The Hollywood Machine

Howdy y'all!!!

2010-06-29T22:00:00.001-07:00

working on a new blog that will be more cohesive than this one. That's part of the problem with the sporadic updating.

I will announce the new URL coming up very soon.

I will be focusing on being more Lonely Planet-ish, and de-focusing on any story telling.

Sweet!

Barcelona TIPS AND ADVICE

2010-06-22T02:03:00.001-07:00

BARCELONA TIPS AND ADVICE BY CATEGORY:

FIRST OFF

I would like to say how invaluable the following resources can be:

http://www.expedia.com/
http://www.hotels.com/

I have used both, many times, to great advantage. They are nicely designed and user-friendly.

I have used Kayak.com many times, and I have to say that Expedia often beats Kayak's deals, even though Kayak.com is a site aggregator that INCLUDES Expedia in its price-search engine.

Apparently, Expedia keeps some of the best deals for itself.

Expedia is also a great way to book flight/package deals.

But beware: I would highly suggest that you do NOT try to save money by booking hotels far outside the city center (30 minutes absolute max, and don't believe any hotel reviews...do the math yourself). You can burn a lot of time on the trains going back and forth to your hotel, and, of course, returning to your hotel, midday, to relax for an hour is almost out of the question because you will burn yet MORE time in transit.

It is always worth it to spend the extra money to have a hotel that is somewhat close to the city center.

I will probably never book a hotel far from the city center again. But that's just me.

Do the math and compare the Expedia package against booking the flight with Expedia, and the hotel with Hotels.com or a similar hotel discount site. Sometimes package deals will not help you because they're filled with hotels that are far from the city center. These provide the best deals for Expedia, but not necessarily for YOU.

GENERAL STUFF

The currency in Spain is the Euro.

It has fluctuated wildly in the past year. If the exchange rate from the Euro to the U.S. dollar is around 1.6, it is going to put a real hurting on your wallet.

At that exchange rate, EVERY time you take out $300 Euros from the ATM in Europe, it will show up on your U.S. bank statement as a withdrawal somewhere in the ballpark of $400.00 U.S. dollars. That's pretty harsh.

Fortunately, it's at about 1.23 right now which is fantastic, relatively speaking.

Great site for currency exchange updates:

http://www.xe.com/

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My best travel tip of all time:

You can use this tip and ignore the rest that I've written, here, and I would feel fine about it.

ALWAYS, ALWAYS bring $250.00-$500.00 U.S. dollars with you on ANY international trip.

I would suggest making it $500 U.S. per person.

I have been in some sticky situations where I didn't obey this rule. Having my card cut off in Rio was one of them.

The other one was: I was in Buenos Aires, and the ATMs sometimes have problems there. But you know what DOES work? Cash, my friend. ATMs sometimes have problems in the most Westernized of countries.

Also, save 50% or more over a hotel by renting someone's apartment. But you know what you'll need to do that? Cash. Upfront. In full.

Cash always works.

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May/June is a GREAT time to come to Barcelona, weather-wise.

Starting in July, it gets HOT!

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Have a few Euros on you when you arrive at the airport at Barcelona.

50 Euros per person should be more than enough, if you can wait to get into town to use an ATM, and you are taking the metro instead of a cab.

The metro is really nice in Barcelona. There is no reason to take a cab from the airport, unless you are a business traveler or you have 18 pieces of luggage. And if you do take a cab from the airport it will be about $50 U.S. dollars, at least. Maybe more like $70 U.S.

If you can help it, NEVER use currency exchange booths of any kind, ESPECIALLY the ones that say "NO COMMISSION". Do not believe the "NO COMMISSION". They will really scalp the heck out of you on the exchange rate.

Use an ATM to get your Euros (as opposed to the Exchange Booths mentioned above), preferably in somewhat large amounts because your bank will charge you each time you withdraw money. Withdrawing money from the ATM continues to be the best exchange rate you can get. A bank is also a good place to do it as a general rule--the ONLY place you should do it besides an ATM--but in Spain they often won't let you unless you have an account at the bank.

Your best bet (if you can't use an ATM) is a bank on the swanky and famous avenue: Passeig de Gràcia, where some banks will allow strangers to walk in and exchange money.

ATMs are somewhat hard to find in the Barcelona airport. Granted I didn't look super hard but I didn't see one anywhere.

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If you have Bank of America (and other banks, too, perhaps) and you have longer or shorter than a 4 digit PIN for your bank account card, you want the ATMS at "Santander" Bank (They have a bright red sign and many, many locations) and Santander's ATM machines often say "Telebanco" and have a different name/logo than the bank itself. This is fine. That's the one you want.

Those ATMs will work even if you have a 6 digit PIN. Some ATMs in Barcelona, (and Europe in general), ONLY work if you have a 4 digit PIN.

And by the way if your PIN is a word that you use to remember the PIN, make sure you memorize the number equivalent of that word because the ATMS in Barcelona will only have numbers on them...they don't write the letters underneath the numbers like we do in the States.

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Never book a hotel more than 20 minutes outside the city center.

You will burn a ton of time on trains, and you will probably regret it, and you will not be able to return to your hotel during the day and rest if you need to. And, trust me, it's gets freakin HOT in Barcelona in the summertime. Taking an occasional break at your hotel to regroup is one of the things you need, in my opinion.

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The Hotel Rating system in Europe is NOT the same as the U.S. Beware. 4 stars means 3 stars. That still means "fairly nice" to "nice". 3 stars could get slightly dicey.

===========

Bring 2-3 adapters, one of them being a Surge Protector/adapter, the other two just being straight up simple adapters for iPods and other gadgets that are friendly with different voltage levels. It will get annoying not being able to charge more than one thing at a time. Getting two, or even three, is worth the money in my opinion.

The following page will help clear up the converter/surge protector/adapter confusion. They are also a good company, I think. I have purchased the All-In-One Surge Protector from them, used it on numerous trips in South America and Europe and it works great.

http://www.walkabouttravelgear.com/elect.htm

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Right out of the gate, if you have 2 or more days in Barcelona get the T-10, Zone 1 metro pass. It will save you some bucks on the metro, and you'll be on the metro a lot.

Metro goes till midnight, but later on Friday and Sat.

I was very surprised by how early the metro closes on weekdays in this "party town". Yes, they like to party in Barcelona. I'll admit that. But their reputation is somewhat undeserved. It is extremely common for people to stay out till 5 or 6am in Buenos Aires, for example. The streets of Barcelona during the weekdays start emptying out at 2am. I was really surprised. And La Rambla, one of the most major avenues in all of Barcelona can be positively EMPTY by 3am.

