Economics With A Face

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July 31, 2005

Our Anniversary

We woke up and headed down for some coffee at the café below our hostel. After some caffeine, we decided to head up to Pipilo, a large statue in Guanajuato that sits atop one of the hills where we got a good view of the city. Far below we saw at least 100 men on horses pass by the main plaza, part of a yearly celebration of the Dia de la Cueva.

The rest of the day we explored Guanajuato, planned out some more of our trip while sitting at cafes, and in the end had a great dinner at a restaurant calledEl Gallo Pitagórico to celebrate our one year of marriage. It’s hard to believe how much we’ve done in the last year and what a good time it’s been. We’re looking forward to another 70+.

Posted by Peter Mork at 11:19 AM | Comments | TrackBack

July 30, 2005

Arriving in Guanajuato

We caught a 9:15 bus to Guanajuato and arrived a little after one. After stopping in Leon, the bus picked up two Americans and a couple from England, the first time we have ridden on a bus with other foreigners in Mexico. Once we arrived in Guanajuato I tried to call the school we were thinking about attending but no one picked up. While I was on the phone I noticed several men with maps trying to book tourists getting off the buses in various hotels. I figured they probably added a fee if you used them so I called a hostel from our guide book that looked reasonable. They had one room available so we decided to take it.

The room here is great. We have a small kitchen, a loft that serves as a bedroom, lots of colorful furniture, and windows that open up to a view of a beautiful Guanajuato hillside. After some lunch Em came back to the room to rest and I set out looking for the schools we might attend. I found one about 30 minute walk from where we were staying, but the others were not listed on the map we had. I luckily stumbled upon another one though, which is only about 2 blocks away from where we are staying and looks pretty good. We’re going to check it out Monday morning and they’re going to put us up with a local family.

Overall Guanajuato is very prosperous. Lots of tourism and restaurants, but also other businesses that seem to be doing well. With it’s narrow alleyways and climbing hills it’s very unique and you can see why people flock here to visit. With the huge university, there are many students around.

We ate dinner on the balcony of a restaurant that overlooks one of the main squares. Below groups of student musicians played songs and then would make their way off through the town, followed by throngs of people enjoying the music and jugs of wine that were being handed out. We´ve heard that this happens every weekend.

We explored a bit more of the town and then made our way back to the hostel. We discovered our roof has panoramic views of the city with chairs and tables so you can enjoy coffee in the morning. Sounds like a plan to start the day tomorrow.

Posted by Peter Mork at 11:15 AM | Comments | TrackBack

July 29, 2005

A Quick Visit to Guadalajara

We arrived at the bus station at 6:00am and got a hotel right across the street from the bus station. Over breakfast in the hotel’s lobby we me a woman from Houston who owned a small factory in Guadalajara that made belt buckles and jewelry. She was in town straightening out a few things with her business and told us about how she got the place started, her customers, and her employees. Surprisingly she told me she had to pay fairly high taxes to import her products into the states. When I asked about NAFTA, she didn’t seem to know why she was not included under this free trade agreement, but she assured me she wasn’t.

Following a nap in our tiny hotel room, we caught a taxi into the center of the city. Walking around the main Plaza de Armas we noticed several large banners protesting Fox, the G-8, or commenting on other causes. This was the first big city we had been in since Havana so it was interesting comparing the two. It will also be interesting when we visit Mexico City in a few weeks to compare the two capitals.

It was a fun day visiting museums, restaurants, a huge market (where I bought a baseball cap since I forgot mine at home), and finishing the day in a town in the outskirts of the city called Tlaquepaque. Of note in Guadalajara were various murals by Jose Clemente Orozco, who had an interesting take on Communism, Fascism, and religion tied into his work. We have some photos posted on our other site of his murals that we saw.

We retired to our hotel and got a good night’s sleep before our trip to Guanajuato.

Posted by Peter Mork at 11:11 AM | Comments | TrackBack

July 28, 2005

Northern Mexico and Reflections on Cuba

We are updating the site once again with both pictures and stories from our travels. Traveling south through northern Mexico has been a great experience for both Em and myself. We hope that our family and friends enjoy catching up on our adventures.

The last few weeks have also given us the opportunity to reflect. With that in mind, I’ve put up my first essay on Cuba. Our experience in Cuba has provoked many thoughts within me on various topics, so in truth, it has been difficult to organize my ideas on paper. Still, it is what it is and hopefully my writing will improve as the trip progresses. I’ve titled it “Cuban Capitalists and What They Mean to the Future of their Country” and it can be found below.

Look for more to come in the essay section in the next few weeks.

Posted by Peter Mork at 5:35 PM | Comments | TrackBack

Cuban Capitalists and What They Mean to the Future of their Country

"For a Communist state," I thought, as the maid in our hotel slipped me her business card, "there sure are a lot of capitalists in this country."

The card told of her casa particular, a private room for rent out of her home, and she made a convincing sale. It was clean, had a balcony, her entire family was very honest, and best of all… it came at a very good price. It was a revealing moment when she put forth the amount ($25) she considered just compensation to host us in her home. For while, in theory, the exploitation of man by man should be banned under this socialist government, repeated experiences such as this one showed me that the desire to "exploit" was in fact alive and well in Cuba.

This small business, along with many others just like it, has its roots in 1993, the year Fidel Castro faced a decision. The collapse of the Soviet Union a few years prior had brought an end to the $5 billion in annual subsidies that had helped to keep Cuba afloat. Without this money, an already fragile economy began to completely fall apart. Blackouts and food shortages were common. People were literally starving to death.

So in September of 1993 Castro decided that the revolution would have to be put on hold. For the first time since he took power, 135 private professions were legalized. In addition, the U.S. dollar was now allowed to circulate freely among Cubans. Quite a change from the previous decade when a Cuban found in possession of just $1 could end up in prison for a year. While publicly Fidel declared it was a small step during a special period, it was clearly an act of desperation on his behalf. Flirting with capitalism was a necessary evil he knew was his only path to retaining power.

These measures, along with allowing direct foreign investment into the country to build government-controlled tourist resorts, for the most part accomplished their goal. The country's economy, while still poor, recovered. Licensed rooms-for-rent out of homes, restaurants run out of living rooms, taxis, and shoe repair shops, still today allow some Cubans to live a better life. This happens despite the fact that what motivates these Cuban entrepreneurs to act is that nasty 'P' word: profits. In short, they are motivated by everything Communism and the revolution are supposed to stand against.

Yet despite profits, it goes without saying Cuba is no bastion of economic freedom with abundant opportunities for employment. People with technical university degrees are discouraged from applying for the licenses and those who do obtain them face background checks, heavy taxation, and the difficult task of obtaining the tools to run their business before they see any revenue. Given that tourist dollars are the most stable form of income, things are made even tougher for Cuban entrepreneurs as businesses that pose the threat of directly competing with government tourist resorts face even higher taxation.

In addition, as of last fall, dollars were once again banned from circulation and the government stopped issuing 40 of the original 135 licenses. Rampant prostitution is another depressing sign that the economy is hardly dynamic. What 16-year-old girl would choose prostitution over work as a restaurant hostess if such an opportunity were available?

But, it is true that many Cubans we met do sell their goods and services with the blessing of the state. While they represent a small percentage of the population, to me it seems that these people are carrying the bulk of economic activity upon their backs. It's quite ironic, but in truth not surprising, that what appears to be the only thing that keeps one of the last bastions of Communism running is a quasi-free market.

One also has to see the irony in the fact that many of these same private enterprises would be shut down before they even opened in the land of opportunity to the north. Lack of proper fire escapes, ventilation, you name it, would have U.S. regulators cracking down on these businesses in no time. I can only imagine what a FDA food inspector would have thought as we entered one small restaurant that had raw chicken laid across the only dining table in the place. Of course, U.S. style regulations would be suicide for the future of Cuba, and not only in an economic sense. Equally important, it was my experience that these businesses are providing a broad taste of liberty to Cubans, in speech and association, which would otherwise not be available.

It was no coincidence that the most intriguing conversations I had in Cuba took place in these private places of business. It wasn't only that hidden far off the street these businesses offered a place of privacy, but more importantly, when people are allowed to freely associate, they bring their ideas and opinions in tow.

Over pollo frito y congri, sitting in their living rooms, or in the back of their cabs, my relationship to them as a customer or a fellow patron transformed into one of a student and an equal. Different people from different places in Cuban society gave me their honest opinion of their nation. For the most part it was a sad story. I listened as I was told of how hard life was in Cuba, how food such as beef and milk was illegal to consume in most circumstances, how medicine was unavailable or too expensive to afford, and how if we were to have these conversations in the public they could be thrown in prison as contrarrevolucionarios. It was the first time in my life I had seen this kind of repression with my own eyes.

Overall, I could also see that these people were thirsty for ideas. They asked us many questions about life in the U.S., and with these conversations I could sense their discontent. Milton Friedman has made clear throughout his career that one cannot separate economic and political freedom. These discussions were living proof of that concept.

At the age of 78, and in visibly deteriorating health, it's a matter of time before Castro's rule over Cuba ends. The question is, what will be next? In all my conversations within the confines of these businesses this is the one question to which no one had an answer. But when Cuba does find itself confronted with this change, it won’t surprise me if many of the intellectual leaders in a new democracy emerge from the owners and patrons of this private sector of the Cuban economy. They've had a taste of economic freedom, giving them a first hand look at how such an economy can work. They've also had a taste of the other freedoms that follow when adults are allowed to associate freely.

These same entrepreneurs that ran businesses only listed in obscure guidebooks, will instead run businesses that are listed on a domestic stock exchange. And those who spoke to us in the confines of their homes about what was wrong with Cuba, instead will be able to broadcast their grievances over television, radio, newspapers and, of course, the internet.

Such a day of liberty is long overdue for the Cuban people. Twelve years of these licensed professions is a far cry from true economic liberty, and, as for political liberty, forty-six years of Castro speaks for itself.

Posted by Peter Mork at 5:29 PM | Comments | TrackBack

Off to Guadalajara

This morning Em made an executive decision that we should take the night bus to Guadalajara. It has a few plusses: First, we can sleep on the bus which saves us the money we would have spent on a hotel. Second, today we were able to get our site up-to-date. After a relaxing breakfast, during which we didn’t have to worry about rushing up to pack our bags and make the morning bus, we both decided it was the right decision.

We also enjoyed a good lunch, spent a good deal of time in an internet café, and now plan on catching the 10:35pm bus to Guadalajara. We’ll arrive at 7:00am tomorrow morning and start exploring yet another town.

We’re looking forward to it.

Continued...

Before leaving for Guadalajara, Em and I had dinner at Puerto Viejo once more. During the dinner we tipped some mariachi musicians to play Huapango, a song Miguel introduced us to and that both Em and I have enjoyed during the trip. This song had even the waitresses in the place dancing. After our song was complete the owner requested another to keep the fiesta going.

We ended up taking the 9:45 bus and we both slept through most of the ride. In the middle of the night Em had to use all her strength to rip open the bathroom door to get out, which was missing its handle. But other than that it was smooth sailing to Guadalajara.

Posted by Peter Mork at 5:12 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 27, 2005

La Isla de Pierda

Early this morning we woke up to dolphins jumping in the cove in front of our hotel. After breakfast, we searched around town for an internet café with a fast connection so we could get some photos up on the site, and luckily found one. Exploring afterwards, Em saw that there was a ballet folklorico performance that she wanted to attend, in a newly restored but old theater. We planned to return at 8 pm to catch the show.

Next, we jumped in a open-air taxi, called a pulmonia, that are common around town, to head over to La Puntilla, a restaurant on the marina. At this restaurant, I had one of the best shrimp dishes I’ve ever had in my life Camaron Molcajete. When we were leaving the restaurant the hostess told us where we could catch a boat across the way to the beach at Isla de Pierda. $1 round trip was hard to beat.

Once over on the island, Em bought a mango peeled and sliced to look like a rosebud, covered with lime juice and hot pepper (it was actually very good), and the guy that sold it to her gave me a quick Spanish lesson to correctly pronounce Guanajuato. He didn’t have much luck. We grabbed a table at one of the beach-side palapa restaurants and I headed off for a swim in the ocean.

An interesting feature of Mazatlan right now is that while there are many tourists visiting, 95% of the vacationers are from other parts of Mexico. For example, at the beach over at the Isla de Pierda today I didn’t see one other family that wasn’t speaking Spanish. We found the same to be true in the Copper Canyon. It is a relief, as I had feared we’d be coming in to a town filled with a bunch of U.S. college kids acting like they were on spring break.

Tonight we saw the Ballet Folklorico Sinaloense perform at the Teatro Angela Peralta. It was an interesting and lively event with dancing, singing, and cultural displays. The orchestra and dance company were made up of teenagers and students, yet it was a top-notch professional show. The performance featured various dances, dress, and songs from all across Mexico and lasted about an hour and a half.

Now we’re off to bed. We called the bus station and our bus leaves at 11:00am tomorrow morning, putting us in Guadalajara at 8:30pm their time. Should be a long day but I plan to get a lot of reading done.

Posted by Peter Mork at 4:59 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 26, 2005

A Relaxing Day Near the Beach

Today was a fairly uneventful day, which is probably just what we needed. We woke up, headed down for some breakfast, and then set off walking towards a lighthouse located about a mile south of our hotel. On the way we stopped to take some pictures of both the ocean and a man hacking up coconuts with a machete before he’d sell them to those strolling by. He´d sell the coconuts with an opening just big enough for a straw so that the customer could drink the coconut water. Next he would crack open the coconut, slice out the meat and cover it with lime juice and chili powder for the customer to eat.

