La República de Cuba, part three | varadero

from old havana to varadero we rode, in the back of a 1950's chevy, windows down, hair blowing. white sand, turquoise water and a tide that never changed was just what we were looking for. 

we spent hours passing a book of hemingway's short stories back and forth (reading aloud). we walked up the beach and back down the beach, collecting shells, wondering what the boys were doing at home. we slept uninterrupted and watched college football and the world series. (things that do not happen frequently at home)



[another snippet from my journal]

i've tried again, while lying belly down on yesterday's towel, now crusted with salt (from the sea and my body) to come up with beautiful words, but, they will not come. i thinks that's par for my course - to take life as it comes, quick and dirty - to process and move on. that's not to say that i don't appreciate beauty, but, that i take it in, in the moment and promptly move on. 

...

being with mikey in a place that's virtually unreachable and inaccessible has been far better than a block of pure gold, i'm sure. we've walked up and down, miles and miles, on a beach with a tide that never rises. talking of what's next for us. talking of what's been for us. 

La República de Cuba, part two | havana veija

old havana is so special. it's any port town that was discovered centuries ago with remnants of forts erected to protect the harbor (turned museums), churches old than our nation, and the smell of salt air, always. more than a week later and i'm still processing this trip, this place. 

we found favorite spots (thanks to some friends of friends), viewed the city on foot, stole rooftop views to tuck away for memories of that time it was just the two of us in havana, snacked on fried cinnamon chips from street vendors, watched the sunset over the harbor from our 4th story balcony as music filled the street ... 

i'll always remember the way the buildings seemed to peek at us as we wandered by. the ropa vieja & tamales from el chanchullero and an invitation to a secret bar that i may or may not have brought home to frame. napping, any time we wanted, in our historic airbnb. a week of no internet. sitting where hemingway sat decades ago, reading the words he wrote in those very spots. 

after 4 full days in old havana we packed our bags and headed east in a 1950's chevy to varadero for a few days of sun and sand between our toes...

La Repúlica de Cuba | part one

mikey and i are back home, snuggled into our white house with the boys, after a week away to cuba. more than anything, i'm thankful for the time with just my boy. there's nothing quite like being in an unreachable, inaccessible part of the world with the one person you'd actually choose to be stuck on a deserted island with. nothing. 

we arrived on saturday with no agenda except to wander. on foot, we moseyed up and down, in and out of streets lined with hundred plus year old buildings that were so hauntingly beautiful. not abandoned, although they looked it, and not updated for decades. people outside, all the time. music and chatter filled the streets. 

with full bellies we made our way back for reading and a fuzzy baseball game on the tv. we sat with the doors flung open, able to see straight into our neighbors' homes and they into ours. the sea breeze took me back to standing on a similar balcony some twenty months ago in puerto rico with three little blonde haired boys ...

[a snippet from my journal]

I lack the words to write creatively or beautifully about Cuba. So, instead, I'll try to depict Cuba as it is. Cuba is raw. The smells (very human, very unfiltered), the sights (muy vieja y linda), the culture. The people will tell you that life for them is very hard in Cuba. There is no money and very limited resources. But, through the thick sadness there is a contented-ness lacking in our own lives. We've asked ourselves the question, "Who is more free?"