Buses go till quite late and are very nice, actually. Tons of buses leave from Placa Catalunya (top of La Rambla meaning the part of La Rambla AWAY from the water) at all times.

============

Vegetarians and high blood pressure peeps, beware! Meat and LOTS and LOTS of salt are the law in Barcelona.

============

BE PREPARED in BARCELONA...for some slightly chilly service in restaurants and cafes. Nothing to worry about, but if you are expecting warm service everywhere you go, you have visited the wrong city.

If you stick to very westernized places like Hotel Omm, the W hotel, etc, of course you're unlikely to experience cold service...that's another thing altogether. But if you go all over Barcelona like we did, trust me, you will experience a chilliness in service from time to time.

On the other hand, to be fair, once I made attempts to butter them up, or make a joke, or ask them about themselves, they warmed up pretty nicely.

It is also only fair to say that my rudimentary Spanish for restaurants and shops is only passable. By no means terrible, mind you, but barely passable...so that certainly can't have helped.

===================

Leaving Barcelona by plane, DO NOT get your terminal wrong. You might miss your plane.

There is a big sign when you get off the train at the "Airport" station indicated which airlines belong to which Terminals (1 or 2). Double check the sign.

===================

Sights

Sagrada Familia

One of Spain's greatest landmarks, and widely considered the master-work of renowned architect Antoni Gaudi is one of Spain's top tourist attractions. Gaudi devoted the last fifteen years of his life, entirely, to the project.

It was a slight disappointment because of the ubiquitous contruction everywhere on and around the building.

Despite the eye-sore construction, it's the sort of arresting visual feast of Neo-Gothic meets Art Nouveau architecture that is not, under any circumstances, to be missed. Get your fix of beautifully chiseled Christian symbolism at every turn.

This is a must see.

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La Pedrera, Eixample district.

The building is part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site "Works of Antoni Gaudí".

An entire apartment building designed by Gaudi, it undulates and dazzles with architectural innovation and flair.

If you are not familiar with the art and architecture of Gaudi, you will fall in love with him on this trip.

This is a must see.

============

Park Guell (designed by Gaudi), Metro stop: Lesseps

This park is quite large and has many different, interesting architectural features.

It also has a great view of Barcelona from the vibrantly tiled, serpentine wall that defines the upper perimeter.

This is a must see.

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Casa Batllo, Eixample district (if time constraints make you choose between Casa Batllo and "La Pedrera" choose Casa Batllo)

Literally translated, "House of Bones".

Casa Batllo is a multi-story home with a stunning rooftop (affording 360 views of Barcelona) by Gaudi, originally designed for a middle-class family, surprisingly.

The whole building plays, superbly, with light, undulating structures of glass, wood and plaster, and vibrant textile work, functional design touches (such as ventillation grates carved into the wood of window frames)...it was one of the highlights of this trip.

Casa Batllo will set you back 20 Euros a piece, but if you have an interest in art and architecture, it is unquestionably worth it.

This is an absolute must-see.

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Tibidabo

Arguably, the best views of Barcelona, (at over 500 meters high), at this beautiful old church with an amusement park. I know, weird, right?

There is a cantilever ride at the amusement park that looks positively terrifying. Didn't do it.

This is a must see.

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The Magic Fountain, Placa D'Espagne

The Magic Fountain at Placa D'Espangne only "performs" on the weekends. Check it out for a fountain, light, and music show!

In fact, if you're around La Barcolonetta (the beach and shore area) take the cable car!

A borderline must-see.

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Bullfights

if you want to see a BULLFIGHT they are only on Sundays at 6pm, so you have a narrow window to experience that one.

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Barcelona Aquarium, La Barcolonetta

If you have more than 7 days in town, do it. See sharks, up close and personal, as they swagger thru the overhead, glass arches of aquarium tunnels!

See sharks, seahorses, electric neon purple surgeonfish, and vibrant sapphire devils!

I was wowed by this place, but maybe not quite a "must see".

=======

The Main Post Office of Barcelona, near La Barcolonetta

The vestibule of the Main Post Office in Barcelona is decorated with frescos by Catalonian mural painters from the first half of the 20th century.

Nicest post office I've ever seen. It's almost ridiculous that people actually send off their mail in a place like this.

========

Bars

Moovida, Hotel Omm, Eixample district

Perfect after a hard day of snapping endless pics at Gaudi's houses on Passage de Gracia. Unwind in swankness!

It is not easy to make a fantastic Bloody Mary, but they did. All drinks here are likely to be top notch.

Watch the beautiful and well-heeled saunter by in this mod-designed hotel bar/resto.

There is no dress code. Not cheap, certainly, but not expensive for Barcelona.

Live music (and good) on Thursdays, late afternoon.

Expensive as hell restaurant "Moo" adjoins Moovida. Give it a try if your wallet dares.

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Eclipse Bar, 27th floor of the W Hotel, La Barcolonetta (shoreline)

Eclipse on the 27th floor of the W hotel has sweeping views of the shoreline and city of Barcelona. Dress for success, baby.

The service is somewhat lacking, but you don't really care. Expensive.

Informal but sporty dress from 7-9pm. After 9pm, you better be looking GOOD or you ain't welcome there, even if there is no line at the elevator.

But...good news! The lobby bar is very stylish, mod, interesting, (think black onyx fireplace, coral theme, candles strewn about playfully, and mood lighting that changes intermittently) and doors go right out to the patio/beach/water. Open till at least 1am.

The bartenders are variable. Some are superb, some were actually terrible, but the service was always warm, timely and it's kind of an LA scene.

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Mirablau at Tibadabo (won Frommer's "Best View from a bar in Barcelona" award)

Danzatoria Tibidabo

The views from these stylish bars (500 meters above Barcelona) are supposed to be almost unreal.

I have a feeling they are must-sees, but I didn't go.

One of the only things in Barcelona that I really wanted to see, but didn't.

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GIMLET, La Ribera district

This is necessary for a pre-dinner drink, one night.

Some of the best prepared cocktails in Barcelona and feel like you stepped into a Ed Hopper painting crossed with a Humphrey Bogart movie.

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Siddartha

Siddartha on Avinyo Avenue (small street): kinda cool, morracan decor, kinda goth.

This place would really be cool if they didn't play MC Hammer and very bad, random rap.