The hike up to the top of the mountain was a little long, and it was humid and hot, but after the hike to the Mirador Hotel at 12,000 feet of altitude this sea level stuff seemed very easy. We got some pictures and then headed back to the hotel. We relaxed on the balcony, explored the town a bit more, and then headed off to dinner at the town square which is a few blocks away.

Not much to report, but as I said early it’s nice to have one of those days.

Posted by Peter Mork at 4:55 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 25, 2005

Off to Mazatlan

We were up in the morning and packing our bags when Regina knocked on the door and told us that breakfast was ready. She and her sister Margot had made us quite a feast, which was perfect before the long ride to Mazatlan by bus. The eldest daughter Carmen Sophia soon came down and we were ready for her to drop us off at the bus station.

We said our goodbyes and we made them promise to come and see us up in California once we return. It was fun just to see them all interact over the last couple days, making us feel like we were home with our own siblings. One thing I´ve learned in the last few days is that if Em and I end up having three girls, it will be a lot of work, and a lot of worrying, but it will also be a lot of fun.

The 10:00am bus we hopped arrived in Mazatlan by 4:15pm. The bus originally had started from Tijuana and had been driving all night from the border town. It was strange to think that after all this traveling we are still only a day’s bus ride away from our former home in San Diego.

We found a great little hotel called La Siesta and our room has a balcony overlooking the malecon and the beach. Couldn’t ask for anything better. After dinner at a restaurant down the street we headed off towards the plaza in Old Mazatlan, stopping off in a bookstore where we spoke with a local teacher about Cuba and Mexico. I bought a book on drug trafficking in Mexico. We also were invited into an art studio that was having a class to look around. I was able to help one artist who was replicating a photo of Johnny Damon of the Red Sox’s getting a broken bat single against the Giants. The artist wanted to know what team the catcher was on, as he though the team’s name was written across his chest protection in cursive that was too small to read. While the team was the Giants, I told him, it actually said “Rawlings” the brand name of the gear. He was happy as it allowed him to accurately finish his picture.

A quick side note: I’m amazed at how popular baseball is in both Sinaloa and Sonora. It seems all major towns have a baseball stadium with a professional league, and we´ve been told that soccer is an afterthought for most sports fans in northern Mexico.

We’re now heading off to bed and hope to have another great day here tomorrow. We’re looking forward to it.

Posted by Peter Mork at 4:52 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 24, 2005

A Trip to Isla El Farallόn

All seven of us packed into their car at about 8:30am and were off to Topolobambo, a small city 25 km away where Nalo’s boat was docked. I was lucky and got the front seat to myself, while Carmen Sophia, Emily, and the three girls all had to cram in the back seat.

Soon we were on the boat and headed out to sea with a boat full of people. Roberto Balderrama was there with his son, and, of course so was Nalo, whose son also made the trip. After about an hour, we reached Isla El Farallόn, a huge rock emerging from the depths of the Sea of Cortez. On the journey out the water turned from a dull greenish blue to a crystal clear blue where you could see the rays of the sun shining down through the water. We circled the island once, taking a look at the many sea lions who where its sole inhabitants, and then let out the anchor so we all could do some swimming.

The water was perfect. The only glitch of the day was when an aguamala (a jellyfish type creature) stung Regina with its long blue tail as she was just getting back on the boat after a swim. We had another great meal on the boat, fresh fish grilled to perfection. As I said earlier, it’s going to be tough to go back to backpacking after the life we are living here.

In the late afternoon, another boat pulled up carrying another son of Nalo’s and his son-in-law Carlos. They were coming from La Paz and earlier that morning, had caught two huge sail fish which they had aboard. Once they anchored, we called Em’s parents from Carlos’ cell phone to say hi. Technology is certainly amazing when you can call home to Northern California from the middle of the Sea of Cortez.

As the day wound down we headed back to port catching two small tuna on the way. I talked with one of the workers on the boat, Gerard, who had been working for Nalo for five months. He was a great guy: we talked about the Topolobampo economy, and places he recommended visiting in Mexico.

Once back, we thanked everyone for the extraordinary day and headed back to Los Mochis. That night we went out for tacos at a restaurant called El Bachomo, so we could compare the best tacos Los Mochis had to offer against those from Navajoa. Both were excellent, so I’ll call it a draw.

Carmen Sophia and Miguel were going to be leaving early in the morning so we said our goodbyes tonight. They are such a wonderful and fun family and were so kind to put up with us and help us out so much during the last few days. Hopefully they’ll make it to California again once we are back in the States.

Posted by Peter Mork at 4:47 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 23, 2005

A Day in Los Mochis

We woke up and had breakfast with Carmen Sophia. We particularly liked her homemade yogurt with fruit and honey so she showed us just how she made it. Later on in the day she and her youngest daughter Regina took us for a tour around Los Mochis.

First we headed to Parque Sinaloa, which had formerly been the private garden of the Johnston family who had owned the sugar mill in town. They explained that Los Mochis was only 100 years old, founded by an American family, the Johnstons. We took some pictures in the park and then headed up atop the towns only mountain to get a birds eye view of Los Mochis and to take a few more pictures. After that it was back to their home to try tortas ahogadas, another recipe we are going to have to write down.

As we were sitting and talking after lunch there was a knock on the door that led to the garage. Two small kids, a boy and a girl, probably ages five and seven, stood smiling at the door. Carmen Sophia asked “What do you want? Some food?” as they stood inside the garage whose door was open. They nodded yes and Carmen Sophia told them to wait and she would get them some sandwiches. They goofed around in the garage having a good time and Em took some picture of them. They both had some of the biggest smiles you ever will see.

After they got their sandwiches and were on their way I asked Carmen Sophia if that happens a lot. “Yes, it’s typical,” she told us “we’re a poorer country.” I initially thought they might have been neighbors’ kids she knew, but no, they were just two random children asking if they could have a bite to eat. She didn’t think much of her generosity; it was just a typical event. When I mentioned that as a kid in the U.S., I’d be a little scared to walk through somebody’s garage I didn’t know and knock on their door, she said, again, it was more common in Mexico. We swapped some stories about how Americans are a little more closed off in their homes, something my former boss Victor, who’s originally from the Dominican Republic, had discussed with me a while back as well.

We relaxed around the house the rest of the day. At about 6:00 Miguel, Carmen Sophia’s husband, who we have met before, got home from work in Navajoa. All of his girls were happy to see him. Later on that night he and Carmen Sophia took us out to dinner at El Farallόn , a great seafood and sushi restaurant in town where we met another friend of the family.

We’re now back at their place and about to get some sleep as were up early tomorrow for a trip on Nalo’s (Carmen Sophia’s uncle) boat. Should be another fun day. Em and I are getting spoiled with all this generous hospitality.

Posted by Peter Mork at 4:45 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 22, 2005

From Posada Barrancas to Los Mochis

When we awoke it was overcast but the view was still incredible. After breakfast we took a hike around the hotel. Just a five minute hike from the lobby we found some great lookout points off sheer cliffs. Never one comfortable with heights, I got close to the edge for a few pictures but that was enough for me. We headed back to the hotel and packed up our backpacks before heading back to the lobby to check out and then on for some lunch.

It was another good meal. When we had finished we still had another 30 minutes before the bus left to get us to the train so I decided to order a margarita and enjoy the view from the deck one last time. An 8 year old boy, whose mother sold goods with other Tarahumara Indian women out front, sheepishly watched us as we enjoyed the view. I asked his name and we began to talk a bit. Em asked if she could take a picture of the two of us together to which he agreed.

The discussion continued and he informed us that he lived in a village down below. He pointed to the group of houses far below that we had visited the previous day and encountered the drunk older men. I asked if he would like an apple granola bar in our bag and he immediately said yes. After finishing it though he crumpled up the wrapper in this hand and ran to the edge of the deck and tossed it off the side. I was shocked but luckily the wrapper blew back onto the deck due to a strong gust of wind. I picked it up before he could heave it over again. I told him, “It would be better if we threw this in the trash, don’t you think? That way we won’t get the hillside dirty.” But he didn’t really respond except for a slight shrug of his shoulders, as if to say: why take the time to throw it in the trash when the hillside below is so much closer?

We headed out to the front and waited for the bus. We were informed it would be arriving a little late but decided to stay outside among the Tarahumara women selling their goods. Ten minutes later the dark clouds above finally started shower us with water. We moved under the veranda as the women began to cover their goods with plastic. Another young Tarahumara boy, wearing a baseball cap, probably 4 years old, stood on a step in the rain about 10 feet in front of us starring off into the distance. I looked at Em with a confused look and she replied “Why is he standing in the rain?”

He had his cap pulled down tight and had on what looked to be a warm jacket, but I had no idea why he didn’t just take a few steps back under the balcony to get out of the rain. The Tarahumara women didn’t seem to be too concerned as they passed him, but it still was odd. Then a minute or two passed and we began to hear, quietly at first, moans and sniffles as he began to sob. It was heartbreaking.

A man behind us called to him that he shouldn’t worry, that his mom would be back soon. Another tourist approached him and asked if he would like to come back under the terrace but he paid her no attention. Another minute passed as Tarahumara women walked past him paying him no heed. It was bizarre. As his cries intensified I decided to walk over and carry him back a few yards to get him under some cover. I was worried at first that he might throw a tantrum if I touched him, but he remained stiff as a board as moved him back a few yards, telling him he would feel better out of the rain. I patted him on the back trying to comfort him, but he just stared off into the distance continuing to cry.

Finally, a Tarahumara woman passed him and dragged him off aggressively by the arm to a small house near the hotel. He wasn’t too keen on going, nor entering the house once she got him over there. Who knows, maybe it was just a 4-year-old that was mad it was raining. Still it was a sad scene for a bit.

The bus finally took us down to the train stop and in another half hour we were on the train to Los Mochis. Between the cars, I enjoyed hanging out the side of the opening as the train sped down the mountains. It was a relaxing experience watching the countryside pass by with the wind in your face. Unfortunately, this is the only passenger train in Mexico, so it is not an experience I’ll be enjoying again anytime soon.

After 8 and a half hours in the train we were back in Los Mochis. During the trip Em finished reading “The Motorcycle Diaries,” and she and I had an interesting conversation about Che Guevara. At the station Carmen Sophia came to pick us up with her 15 year old daughter Margot driving for practice. Once back at their place we told them about our trip and headed off to bed. Tomorrow should be another fun day.

Posted by Peter Mork at 4:36 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 21, 2005

Hiking Down to the Wakajipare Village

Well rested, we awoke and had some breakfast looking out over the dramatic view. Next, we caught part of a performance put on by some of the Tarahumara Indians outside the hotel for tips. The presentation included dancing, a traditional running race between men in the tribe, and a traditional race between women in the tribe. A little of the traditional aura of the race was lost given that the marker for the halfway mark was a line between a new Toyota and the hotel bus, but it was still interesting. At the end of the show all were laughing, Tarahumara and tourists alike, when two Mexican tourists from the audience were chosen to race against each other for the closing act.

We headed off down a trail near the hotel with the plans of making the 1500 meter decent to the river that lay 6 miles below. We first stopped off at a small village near the hotel. A 10 year old girl let us know the prices of some of the crafts her family was selling outside her home. While soft spoken, she was a good saleswoman, and we walked away with a few small dolls.

A man from Guadalajara who was walking alongside us commented “Look, they have the most beautiful view world but sadly they are living like animals.” While harsh, there was a good deal of truth in the comment. The tiny shacks dug into the cliff had neither electricity nor running water, let alone any of the other comforts many of us take for granted. I was glad to see though that one of the kids had a BMX bike for transportation and entertainment, and a gas powered chainsaw in one of the sheds showed that the 20th century had not completely passed them by.

We met up with another family from Mexico City looking for the Wakajipare Village as well, a halfway point between the hotel and the river. We made our way down another trail towards some shacks we spotted on another plateau. When we approached, a man emerged from one of the huts. He was visibly drunk, while his face and shirt were covered with dry blood. Despite the first impression he was nice and stumbled through a few sentences informing me that we’d have to return to back from where we came in order to reach Wakajipare.

We took some pictures of their view and their donkeys which were tied to some nearby trees. Looking off the ledge I noticed the hillside was littered with trash. Meanwhile, the family from Mexico City bought some crystallized rocks that were laid our across a stump for their two daughters. The mother of the family had no compunction showing her distaste for the men in this little village, commenting to me that if she were their wives she would drag them up to work above with the rest of the women selling goods, instead of letting them drink all day.

After leaving this small village we took a different route from the family. We were getting a little lost when I decided to scale a small rock cliff to get a view from above, but once I reached the top I saw yet another village, this one a bit bigger. Em made her way up right behind me and we emerged behind a small cemetery amongst the small houses. We made our way through and saw a young man standing in the doorway of a house. He was the first Tarahumara male I’d seen over 8 years old and less than 40. I suspected this was because many able body young men jump on the train to head to bigger cities in search of work and a better life.

The young man was very nice and walked us down to make sure we got on the right trail to the village. After about a half-mile of walking we came upon another settlement. A man made his way up a hillside on a donkey, pursued by a newborn donkey. After briefly talking with his wife and young son we continued down the mountain. It was also nice to see here that Tarahamara were constructing new houses that looked much more solid than the ones we had previously seen. It was a sign that for some there was some progress towards improving living conditions. There were no other tourists in sight, clearly because this was a pretty rough hike. Another 2 miles of switch backs over quite a descent led us to the Wakajipaje Village, most notable for the large sections of hillsides covered with cornrows.

We made our way to the bottom of the village and ate our lunch on a large rock near a creek. Up above two young girls, probably 7 or 8 threw rocks to the sides of several sheep in order to herd them to the valley below. One lamb made a break back up the hill and one of the girls had to drag it back down after unsuccessfully being able to scare it down with the rocks.

