seeing them - i didn't. she pointed out places i should go and warned me away from places they had found disappointing (names quickly forgotten).
c and e walked me back to alba’s that night and i spent the remainder of the evening watching episodes of modern family while i packed my gear and made alba a felted flower pin, wishing i had more that i could give her.

in the morning i told her i was moving and she seemed to understand. 'claro'.

loaded up, i hoofed it over to my new casa.

embargo - a mild political rant

capitol of the island that shall remain nameless
when i went to egypt a couple of years ago, i thought no place would ever give me the same sense of belonging and homecoming that i felt there, but i was wrong.
these island people were incredibly open and kind to me, which was a surprise considering my government is responsible for much of the hardships of their daily life. granted, most folks watched me with a stern eye, but as soon as i gave them a big smile and a hearty ‘hola’ or a wave, their cool demeanor would melt instantly.

folks who befriended me on one of my walks

i don’t speak a lick of spanish and anticipated the isolation that comes from being a monoglot in a foreign land - instead i got people who patiently tried to make conversation with lots of starts and stops as i referred to my dictionary or handed it to them.
i want very much to learn spanish, just so i can go back one day and discuss everything from the price of milk to politics (though those are actually the same thing in havana).
i watched c, who is fluent, have conversations that revealed much about how people really feel and what they are going through. i was jealous that i could only participate through her, but grateful that i got a glimpse at all.

from my limited knowledge of the past, i have developed a big old soft spot for these people. before the trip i believed the embargo should be lifted and felt it was unjust, but now i am completely bewildered by my government - they are behaving like spoiled children, throwing a tantrum because a toy they misused was taken away from them.

i wouldn’t go so far as to say that ‘el senior’ is a good leader, i’ve heard too many stories of things he has done to punish people who have disagreed with or stood up to him, but i do see how we created the situation that caused him to become the man he is today. he WAS an idealist, striving to free the cubans who were suffering under batista’s self serving rule, free them from the greedy stranglehold of a handful of american corporations that were striping the islands natural resources without reasonable compensation. nationalizing the plantations was pure robin hood heroics and eisenhower was the sheriff of nottingham. if he hadn't been taking from us, we'd have been celebrating him rather than demonizing him.
by cutting off trade and strong arming our allies into following our lead, we forced fidel into a relationship with the only folks who would deal with him, our enemies. the soviets paid attention - the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

the people have paid for their independence, in spades, and i think it is time for my government to get over themselves, end the embargo and begin talking to the island that is so damn close you can swim there.
a bar of soap should not cost $5.

typical 'superstore' nothing like costco

fortuna

montego bay, jamaica to the capitol of the island that shall remain nameless
it is hard to know where to start. the buildings, the people, the cars, the food, the politics, the crazy fates that allowed me to connect with my friends. i guess i should start at the beginning...

when i arrived, i was anxious. i didn’t know what to expect of the immigration and customs people, and honestly, i expected them to be hard on anyone from usa. getting through the first was a little freaky - not speaking spanish, i watched as the young woman inspected my documents and i volunteered information before i was asked in an effort to avoid any confusion, she frowned at me. i was told to take a step back. ok. ‘look into the camera.’ oh, ok, little strange. ‘do not to smile.’
oooh kaaay.
i jokingly, and nervously, said ‘now i look like a criminal’ to which she replied with no inflection of humor, ‘si’.
zoikes.
when i headed through customs i had a purse filled with little treats arlene (my adopted jamaican mama) wanted me to take to alba, the saint who was going to help me get my feet firmly on the ground in havana. the purse contained tea, incense, jello, soap and a large ziplock full of candy. the agent who scanned the purse said something to me in spanish. i apologized and said ‘no habla español’, so he directed me to take the bag to a secondary customs agent. uh oh. she went through it and i tried to tell her what everything was, unsure of where the problem lay. she asked me something about the candy. i didn’t understand and said ‘gift’. she asked if she could have one - i opened the ziplock and happily said ‘take two!’ she did.
i went in search of my backpack which i’d had to check. i heard on the plane that one should always pay to have one’s checked baggage wrapped or you may arrive with fewer belongings. i was dismayed to see that my bags bungie cords had been undone. my heart sank when i thought about all of the things i had put in it that had some value to my long term plans. i searched quickly through to make sure that my power cords and camera battery packs were still there - if they were missing i was going to make a loud fuss. they were right where they were supposed to be. i relaxed. whatever else might be missing, i didn’t care (found out later that the only item missing was my dove soap). then i found h, a south korean i had met at the airport in grand cayman, whom i had agreed to split a cab with.
i changed my $450 canadian dollars for cuban cash. i felt a little exposed, carrying so much cash - i missed being able to just rely on my plastic.
h struck out with all of the airport atms and learned the hard lesson that you should always have some cash stashed somewhere when you arrive in a new country - credit cards and atms can be persnickety about giving you money - suddenly i was glad i had brought so much moolah!
i decided to take him with me to alba’s and hoped she would be able to point him in the right direction for money and the bus he was planning on catching later that night.