It's just not that kinda place dude....don't do that. Still, you are at ground zero of the (GOOD) touristy part off of La Rambla, but yet slightly removed and it's chill on this street. Even with the really bad music, I think I would come back to this place. Only for drinks tho...not to eat.

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Schilling, Ave Ferran off of La Rambla

Awesome vibe to the bar, terrific music, lively, all ages which surprised me, plenty of Americans, but lots of locals too.

Red velvet chairs, good seating at the tables, excellent drinks, cheap tapas (as per usual), good people watching, lots of smoking going on (beware).

This bar is not particularly special (or maybe it is), but it was one of my favorite bars in Barcelona for tapas and/or drinks.

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Hard Rock Cafe, Barcelona

Didn't do a thing for me, but pleasant enough, somewhat cool-looking, friendly staff, lots of tables, very big bar.

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Bar at Hotel Arts, Barcelonnetta

Outrageously expensive, and for the life of me, I can't figure out why. No great design, and it's a frat/businessman's hangout, at least from my one visit. And it's on the first floor of the hotel which is situated on the water. Really? A view of something other than the valet area might have been nice for such an expensive, (supposedly) super-trendy hotel.

Puzzling.

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Recommended from bartender at Gimlet, but didn't get a chance to go:

Dry Martini Bar
and
Solo Lounge

=========

Restaurants

Pans & Co., Fast Food, locations everywhere.

You know for a fast food chain....pretty good bang for your buck. Mostly sandwiches.

============

Casa Calvet, Eixample District. (Top Pick)

Make sure you book 48 hours in advance. You can book online, too.

Casa Calvet (for dinner in a Gaudi designed building and supposed to be 3.5 star food)

Sited from Wiki: "Gaudí scholars agree that this building is the most conventional of his works, partly because it had to be squeezed in between older structures and partly because it was sited in one of the most elegant sections of Barcelona."

This is Antoni Gaudi's first apartment building design, AND the first building in Barcelona to feature an elevator!

What a romantic place to have dinner!

Beautiful stained glass window, gorgeous white brick interior, Persian carpets throughout. Dark wood-carved partitions on the perimeter provide just enough feeling of privacy while still being able to enjoy the atmosphere.

The food and service were sumptuous/impeccable. Actually, it was one of my favorite dinners I've ever had in my life. We had the "Tasting Menu" which featured small portions of many different items.

Quite expensive. Not completely ridiculous, though.

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Moovida at Hotel Omm, L'Eixample District, Rosello 265 (Top Pick)

Words cannot express how much I loved the design, food, service, people watching at the resto-cafe MOOVIDA at the OMM HOTEL right near one of my favorite sights in Barcelona: Gaudi's Batlla House. I'm now afraid I've definitely built it up too much.

I highly recommend the Carpaccio. I had to go there TWICE for it. Holy smokes!

MOOVIDA is not expensive at all (but it looks like it is).

Hotel Omm, on the other hand, will cost you a GRIP for a room.

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El Paraigua at Placa Sant Miquel near Placa Jaume (Top Pick, but don't expect too much, you'll see what I mean)

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, the Salmon tapas....ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Tasty. Carpaccio also excellent.

Take the outside seating. An oasis in the midst of tourist mayhem.

This place has excellent quality tapas, drinks, good service.

I really love Placa Sant Miquel. There's not much to it, but i think you will see what I mean.

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The Attic, La Rambla

Nice design, bright orange walls, windows looking out onto the crowd strolling La Rambla, mediocre (but not bad) service, nice tables, lots of tourists there, somewhat expensive.

INCREDIBLE pasta salad.

The rest of the food was merely tasty but not great. A smattering of Euro douchebags, but I didn't mind because it's heavily mixed with quiet couples just enjoying a nice meal.

I would recommend even though it sounds like I wouldn't.

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La Tagliatella (this is a TOP PICK), L'Eixample District

Beautiful Italian restaurant where everything just feels good and right.

The food here went beyond delicious into the realm of highly creative.

The seafood salad with shrimp, salmon, anchovies, and crab meat, corn was absolutely WOW!

Not expensive.

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El Cafe de Ferran, Ave Ferran near Placa St. Jaume

This place is a bit old wordly, actually reminded of cafes in Cairo just a bit.

The upstairs is the place to sit. Great food, decent service, gorgeous wood carved ceiling. Actually, walk in there and check out that ceiling, regardless.

I would suggest the Sangria with Cava (instead of non-sparkling wine). It was delicious, and a new discovery for me. That was Marisa's suggestion. Well done, baby!

The Jarra Sangria Cava. Meaning a big Jar that you can share is 10 Euros...that's four glasses (at least). Barcelona is way cheaper than Paris for food and drink. This place was quite tasty and it was 24 Euros for 3 tapas and the huge jar of sangria.

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Melic de Gotic, Ave Montsio near La Rambla

Melic de Gotic near 4cats cafe.

Great food, great service, really cool history to the place.

I would definitely go back here.

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Caputxes, Ave Ferran and, also, La Rambla.

There's a couple of these places on La Rambla. They look fairly inviting. They are really expensive compared to their competitiors and so so food. Skip it.

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Orio, Ave Ferran 38

What a spot they have! An oasis in the midst of mayhem. Unless you want to be in the sunshine.

Very pricey. Totally variable service, sometimes quite bad.

The food is excellent and so is the wine selection. Not the best bang for your buck, but tucked away and quiet off of the major thoroughfare of Ave. Ferran. Tough call.

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4Cats, Ave Montsio near La Rambla

4Cats cafe where Picasso and the art/philososphy boys used to hang out every night while in Barcelona.

I'm on the fence about this one. It is quite cool, but overrated in my opinion. The coffee was excellent.

Still, I guess it might be one of those places you have to see in Barcelona.

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Ambos Mundos, Placa Reial, La Rambla and Ave. Ferran

Excellent service, plentiful and good tapas menu, fairly cheap, and good place for some chilly Sangria and people watching!

Watch your camera and your wallet in this very touristy square.

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Museums

Dali Museum (slightly dissapointing, but a must-see)

You take a RENFE train to get there from Barcelona. It will say "Cerbere" on the train. Cerbere is the (final) destination and Figueres, the town where the Dali Museum is, is on the way.

Get the "Express train" (not listed as such) that avoids most of the stops along the way. Look for the one on the train timetable that skips some of the stops.

You will cut your trip time in half. And you will want to do so because most rides on the RENFE train kinda suck. Super boring in terms of scenery, and sometimes slow.