I wanted to head down to the river but Em’s knee was really starting to bother her and truthfully we had quite a task in front of us in the climb back up to the hotel. I decided to run down a bit further, as Em finished her lunch, just to see what was around the bend. There were a few more houses and the two young girls were sitting atop a rock looking over the sheep. I asked how far to the river but they were both very shy and one only timidly nodded when I asked if it was lejos. I asked if they wanted some pan dulce, which Mama Elisa had given us, and one of the girls shyly nodded yes.

I ran back around the corner and signaled for Emily to come down. We tried to talk to them; one mainly smiled and nodded to our questions, while the other didn’t want much to do with us at all. By the end though she was shyly smiling a bit as well. We let them both choose one of the pan dulces and a granola bar. They nodded when we asked if we could take a few pictures, but after that we told them goodbye and were off back up the hill.

The climb was tough. We stopped several times along the way and finished off the water that we carried. At about 2:50 with the hotel in sight I decided to run back in order to make sure we got a lunch, which the hotel stopped serving at 3:00. I made it just in time and Em arrived 10 minutes later. A cold Coca-Cola never tasted so good. Following lunch we returned to the room and relaxed before dinner.

After dinner we headed back to the room to read and then it was off to bed. Tomorrow we plan on doing some hiking in the morning before the long but scenic train ride back to Los Mochis.

Posted by Peter Mork at 4:31 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 20, 2005

The Train to Copper Canyon

Carmen Sophia dropped us off at the train station at about 5:30am and came in to make sure that everything was squared away with out tickets. We said we would call her Friday to let her know the exact time that we were heading back.

Once aboard we both fell asleep pretty quickly as it was too dark to see outside and we both needed some rest. When we awoke around 9:30 we were beginning our assent up into the Copper Canyon, but we still had quite a bit of ground to cover. They told us we would hit our stop, Posada Barrancas, at about 3:00pm. During the ride we snacked on some sandwiches that Carmen Sophia had given us, as well as some pan dulce that Mama Elisa had sent along. The ride was gorgeous as we made our way through huge mountains that abruptly climbed into the sky. Soon there was a roaring river on the right side of the train, and pine trees began to appear as we climbed higher and higher into the mountains.

We reached our stop at about 3:30 and made our way to the Mirador Hotel, where rooms had been reserved for us by the owner Roberto Balderrama, a friend of the Salidos, who I talked to yesterday to set up the details for the hotel. It was clear that we were being well taken care of; everyone was making sure that we were enjoying northern Mexico to the fullest, and we were.

When we entered the hotel my jaw dropped as I took in the view from the lobby and restaurant. I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon, but from the pictures I’ve seen this is equally spectacular if not more so. In fact, the Grand Canyon in Arizona is only one-fourth the size of the Barranca de Cobre, the Copper Canyon. Best of all, every room in the hotel was perched over the canyon with a view. Take a look at our pictures to get an idea of how stunning it is.

Entering the hotel we got our first view of some of the Tarahumara Indians, who were selling crafts outside. Over 50,000 live in this area and are known for their long distance running ability. The Raramuri, as they are also called, literally means “the people of the swiftly running feet.” My good friend Hector Delgado had told me about them over 10 years ago when we both worked cutting and selling firewood during our summer breaks. As I remember his story, he told me that years and years ago a group came from Mexico City looking for a runner to compete in the marathon for the Olympics. When they asked for the best runner, the tribe brought forward a woman, I believe at a time when only men were competing in the event. I’ll try to find out how much truth there is to this story as I was 16 when Hector told it to me and my memory might have mangled it over the years.

The brochures told us that many of the Tarahumara still live in caves as their ancestors did some 400 years ago. I tend to find this fact somewhat depressing rather than a highlight for a brochure; we definitely wanted to find out more about this community.

After a nap we headed off to dinner. It was a good meal and afterwards we took a few pictures of the view and of the many hummingbirds that swarm the feeders outside at dusk. Still weary from our trip we called it an early night and headed off to bed.

Posted by Peter Mork at 4:20 PM | Comments | TrackBack

Updating the Site

We’ve finally posted some of our travelogue on Cuba below. At this point, we are still trying to figure out the best way to update the site. It’s taken us longer than expected to get all that we have written into the computer, but at least this is a start.

For those who are interested in reading some of the details of our trip to Cuba, they can scroll down on this page and start with July 5th. Another option is to view all of our Cuban entries, but there will be a lot more text on this page.

For most days both Emily and I have separate entries, so many posts retell the same stories from slightly different perspectives. Soon I’ll also be putting up a few essays on my Cuban experience that will have a bit more analysis, as opposed to what is mainly a travelogue for my enteries up until this point.

One more quick note: We've uploaded a few pictures of Mexico at our other site. Hope you enjoy!

Posted by Peter Mork at 3:13 AM | Comments | TrackBack

July 19, 2005

Off to Los Mochis

We woke up and headed off to Hacienda Cazadores, owned by Polo Acosta, who I knew from hunting doves earlier in the year. He and his wife were happy to see us. They treated us to a delicious breakfast, and Polo gave me his phone number in case of any emergency as we headed south through Mexico. As we left, we were greeted by the brother of Emily’s new yellow lab back in Saint Helena, Palomo. We got an idea of how much her puppy Claudia must have grown since we left.

At about 1 o’clock Angel picked us up to drive us to Los Mochis. We told Mama Elisa goodbye and said we’d make sure to keep in touch. It should be easy to do since I bought my cell phone in Navajoa and her home phone is a local call for us.

We started off to Los Mochis and during the hour and a half drive had a great conversation with Angel. We talked about his love for music, his kids, how close he came to playing professional baseball before a career ending injury, and how Fernando Valenzuela was originally from Navajoa, something I had not realized. When he dropped us off at Miguel and Carmen Sophia’s house we exchanged addresses so we could stay in touch.

Carmen Sophia was happy to see us. We met one of her daughters and then she brought us into town to make reservations for the train to the Copper Canyon, which was leaving at 6:00am the next morning and where we would be staying for a few days. After a little maneuvering with the tickets, we were all set, and headed back to her house.

We came down for dinner around 8 pm and met two more of her daughters and a few of their friends. Her husband Miguel was in Navajoa working, and her son, who I had met a few weeks prior in St. Helena, lived in Las Vegas where he was starting a distribution business from the ground up. The dinner was yet another excellent meal, tostadas with hot caldo.

After dinner Em and I were back on the internet uploading photos and getting more of our travelogue ready to post. Em finally went to bed well after midnight and I just ended up staying up all night working on the site, figuring I could sleep on the train.

At 4:30am the phone rang for the alarm service we had called the night before and we were ready to start another day.

Posted by Peter Mork at 4:15 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 18, 2005

A Haircut and a Tour of Navajoa

After breakfast with Mama Elisa and her sister Marta, we piled in the Suburban again for a trip to the barber so I could get my haircut. With the hot weather I really needed it. Em got some pictures as the barber cut my hair at El Pio, but in the end it was just what I wanted.

Leaving in the Suburban we saw Mama Elisa’s niece, Georgis with her daughter. They jumped in the Suburban with us, and Mama Elisa’s niece took the wheel for the tour. We drove around to some of the newer neighborhoods in Navajoa, then off to old Navajoa and the river where local kids were doing acrobatic jumps off of a tree into the water. Towards the end of the day we headed to another side of town and to a small farm where we bought some homemade cheese to snack on and for dinner.

Once back at Mama Elisa’s, Em worked on the computer and I watched a little bit of the Tour de France and then was amazed when Real Madrid vs the Los Angeles Galaxy came on live. I could only imagine the glee my friend Cristain in Barcelona would exhibit if Madrid were to lose to a team from a league he considers once of the worst in the world. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be and the Galaxy lost 2-0, but they still had a decent showing against one of the biggest powerhouses in soccer.

That night, Marcelo and Rosi picked us up again to head over to the town’s new bowling alley where their son was competing in a tournament. It was fun and I was surprised by the caliber of the players. Two different people came very close to throwing perfect games, one only missed it by one strike after throwing 8 straight. After the bowling we said our goodbyes and Marcelo said that he would have a driver take us down to Los Mochis tomorrow. They were both so kind during our short stay here and really added a lot to our experience.

Later on Mama Elisa took us out to another taqueria, a one room restaurant built alongside a family’s kitchen: a very popular place with great Sonoran food. The owner was preparing the food in the kitchen and his teen-aged son was waiting tables. Once back at home, I poured some shots of some mescal that a friend of Mama Elisa’s had brought for her in a 2 liter Coke bottle. I had never tried mescal before. After the first drop hitting my lips I realized it was way too much for this gringo. It was so powerful I asked Mama Elisa if it was going to make me blind if I finished the whole thing, to which she laughed. In the end we ended up transferring the shots to a small bottle for her employee Cheque, who she said would not let it go to waste. After that we called it a night.

Posted by Peter Mork at 4:11 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 17, 2005

Exploring Alamos and a Trip to Las Bocas

After waking up, having some breakfast, and catching up on some email, Marcelo and Rosi gave us a tour around Alamos in their car. We stopped off at the town’s cemetery that had some tombstones dating from the 1700’s and at a new building on the outskirts of town where artists could rent stalls and sell their goods. At the end of the tour they dropped us off at the central Plaza so we could quickly tour the town’s museum.

Walking back to the hotel Em and I stopped off for a beer due to the 100 degree plus heat. All the architecture here is stunning. Once you enter, most of the buildings have small courtyards surrounded by large terraces for shade. Perfect for the summertime weather.

Once back at the hotel we had another good lunch with Marcelo and Rosi. Marcelo and I had an interesting talk about the United States’ war on drugs and how it is affecting Mexico. The northern states of Sinaloa and Sonora are particularly hard hit as these are the places where many of the drugs are smuggled on their way up north. Law enforcement doesn’t do much good as once one drug lord is taken down, another will rise in his place. There is so much money involved, the incentives are too great, and with them of course comes corruption. Marcelo stressed that it is a “war” that we are not winning and wondered why politicians with some common sense refuse to realize this. While I support this position, we conceded to Marcelo that unfortunately, reforming the anti-drug agenda is a taboo subject for both parties in the U.S. I hope to write more about the issue in the near future.

Toward the end of the lunch we were joined by the hotel owners Jim and Nancy, a fun and sweet couple. They told us about a recent visit by various Russian oligarchs, “Los Russos,” who were rowdy guests at the hotel, and filled us in on a reality show from the Netherlands that was going to be filmed at the hotel and the surrounding area. The entire hotel was rented by the film crew for 6 weeks later this summer. It will be fun to see it if we could get our hands on a copy. It’s a European version of “The Bachelor,” the producers were also thinking about using Marcelo’s beach house in Las Bocas, which was our next stop after leaving Alamos.

We arrived in Las Bocas around 6:00 and chatted with their son Marcelo and his wife Cheri, who had been at the beach for the day. The grandkids were playing in the sand as we relaxed and enjoyed a beer. As the sun was setting, we drove back to Navajoa and we were dropped off at Mama Elisa’s house. We said goodbye, and thanked them for the excellent time.

Mama Elisa greeted us by pouring the three of us shots of tequila. We snacked on chips as she pulled out photos for us to look at from various stages of her life. It was a lot of fun. I also talked on the phone with her daughter Elisa and son-in-law Walt about our upcoming plans for the week, which they were graciously helping with.

Finally, with all of us ready for some food she drove us across town to one of her favorite taquerias. On the way we stopped for some gas and we were all laughing after a little chaos getting to a pump that worked. Everyone we pulled up to was out of service. It almost took longer maneuvering that big suburban around from to pump after pump than it took to fill up the tank.

After that little adventure we made it to the taco stand that was next door to the office of the local ganadaria that bore Mama Elisa late husband’s name. Next door, the tacos were excellent. I had three of carne asada and tried one of tripas, which I had never had before. Mama Elisa told me they were delicious and, true to her word, they were. During the meal Em had to conquer her fear of insects as they literally rained down upon our food and heads, attracted by the bright lights in the outdoor seating. I was laughing as both her and Mama Elisa were pulling small beetles out of their hair and tacos during the meal, but the food was well worth it, and Emily agreed.

Now we’re off to bed. Tomorrow should be another interesting day.

Posted by Peter Mork at 4:06 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 16, 2005

Arriving in Navajoa

We got off our bus at 4:00am and made our way inside to give “Mama” Elisa, a good friend of Emily’s family and native of Navajoa, a call. We use the “Mama” before her name to distinguish her from her daughter Elisa. To my surprise she picked up the phone immediately and when I asked if we should walk down to her place, she forbid it and said she would be right down to pick us up. It was a welcome sight to see her familiar face when she pulled up outside the bus station in her huge white Suburban. Soon she had us back to her house and we were off to bed. It was great to be in a familiar environment.

The next morning I was up at 8:30 and talking with Mama Elisa about our trip. She pulled out a globe and I pulled out our travel book on Mexico to show what Emily and I had planned so far. At about 11:30 Mama Elisa officially dubbed Emily “Sleeping Beauty” after I had two unsuccessful attempts of waking her up. She obviously needed the rest after the long night of traveling.

As we began breakfast, Rosi Fernandez, another friend of the family’s who we had met when they visited Napa a few weeks back, joined us. She asked if Em and I would like to stop by there place for lunch later in the day and then join her and her husband Marcelo in a trip to the colonial town, Alamos, where they planned to spend the night. It sounded great to us.