first photo i took in havana

i mentioned in an earlier post that what sent me to jamaica instead of mexico was an email from my friend, c, telling me that there were no flights from mexico until late january. c had tried to go mid december and had sent a brief email from cancun saying she was sorry she wouldn’t get to see me until i got back from my odyssey. she was going to go to havana via panama at great extra expense and knew that i was too cheap to do the same (can’t go over my nine month budget for one country). i had no way of reaching her and knew she would not be checking email until she returned to the states. i didn’t have much hope that i’d find her, even though i was desperate to see her once more before my odyssey took me south.

alba welcomed myself and h and told him where he could go to get money. while he was out, she and i had a labored conversation but managed to learn much about one another. i gave her the phone numbers i had for people that c may have had contact with, hoping that one of them night know where she was, if she was even still in havana.
alba made call after call, conversations that i understood not at all, getting new numbers or having to call back because of party lines (have i mentioned yet that havana is stuck in the fifties? it is really something!). she struck out on the two numbers that seemed the most promising.
i had given c the name and number of a friend of a friend that i was fairly certain she would contact - ernesto is a musician, and c loves latin music and dancing. alba rang him at home, was given a different number and called that. ‘call back in five minutes.’ we did. moments later i was speaking with c! she was at a club, in havana, listening to ernesto perform. she couldn’t believe i was in the city, she had been so certain i wouldn’t be able to find my way to the island. i told her i would come to the club, immediately. h returned just as i was leaving and opted to come with me.
we hopped a cab - $5 and 5 minutes later, we were there, studio egrem. i was so anxious, i got out when the cab stopped, but the driver didn’t realize it and started again to move to the side of the street when i was only partially out of the cab. he literally ran over my shoe, fortunately, as the car trapped and rolled over the sneaker, i was able to squish my foot to the side and his car did no damage - it shook me up a little, but no harm, so off i went.

my buena vista social club

once inside i located c very quickly. she was in the crush at the bar. we were thrilled to see one another and both of us couldn’t believe that the universe had allowed us to spend a few days together at the beginning of my long adventure.
she and e, her beau, were planning on leaving the next morning for a beach town nearby, but they canceled the plan and opted to spend the weekend in the city, showing me around.
i couldn’t believe my luck - the place was magical.

jamaica time

portland, maine to montego bay, jamaica

caribbean from the air

i had been planning to fly to cancun, but circumstances forced me in a different direction - jamaica. had i done a bit more research, i probably would have flown to the cayman islands, but i wouldn't have wanted to miss this lush place!
when the plane landed, i suddenly realized i hadn't checked to see what this island's requirements were for travelers - good gravy, talk about rookie mistakes! fortunately i got a very kind immigration agent. he understood my predicament (re: island that shall remain nameless), and he waived the entry requirement of a departure ticket in hand. phew!

when i stepped out into the wonderful sunshine, i saw a handsome young man holding a little sign with my name on it. the hostel had indeed sent someone to pick me up! never had i gotten such grand treatment from a hostel.
gregory and his mother, arlene, run the cedar ridge hostel, a lovely villa high up on bogue hill, with help from eddy, the philosophical rasta driver and miss madge, the housekeeper/cook.

a corner of the veranda

the place was mostly a dream come true - the rooms were nice and airy, the beds comfortable, the veranda was vintage luxury, there was free wi-fi, they offered fluffy towels and delicious home cooked meals for a modest fee, and of course the airport pickup. the flip side - no hot water, remote location, limited light at night and no toilet paper.
i brought my own toilet paper, so okay.
i can live with one small lamp at night, especially if i am spending half my time on my computer.
remote location can actually feel like a blessing when you've been stressed to the max for weeks.
but no hot water? zoikes!

i tried to take a shower the first morning anyway. but i am no katharine hepburn, cold showers just don't work for my pansy ass. i'd rather be dirty.
however, the folks who run the hostel were so swell i found i didn't care. i can't stress enough what fine people they are. welcoming, kind and helpful are just the tip of the iceberg.

i went into town with miss madge, to the market and watched her pick out the good veggies and haggle for the best price. i helped carry her bags. she 'saved' me from buying packets of tang, little did she know i'd go back and buy them later!

miss madge showed me where to go to get back up the hill and we parted ways.
taxis are shared, and you flag them down, tell them where you want to go and they say yes or no. i caught a cab from downtown to the local cemetery.
there were some sketchy fellows looking at me from inside and i decided to go get myself some jerk pork for lunch, hoping they would be gone by the time i got back.

'strictly staff only' furniture store

but alas, they were still there and more determined than ever to befriend me. rupert, the parks crew supervisor (sketchy guys were just a work crew, miss paranoid!), took it upon himself to walk me around. he brought me to shelley haydyn, a lovely 50's headstone relief that was a dead ringer for barbie. i was grateful. we walked through to the oldest corner, but it was treacherous, and i decided against wandering off the main path.
rupert told me he wanted to take me out that night, to where the tourists gather. aside from my rabid dislike of tourist haunts, i thought it best to just say no. he seemed friendly enough, but my first impression, sketchy, was still nibbling at my insides.
i headed off for the hill, flagging the taxis left and right.

crumbled bus stop maintained by the optimist club

none of the taxis that came along were willing to take me up the hill to cedar ridge, so i began walking, occasionally trying to flag the red license plate vehicles.
i eventually walked up the hill - i felt like super woman, and could not wait to take that cold, cold shower!