There are not many of Dali's great paintings at this museum and that is an UNDERSTATEMENT. Still, it's pretty rewarding, and Figueres is quite nice, I thought.

Your ticket to the Dali Museum will include an entry to the Dali Jewels Museum. I would check it out. There are some stunning pieces of jewelry in there.

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Museu Nacional D'art Catalunya, Placa Espagne (Must see if you're a museum lover)

In fact, if you're around La Barceloneta (the shore of Barcelona) take the cable car to Placa D'Espagne!

Placa D'Espagne is just gorgeous and a great place for this important museum with escalators OUTSIDE to take you to the foot of the museum.

It would take 2 days to go thru it filled with tons of Gothic and Byzantine art. But, luckily, your ticket is GOOD FOR TWO DAYS!

The Magic Fountain right nearby only goes on the weekends. Check it out for a fountain, light, and music show!

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MACBA, Museu d'art Contemporani de Barcelona.

Worst contemporary art museum I've ever seen. Ever. And not cheap.

How do you have 50 pieces by world famous artist (and one of my faves), Bruce Nauman, and they're all TERRIBLE?!?!

The permanent collection was mediocre and that's a kind review.

They advertise as having Basquiats and Paul Klee's (also one of my faves) and they do not. Nor are they on loan at present.

The architecture (by Richard Meier) is fantastic, however, and almsot worth it just for that.

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Mussee Picasso (Must-see)

Mussee Picasso. Not to be missed the Rose and Blue period stuff has some amazing pieces.

There are a lot of early sketches around too which I quite enjoyed.

DAY TRIPS

SITGES

Sitges is a really beautiful, charming beach town with tons of cool shops and people with serious money.

I'd say it's skippable though. It just didn't strike me as worth the trip if you only have one week or so. It was worth it for us (barely) because Corpus Christi (once a year in late June) is a noteworthy and major event, there.

But still. I don't really see what all the fuss is about. It's (perhaps) the top gay resort town in all of Spain. Well, like I said..it is quite nice. But, man, there are a freaking TON of old people. But maybe that was just because of the Corpus Christi festival.

I don't think I've ever seen so many people over 65 in one place at one time before. LA really does warp your perception of the world in a lot of ways.

Another note: Coming back from Sitges to Barcelona you want any train that says EST de Franca. It will head right into the city center. But this was a bit hard to figure out.

Rio, Part One.

2010-04-17T13:41:00.000-07:00

As night fell on the sparkling city of Rio, the elevator doors opened, and I approached the empty bar at the, (aptly named!), Bar D'Hotel. I was looking for something.

I believe that something was called 'trouble', if memory serves.

Glancing to my right, outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, lay a perfect sliver of Ipanema Beach with loaves of sugary mountains jutting into the dark-red sky from the depths of the ocean below. The last of the volleyball players, perfectly chiseled silhouettes at this point, were packing up and leaving for a night of dancing and debauchery.

I could almost hear the waves crashing below, but the window glass was too thick for that. Even without the sound effects, one had to admit that God broke the mold when he made Rio. Somewhere in the distance, Christ the Redeemer, with his protective, massive, and outstretched stony arms, nodded in agreement as he kept watch over his beloved Cariocas.

Bar D'Hotel was listed in the Lonely Planet as one of the hippest bars in Rio, but not THE hippest. That honor went to an establishment just down the street named "Bar Londra". Bar Londra, on a good night, was $40 US dollars just for entry. That's pretty damned obscene in a city where that amount of money is more like a monthly salary. Hell, even LA didn't really have bars like that!

But this particular bar where I began my evening was the soiree of choice for soap actresses, reality TV stars, successful business men, and of course: models. And let me tell you something about the models in Rio: they do NOT look bad. Very, very, very not bad.

My attention returned to the laminated drink menu on the bar in front of me.

"How are you tonight?" the bartender asked me in heavily accented English while polishing a glass.

Thank God, I thought to myself. Somebody in Rio speaks English. It had been two entire days of near-silence. Portuguese is not an easy language to learn.

"Fine, thanks. You speak English?" I asked hopefully.

"A little bit. I can get by." he said with a smile. "What would you like to drink?"

I pretended to think long and hard about it.

"I think it's going to have to be a Caipirinha."

"Good choice!" he replied, as a nod to the signature drink of Rio.

A word to the wise: a Caipirinha is made from Cachaça which differs greatly from rum. Cachaca is made from fermented sugarcane whereas most rum is made from molasses. A few of these drinks will have most people speaking in tongues. In any case, it's a fact worth remembering when you find yourself in Rio with a lot of time on your hands. Which...will be EVERY time you find yourself in Rio.

TO BE CONTINUED...

What Could Go Wrong in Cuba??

2010-01-12T21:34:00.000-08:00

What Could Go Wrong in Cuba? Short Story in mini portions:

TO BE CONTINUED...

Cuba, Part 12

2010-01-06T13:53:00.000-08:00

Our motorbikes did playful and sharp figure eights as the endless fields moved past us. We pegged our speedometers, as we rode into the hot, Cuban sun and between the towering limestone cliffs.

A feeling of absolute freedom surrounded us--riding the scooters thru the Cuban countryside--hundreds of miles from Havana. To say we were in the middle of nowhere was an understatement!

There were no cars passing us, no people, no buildings, no stores. There was no worrying about bills, or dental visits, or cameras on top of stoplights, or drinking in public. There was no "keeping up with the Joneses" because all the "Joneses" helped each others' families build the houses where they all lived and raised their children. Besides, all the Joneses had the exact same stuff.

Everything seemed simple and healthy. That wasn't the whole truth, of course, (not by a longshot), but that's the way it seemed that day. On this particular road, nothing was overtly different from, say, many pastoral settings in the United States, but somehow we seemed very far away indeed.

I turned my wrist and slowed my bike down in front of a farm with a huge plot of land and a dilapidated shed of corrugated aluminum, and Danielle followed suit.

I put the bike on its kick-stand, removed my helmet, and surveyed the land around us.

Danielle put her bike on the other side of the rode and hopped off.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. I just wanted to take everything in for a minute. JESUS CHRIST we're in CUBA!"

Danielle laughed. It never got old.

"Yeah, it still seems pretty crazy, actually!" she admitted.