About 2 o’clock we all loaded back into the Suburban and Mama Elisa gave us a quick tour of Navajoa. She dropped us off at the Fernandez’s house which was only a few blocks away from her home. We met their son and daughter-in-law, Marcelo and Cheri, as well their two children. Their home was beautiful and the lunch was delicious. Afterwards we were off to Alamos.

Em had been to Alamos last January but for me it was my first time in the city. Formerly the capital of Sonora, it’s a small mining town that has maintained most of its original charm. We stayed in a beautiful hotel run by two Americans that originally came to Alamos to retire. The hotel was called Hacienda de Los Santos and the owners, Jim and Nancy, had restored it beautifully.

We had dinner with Marcelo and Rosi at about 8:00 after exploring the hotel for a few hours. It was yet another delicious meal. After we were finished Marcelo asked the bartender what the most expensive tequila was out of their 500 bottles that they proudly displayed in the bar. Barrique de Ponciano Porfidio was the name and they sold it for $300 a shot (yes, a shot… not a bottle). The waiter carefully brought out the bottle so we could take a look and take a picture, but needless to say we decided it was best not to indulge in a taste.

It’s now late and we’re about to get some sleep in our gorgeous room. This is quite a treat. We know this will be one of the few occasions we’ll be able to stay in a hotel of this caliber over the next year. Once we’re back in Sonoma County we hope Marcelo and Rosi will visit the area so that Em and I will be able to reciprocate some of their generosity.

Posted by Peter Mork at 4:02 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 15, 2005

Back to Traveling

After uploading another batch of pictures from Cuba to our website, we were off to the airport to catch our flight to Hermosillo through Mexico City. I think the Cancun airport will always remind me of that first day heading to Cuba. We picked up our boarding passes for this flight right next to where we picked up our tickets to Cuba a week before.

We arrived in Mexico City and had an overpriced meal at a restaurant called Wings that did not live up to expectations. Not a surprise considering we were eating in an airport but, after a similar experience in Cancun, this was the second time we’d had bad airport food in the last 6 hours and we were ready for some good food. We made a rule: no more wasting money on overpriced and awful airport food.

We landed in Hermosillo around 10:10pm and were happy to see our bags make it onto the carousel. We grabbed a taxi in a rush to catch the bus to Navajoa that departed at 11:00pm. We felt like we were in the middle of the Amazing Race when our taxi driver pulled over to fill up his gas tank. We got to the station with 15 minutes to spare and bought 2 of the remaining 3 seats on the bus. Once aboard, I put the seat back and tried to get some sleep, which was a difficult task with the movie “Alien vs. Predator” blasting for the first hour and a half of the ride. Eventually though I fell asleep, putting an end to the day.

Posted by Peter Mork at 3:57 PM | Comments | TrackBack

A Look at La Habana

We have put up a collection of our favorite photos taken during our week in Cuba. Click here to view them at our photo website.

Posted by Peter Mork at 11:56 AM | Comments | TrackBack

Two Cuban Soccer Players Defect to the United States

While we were in Havana highlights of Cuba’s 4-1 loss to the United States in the Copa de Oro were shown on the local news. What we did not see reported while we were in the city was that Maikel Galindo, who scored the team’s only goal against Costa Rica two day later, along with another player, defected to the United States. Here are some details of the affair:

Galindo describes how Saturday night after the match he decided to make his escape. With just the clothes on his back and a little money, he left his hotel and caught a bus with no idea where he was going.

"I took the elevator down, I pushed open one door and it opened to the parking lot. I pushed open another door and just a few steps in front of me a bus was loading and I just got on the bus," he said.

Galindo asked the Metro bus driver to call the one man he knew in Seattle – Alex Zahajko, a high-school Spanish teacher and soccer coach who was acting as a liaison for the Cuban team.

"I asked him: Are you lost? Do you want to go back to the team? He said, 'No, I'm not lost, I want to stay,'" said Zahajko.

Posted by Peter Mork at 9:53 AM | Comments | TrackBack

July 14, 2005

Getting Ourselves Together

Today was a day of picking up the pieces. I woke up early to start getting all that we had written in Cuba into the computer. After breakfast, we headed back to the hotel and took turns with the computer to continue either organizing our pictures or typing out our travelogue.

At about 3:30 we headed across the street for a drink and some lunch, the best margaritas and guacamole in Cancun the waiter assured us. The waiter warned us to be careful in the states of Sonora and Sinaloa, where we were headed for the next leg of the trip. After the quick meal it was around the corner to an internet place I saw when dropping off our laundry the previous day. “Banda Ancha” read the sign (broadband) which was exactly what we needed to get our pictures up on our site.

Even with the fast internet connection, the pictures still took forever to upload. We stayed until the owner closed his shop at 8:00pm, and told him we would be back tomorrow to finish the job. That night we tried another restaurant downtown, Carrillo’s, which again was a great meal. The same musicians from the night before were making their rounds at this place when we entered. They saw us as we entered and gave us a smile.

Soon after we greeted each other they played us another tune, and talked we all talked about our plans for the trip. Emily asked if she could take a picture of them, but they suggested we get one together. Then before we knew it they had decked us out in sombreros and colorful Mexican blankets for the picture. There was no doubt we were in Cancun, the tourist haven. The lead singer gave us his card with his address and asked if we could send him the photograph if we have time. Both were so nice.

It rained on and off during the dinner but Hurricane Emily was still far away. We made our way back to the hotel and called it an early night.

Posted by Peter Mork at 3:46 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 13, 2005

Back from Cuba

We´ve made it back from Cuba and are currently in Cancun, Mexico with Hurricane Emily whipping at our heels. Tomorrow, we´ll be updating the site with all the details of the last week, but until then I thought I´d post this photo from the beginning of the trip.

Sorry for all the problems with the site of late. Luck would have it that the day before we leave I had some major problems with Movable Type and could not update the site.

Posted by Peter Mork at 3:40 PM | Comments | TrackBack

Departing Cuba

The taxi driver picked us up at 5:30am and we were off to the airport. A few blocks from where we stayed we were passed by Fidel Castro’s caravan, which was taking him back to his ranch. One night when we were going to bed at midnight I could hear Fidel on the television from another apartment still talking about the hurricane. I thought it had to be a recording. It turns out it wasn’t. He was on the air talking from 6:00pm until 1:30am the next morning. The taxi driver confirmed that Fidel likes to work at night, but added that all he has to do is talk, not something hard like driving a taxi.

The driver also talked about his family and how his oldest son had just entered the military for his two years of mandatory service. He said after that he was encouraging his son to not enter the police force in Havana as it was not a respected position, even though the pay was relatively high. He told us that all the police in Havana come from the surrounding areas of the country, which was the same thing we had heard from other Cubans during the trip.

In the airport we got our tickets and got hit with a $50 airport tax. Luckily we had enough money left to pay it. I made my way through immigration fairly easy, but Emily took forever to get through. I was starting to get nervous right when she walked through the door. It turns out she was just chatting with nice girl who was examining her passport.

Before we boarded the plane, we started talking to another American that was seated near us. It turns out that while he currently works for the U.S. Foreign Interest Section in Havana, he previously worked for the Cato Institute. Because of his position, he was not allowed to fraternize with ordinary Cubans, but it still sounded like an interesting job. I mentioned that since he had another year and a half at the position, he might be in Cuba for a very interesting time. “Yes,” he replied, “but that is what everyone in my position has been saying for the last 10 years.”

Soon we were on the plane and getting our last views of Cuba from the airplane window on our way to Cancun. It will be an experience that will stay with us throughout the trip.

CONTINUED…

We landed in Cancun and made our way through immigration and customs. At the Hertz rent-a-car counter I asked about a bus to town that we heard stopped next to their lot. The attendant informed me there was a better one called Rivera that only cost $1.40.

As we headed out of the airport there was immediately a different feel from Cuba. Several people approached us and asked if they could take us to town in one of their shuttles or by taxi. But when we told them we were not interested, instead of trying to insistently pursue the sale, all helped us to find the bus we were looking for. Soon we were on the 20 minute bus ride into town.

After arriving in downtown Cancun, we grabbed our bags and set off for a cheap hotel that Josephine had recommended. Unfortunately the guide we were looking at had the wrong address and we ended up walking around in the 90 degree + weather for quite a while before we found it.

We got settled in the hotel and then made our way across town to find a place to do laundry and some internet. Having just survived hurricane Dennis, we were surprised to learn that a new hurricane was now headed for Cancun. What luck. Most ironic was the fact that this new Hurricane was named Emily, but luckily, she was not supposed to arrive until Sunday when we would already be long gone.

That night we ate at a good restaurant in the center of town. As it’s the low season we literally had a courtyard in the back to ourselves. We had some fun talking with both the waiter and two musicians who played us a tune over dinner.

We got back to the hotel, and before going to sleep, Em worked on her journal and organizing the pictures from Cuba, while I watched Mexico beat Jamaica in the Copa de Oro.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)

Posted by Peter Mork at 2:46 AM | Comments | TrackBack

July 12, 2005

A Different Side of Cuba

Today we awoke after a night of the power flickering on and off. The biggest problem when the power is out is that the heat really starts getting to you. A perfect solution we have found is to have a wet towel close by in order to cool ourselves off from time to time so it is possible to get back to sleep. After washing some clothes in the morning we started out to find another paladar recommended in our guide. It was a very hot walk, and we were both dripping with sweat when we arrived, but it was well worth it. In the shade of a small garden terrace we had another excellent lunch.

We talked with our waiter, who also was the cook and owner, who travels every year for a few months to Miami under his Italian passport. As we were eating, the electricity went out. The waiter said it was normal as the power is always going on and off due to old equipment at the plants, even without hurricanes.

After lunch we headed back to our apartment and then from there back over to see Diana and Jose. They were happy to see us and were filling us up with coffee and cold water in no time. We began a long discussion that started very innocently, but towards the end had evolved into a passionate talk about the U.S. and Cuba.

They both saw Cuba in a much more positive light than many of the young people we met throughout Havana. We talked a good deal about how hard it was for Diana to go to the U.S. on a tourist visa to visit family. She had been rejected several times by the U.S. interest section that feared she would overstay her visa. She felt the dry land policy of the U.S. government was a ploy as it reinforces the image of Cubans risking their lives in order to reach Florida. Obviously there was no denying the fact that people in fact did risk their lives, but why the resistance to her visiting as a tourist then? She also said that the envelope she brought with proof of financial evidence that she would return to Cuba was never even opened.

We talked about Bush, whom they did not hold in high regard (no one we spoke with had). Jose mentioned that Bush always talked about liberty and democracy, but carefully leaves out independence and sovereignty. I tried to make the point that with true liberty and democracy, sovereignty and independence will naturally follow, regardless of whether Bush means it to or not, and that a sovereign nation is not necessarily free.

Emily directly asked them if ordinary Cubans could easily access international newspapers freely and access the internet. They said yes, that the constraints in Cuba were mostly of those of a developing nation whose people did not have the money to do such things. This was in direct contrast to what others had told us, and I found it hard to believe. They insisted it was true, that if a young Cuban had the money they were free to march up the steps of the Capitolio and access the internet. It would have been an interesting experiment to see if one of the young Cubans we met could have accompanied us to the use the computers because this seems to be the exact sort of thing that people were being stopped by the police for.

Diana also spoke of her job as a librarian in the National Library and that her job was to keep on file the best articles for investigators that she could find, no matter the source. While these articles were from more technical journals, she said that they were open to anyone who could use the national library system. Again, she stressed that the outside world thinks that Cubans are shut off intellectually, but it is not the case. Friends had computers and internet in their homes and could access whatever websites they would like.

You could tell she loved her former job, as she loved her current one of renting out their casa particular. At one point, when I was asking about the taxes they had to pay for their rental, she replied that while they were very high, she tried not to think about it. If she worried that in the U.S. or another country she could make a better living, then maybe she wouldn’t do it at all. But for her it was a way to stay active and to earn a better living, so it was worth it.

As we were leaving some friends of the family arrived, a doctor and his wife who was a nurse. We spoke of how much we had learned in our week in Cuba and the doctor told me that in order to really learn about a country you need to speak not to the high officials in the government, nor to the lower class that live in the cities, but to people like them in the middle who have a view of it all. Diana had said something similar earlier when she said that young poor people in the city often complain to foreigners about how bad things are, but never mention all that is good about Cuba.

Although I didn’t tell them directly, I prefer to talk to as many people as possible on many different levels of the economic scale and make my own decision. It was rather obvious that these families led comfortable lives and were of the generation that seems to have benefited the most from the revolution. It has shaped the way they see Cuba. Of course the views of those on the lower rung of the economic scale with fewer opportunities will see their country from a different perspective.

We said our goodbyes, and promised to stay in touch. I must stress what a wonderful couple they were and how much they helped us to see and explain a different side of Cuba than what we had previously experienced.

That night we had dinner at a place famous for its roasted chicken, and then it was off to bed as we had to catch a taxi at 5:30am in order to catch our flight back to Cancun.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)

Posted by Peter Mork at 2:35 AM | Comments | TrackBack

July 11, 2005

Romeo y Julieta

No photos are allowed at the cigar factory Romeo y Julieta. We chose to go to this particular factory because the Romeo y Julieta cigars are my dad’s favorite. Cigars in Cuba sell for between $5 and $25 apiece officially. They are exported everywhere (except the U.S.). Peter and I were very interested in getting a glimpse of an industry famously Cuban. The family that began Romeo y Julieta had fled to the Dominican Republic after the revolution in 1959, and continues to make and sell them from the DR. On our tour, the guide told us, “This factory has been in operation since 1865.” She did not mention that the original business was seized by the government and that all cigar factories were nationalized after the revolution. This was the situation of nearly all businesses in Cuba after 1960.

