Oops.

These pictures go with the post bellow.

Part 6. In which the police yell at me.

So, we now have money, a room key, and cool air in that room, so we decide to have something to eat and then go for a stroll. There were 3 restaurants in the hotel, a fancy-schmancy one that we passed on, the buffet, which is only open for breakfast and dinner, and this nifty little one tucked away in a corner. We had "a sandwich", and yes, that was exactly what it said on the menu. It turned out to be a very tasty panini w/ham/cheese/onion/tomato and cucumber, with a small handful of fries. The waiter kept calling Steven "Your Highness" and my Grandmother always said that he really does look like King George. Who knows?

After eating we decided to go for a walk along the Malecon. The Malecon is a 7 km (4 miles for my US friends) seafront promenade that winds all the way from Vedado (where we were) to Old Havana. It truly represents Havana, and is normally crowded with people, families, young lovers, fishermen, just a plethora of people who enjoy the view and the cool sea breeze. Steven stopped and carried on huge conversations with every fisherman we pass...they spoke no English and he speaks not a word of Spanish, but I guess the language of fishermen is universal. He even picked up that they fish for small fish that they then use for bait for larger ones. From our hotel, Old Havana was to the right (the direction my feet are pointing) (you can just see the tiny dome of the capitol building in the upper right of this picture) Since we knew we'd be spending lots of time there, we decided to walk in the other direction.

We went about 2 miles, and the area was filled with what seemed to be apartment buildings and perhaps office-type buildings. No stores, not very many pedestrians, it was heading more into what might be considered a governmental area. We wandered down just past these flags and saw a large cement building with quite a few armed guards in front. I thought it might be a prison of sorts, there were high wire fences, sally-ports to get in and out, no signs at all. The embassies are usually quite fancy, so I didn't think it was any kind of embassy or consulate, and besides they always have their flag outside.

I stopped to look, it was pretty bland, so we turned around and were looking at the ocean, and just chatting and in the distance I could hear whistles. Steven walked a little further and I was doing nothing. Just staring, as I am prone to do. The whistles were getting annoying, it was like a referee whistle, and then I could hear hollering and shouting. I turned around and to my utter amazement, realized that the shouts were directed to me, along with wild, waving angry gestures that I knew meant "Get out of here...now." More pointing and jabbing of fingers. It was like the money Nazi all over again.

I called to Steven and told him we had to leave, and he said "What did you do NOW?" As if I am in the habit of getting in trouble with police on a regular basis! *sheesh*.

Anyhow, apparently it's what is considered an American mission, not an embassy or consulate as there are no diplomatic relations between the two countries at all. The US does have a small presence in the country though, because of Guantanamo.

They are also apparently very paranoid and do not allow anyone to stop and glance at their building.

I was going to turn and snap a picture as I walked away, but I kinda didn't want to see Guantanamo first hand.

So the building is just on the other side of these Cuban flags. The empty flag poles that you see are the poles where they fly 138 black flags, sort of an "in your face" to the Americans that work there. The flags symbolize the 3400 Cubans who have died at the hands of US sponsored violence since 1959. The flags are lowered every night and we just missed seeing them. On subsequent days as we drove by, I was too leery to take a picture.

Part 5. In which I almost cry from too much heat.

Our room. When we first walked in, it was HUMID and oh so HOT and MUGGY, we flicked switches and turned things on and off, inserted our key into the various key openings, (the room lights work like many of the European type, where you insert your key into a slot and that allows the lights and air/heat to come on) This one had the slot, plus a switch, plus a tiny breaker-box, and we couldn't get anything to work. I was so sweaty that I was almost in tears, the thought of spending five days in this heat was just too much. I phoned the front desk, fearful that I would again encounter the Money Nazi, but the person who answered said they would send someone up right away.

Within a few minutes, there was a knock at the door and a chambermaid was standing there. She just reached around behind the door and flicked a tiny, nearly invisible switch, and *whoooosh*, out flowed cold, cold air. My tears dried right away, or they would have if I had been actually crying. (ahem)

The picture above is of the back grounds of the hotel, looking over the cliff to the ocean, as seen from our room, and the picture below is taken from that area, but now looking up to our room.

Part 4. The Money Nazi.