It did feel crazy. My first trip out of the U.S. I had never been to Canada, even, and my very first trip I break the law just by going there. I don't know if it was the thrill of getting away with something, or if it was just being on a great trip of any kind, or maybe Cuba really was just that exciting. But a feeling of invincibility pervaded at the moment. I had the feeling that the entire world was my oyster and that this was the very beginning...that something significant in my life was taking place...that feeling you get when you have butterflies in your stomach, but there is no discernible reason for it. You can just feel that something is happening where you will be forever changed.

The sound of buzzing insects was all around us, and now that we were stopped, we became targets. Far off in the distance I could hear a tractor, but I could hear no traffic on our road, whatsoever. We had passed three cars the entire time. I could feel the beginnings of a potentially serious sunburn now that we were still.

"We are gonna be BURNED when we get back," I said.

"Yep. Did you bring any suntan lotion?"

"Sorry. I forgot. Damn it!"

"It's alright. I don't think it will be that bad."

I hoped she was right.

"Alright, let's hop back on," I suggested.

"Let's do it!" Danielle said.

We sped off as fast as we could go, completely forgetting about the previous houseguest who had flipped over his bike and lost a couple of teeth in the process, and had to immediately fly back to the States. I did have the momentary thought that if one of the bikes broke down, it was going to be a looooooong night, but luckily they were well-maintained.

Eventually, we turned around and headed back to town, and a strange lull overcame the both of us. We were no longer yelling back and forth while driving, nor pointing to things in the distance. I was completely inside my head about something on the way back. The dull buzz of the motor, the trees swishing by, and the warm weather, all had a hypnotizing effect. Occasionally, I would look over at Danielle and she seemed to be having a similar experience. I wondered what she was thinking about before returning to my own train of thoughts which carried us both back to the motorbike vendor under the large canvas umbrella.

We stood the bikes up near him, and he approached us with a smile.

"How was it?"

"It was fantastic," I relayed truthfully.

"Yes, it really was," Danielle agreed happily.

Uh oh.

She was a little pink, as I looked at her face and shoulders more closely. She had a burn on her face except where her eyeglasses were. It didn't look terribly bad, tho. The back of my own shoulders were smarting a bit.

"Good, good!" the vendor exclaimed. "Well, it will come to thirty for the bikes." he reminded us.

I opened up my backpack, where my store of cash was and got thirty dollars. To my surprise, I noted that there was exactly thirty dollars in the little pocket, but I didn't see any other bills. I wasn't overly worried...I just figured I'd put the rest of the money in the other pouch of my backpack and handed the man his thirty dollars.

"Thanks a lot," I said, and we were off...headed back toward the guesthouse.

"Wait..." I said to Danielle, "...let's go to that park bench over there. I want to check something."

"OK," Danielle agreed.

We sat at the bench in a nice, empty plaza and I began rummaging thru all the pockets of my backpack. I was zipping and unzipping tons of zippers looking for the rest of our money.

"Is everything OK?" Danielle asked, slightly worried.

"I can't find our money," I said, still moving my hands frantically around each pocket.

I stopped what I was doing for a moment and my mind started retracing all my recent steps. I thought about when we stopped with our bikes in the middle of the road. But I hadn't even opened my backpack, then. I thought about when we were back at the guesthouse. Had I put the money in a pair of shoes or something, and forgotten that I'd hid it? No. I'd taken the passports and the money as I had done the whole trip.

Now a really sick feeling was forming in the pit of my stomach and in a fit of frustration I opened all the zippers on the backpack and shook it upside down, repeatedly, as hard as I could so that all the contents would fall out.

A bunch of items came out, including my Lonely Planet guide, but no cash.

"Oh my God," Danielle exclaimed realizing the gravity of the discovery.

The tone of her voice sent a shiver down my spine, so I tried to console her.

"Now wait a minute....just wait a minute....don't panic yet. I might have left it at the house. It's going to be alright. Seriously, don't start worrying yet."

"Jesus, what are we going to do if it's gone!"

"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it." I said.

"OK," she agreed, calming slightly.

I put the contents back in the bag and verified for the third time, that the cash was indeed gone. As I went to place the Lonely Planet guidebook back in the bag, I flipped thru all the pages, while holding it upside down by its spine, and a twenty dollar bill fell out and fluttered to the ground!

I had forgotten about that one! I stashed an emergency twenty in the guidebook just in case when we'd left the house in Los Angeles.

Well at least we had twenty dollars.

But I was really worried. In fact, I was about two steps from a full-blown panic.

Just the cost of leaving the airport in Havana, alone, was thirty dollars, and we had six days left in Cuba!

My stomach started to feel upset and heavy, as we walked back to the guesthouse.

What would we say to our hosts? How would we eat? How would we get back to Havana? How would we come up with the airport exit fee? How would we explain that we didn't have any money, when our hair and faces looked exactly like we'd been on expensive motorbikes for the last four hours?

Jesus, we were in trouble if there was no money back at the house. And with that thought my stomach started to rumble with hunger...

TO BE CONTINUED....

Cuba, Part 11

2009-11-24T04:27:00.000-08:00

Danielle and I stepped off the bus with our suitcases and into the hot sun.

We arrived in Vinales, Cuba in a small sea of signs held up by Cubans indicating rooms for rent. It was impossible to make our way thru the throng of people without multiple solicitations being shouted all around us.

My eyes stopped on a heavyset man with a thick mustache and a pastel t-shirt, holding up a sign on the periphery of the crowd. I liked him on sight, and he was advertising a room for $25 US dollars per night which seemed to be the going rate, including meals.

"Let's go talk to that guy," I said to Danielle, pointing at him.

As we approached him, I realized how relaxed he was compared to everyone else in the crowd. There was something comforting and trustworthy about him. Not that I was particularly worried about anything, but it helped in the decision-making process.

"Hello, how are you?" he asked the both of us as we approached.

"We're good! Our bus broke down on the way here, but it was a nice ride from Havana other than that," I replied. For some reason the bus braking down had really hurt my mood earlier in the day, but Danielle added some levity to the situation and improved it somehow.

"How long are you staying in Vinales?"

"Five our six days," I replied.

"Oh, that's good! I'm Paulo. I have a nice home and my wife is a great cook! Would you like to see it?"

I looked at Danielle and could see she liked Paulo, too. We introduced ourselves.

"Yes, we would!"

"OK, let's go! I'm just a few streets from here."

We walked alongside the man, rolling our suitcases thru the dusty road. We took a right turn, and things became distinctly more rural. There were orderly rows of small, colorful homes on the dusty streets. I was admiring what a fine day it was when a piercing animal cry down the road raised the back of the hairs on my neck.