Today, all of the famously Cuban cigar brands (Cohiba, Romeo y Julieta, Montecristo, Joya de Monterrey) are rolled and processed in all of the state-run factories, but packaged as they always have been. What make each brand different from one another are 1) the mold of the cigar and 2) the blend of different varietals of tobacco leaves. It reminds me of the wine industry. Imagine if all the great wineries in the Napa Valley were seized and nationalized. The creativity required to fill little niches in the marketplace would be snuffed. It would be a narrow, unchanging, expensive world for people who enjoy wine. Cuba’s motto seems to be “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”. Rows and rows of cubanos roll cigar after cigar by hand. There is an earthy, sepia-filtered feel to the massive rooms. The leaves stain the workbenches, and the lighting is an amber-glow. There is a buzz; a hum of worker bees. Nothing has changed in 50 years, it seems. I can hardly see straight because of all the irony. How strange that the Cuban government, founded on the abolition of private enterprise for “moral” reasons, so heavily relies economically on the original ideas and methods of those entrepreneurs it ran out of the country. It’s because private enterprise is the only thing that seems to keep an economy afloat; the only thing that keeps people fed; the only thing that gives people hope.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)

Posted by Emily Marie Stremel Mork at 11:59 PM | Comments | TrackBack

Leaving Havana Centro

We had a lot to do on our last day in Havana so we were busy from the moment we woke up. I raced over to the hotel across the street to change some more Mexican pesos as we were running low on convertibles. After this, Em and I were off to find a taxi to the Romeo y Julieta cigar factory located on the other side of town away from any tourist centers. The taxi we got was a ‘55 Buick special edition and the driver was friendly.

Once we arrived at the factory the tour was fascinating. We practically got a private tour since there were very few tourists that made the journey out to this part of the city. Clearly, for those employed making the cigars this was not an ideal job by U.S. standards. We were not allowed to take photos. Row after row of men and women sat side-by-side rolling cigars in a hot, humid room. Even the Lonely Planet author, who to me comes across as an apologist for the Cuban government, did not hide her displeasure for working conditions in the factories when she stated that these workers were forced to toil making cigars for up to 12 hours a day and it smacks of a “human zoo.”

Our guide made a point of saying the workers worked 8 hours a day with an hour for a lunch break. Each worker has a quota of cigars they are expected to produce, and any number over that baseline will earn them extra wages. Sixty percent of the factory workers are women. She also pointed to the front of the room where a microphone was set up, an employee would read the day’s news to the workers in the morning so that they could keep up on current events. It was a very desirable job in Cuba according to her, but I suspected that this had more to do with gaining access to a supply of free cigars that could later be sold on the street. Later in the tour this suspicion gained credence when I fell behind the group a bit. A worker leaned over the counter and said in a whisper “Psss… $10” as he held out a large unlabeled cigar.

Outside the factory our taxi driver had waited for us. I began to ask him about keeping his car running after all these years. “Cubans are resourceful people,” he replied “We do what it takes.” We also talked about his job, and how although he was trained as a mechanic, he later decided in life that he wanted to drive taxis for a living. It’s a very difficult change he explained, as if the government trains you for a technical profession like a mechanic, you are more useful to them in that capacity than as a driver which many people could do. Still he was persistent and after a great deal of time he finally was able to change.

He dropped us off in Central Havana and we headed towards the Museo de la Revolucion. The pictures and paintings that lined the walls of the former Presidential Palace followed the history of revolution in Cuba from the days of Jose Marti up until the late 1980’s. Glaringly missing was any discussion of the state of the revolution since the collapse of the Soviet Union, as there were no displays post-1992.

At one o’clock we found our way back to the paladar where we ate on our first day. There was a group of young men out lounging on the doorstep. One of them told us “No, not open, the gas is broken, but I can take you to another one. Follow me.” Incredibly ironic, as this is was the same exact line that Raul had used the first day before he had led us to this paladar. We told the group that we wanted to head up and see for ourselves, and began to pass the man up the stairs. Once we passed him, the other young man who had watched the entire scene without a word, motioned that yes, our paladar was actually open and to follow him up. What a bizarre place, I thought.

It was a different atmosphere at the paladar. I was disappointed that the young enfermero was not there today. There was less talk about politics and more about the siglon that had just passed over the country. We also talked with the various people in the room about family in the U.S. and life in Cuba in general. An older lady told us of her daughter in New York who would send money and was doing quite well in her new home.

We were in somewhat of a rush as we had to be out of our hotel by two o’clock. We continued talking and ate as quick as we could in order to make it back to the hotel. The others in the paladar left to do other things while we were eating and by the time we finished it was only ourselves and the elderly woman who was the cook. We took a few pictures with her and then got ready to depart.

Before we left I mentioned that I hope things would change soon so that it would be easier for us to come back and visit the country. “Yes, I know,” she said “everyone here hopes that things change.” And with that we wished her well and headed to the hotel. She gave us each a kiss on the cheek and we were off.

The clerk at the front desk asked it we had any medicine for an upset stomach that she could take. After we gathered our things from the room we gave her what we had in our medical kit. She then gave the medicine to a Cuban man in the lobby who asked me directions on how many he should take.

After this, we then made our way over to Calle and Josephine’s hotel for a beer on their rooftop restaurant. We made plans to meet in either Sweden or Europe at the end of our trip. They saw us off an hour later and we headed towards Zona Playa via taxi. We found the house of Diana and Jose, parents of a friend of a friend, and knocked on the door. They were expecting us as I had called a day earlier and explained how I had gotten their number. While the room that they rented was occupied at the moment, they said they would be more than happy to help us find another place close by.

They were such a nice couple and made us coffee and had us try some of their homemade fig marmalade as we talked and got to know each other. They had a very nice place, covered with pictures of relatives, many of whom lived in the United States, while their son and his family now lived in Canada. They walked us through their apartment for rent in the back of the building as well. Originally, it was meant to be for their son and his wife as it is very difficult for a young Cuban couple to find a place of their own. But when he found work overseas they decided it would be best to start renting it to keep them busy in retirement and for the extra income. She made clear she loved the work and I feel it kept them both young in a way. After a great introduction and meeting their 8-year-old nephew, Jose walked us down to the casa particular where we would be staying.

It was a charming place run by a young woman with a daughter. She had created a place to rent by sectioning off half of the apartment for her family to live in and half to rent. She gave us access to her kitchen. We had a full sitting room, hallway, bathroom and bedroom (almost an entire apartment, it seemed) to ourselves, and AC when the power was on. Jose drew a map of the area and made sure we were comfortable before he left us. We promised we would stop by tomorrow for another visit, and then made our way down to a local pizza place to get some dinner. This part of town was much greener and we immediately felt like we could relax. On our way back to our casa particular, we stopped by the famous Copacabana (the hottest spot north of Havana says Barry Manilo) for a drink.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)

Posted by Peter Mork at 10:27 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 10, 2005

Things Get Back to Normal... Relatively

We got a late start on the day but decided to head over once again to Havana Vieja. Em took some great photos during the walk. It also became clear that police stopping young Cubans randomly and asking for identification was a regular occurrence. Twice I saw young groups stopped and asked for identification by policeman, but did not see anyone arrested.

At 2:00 we headed back to meet our new friends Josephine and Calle at their hotel. It was nice talking to them as it was someone to compare our thoughts on the country, people, and government. It was evident that for the most part we were on the same wavelength.

All of us just got a bad feeling from Cuba. Calle thought they should continue on to see different parts of the country, while Josephine was considering returning to Mexico. That is how much Cuba bothered her.

Em and I both felt the same way. It wasn’t simply that there was poverty and inequality, but there was a repression in the air that gave off a horrible aura. A small example is that one my favorite dishes, beef, has repulsed me during the trip. Ever since I was told that Cubans could go to jail for the crime of slaughtering a cow for meat, and that the government reserved this meat solely for tourists, I just can’t stomach the idea of eating a steak. That kind of guilt extended to all sorts of things and just leaves you feeling unsettled.

We decided to try Chinatown again for lunch, this time with a recommendation from one of Emily’s friends at work who had visited Cuba a few years back for a conference. After a little searching we found it on one of the back streets. The food was quite good. We also got to talk with our waiter for a bit about his job in this private restaurant, his former job at a government restaurant, and the difference between the two. He received his current job by coming every day to the restaurant and asking if they would hire him until they eventually did. He made about $12.50, while at the government 4-star hotel he worked at while a student he was paid roughly that amount for the entire month. “One day here… there 29 more days of work” he said in broken English, but we understood his point. He was a really nice kid and wanted to meet up with us at 11:00 that night when he got off work to talk more, but unfortunately it never worked out.

After the meal we decided to walk along the Malecon towards the American Interest Building looking for a bar to watch the sunset. Once we got down there, it was clear there were no businesses along that stretch so we caught a taxi back to the ocean side bar that the two Cuban friends of our original guide had led us to on that first night. Sitting down we realized that they had overcharged us when they went to get beer. It wasn’t much, a $1 beer, but still disheartening, although at this point not that surprising.

In a free society, people generally respect the law. This is partially because of checks and balances inherent within the system and partially because the understanding that people are mutually beneficial to one another fosters a mutual respect. This was lacking to a larger degree in Cuba than I’ve experienced in other countries. For when everything is illegal, people begin to detest all law, including those that are the basis for a stable society. When I asked one young man what would happen when Castro dies, like many he answered that he didn’t know, but added that he was afraid that maybe many people might die. If his fear becomes a reality, this might be one of the reasons.

At the table next to us a woman had a 6 week old Dalmatian puppy. She let us hold it and tried to convince us that if we were to buy it for $60 we’d have no problem taking to back to our countries of origin. As the girls played with the dog, the woman showed me a credit card that said “Caribbean Transfers” asking if I knew of the company. Her daughter in the U.S. had just sent it to her as a way I’m guessing to avoid the limitations on the amount of money that could be sent to family members by the Bush administration, and the 10% fee on dollar transfers by Castro.

As night fell we watched a ceremonial firing of a cannon from the armory across from the Malecon. We were told it’s been done since Spanish times to signal the city gates were closing. Afterwards we headed out for some dinner at another restaurant that Emily’s friend had recommended. When the girls wanted ice cream at the end of the meal, the waiter said they had none due to the long power outages since the hurricane. He added that power was still out in his neighborhood, Zona Playa, which is actually where Em and I are headed tomorrow.

To end the night we all headed back to our hotel to have a few more beers, while Calle and Josephine told some hilarious stories about their trip over the last few months. The next table over, two Americans were arguing over a film they were making on Cuba. They loudly went back and forth about “blanket criticism” and the theme of the film which was that the revolution’s original ideology had gone astray. Personally, we wanted to avoid discussing the merits of a state where clearly more criticism would be a good thing. After Calle and Josephine left Em and I just headed up to bed.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)

Posted by Peter Mork at 12:26 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 9, 2005

Los Suecos

We walked everywhere to see what had happened last night to the city. It was storming. The streets were drenched. The electricity was out for most of the city, and many people, tourists and cubanos, were wandering about during the sporadic pauses in the storm. We noticed a few interesting characters: an innocent-looking old man in green in Plaza de Catedral. I asked if I could take his photo; he smiled and said yes. After I took it and thanked him, he asked for 5 pesos convertibles ($5 US)! I shook my said and said no, offering him 1, which he took. Another character was a humongous woman: she was at least 6’3, was in a skimpy dress and was water-drenched. She walked along with the tide of tourists and approached us and everyone else—a huge toothy smile, and arm outreaching to our shoulders, lurching, “Take my photo,” she said again and again in English.

In the late afternoon, we witnessed the back streets of Havana come alive. Without electricity, cubanos built small fires at their doorsteps to cook. The atmosphere was festive with laughter and loud voices.. For the first time, we felt as though eyes were not watching us.

We were lucky that we stopped to have a café con leche at the cathedral because that is where we ran into our wonderful Swedish friends Josephin and Calle. They joined us for drinks and we spent hours and then days, talking and walking and eating together. Ironically, while we were on our first, they were on the very last stop of their own around-the-world trip. It was refreshing to connect with other outsiders. We were having similar experiences and similar impressions of this place. Josephin—a student of journalism and sociology—was especially disturbed. Of all the places she had traveled, she had never experienced anything like the situation in Cuba. The poverty weighed down on us. Even inside the pristine hotels where Cuba for the tourists was very much alive, beautiful and fun—it was all contrived—all a necessary performance, so that the government could continue to scantily provide for its people and keep the façade, all the while shackling them. We agreed that there were key principles missing: the freedoms of association and speech, the tools to make one’s dream a reality (basic education, healthcare and nourishment are not enough, as demonstrated), and the freedom to get the hell out.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)

Posted by Emily Marie Stremel Mork at 11:53 PM | Comments | TrackBack

After the Storm

We awoke and it was clear that the storm had passed, but the rain was coming down hard. While Em was getting ready I put on my swim trucks, flip-flops, and raincoat and with the waterproof camera headed out to see what the city looked like after the hurricane. Right outside our hotel a large tree was down and up and looking up and down the street I could see a few more had fallen. Overall Havana looked even more like a warzone, and a wet one at that.

Em and I had breakfast and afterwards headed out together. Over at the Malecon the waves were crashing onto the sidewalk. Cuban children played a game of chicken with the waves by sitting on the ledge and waiting for them to crash. One huge wave almost sucked two kids over, but they maintained their balance and quickly retreated across the road soaking wet. Soon the police were there and cleared the area.

Em and I kept walking and soon it was pouring rain and we were the only people walking outside on the street. I started to get worried about lightening, which was crashing in the distance, so we made our way towards Havana Vieja and the Plaza de Armas. Along the way we were approached by a man that warned us to walk in the middle of the road as the old balconies were prone to fall with all the rain.