The inside of the hotel was stunning, but we were starved and the first thing we needed to do before looking around was to eat. We still had no Cuban money, so I decided that I'd check in and Steven could look for the money exchange. There was only one group in front of me, a foursome of extremely jovial Swedes, however it seemed to take forever for the check-in process, so I just waited and gazed around and listened to them chatter to each other about who was going to sleep where, and how they were going to pay. It's a shame how almost everyone in the world speaks 2 or more languages but us North Americans.

Steven saw 2 men at a counter handing over money and getting pesos in return, so off he went and waited in line. The dark haired man behind the desk ignored him for a few minutes, made a phone call, disappeared behind a counter and eventually made a quick sideways glance at him. Annoyed that eye contact had been made, he heaved a huge sigh and in response to Steven's query about exchanging money, he curtly responded "No money. You come back one hour." and walked away.

Steven came back and reported to me that there was no money, so we finished up our check in process and as we were gathering up our luggage, we saw 3 other people get in the money line, and ask and receive Cuban pesos! I walked over there, waited for an obscene amount of time while this same man made yet another phone call. When I got to the front of the line, and made my (really polite) request, he scowled at me and said "No money!" His eyes narrowed with what seemed to be rage, and he jabbed his finger at me and said "You come back...one hour!"

I thought that maybe these other money-receiving folks had pre-ordered their money? Or that perhaps he was just insane.

So we went up to our room, via the scary elevator that shimmied all the way up, and unpacked a bit, changed into some cooler clothing, turned on some fans (*whew*...it was HOT) and headed back down.

There was a new woman at the money desk, so I ran over and quickly asked if I could exchange money. She looked at me like I was the insane one, and pointed upwards and said "Yes, theese ees the money desk." I quickly flung over a handful of hundreds, my breathing becoming somewhat panicked as I saw the Money Nazi approaching. "Oh no" she says worriedly. "Eees too much. Eeees too much."

" No, it's OK, this is good, we're here for 9 more days" I started to babble at the same time as the Money Nazi arrived and started speaking louder and louder to her. "OK, just this much then." I jammed some hundreds back in my pocket and shoved a crumpled pile of bills towards her. "Just this then, just this...." as I was pushing money to her, Money Nazi was getting more and more irate and now she was starting to yell back at him. Thank Goodness she was computing things as she yelled and she counted out my (oh so cherished) Cuban Convertible Pesos at the same time that she argued with him, as he glared at me. I wonder if he was mistaking us for someone else?

Regardless, we now had money! We could now eat and drink and begin to be merry!

The scary elevators. The doors slid open sideways and would sometimes just stick half way. Needless to say, I'd be there pushing them all the way open in a panic.

Part 3. Arriving at the Nacional de Cuba.

Wow! What can I say? This place was truly astounding. It was built in 1930 and it overlooks the Bay of Havana. I guess it's like the grand old lady of Cuba. The paint outside is a bit worn in places, and there are still a lot of bullet scars from the Revolution when Fidel and his cronies had their meetings here. It was beautifully refurbished in the 50's, and still has that 50's feel to it, but it still retains it's air of elegance. It's not modernized, and I was pretty nervous in the elevators. I have a fear of elevators at the best of times, and these ones clunked and creaked and hesitated and shuddered just like all the ones in my nightmares.

I tried to go down the stairs once, I usually do use stairs in hotels as opposed to elevators and in this case, as soon as the door shut behind me I realized it locked and I could not get back in. Goddammit! I ran down the 3 flights to the lobby, and thank goodness that door was open. That was the only time that I found that door to be unlocked, they keep the Emergency Stairs well under lock & key. Why? I don't have a clue, but I was a little worried about what to do if there was a fire...jump? 'Cause I sure wasn't going into the nightmare elevators during a fire/power outage. But there was no fire or power failure, so all was well.

This hotel has had many famous guests, Frank Sinatra, Ava Gardner, Marlon Brando, Ernest Hemingway, as well as many gangsters, Lucky Luciano, Meyer Lansky, Al Capone. During the days when the Americans were welcomed here, it was a hotbed of casinos, prostitution, drugs and drink, and it was easy to imagine any of them strolling down the garden paths, or sitting in the giant wicker chairs in the gardens, smoking a stogie and drinking a Cuba Libre or mojito.

Part 2. Leaving Calgary & Arriving in Cuba.