Three men were carrying a pig, upside down, with its feet tied to a large piece of timber. The shrill bleats from the pig were so loud I would have covered my ears if I weren't pulling my suitcase. It was physically jarring. As the men came closer with the pig it got even worse. This was just a normal everyday event here. The pig was being taken to slaughter and it was fighting back with the only thing it had left: its voice. It was the kind of thing that could turn a person into a vegetarian. Just an ordinary event. That's how we get ham and pork and bacon, after all, but it's interesting how something so basic and simple becomes an indelible event in the mind of pampered Westerners. It made me quite sad for the pig. Not sad enough to quit eating bacon, but sad nonetheless.

We heard the pig all the way down the road, on our way to Paulo's home. When we arrived, I saw that his street was very similar to the four others that we had passed, but just a tad greener in the front yards with more trees.

Paulo's house was light blue and had a large front porch with a bench swing, where his wife and two sons were sitting, expecting the arrival of new tenants.

Paulo had an attractive wife named Estelle who was several inches taller than him. His older son Carlos was eighteen years old, a very handsome kid, and the younger son, Teo, was five.

We pulled our stuff into the living room and noticed the house was nice inside and immaculate. Paulo showed us our room which was very basic with a large bed and dresser/mirror and we had our own bathroom.

"What do you think?" Paulo asked.

"We'll take it," I said with a handshake. I went to reach for my wallet, but Paulo stopped me.

"We can take care of that later. Let's get you two something to eat!"

We unpacked our things, walked into the living room-which adjoined the kitchen-and we could see that Estelle was already busy in the kitchen. There were a lot of lacy place mats on all the tables and a huge boombox on the long table next to the dining room. It felt nice and welcoming in the house and you could tell it was a good family just by looking at everything and how it was arranged. Pictures of the family were everywhere.

On the dining room table lay a guestbook of all the people who had every stayed there, and we were asked if we'd like to sign in. In the guestbook, all the previous tenants had put little stories of how their stay in Vinales went. One couple had a story of how they had rented motorbikes to ride thru the long, country roads that cut through the picturesque limestone cliffsides. The guy had taken a very bad spill and had to fly home with some teeth missing. Oddly, the story made me want to rent a motorbike--an idea I hadn't thought of. I vowed to watch the road carefully if we decided to do it.

Estelle made a very nice meal of rice, beans, pork, and fruit and it was arranged on our plates very artistically. We tried to curb ourselves from eating ravenously, but it was hard. We'd had a long bus ride.

After a nice conversation with Estelle, we decided to venture out into town and rent a couple of the motorbikes we'd read about. We found the guy on the side of the main road, under a large canvas umbrella, and to our surprise, all the bikes were brand new. There were about ten of them, mostly red and yellow. We left our drivers licenses with the owner and didn't even have to pay in advance. I thought that was strange. The guy trusted us with the brand new mopeds with just driver's licenses which were totally worthless. Perhaps he'd seen us drag our luggage over to Paulo's and figured we would have to come back. Or perhaps a tank of gas couldn't really get us anywhere urban from here.

Danielle and I got outfitted with some helmets and we were grinning from ear to ear. This was going to be really fun! We got started on the bikes and turned off onto a paved road which unfolded into completely unspoiled countryside. The towering limestone cliffs alongside the road were stunning. I pulled the throttle on my bike and found that it could go around 50 miles per hour. We gunned them for a little bit, Danielle and I racing down the smooth, paved road and deeper into farmland. There were no interesting turnoffs so it would easy to find our way back to town.....

TO BE CONTINUED.....

Cuba, Part 10

2009-10-14T02:18:00.000-07:00

...

Seven days and seven nights passed quickly in Havana before Danielle and I were off, by air conditioned bus, to a small tourist town named Vinales about 100 miles due East of the spot where we were deposited initially.

Vinales was nestled inside the lush and verdant valley of Pinar Del Rio, which was well known for its prime tobacco growing properties. And tobacco meant Cuban cigars! But the thing about Vinales, in particular, was that it had these dramatic limestone mountains jutting out of the earth like rounded teeth with pockmarks. These formations broke thru the terrain, or maybe they were set there purposefully, obese carnacs, by mischievous and playful Gods who were now long gone.

These protruding rock formations were famous for housing obscenely large colonies of bats. Shortly after dawn, if one had keen eyes, it was possible to spot a massive cloud of bats fleeing their elevated penthouse caves, in a cacophony of screeches, to feast for the night.

Danielle and I had heard about all this in Havana, and we knew we had to see it for ourselves. Vinales had captured our imaginations from the first word.

Our bus arrived in Vinales in front of a general store, not unlike one that may have been in an old Western town except that the colors were pastel as opposed to unfinished wood. The colors and the manner in which the buildings that lined the main street were painted, gave them an almost dollhouse-like quality. However, everything was too dusty and plain to be called "quaint" by any stretch. We couldn't see the entirety of the general store very well because a large crowd of people pushed up against the bus, all the way from the porch of the general store, and most of them held hand-written signs above their head. Very quickly we realized that the majority of the people were trying to sell a room in their home for the night or longer periods depending on the needs of a particular tourist. The signs ranged between 20 and 30 dollars per night and all the prices were written as "U.S. dollars" which I found interesting.

One sign advertised a "Luxury Villa" just down the road. Really? A luxury villa? From a cursory examination through different windows around the bus, it appeared that Vinales was the most rudimentary of farm towns. A pitstop with running water. Every single edifice was a one story, small home or home-turned-business with a porch. They all looked pretty much the same. The main street, itself, was just a wide path of dry, cracked dirt. I saw horse droppings along the far side of the rode. I doubted there was even one clothing store, here. Not even a place to purchase a hat to shield us from the hot sun. Not that we needed one, anyway.

Could this be the place that everyone, when visiting Cuba, "had to see"?!

But, as we were about to find out, things could change for the worse very quickly in Cuba, even in a place like Vinales.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Cuba, Part 9

2009-10-07T02:40:00.000-07:00

The five of us walked down the gravel road in the dark, saved only by the full moon.

"I almost forgot about that," the leader remarked.

"What?" I asked.

"The Hotel Lido is right there!" he said, pointing ahead of us and to the right.

I looked in the direction of his finger. A few blocks down, light issued from a window, faintly. Still no streetlights, but I was encouraged.

"It looks like you are in luck!" the Cuban continued, "They have electricity!"