We headed back towards the Capitolio, and then decided to do a u-turn and head back to take a look at the Cathedral in old Havana. Once there we watched a band of old men play some classic Cuban tunes and decided to sit down for a coffee. As we sipped our drinks we saw the Swedish couple from the airport, Josephin and Calle, crossing the plaza. We signaled to them and they came over and sat down.

We immediately hit it off and realized that we had both had been in similar situations with young Cuban men and cuba libres. Jineteros they are called. It also seems it wasn’t uncommon judging from the other stories they had heard. Eventually, we all headed towards our hotels after many drinks and lots of conversation over a few hours.

A few blocks down from the Cathedral, right in the middle of the alley that Emily and I had just walked up, a large piece of a balcony had indeed fallen. If someone would have been standing there they would have no doubt been killed, but luckily it had fallen without harming anyone.

At this point it was getting late and we were getting hungry. They suggested a restaurant in Chinatown near their hotel that sounded interesting. After a quick stop at their hotel we made our way to there, but while there were people all around the restaurants, none seemed to be open. A few had long lines of Cubans in front of them who appeared to be waiting for the doors to open, while at others small boxes of food were being handed out. I asked someone inside if the restaurants were open for tourists, and they replied not today but tomorrow they would be. I’m still not sure if this was specifically for hurricane relief or if it was people simply picking up their normal monthly rations.

So we continued walking around town and eventually just ended up back at the Swedes´ hotel for a great chicken meal, which was a better deal than anything we had found in paladares or other hotels. The electricity had been down for most of the day and so food availability was scarce. After dinner we headed out to see if we could find a salsa club where the girls could dance and Calle and I could have another beer. The one we found turned into a karaoke bar of all things shortly after we entered. We watched for a little while, but karaoke is just not as much fun when you don’t know the songs and the singing was horrible so we eventually headed out. In the end we decided to call it a night and all headed back to our hotels.

A few blocks from our hotel, several police charged down the street to our side and raced towards the outside of a bar. By the time we passed them a young man was in handcuffs and a young woman was being escorted away by the police. A few days earlier I might have been afraid to openly watch the scene, but at this point I realized that as tourists we were a protected class.

The way the police in the country worked reminded me of how I envisioned a fascist state. There are police in uniform on nearly every corner, you suspect that there are a few more undercover not too far away, and since the laws are ambiguous and randomly enforced there is always a slight chance that Cubans could get arrested at any time for a trivial offence. Still, they seem to adapt to it the best they can and go on with their everyday lives, making Havana for the most part look like a normal city.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)

Posted by Peter Mork at 10:24 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 8, 2005

El Huracan

All day we’ve been waiting for the hurricane. Fidel and the Weather Channel have been warning us for hours, but honestly everyone is calm. All the windows in Havana are taped. In the afternoon, we went to the shwanky hotel down the street from ours to quickly get a few sandwiches para llevar before the madness began. The lobby was full of tourists, lounging and drinking mojitos. As the wind roared and the rain began, a band started to play. It was a strange scene; Titanic-like.

We waited a few hours in our hotel room on the top floor…a man who had chickens in a little coop on the rooftop next to us has completely boarded it up. The loud roaring wind has been shaking and banging the plastic balcony cover. The electricity suddenly goes out all over the city … and all at once, Fidel’s voice is silenced and it is completely dark. We make our way in the dark down to the lobby, candlelit. Calm, soft voices fill the air and it is a cozy scene…domino players, hushed Spanish, employees and guests together. A crowd is huddled outside under the hotel awning, and police with loudspeakers go by announcing that the worst of the hurricane is expected to pass at 11 pm and to get inside their houses. The door opens and closes letting in cool gusts of air into the humid sweltering room. Employees are gathered around the radio listening to quick streams of the latest updates about the hurricane.

It is a unique atmosphere. We’ve noticed that the employees of the hotel and at the state-run bars and restaurants have been rather reserved and silent towards us. Many of them are our age. Maybe they are discouraged from fraternizing with tourists in general, yet it seems uniformly and excessively so. We would love nothing more than to get to know these Cubans…to learn what their lives are like.

As we were all together hunched around the radio, Peter struck up a conversation with the young doorman and the woman who sits at the front desk. Friendly and warm and curious, they asked us where we were from, how we had skirted the embargo to get here, what we thought of Cuba. The doorman was eager to practice his English. It was interesting to note how well the jineteros spoke English, while the employees struggled. It seemed that the jineteros had everything to gain by getting close to the tourists, while the employees could possibly lose their jobs.

The hurricane hits at 11:05. I hope that Havana holds together…

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)

Posted by Emily Marie Stremel Mork at 11:51 PM | Comments | TrackBack

Hurricane Dennis Approaches

It was another eventful day in Cuba. We awoke this morning and immediately had to make a decision if we were going to stay in the hotel or move to the casa particular down the street. We felt strange that Raul hadn’t come back last night. And it also was strange that this group of young guys knew exactly where we were staying and seemed to hang out right near the entrance of our hotel. With the hurricane coming we talked it over and decided that it would be best to book another two nights in the hotel.

In addition, we don’t really know the person we would be staying with and, while cheaper, we would be giving up a great deal of privacy. The room for rent has no windows it was so small it would be somewhat strange to lock ourselves up inside. With the hotel we could come and go as we please and overall it just felt more secure.

I headed down to tell the lady at the front desk. Once we told her she said we came just in the nick of time, that she was about to give our room to someone else. With the hurricane all flights had been canceled out of Havana and tourists were scrambling to find a place to stay for the night. Immediately it felt like we made the right decision even though it was a bit more expensive.

Over breakfast that decision was reinforced when Raul came into the restaurant and sat down next to us without an invitation. After some small talk about what we were doing for the day the conversation became awkward. He attempted to summon the server, but was ignored, twice. He told us that he couldn´t find us last night…where had we gone to? We reminded him that he had left us. It was obvious to all parties that we didn’t need him to constantly guide us around the city. While we honestly did like this guy, we knew that we were being targeted. The meal was silent. At the end of our meal he spoke in a very low voice and asked if he could have a few dollars for some food. Emily gave him some convertibles and we parted ways. We still see him and a few a his friends several times a day as they live in the neighborhood, but for the most part it’s just a friendly hello and a handshake as we pass. We would like to meet all sorts of people in Havana and that just won’t happen if all we do is treat his group of friends to drinks all week long.

After eating we headed down to Capitolio where we heard that you could access the internet. For three convertible pesos we got a half hour of time. I was surprised to see on the Yahoo news headlines that after the tragic story of the London bombings, “Hurricane Dennis Approaches Cuba” was number two on the list. I really didn’t realize how serious it was until then. Both our parents had written to us about the storm a little worried for our safety. We emailed back that we were fine and were in a good hotel in the center of the city with plenty of other tourists.

But when we got back to the hotel and turned on CNN I started to worry a bit myself about our safety. People were evacuating Florida and Alabama in droves but there didn’t seem to be any urgency in Havana despite the fact that while they were made of concrete, the building were so old they were falling apart. Since we were on the top floor I came downstairs to ask if we should come down when the hurricane hit. The ladies at the front desk laughed and said that we could come downstairs with all the other scared tourists if we would like and have a drink to ride out the storm. “Since you’re on the top floor the roof might shake but you’ll be fine”

Not the most reassuring description so Em and I decided that we would head down once the power went out later in the night. Returning to the room the weather channel had a special on hurricanes that warned “Not to light candles when the electricity goes out for fear of fire” and “That taping windows would do absolutely no good.” It was classic, as although we saw people trying to get whatever wood they could find across the city, for the most part everyone, including our hotel, only had the option to tape their windows and had already done so. In addition, it looked like candles would be the only source of light from the hotel.

We headed across the street and got some sandwiches at a much nicer hotel. Once we got there the wind really started to pick up but after we ate we made our way back through fine through the rain. As the evening approached we flipped back and forth between Cuban news which featured Fidel taking calls from around the country about the hurricane, CNN, and the weather channel. On CNN they showed what level 3 hurricane winds looked like with a reporter in a wind tunnel and it was clearly scary stuff. I was beginning to get even more worried as when Dennis hit the island it was nearly a level 5 hurricane and was headed straight for Havana. While it looked like our building was well constructed, if it was directly over Havana with its crumbling infrastructure, lots of people might die. Luckily, the latest report said over land the hurricane winds were slowing.

Once the power went out we headed downstairs. At 10:30pm it’s still not that bad. Luckily, it doesn’t look like this will be a complete disaster for Havana. Without electricity we had no idea when the storm would hit, but at least the television and satellites provided a fair warning. Technology really does save lives. Without these inventions half of Havana could have been out walking the streets when the storm hit. Eventually, a hotel worker dug out a radio and everyone gathered around to listen to the 50’s style news broadcast.

As the hurricane really began to hit Em and I had a good conversation with the security guard, Paco, who is also 28, and one of the girls who works at the front desk. Once again, it seems everyone has a relative in the U.S. We helped Paco practice his English which he was trying to perfect and we talked about everything from sports to life in Cuba. The story was the same, life was hard, but they just kept on living.

Finally another worker who continued to listen to the radio announced that the storm had passed the island and was out at sea. People let out a quick cheer and we retired to our room. The wind still howled all night long and without electricity our room got so hot that I woke up nearly suffocating at one point. Still, we had survived our first hurricane, in Havana nonetheless.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)

Posted by Peter Mork at 12:22 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 7, 2005

Los Jineteros

Our first day began with trust and some risks. Not finding the restaurant we were looking for, we let a young cubano Raul lead us to another. We wished to avoid the state-run restaurants and hoped to find a paladar, a small independently run restaurant run out of a private home. We followed Raul to a hidden paladar around the corner from our hotel on the Prado. The Prado, a bustling main street leading in one direction to the sea and malecon, and in the other, to the Capitolio, was in sharp contrast to the streets just one block away. It was difficult at first to place the difference because both streets had the same smells, the same old, once beautiful but now seriously dilapitaded buildings, the same people hanging around watching us. But as the days went by it became clearer that the police presence was much much less on the back streets than in the tourist areas and by just turning a corner, the local cubanos on the street seemed to relax and were much more in their element.

We entered a small apartment and before we knew it we were seated, a hearty plate of fried chicken, rice, sweet potatoes and cucumbers in front of us. An older senora and a younger duena prepared the food while a few other cubanos and Raul spoke together in quick heavily accented Spanish. At first no one spoke directly to us. Peter found a bayleaf on his plate, used to flavor the rice, and to make conversation mentioned that trees of bay leaves grew near his home in California. Instantly it struck a nerve with a young man next to us, an enfermero. He exclaimed how these leaves were incredibly expensive for Cubans to purchase, three for 1 peso convertible (equivalent to $1 US). He explained that his monthly salary was only 14 pesos convertibles. What followed was a frustrated tirade against the way of life for ordinary Cubans under Castro’s system. We quickly realized that while we were paying 5 pesos convertibles each for our meals, the price for the Cubans next to us were much lower—they had to be. And that it did not go unnoticed what tourists were willing and could afford to pay for such meals. The conversation continued between the customers, while we sat trying to understand every word. It was emphasized how certain rights that were afforded to tourists were off-limits to regular cubanos. It was clear to these Cubans that something was wrong with their system. This became clearer to us too, as the day went on.

We repaid Raul by treating him to a few mojitos at a tourist bar. He invited us later to the malecon, the sea wall, for drinks with his friends that night. We were happy to accept. However, after the first few drinks, we soon realized that we were expected to pay for all, as they would never be able to afford tourist prices for this kind of entertainment. It became clear that it wasn’t easy, or even legal, for Cubans to interact with tourists unofficially. Selling goods and services independantly is tightly tightly controlled, and so, save having an official job at a hotel or restaurant, it seemed there was no other way to benefit from the tourist industry except to sell themselves and to scam. Jintaneros, these scammers are called. They are everywhere. They are your best buddy, showing you around town and all the while milking you for all they can get.

Our experiences of the first day were typical and atypical all at the same time. Typical that we were targeted by jintaneros and spent a lot of money as a result…mojitos, cuba libres, bottle of rum, bucaneros (the local beer), taxi rides and much more, and in the end felt a bit cheated and were wary of those types the rest of the week. Atypical because we were fortunate to drop in on a real conversation in a real apartment with Cubans who are of a younger generation. These Cubans don’t fit comfortably or willingly into the system. Stuck in a crumbling situation between communism and the tourist industry. Free to see the fruits of capitalism but not allowed the basic tools to partake or attempt to better their lives. Thought to be criminals before committing a crime; living in poverty while others around them are able to benefit from the few choice jobs available as a result of the tourist industry.

My impressions of the backstreets of Havana: devastatingly hot; colorful; uneven, torn-up pavement; narrow mazes; roaring car from another eras; refuse in the street; stagnant sewer water; buildings with beautiful decorative terraces crumbling; clothes drying; dark entrances leading into the unknown; Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” blasting; no visible local businesses—I suspect that they are there hidden behind the dark entrances. No tourists, but lots of Cubanos—all shapes, ages, colors—all keep an eye on us. We walk quickly behind Raul who greets everyone. These streets in Centro y Habana Viejo are crammed with Cubanos in slum like conditions—they all are guaranteed housing, but the housing is falling apart. With Raul, no one propositions us. Without him, it’s a constant: “Cigar?” “Somewhere to eat?” “Where you from?” “Casa particular?”. All jintaneros. Dogs everywhere. My heart aches for these people. Oppressive but real.