Sunday April 25th.

We woke up to a glistening and white city. It seemed to have snowed all night, but the sky was blue and no sign of more snow.

We skittered to the airport where everything went amazingly smoothly and we were in the air by 8:55 AM. A little bit late as they had to de-ice the plane. Twice. It was -11 outside.

The flight wasn't full and we had an extra empty seat beside us, so lots of room to stretch out and make ourselves comfy. I watched "It's Complicated" and probably embarrassed myself by snorting with laughter. You know, you put those earbuds in and you can't hear yourself and you don't realize how loud you are.

We arrived in Varadero on time, I think it was about 4 PM. Passport Control and Customs was quick & efficient and our suitcase turned up right away. We only had one suitcase to share, and each of us had a small carry-on. It's so much easier to be travelling light when you have to lug your own stuff around.We were hustled out of the building in a hurry, no time to change any money into pesos and we quickly found our shuttle to the hotel.

Once again, we were the only ones on the shuttle. This was due to my insistence on going into Havana first, and spending 5 days there.

As we were sitting and waiting in the shuttle, Steven spotted the first of many of the old 50's cars that are so indicative of Cuba and off he went to investigate.

I sat and waited in the heat...oh my God, the heat. It must have been 95 or more, and of course we were wearing long pants and a semi-warm shirt since it had been cold when we left. I was quietly contemplating ripping my clothes off and running half naked down the runway, and as the sweat was dripping off my forehead and also running down my back, Steven arrived with 2 ice-cold Cristal beer.

Considering that he had NO money when he left the shuttle, and he speaks not a word of Spanish, well....I don't even want to know. I do know that the beer was cold and delicious and I don't even like beer!

We enjoyed the ride to Havana, it was just over 2 hours, but it was fun to just relax and see the sights of the countryside.

It reminded me a lot, an awful lot, of Africa. The scenery as well as the animals on the sides of the roads, herds of goats, odd looking cattle and skinny horses. The homes looks deserted and extremely run down. People are hitch-hiking everywhere, and (unlike Africa) many of them would wave some money in hopes of getting a ride.

Now, a little history lesson, which I hope you find interesting.

The highways in Cuba are almost all double lane, and in pretty good shape. The reason for this is, the USSR had said that they would build the highways if the Cuban government would then purchase Russian vehicles. A win-win situation. But then the Soviet Union fell apart, and there simply were no cars. As well, Cuba lost, virtually overnight, 6 BILLION dollars of foreign aid. So not only were there no Russian cars, there were no cars, and no fuel. This was only as recently as 1991. As well, Cuba lost 80% of other crucial imports, such as food and medicine. But I'll get into that later.

Thus, people hitchhike everywhere and it's safe and reliable. As a matter of fact, listen to this little bit of info. At every overpass (about every 2 miles) you will see men in yellow uniforms standing with clipboards. (the fact that they are at underpasses in simply because of the shade). (see the picture at the top)

People who are hitchhiking also gather there and they tell these men (who are Government workers, in a job created by Fidel Castro) where they are going.

These men then stop every Cuban vehicle that has 2 or less passengers, and asks them where they are going. Any one of the hitch-hikers who is going to the same place, gets a ride. No ifs, ands or buts. It's very much appreciated by the hitchhikers, who often have no other way to get to work.

I found that to be fascinating. Obviously Government vehicles are exempt, as are tourists and tourist buses, and cars that are full.

Part 1. Leaving Cranbrook

Well, the trip started out on a pretty good note. Air Canada sent a private jet for us! OK, not really.

We walked into the airport however, and the young girl behind the desk called out: "Mr and Mrs Smitna? Welcome!" I was a little taken aback because while we do know a lot of people in town, I didn't know her. Or did I? I asked how she knew our names, and she gleefully waved the manifest at me and said: "Because you guys are the only ones on the plane!"

I glanced around and saw that the airport was indeed empty, other than a few security guards who waved at us. Very odd feeling indeed. So we went through security, waited in the empty room, watched "our" small jet arrive, and I had to smile to myself as the same girl who greeted us quickly changed jackets and ran to the outer door and made the announcement about "anyone who is pre-boarding with small children." She looked a little sheepish, but she continued with her spiel. I guess rules are rules.