The four men continued walking with us, chatting in Spanish, while Danielle and I said virtually nothing. We had no energy left at this point. If, by some chance, we arrived at the hotel and it was closed with no concierge person, I was fairly certain that we were going to lie down next to the door and sleep on top of our luggage.

But when we arrived and looked through the window, we saw a pleasant looking, middle-aged woman at the counter watching a very small black and white television.

"Have a good time in Cuba!" the leader said, extending his hand to say goodbye to us.

"Thanks for walking us down. We appreciate it," I answered, also shaking hands with the three friends as they wished us luck in Spanish.

Four pairs of dusty cowboy boots made their way back to their post, up the road, presumably to knock out at least four more beers before sleeping.

Danielle and I made a monumental effort to drag our heavy suitcases up the few stairs to the entryway of the Hotel Lido, and I propped the front door open so that we could make our way in with our stuff.

"Can I help you?" the concierge woman inquired in Spanish, turning down the volume knob on the television.

"Hablo Ingles?" I asked, knowing that my Spanish was in no shape for a conversation.

"Si, un poco...but just a few words."

"Gracias. Do you have a room?"

"Yes," she said immediately.

Victory!

"But...we only take CUCs. No American dollars," she clarified.

Oh no!

"No dollars?" I repeated, hoping that she would magically change her mind.

"No. I can't. Sorry." she frowned.

"What if we pay a little bit extra?" Danielle suggested to her.

"Que?" she replied, her forehead wrinkling with the difficult translation.

"How many CUCs per noche?" Danielle asked in her finest Spanglish.

"Four zero," and she wrote the number "40" on a piece of paper in front of us.

"I'll offer her sixty and see what she says," I told Danielle.

I peeled sixty dollars out of my left pocket, being sure to go for the fatter bill roll, where the twenties were. I put them on the counter in front of her.

"Para este noche? Si? Esta bien?" I asked, going for my first bribe in Cuba.

She looked at the money and thought about it for a few seconds.

"Si. Yes. I will take you to your room," and she took the bills and put them in some sort of box that was underneath the counter. She'd made an extra twenty because there was an exact one-to-one relationship between CUCs and the U.S. dollar. I wondered whether she would pocket the money or whether she would turn it all over to the owner (and the government). I was pretty sure she would turn it all over. Unless she'd made up the fact that they only took CUCs. In which case, she could very easily pocket the money, which, at that moment, I did not mind one bit. Hell, for all I knew the price was twenty dollars per night and she was going to pocket forty. That would be two week's salary for a lot of people in Havana.

She led us up the long, thin stairway to our room, opened the door, and said goodnight.

I closed the door on her. It had a decent lock on it, and I clicked it shut.

"Thank God!!" I exclaimed.

"It's been a long day, hasn't it?" Danielle agreed.

I looked around the room. The walls were a dingy yellow, and the paint was peeling. It was white underneath. There were two very thin beds placed right next to each other with ugly green and yellow sheets which looked uncomfortable just on sight. The "bathroom" consisted of an old, slightly rusty sink and there was a crudely fashioned wardrobe next to it. Randomly, I remembered some advice from the guidebook: 'Don't drink the tap water in Cuba or it is very likely that you will get sick.' It was the worst hotel room I had ever seen in my life and I was quite happy with it. At least it was reasonably clean, and the ceilings were very high, which always helps. The quality hardly mattered.

Danielle and I crashed on the bed, in our clothes, and slept like rocks.

TO BE CONTINUED....

Cuba, Part 8

2009-09-30T02:02:00.000-07:00

There was no avoiding him, now.

The big man moved toward us, at a leisurely pace. The other three guys were left rubbing their hands over the oil drum fire and watching.

Danielle and I let go of our suitcase handles, and stopped, wondering what the guy would say to us. I was more than a bit concerned. I noted, for the umpteenth time, that absolutely no one was around, as he got nearer to us. If these guys weren't friendly we were going to have to make a run for it. This thought didn't fill me with joy because I realized that I could outrun them, but Danielle probably couldn't. I very much doubted that any of those guys could catch me, but if Danielle weren't fast enough, that would render the point completely mute.

"Are you guys lost?" he asked us, almost with a laugh, stopping just arm's length away. He said it a bit hesitantly, though, as if he weren't quite sure what language we spoke.

"We were looking for a hotel down the road," I answered, pointing ahead of us, into the darkness.

"It's a little late to be looking for a hotel, isn't it?" he chuckled once again. Then he looked back at his friends and bellowed, "They are looking for a hotel in the middle of the night, during a blackout, what luck, eh?!!"

This was, of course, followed by peels of laughter from the peanut gallery around the oil drum. One of them even slapped his knee as if it were the funniest thing in the entire world.

"Is there a hotel down there?" Danielle asked impatiently. At this point, we were definitely a little pissed, not to mention tired and hungry. And we both knew there was absolutely no way we were getting any food for hours.

"Where are you from?" the big man asked Danielle, completely ignoring her question.

"Canada," she replied casually, as if she had lived there her entire life. Good job! We had discussed this before, and we were prepared.

"You don't sound Canadian," the man remarked thoughtfully. It was becoming clear to me that everyone in the world spoke at least two languages, except, of course, Americans.

"We live on the border, in Vancouver, there's not much of an accent in that city," she explained to him.

Danielle was cool as a cucumber under pressure, I had to hand it to her. If she had succeeded in fooling him, all the sudden we were just regular world travelers. Possibly without a cent in our pockets. But had he pegged us for Americans, he would have known instantly that we were packing a wad of greenbacks.

The man leaned back to address his friends again, "They're Canadian! We love Canadians, don't we guys?!!"

The guys started hooting and hollering like it was the Fourth of July. They must have been pretty lit up. I noticed all the empty beer bottles around the oil drum. Quite a lot of bottles, in fact.

"I still can't believe you came to Cuba in the middle of the night during a blackout! That's not the safest timing, is it? I think maybe me and my friends should walk you to the hotel. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you!" and he motioned for his three friends to come over and join us.

Now, I was definitely nervous. I didn't like the comment about the safety of our timing at all. I studied Danielle's face which seemed to say, 'It's a little dicey, but I think it will be alright.'

"C'mon," the leader said once the three men walked over, still drinking their bottles. "We'll show you where it is."

The five of us walked down the road, hopefully toward lodging...