Interspersed between these streets are the tourist areas of old Havana. Connecting Prado with Havana Vieja is Calle Obispo—a neat thoroughfare paved with cobblestones. No cars allowed. Lined with businesses for the tourists. State-run restaurants and bars in renovated beautiful buildings. Hotels owned by Europeans. Young police hanging at every corner. Tourists everywhere. Hemingway this, Hemingway that. We step into a hotel courtyard bar to have a drink and cool off. It is beautiful and lush and bright. Peacocks and parakeets; clean and fresh. A duo begins to play festive Cuban music—wonderful and perfectly placed. We buy a CD. One song is entitled Comandante Hasta Siempre (Forever Comandante), referring to Fidel. We continue walking the perfectly maintained Havana Vieja cobblestone streets to touristy Plaza de Armas, known for its bookstalls. The center of the plaza is green and lush. The bookstalls contain old encyclopedias, lots of Hemingway, and overwhelmingly, out-of-print books written by and highlighting Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, CIA conspiracy theories, Marx’s Das Kapital, volumes 1, 2 and 3. Tons and tons of books of these types: Fidel, Che, Marx, Lenin, the Imperialist U.S., over and over and over again. All have a weathered quality to them—as if attempting to keep an old, overworked idea/fantasy alive. All quaintly surround the square. All are there for tourists—and only tourists—to buy. La Revolucion for sale. Fidel’s no fool; he knows that tourists can’t get enough of it. An old man was selling the Cuban newspaper “Granma” in all languages for 1 peso convertible each. I bought an English version. On the back page was a huge spread with the headline “The Truth about the So-called Independent Libraries”. I’d heard about this…Fidel had proclaimed to the world, “No books are banned in Cuba.” Several casa particulares had started libraries in their homes, materials collected from visitors between 2001 and 2003. In 2003, the state cracked down on them and those who had housed the collections were arrested. “Granma” claimed that these materials were all brought in by Miami US-Cuban Interests groups intent on causing terrorism in Cuba. It claimed that no Cubans had admitted using these collections. (Why would they?) Elsewhere, I had seen a Cuban government poster with the slogan “Las ideas son armas poderosas” (Ideas are powerful weapons). It was no coincidence that here we were in Plaza de Armas, known for its books, and apparently, for its ideas.. However, to me, it seemed as though only one kind of idea was present and sold in the Plaza. And other ideas, other powerful and possible ideas, were being stifled.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)

Posted by Emily Marie Stremel Mork at 11:47 PM | Comments | TrackBack

Our First Day in Cuba

It’s been 22 hours since we first checked into this hotel and it is difficult to describe all that we have been through and seen in such a short period of time.

Last night I set the alarm for 8:00am (actually 7:00am as I didn’t realize the clock was an hour fast), but when it went off we were both still dead tired from all our traveling the previous day and shut it off. We awoke at 9:30am, but by the time we were both showered and ready to go we had missed the complementary breakfast that was included with the room. Neither of us were that hungry, even though we hadn’t eaten for quite a while. Maybe it was the heat.

We took our time and went through our Lonely Planet guide to figure out our plan for the day. The first priority was to get some food. We located our hotel on the map and then a paladar (a private restaurant run out of someone’s home) that was only a few doors down from the hotel. We headed down to the lobby and out the front door. There are no advertisements for these private restaurants and the description read “Head through the unmarked door” at the address listed. But before we knew it we had gone too far and needed to turn back as even the address was difficult to see.

A young man approached us an asked if we were looking for the paladar above. We answered we were, but he informed us it was closed as their gas line was broken. We both were a little skeptical but to my surprise, Emily, who is usually the more cautious in these situations, decided it was worth a shot.

The young man, Raul, led us off the main street and around a corner. Next we entered a building which was probably the last place you would expect to find a restaurant. We made our way up two flights of stairs, and then down a narrow, roofless hallway lined by apartments. Next it was up a spiraled staircase to the paladar. There was no way we would have found this place on our own. As we entered the small apartment whose doorways were so low that I needed to duck to enter, our guide informed the various people in the apartment that he had found two customers.

Another young man took down the chairs that were up on the table in the tiny room. Our guide asked if we wanted some drinks, and we gave him a few convertibles to go and buy us two cans of TuCola. Before he left I asked if I could give him anything for helping us to find the restaurant, as I assumed he wasn’t doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He replied instead of money, maybe we could treat him to a mojito after the lunch. That was fine by us.

Inside the paladar was the young man who had taken down the chairs, a younger woman who was actually the owner of the place, an older woman who did the cooking, and an 8-year old girl who sat on the couch next to us. After taking our order and a little small talk, the adults talked amongst themselves, while Emily and I tried to make conversation with the shy girl seated on the couch next to us.

Soon our guide was back with the drinks and before long we were at the table with fried chicken, fried sweet potatoes, and a mixture of black beans and rice (in Spanish “congri”) in front of us. We began to eat and those around us began to talk. We entered the conversation when I noticed that there were bay leaves in the congri for flavor and I mentioned that these grew naturally around my parents’ house.

“Here they are very expensive” replied the young man, who we learned was a enfermero (nurse) in Havana. And then the conversation really began. Things are bad here they made clear, and not only because of the poverty. “The tourists stay in the hotels and don’t know how we really live,” they stressed.

Twice during the lunch strangers entered the paladar. The owner, who was now posted outside the room, would make conversation with them as they approached and our conversation would quiet. Each time someone entered there seemed to be an awkward feeling in the room, but soon they would start talking amongst themselves and soon the conversation had returned to normal.

They told us their salaries. Our guide, who had remained relatively quiet during the conversation, occasionally translating words or phrases we might miss, made $10 convertibles a month cleaning offices; the same cost as our lunch. The enfermero made $14. “You can’t live off this salary,” they said.

An older man who had entered the restaurant started up a conversation with the others about three young girls in one of the apartments below. Their mother was currently in jail for crime of approaching a tourist at the beach and asking for money. The man said “Fidel says there are millions of children in the world homeless and going hungry, but not one resides in Cuba. Yet look, there are three one floor below.” This reminded me of an acquaintance who had used Fidel’s same line years ago when we were debating the merits of Communism.

They talked about how while the medical care was free, no one could afford the medicine, and thus, what good was it? When I asked what would happen if we were to have this conversation on the street the enfermero told me he would be labeled as a counter-revolutionary and thrown in jail. They talked about how in the countryside the people had it worse, yet these were the same people that cheered Fidel and loved him the most. When I asked why they said it was something psychological, that they have nothing and he gives them something. In the capital, like in any capital in the world, people have more exposure to the outside world, and with this came more discontent.

It continued. They talked about how they thought the children were not getting enough to eat, how it was illegal to eat beef, and that people could be thrown in prison for owning and slaughtering a cow. “We’re like India,” the enfermero told me, “but without the religion.” “Young boys need protein,” he said, and he thought kids were not growing as they should be.

Some talked of relatives in the U.S. and how much better life was there. When I asked if they had the money and wanted to use the internet, could they? They said no. When I said that some people in the U.S. think Castro does many things well they scoffed loudly with looks of disgust on their face and simply said that these people don’t understand how life really is in Cuba.

I don’t remember every bit of the conversation but the message was clear: things are bad here, we’re denied rights the tourists have, and the outside world doesn’t know how we are really living. At one point the enfermero looked me in the eyes and spoke slowly to make sure I understood: “Your system is not perfect,” he told me “but our system is much worse.” That summed up the conversation.

After the hour and a half lunch and conversation we headed back down to the street with our guide. He asked if we were interested in staying in a casa particular, which we were. He led us to one right around the corner from the hotel. We met the owner who seemed like a nice guy, and it looked like a clean place. We had another night at the hotel that we had already paid for but after that we said we would stay with him. Outside his front door, people were tossing down bricks and rubble from the roof, preparing some kind of remodel. He yelled up for them to stop as we exited the building and we made our way past the huge pile that now covered the street.

From here we went off to buy our guide his mojito which we thought was well earned. I was nervous walking with him as I knew that legally he was not supposed to be with us. We followed him a few steps back and eventually into a bar a few blocks down. We had a mojito and he told us how to get to La Habana Vieja which we wanted to go see. He asked if we would like to meet him for drinks later on in the evening. Although he kept stressing our newfound friendship, clearly, as tourists we were a way for him to get luxuries, like mojitos, that he could otherwise not afford. But he seemed like a nice enough guy and it a pretty cheap fee to get a guide for a city we knew nothing about. We agreed to meet him outside our hotel at 8:00.

Old Havana was interesting. Parts were a little more plush as there were certain hotels that had been refurbished, but the city was still falling apart. By the time we got there we were dying of thirst and stopped at a touristy but beautiful hotel courtyard to get some water. From there we headed to the top of another hotel to get a bird’s eye view of the city. Finally, we ended up at Plaza de Armas where I talked to a Cuban who, after trying to sell me cigars, informed me he had lived in the U.S. for 20 years (he had the accent to prove it) and had only been back in Cuba for 4 after being deported (I didn’t ask for what).

“We have no freedom here,” he complained as he scouted for police as we talked. He had a brother in London who was trying to save $10,000 so he could escape to the U.S. via speedboat. He said that the world needed to stop all tourist dollars from coming to the island so the government would collapse, yet in the next breath was complaining that fewer and fewer Americans were coming to the island and it was harder and harder for him to make a living selling cigars on the side. He wished me luck and was on his way.

Down the street I had an Anne Applebaum moment as a group of four European tourists passed us decked out in their just purchased berets, complete with Communist stars and portraits of Che. They clearly were having a different experience on the island than Emily and myself.

We finally made it back to the hotel and after a short nap headed down for dinner as it was getting late and we needed to meet Raul at 8:00. We sat down at the restaurant connected to our hotel which looked to have a reasonable selection of food at pretty good prices. Pizzas, pork, steak, fish and much more. But when we attempted to order all that was available was chicken and fish according to the waiter… so we both took fish.

Meanwhile, we got our first glimpse of Castro who was making an appearance on TV with a meteorologist about the first hurricane of the season. Fidel piped up every once in a while to make a comment or ask “Porque?¨” Finally, he went on a long rant about the climate, which lasted more than thirty minutes.

At this same time we noticed that three Cuban men about our age were handing over their IDs to a policeman directly outside the restaurant. They looked scared as they were being searched by the policeman. Three undercover cops, who had helped to arrest them chatted amongst themselves and occasionally helped with the interrogation. One of the policeman even had a video camera like he was a tourist, so I suspected that they had approached him. We watched in a depressed and helpless state as a grey van pulled up and put the three young men in and pulled off. The other patrons of the restaurant watched in shock, but no one could do anything.

Five minutes before they were hauled off, our guide from earlier in the day came to the window of the restaurant as they were about to give us our bill. We made eye contact, he gave us a quick nod, and then walked off. A few minutes after the van left and the police had left the corner we walked out onto the street. Our guide and another young man were outside. After another quick glance they started off about 20 yards in front of us. We followed for 2 blocks and headed west off the main street. As we followed, I told Em to just look up at the buildings as if we were just tourists exploring off the beaten track. She replied that it felt as if we were taking part in a drug deal. It did… only the illegal activity we were trying to conceal was going to have a drink with two Cubans our own age.

Eventually, our guide Raul stopped and as we caught up he introduced us to his friend Mario, who was very outspoken against the government. Raul just sped ahead leading us through alleys and dilapidated building until we finally came upon a bar where we were to have a few cuba libres. As we toasted the first drink Mario said “Espero que una dia Cuba esta Libre”. Emily and I agreed. As I asked about the arrests, being visibly disturbed by the experience, Raul said that this was Cuba, and suggested we talk about something else and just enjoy the sunset.

After the first round, and a few pictures, Raul suggested that we buy a bottle after one more round and head across the street. It sounded good to us but it was getting clearer and clearer that we were their one and only source for drinks, but we just decided to just float with it as we watched the beautiful sunset. As we finished the round another friend of Raul’s showed up, Samuel, and we soon proceeded across the street. But before we left, and as we closed the tab, Raul was insistent that I not leave a tip. “These people have good jobs, they don’t need it” he persisted. Finally, they headed off to for a bottle of rum and Coke while we waited. Soon they returned and we were again sipping cuba libres and watching a picturesque sunset.

As Raul finished his first drink I noticed a change. From the beginning he struck me as someone who was trying to be a good person in a bad situation. He had explained he didn’t want to view tourists as money as many of his country men did, but instead as an opportunity to meet people from across the world and to make friends. Probably easier said than done. As he finished off his second drink he looked depressed to me.

In the back of my mind I was sure that it was because he knew he and his friends were “using” us for a luxury that they could never afford on their government salaries. Personally, I knew that Emily and I wouldn’t start forking over our limited cash to anybody who would ask, but these young men were giving us a Cuban experience we otherwise would not have had so it was worth it to us. I decided to attempt to explain this to Raul but before I could he and Mario excused themselves to go get some food. They crossed the street, while Samuel, who was on his first drink ran after them, only shortly to return.

“They are too drunk, they need some food” he explained. I suddenly realized that the 28 year old married couple was making these mid-20 Cubans look like lightweights for the simple reason that these drinks were not an every day… or even weekly occurrence for them. They had absolutely no tolerance, which was evident in Samuel as well as we continued to drink.

We continued to talk with Samuel about Cuba, about how his father fled to the US in 1994, and his family life in Cuba. All of a sudden Samuel was nervous and Emily nudged me about a person sitting a few feet down from her. “If you would like to walk away from us we understand” Emily said to Samuel as it appeared that the person next to us could be a undercover policeman. Samuel struck up a quick conversation with him though, just as another friend of theirs approached who introduced himself as Carlos.

The young man next to us said he was in the military, which is mandatory, and was just trying to listen in so he could practice his English. Samuel came back to me and said that he didn’t trust military people. Do you want to get out of here I asked. Yes he said, so we said goodbye to the young man and made our way down to another bar a few blocks down without Raul or Mario. I figured they would find us.