We climbed into our plane and I solemnly informed the pilot (no stewards or stewardesses...oops, pardon me, "flight attendants" on these tiny planes. Actually, no cockpit door either) that I thought I might change seats, more than once, if the other seats weren't taken. He just gave me a look. No fun, these guys. We flew off to Calgary, only to fly though a horrendous snowstorm. I was pretty sure that the plane was going to go down, you know, these are the sorts of things that you hear on the news. "Tragic accident in BC tonight, as a small plane goes down in an unexpected spring snowstorm. The entire crew of 2, as well as all the passengers, again 2, did not survive the fatal crash. It's a miracle, Lloyd, that the plane was nearly empty. It could have been much worse if it had been any other day, with a full load." But we were buffeted safely to Calgary and there we spent the night, wondering if the snow would end up cancelling our flight the next AM.

Signs of Spring

I think that the first real sign of spring is the smell in the air. Unfortunately, we don't yet have "smell-o-vision", so I have to try and describe it. Its almost like the smell of straw, or hay in the hot sun, but with a hint of pine. It's like when you were a kid and went inside a clean barn, not a cattle/horse barn that smelled of animal poop (although, in the right circumstances, that isn't an altogether awful smell.)



This is a comforting smell. It's the hot sun, a sign that we made it though another winter, that hot sun beating down on the dry earth. It kind of reminds me of being a kid again, and lying on a straw bale, thumping it and watching the chaff rise and spin in the hot sun. I don't think I ever actually did that, but if I did, then the smell of that and the smell of today were the same.

The second sign is the new buds on the trees and the spring flowers. The purple crocuses were out a week or two ago, over the Easter weekend, but it was so rainy and windy and cold that I didn't take pictures. Today I could hunker down and get close so that you can see the fuzzy stalk and the almost sparkly purple lines on the petals. Enlarge the picture!

The yellow flower is like a buttercup, but not quite. It has a shiny surface that gleams in the sun.

I love the way these flowers just burst out of the earth, not in a cultivated and well fertilized bed, but they just push their way through the dead pine needles and old branches, and struggle to face the sun. Nature is quite a marvel.

Are there some things in your life that happened, but it wasn't until later that you realized the significance of those things?For me, marriage and childbirth are the ones that stand out the most to me. I knew they were important days, but I didn't realize how important until much later. I just couldn't see the big picture yet. I probably still only see a fraction of the picture, but I know that I see more of it today than when they actually occured.

There are many, many roads we travel down as we go through life. And pretty regularly, we come to a fork. We make a choice, not knowing the significance of that choice until we've come to the end of that particular road. We often wonder if we can go back and choose differently because the fork we chose didn't turn out like we'd hoped. But because no one has made time travel accessible, we just have to live with our choices and hope to choose more wisely the next time we encounter a fork.

Before

In this picture you can see the three healthy shrubs in our yard. They are about 28 years old and just starting to get sort of unruly and frazzled. The deer have also decided that they make a delectable midnight snack.

After

And in this picture you can see the sad demise of the shrubs. Actually, not so sad, they have pretty much lived their shrub-lives and are ready to go to shrubbery heaven. We (and by "we", I mean "he") built a nice railing instead, and I plan to hang a few baskets of flowers. Out of deer reach. You can see the difference a year has made in the poor shrubs, they started to die off very quickly, and we just decided it was time for a change. Mid-house crisis, so to speak.

Yesterday as I was sitting in the kitchen, I kept hearing odd little scratching noises . I thought it was Steven under the sundeck, and I feared going to see what he was doing (see the post below this one for further explainations) Out of the corner of my eye I could see a slight movement which I thought was a broom. "Geez" I thought, "Maybe Steven is stuck under the sundeck and is pushing a broom though the floorboards to catch my attention. I guess I should look." Imagine my surprise when I came almost eye to eye with this squirrel, peering into the window. He balanced for a few minutes on the rotisserie, then leaped away and scampered off.

*sigh*

One thing leads to another....Steven decided to fix a closet door in the spare bedroom downstairs. A simple and easy chore, right? Apparently not. After listening to all manner of bangs and thuds, I ventured down the basement only to find this: Two walls totally torn apart so that there is now a viewing corridor into the workshop and the spare room. However, the closet is fixed...

Hockeyville.

Cranbrook is in the running for the title of Hockeyville Canada. We are one of the 12 finalists (out of CANADA!) We now need to vote to become one of the top 5, and then, if we win, we get $100,000 towards an arena upgrade and a pre-season NHL game played here as well as a one hour TV special. Pretty big stuff! How can we lose? We have three hockey arenas on one street, and even when the snow is gone, we play hockey...all ages welcome! This is my neighbour boy on the other side of our house, as well as his Dad and Steven.

Changing of the guard

Let me introduce Mr. Noble Beak. Since we have no dog living here right now, my little neighbour girl decided that the tree that is on the little patch of yard that separates our two homes would be our new "watch dog." It would protect our flowers from the deer that stop by almost every night for a quick nibble. When I spotted this "tree face" for sale downtown, I quickly snatched it up and raced home where Steven couldn't wait to put it up and see the childrens' reaction. All three of them (the girl, 4 yrs, and her two twin brothers, 2 years) were enthralled and when I said they had to give him a name, the girl quickly came up with Mr. Noble Beak. The one boy said "I like him" and the other said "Is that a tiger?" So here is our new guard, watching out over the neighbourhood.

My jiggely bits.

So. We are going to Cuba in a few weeks and I decided I should try on summer things to see what fits. Put my bathing suit on, and while it did indeed fit, the sight was not pretty. Not bad enough that mothers would cover their children's eyes as I pass by, but bad enough that I wanted to cover my own.

I realize that I have two choices.

1. Do nothing. The suit still fits.
2. Diet/exercise like mad for the next few weeks.

My mind is bouncing around with various thoughts.

Why should I kill myself with exercise and deprive myself of things that I enjoy just to try and make myself look like I looked 25 years ago? I'm not the same person I was back then, neither mentally, physically or emotionally. Who said that the goal of life was to stay as close as you can to looking like you did when you were 25? What's the point? I should kill myself to get in shape so that others can judge me and see if I'm hanging together pretty good? Oh Shannon, grow up!

I don't weigh much more than I did back in the day, but the few pounds that I have gained seem to have become the boss of the pounds I already have, and these new pounds have talked the other pounds into shape-shifting and turning into jiggley bits, as opposed to the firm bits I once had.

And really, is that so bad? Well, depending on how I feel (and what I wear) on a particular day, yes and no. *sigh*

I need to learn to live with my own values. No one can make me feel badly about my body without my consent.

Example: There are cultures in which women are ashamed if they don't have metal rings elongating their necks, or wooden disks in their lips. I don't have either of these, but I'm not ashamed...and why not? Because I don't adhere to these standards of beauty.

Dimples adorning your smile are cute, dimples on your thigh...not so much. That's the normal way of thinking. BUT, I have decided to embrace my dimples and enjoy my dinners, and wear my bathing suit with pride! Or, at least without shame.

Sad.

Sam Emerson: Look at your reflection in the mirror. You're a creature of the night Michael, just like out of a comic book! You're a vampire Michael! My own brother, a goddamn, shit-sucking vampire. You wait 'till mom finds out, buddy!

Oh, get serious!

I spotted these at the grocery store today, at first I thought it was canned oil, like Pam. On closer look, it's pancake batter in a spray can!! And it's considered organic no less. How absurd is that? It's bad enough that no one makes anything homemade anymore (and that does include me in a lot of things too) but Geez-Louise, pancake batter in a spray can? What will we be buying next? Cheese in a spray can? Whipped cream in a spray can? Oh...wait....

Holy Photo Batman!

This old chest was what my Mom kept all our recent holiday pictures in. Behind it is my digital picture frame that flips through whatever pictures I choose to put in there. What a difference a decade or two makes. Being able to take a photo, send it to someone in seconds, via email, them being able to download it instantly and put in a frame like this for everyone to see was something that we couldn't even dream about. The type of stuss seen in Batman movies. The old movies that is, the black & white kind.

What next?

I really don't agree with messing around with Mother Nature...I mean, things have rolled along just fine for millenia without us screwing up genetic lineage and no good can come of this...but honestly, have you ever seen anything cuter than these mini-pigs? They grow no larger than a tea-cup. Sadly, they are being snapped up by the likes of Posh Beckham and Paris Hilton, as "accessories". Although, I have to admit, if I had a spare few thousand dollars, I just might be awfully tempted....