Once we reached the bar we had a round of beers but at this point it was getting late. We had just met these two young guys and we treated them to one more beer but both Em and I passed. It was a strange scene facing the Florida Straights where thousands have died fleeing Cuba. After we caught a cab to the hotel both Em and I stayed up and recounted all that had passed during the day. I wanted to make sure to get this down on paper but right now it’s 3:00am and I’m calling it a night.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)

Posted by Peter Mork at 10:20 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 6, 2005

La Entrada

Our most complicated destination is our first, it seems. Waiting in Cancun for hours until our 8 pm flight to Habana we grappled with how we would change our money and where we would stay in Cuba, as well as actually purchase our plane tickets for which we only have reservations. On top of it all, we were nervous… I have conflicting expectations about Cuba, some that soar with possibilities and some fearful of finding only dead ends. We counted the hurdles we had to clear in order to actually sleep tonight. First, had to hand over sealed envelopes with payments enclosed to a strange Mexican travel agent without an official office in Cancun for our tickets to Havana. After purchasing tourist visas, landing in Cuba, warily going through customs, waiting hours (literally) for our bags, Peter getting searched for the electronics he was carrying (we thought it was the book “Human Action” hidden deep in his bag), changing Mexican pesos to Cuban pesos convertibles rather than being hit by the huge US dollar conversion charge, talking a taxi driver into helping us find a hotel with available and cheap rooms, we finally were in Cuba. In the taxi from the airport to Centro Habana at 2:30 por la manana, we caught a glimpse of a few details: old Chevies and small Russian cars, police pulling over other taxis, billboards with slogans like “Viva la Revolucion” but no advertisements, only government propaganda, absolutely no graffiti—only painted murals with more government slogans.

As we entered Havana, the haunting faded old buildings with grand architecture were lit up by streetlamps. The streets were empty. It was an eery scene.

Posted by Emily Marie Stremel Mork at 11:42 PM | Comments | TrackBack

Making Our Way to Cuba

We woke up to a beautiful sunrise over Mexico City as the plane was landing. It was amazing to see how enormous the city was from the air. We had a fairly easy time finding our flight to Cancun at the terminal and were happy to see our backpacks making it onto the plane right before we boarded.

We landed in Cancun at 10:05am with our flight leaving to Havana at 8:10pm. It would be another long leg in the airport. Since the trip was planned at the last minute, after we had received our licenses from the Office of Foreign Asset Control, we were unable to get on a direct flight from Tijuana to Havana. Instead, and at the last minute, we had to fly through Cancun and there had been no time to get the paper tickets sent up to California. So our travel agent in the U.S. had given us a sealed envelope full of cash with the company we were supposed to hand it to written on the front.

Once in Cancun we asked around and the company did exist, but their agent didn’t show up until around 5:00pm. It’s 4:20pm right now and I have just gone through a major cash transaction where I exchanged a large about of dollars for Mexican pesos in order to avoid a 10% penalty for exchanging dollars in Cuba. This, in addition to a horrible exchange rate, means that if we bring dollars into Cuba were going to “spend” 20% of our money before any purchases. And we have to bring in cash for all our expenses for the week as due to the embargo we can’t use any ATMs or banks to take out money. Nor can we just keep our money in dollars and use this for transactions as people did prior to November 2004. Since then, Castro has banned the use of the dollar in the Cuba and introduced the convertible which initially traded at par with the dollar, but now, by Castro decree, it trades at $0.92 for each new peso. So hopefully we’ll save some money by bringing in Mexico pesos. We’ll soon find out.

CONTINUED…

It’s 2:17am and we just have checked in to our hotel in Havana, but I’ll pick up where I left off.

At 6:30pm, after a quick dinner and a Margarita for me and a Bloody Mary for Em, we found our contact for Cuba, who confirmed we were on the flight and gave us the tickets. We made our way to get our boarding passes, but the lady at the counter had no problem showing her irritation when she learned that we didn’t have our tourist visas for Cuba. We had to run back to another counter in a different part of the airport to get them, but when we arrived at the counter there was no one working. Luckily, the attendant that had just gone on a break saw that we were in a panic and came back to help us out. Anyway, we finally got our boarding passes issued and headed for the plane.

When we sat down in our seats on the plane I told Em that I couldn’t believe that we had made it this far basically glitch free. The night before, sitting in the Tijuana airport, I just couldn’t believe that in 24 hours we would be in Cuba. But there we were, sitting on a plane ready to take off.

Em pointed out that we only had three more hurdles to get over 1) get through customs, 2) exchange our Mexican pesos (hopefully without a penalty for having U.S. passports), and 3) find a hotel since we didn’t have reservations.

Truthfully, as we were flying into Cuba I was nervous. I knew that we would be fine as I’ve known people who have traveled to Cuba in the past, but entering a Communist state scared me. I really didn’t know what to expect, but I knew that aspect would not be a pleasurable experience, and as such I was on edge.

Needless to say a 30 minute nap on the plane did me well. My nerves calmed down as I opened my eyes to see the sparsely lit outskirts of Havana. At first I attributed this to power outages that I knew were frequent in the city, but it could have just as well been a rural area. It was too dark to know for sure.

After landing at 10:00pm, we proceeded to immigration and maneuvered in the line behind the only other backpackers on the plane apart from us. They were from Sweden and I started to get a little nervous when I saw how long it took for the guy my age to get through. Finally he made it, then his girlfriend made it through, and then Emily was up. As she walked forward, in the line next to us an elderly Hispanic woman (I’m guessing of Cuban decent) with a U.S. passport and a 7 year old boy in tow, was told by the various officials that were scrutinizing her passport that she couldn’t get through. As she was turned away I figured this was not a good omen for us getting through hassle free. Luckily I was wrong.

To my surprise, while we endured the same long stares from the immigration official, he let us both through without a word. We breezed through the first security checkpoint and headed off to find our luggage and to exchange our money.

As I explained previously, I had exchanged nearly all our dollars into Mexican pesos in order to avoid the 10% penalty. Walking up to the teller I thought I had made a mistake as they did not list a Mexican peso exchange rate, but luckily it was not a problem. Since it was the only place I’d be able to do so, I also exchanged the few dollars that I had kept. She apologized when she told me there would be an additional fee for dollars, but obviously it was not her fault.

Our bags took forever to come but eventually Em spotted hers on the carousel. Still no sign of mine. After a good hour of checking the different carousels thinking it might have come out somewhere else I finally spotted it. Through the flaps where the luggage appeared I could see that my backpack had been set aside with about 5 other bags. Another 45 minutes passed and I saw him make his was over to my bag, take a bunch of notes, and then walk away for another 30 minutes. I didn’t know what all the fuss was about but I figured it had to do with the fact that I had a video camera in the bag, that or it was the copy of my book on free-market economics, Human Action, by Ludwig von Mises.

Finally, he made his way over and tossed it onto the carousel. As we gathered our things and walked through the “Nothing to Declare” line I was grabbed by the shoulder and told I would have to head back and wait in the declaration line. After another 20 minute wait, I was at the front of the line. There were 4 custom agents going through bags laid out on the tables before them. When I was called up I walked past a middle aged woman whose emptied suitcase contained nothing but over-the-counter medicine. More proof that while healthcare was free in Cuba, medicine was not.

The agent, a man a few years older than myself, asked: “Do you have any electronics?” in Spanish. Obviously they had seen the video Camera in my bag and had marked the tag.

“Yes, I have a video camera” I replied, also in Spanish. Since, I new that was what they had seen I forgot to mention that I also had a laptop in the small bag across my chest, in addition to a MP3 player and a digital camera. But he didn’t seem too interested in my smaller bag and by the time I remembered I decided it was best just keep quiet and play dumb if they did check it.

“Are you a tourist?” he asked as I emptied my large bag across the table. I kept the economics book cover down as I set it aside. “Yes”

“Do you have any family in Cuba?” he continued. “No,” I answered.

“Do you know anyone in Cuba?” he asked. I hesitated slightly before I replied I didn’t, as what first came to my mind is that I had the name and address of a friend of a friend’s mother who we were considering staying with later on in the trip (yes, I know, I’d make a horrible undercover agent). He didn’t notice the hesitation though and continued to go through my stuff.

Finally, he said I could leave and helped me to repack my bag as best we could. As we entered the main terminal I stopped to organize my disheveled backpack when a taxi driver approached us. We asked if he could take us to Hotel Colina, a place that was relatively cheap at $54 a night. But when the driver found out that we didn’t have reservations he suggested we head back into the airport to make them.

Right before we reached the reservation office he asked in a low voice if we would prefer a casa particular, a private room in a residence that would be much cheaper than a hotel. I said we wanted to get settled in a hotel first, and would probably change later in the week.

The guys in the office he led us to were extremely nice and had us sit down as they started making phone calls. Everything seemed to be sold out. In no time we were already calling places that charged more than $100 a night which was way above what we would be able to spend without exhausting our cash supply. A particular was looking like a better option, but I didn’t know if I could bring it up in front of everyone. But just then another worker came in and said he had found a hotel in Havana that was $48 a night. Perfect. We paid him in cash and received a reservation slip.

Our driver took us into Havana and gave us a quick tour of the city before dropping us off at the hotel. One of the biggest things that stood out during the 20 kilometer stretch to the city was that the billboards contained no advertising, only slogans and pictures praising Castro, Che, and of course the revolution. Ditto for walls where one might see graffiti.

Havana itself, even at 2 in the morning, is clearly beautiful, even if falling apart. I’m already convinced this place has the potential to be one of the most desirable places to live in the Western Hemisphere. Sad to say it’s nearly all potential as, in its current state, it’s also one of the last places I would want to be permanently confined.

Our hotel room is fine, the workers here are extremely nice, and it looks like we are in a good part of the city. It will be interesting to get to know the city in more detail tomorrow during the light of day.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)

Posted by Peter Mork at 12:11 PM | Comments | TrackBack

July 5, 2005

La Salida

Believe it or not, we’ve finally launched into the beginning of our wild journey. After weeks of narrowing down our belongings, we’ve slung huge backpacks, a camera bag, and computer bag over our shoulders and hopped the Mexican border. Thanks to Paige and Pat for the unique goodbye: a u-turn in front of the dark, deserted Otay Mesa border-crossing, stopping quickly so that we could jump out. With a wave goodbye, we bolted across the empty freeway and passed through the clanging gate into Tijuana…

Posted by Emily Marie Stremel Mork at 11:39 PM | Comments | TrackBack

Beginning the Journey

Our friends Pat and Paige dropped us off at the Otay-Mesa border at about 9:00pm. After a quick u-turn we were out of the car, backpacks on, and off to Mexico. Paige snapped a photo as we left but we’re not sure if the border will be seen as the flash might have been too bright.

We walked across the border and there were a few taxis waiting. Just as I had read, it was $12 to the Tijuana Airport, and was a relatively easy trip. Our first moment of panic set in when I couldn’t find our AeroMexico itinerary, but it turned up in my wallet only after we searched most of our bags. We bought our tourist cards for Mexico, went through the initial baggage scan, and then were off to get our boarding passes and to check our luggage.

This leg of the flight we had 1st class tickets, as everything else was sold out. We were exited when we learned that this would mean we would also have access to the “Premier” lounge with internet access. Unfortunately, when we arrived at 9:45pm it was closed for cleaning. Even more unfortunate, at 2:00am, when we began to board the plane, it still had never reopened. I had wanted to work on my website because the server was having some major problems and I had been unable to post our travel itinerary. I guess people would have to wait, maybe up to a week to see it.

The first class tickets, which really were not much more that what we would have paid if we had been able to purchase the standard fare, were well worth it. It was Em’s first time riding in first class, and at 2:30 in the morning, it was a perfect way to make sure we got some sleep after 5 hours sitting in the TJ airport.

Posted by Peter Mork at 10:08 PM | Comments | TrackBack

And We're Off...

Here is a very rough itinerary to give people an idea where we'll be over the next year.

Click on World Map to View Itinerary

United States
Our starting and ending point. Our official departure date will be July 6th, while we'll return the summer of 2006.

Mexico and the Caribbean

[July 2005 throught mid-August 2005]

After starting our trip in Cuba, we will return to Northern Mexico to travel south through the country by bus. After Spanish classes in Guanajuato we will continue to make our way towards Central America, with a quick return to the Caribbean to visit the Dominican Republic.

Central America

[Mid-August 2005 through September 2005]

Here we'll make our way through Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica.

South America

[September 2005 through December 2005]

Caracas, Venezuela to Quito, Ecuador will be our first South American leg. From there we will continue down the Pacific coastline, eventually making our way across the continent to both Argentina and Brazil. We'll depart from Buenos Aires destined for Auckland, New Zealand in early January 2006.

New Zealand and Australia

[Jaunary 2006]

After arriving January 4th in Auckland, we'll spend a few weeks in New Zealand. Next we depart for Sydney, where we'll spend another few weeks.

South East Asia and China

[February 2006 through March 2006]

We arrive in Bankok, Thailand on February 2nd and at that point will assess the rest of our trip. Ideally, China, Japan, Vietnam, and Malaysia are all on our wish list of places to see.

India

[April 2006]

We hope to spend a month traveling through India.

Africa

[May 2006]

Very tentative but we are hoping to visit friends in South Africa.

Europe

[June 2006 through July 2006]

We´ll fly into Barcelona and will see a bit of Europe before we head home. Tentative plans include Sweden and Germany.

Russia

[Summer 2006?]

A possible destination at the end of our trip.

Posted by Peter Mork at 2:42 PM | Comments | TrackBack