TO BE CONTINUED

Cuba, Part 7

2009-09-22T02:23:00.000-07:00

The humid air covered us like a blanket in the night. We could see a decent amount of stars in the sky courtesy of the blackout. It was considerably cooler now, so the humidity was not bothersome. Danielle and I stood there for a second, suitcases at the ready, amazed at our arrival. We were in Havana, alone at last, ready for an adventure. And quite possibly sooner than we would have liked.

I looked at my watch. It was 2:00 in the morning. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, (the only light coming from a three-quarter's moon), I looked, again, down the long, gravel road with low slung storefronts all along the right side. On the left, I saw mostly crumbling edifices of varying heights. I was willing to bet that there were squatters in all of them. The buildings were falling apart while the people were living in them. The residents of the top floors probably had to watch for holes in the flooring. That would make for a very dangerous trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night, indeed.

I reached down with my left hand and felt the outside edge of my pocket to reassure myself that the two bulges were still there. A rubber-banded roll of hundreds and one roll of twenties, each totaling one thousand U.S. dollars. Thus, one bulge was quite a bit bigger than the other. That meant that my left pocket represented about 97 percent of my life savings at that point, and I was feeling a bit protective of it. The bank of The Hollywood Machine. I should have hung a sign on my pocket that read, "Apply within for micro loans!"

Whatever hotel supposedly resided 'only three blocks down' according to our new friend Melanie, I didn't see any people in front of it. I glanced in the direction that our friends had just gone with the car. I didn't see or hear another car in the vicinity.

Danielle smiled widely at me, pulling at her suitcase to suggest movement, content as a meadowlark. You'd think we weren't in a place we knew nothing about, who's denizens may or may not detest Americans, in the middle of the night, during a blackout, with no native currency on our persons, whatsoever. It was as if she were taking a stroll on a lovely, spring day down the wide and convivial Champs-Élysées, twirling a parisol, en route to a trendy boutique! Life couldn't have been more wonderful or serene! Mais oui, le bon temps, n'est-ce pas?!

I grabbed the handle of my suitcase and it made a loud noise as it telescoped out with a snap, and Danielle and I rolled our suitcases, side by side, over the gravel, making approximately as much noise as a stadium-held Monster Truck Rally. For some reason, the sound echoed between the two sides of the street, amplifying it, and it pierced the otherwise silent night quite forcefully.

As we rolled along, Danielle pointed to the dilapidated, crumbling apartment buildings on the left side of the street and remarked on their faded beauty, and the imposing prominence of their arched entrances which tended to be a couple of stories high, at least. It was mostly the tops of the buildings that were in bad shape. That, and the fact that all the glass from the windows was long gone. It was just open-air, with clothes lines drying out the day's laundry in front of some of them. Trying to keep bugs and insects out of the living spaces was an unthinkable luxury.

Danielle continued to expound, quite loudly, upon the architecture, and the raw beauty of everything around her as her hands gestured and mirrored her passion for the various discoveries.

"Look at the entrances!! They're so incredibly huge and GRAND! It's amazing here!!"

I tried to reply, delicately. I didn't want to dampen her enthusiasm.

"Danielle, can we keep it down just a bit? I'm excited, too, but this may not be the very best time to attract a bunch of attention." I suggested, pointed at the bulge inside my left pocket.

The truth of the matter was: we had no idea where we were, and it was almost too dark to even read a map.

"Oh come on! We didn't travel to Cuba to be timid and worry about everything. You've really got to lighten up a little!" she laughed.

I was, again, surprised and impressed with her insouciance to the utterly unknown. Perhaps I was being unreasonable, but I really didn't think so. I genuinely felt that the situation warranted at least a little bit of caution.

"Alright, I'll try, but maybe we'll talk low just to humor the gringo."

"I'm so glad we came!" she exclaimed.

"Me too!" I agreed.

And I was. I felt like an animal in the wild. My hearing seemed to improve three-fold. My pupils widened like saucers to absorb more light. In short, my entire system was on high alert.

Danielle was right. I did tend to worry too much. I told myself to relax a little. I tried to imagine the tension from my body collectively draining out thru my feet and into the gravel and soil beneath it. To some degree, I succeeded, and began to enjoy the scenery more...even though, there really wasn't that much to see.

We walked three blocks and there was no hotel there. I can't say that it surprised me one bit. Dammit! I had a feeling that Melanie didn't know what she was talking about it. Just dropping us off, in the middle of nowhere to fend for ourselves. I stewed about it for a minute, then dismissed it. We kept walking.

"That's pretty much what I thought would happen," I said to Danielle, evenly.

"It must be close by," she muttered. She was a bit annoyed, also.

We walked another three blocks. Good thing we both owned good suitcases with tough wheels. There were some restaurants and some boarded-up houses or businesses. Some were (perhaps clothing?) shops with heavy iron girders behind the glass. Every shop that had a window, had a set of large iron bars behind it. It didn't seem like a particularly good part of town.

Then, I heard voices, and turned my head away from the nearest shop window.

Ahead of us, in the distance, there was a group of men huddled around a fire in what looked like an old, oil drum. I heard the distinctive clink of beer bottles and hearty laughter. It seemed strange that they were huddled around a fire, until I remembered that might be the only source of light for many blocks in every direction. Plus, perhaps it was slightly chilly. Danielle and I just hadn't noticed because we were walking and lugging our heavy suitcases down the road.

We kept walking toward them, Danielle still pointing to architectural wonders and almost yelling their valuable idiosyncrasies to me in bullet point fashion. I was discreetly eyeing the men, then, eyeballing the next several blocks down the road. There was no one.

Now we were fairly close, about a city-sized block, and all the men stopped talking at once. The two men with their backs toward us, turned. They were now staring at us, almost in disbelief, it seemed.

Danielle hardly noticed them, being fixated on the left side of the street like she was.

I thought to myself: "Really? You don't notice four guys drinking and laughing around a fire made inside an oildrum with no one else around for miles, in the middle of the night, but you notice that the window sills are more prominent and ornate, here?"

Even after all this time, Danielle still surprised and fascinated me. We were very different in certain fundamental ways.

Rolling, and continuing to be noisier than hell breaking loose, we were almost upon the four gentleman who now issued a few whispers amongst themselves, and were all still staring at us. Danielle finally noticed them and her architecture/urban planning 101 lesson dropped off quickly.

I smiled at them, self consciously, and then regretted doing so. I probably even would have tipped my hat at them, if I'd been wearing one, as if we were in the old West on the way to a saloon with those high-waisted swinging doors. I should have just kept walking and ignored them completely, but that wouldn't have been right, either. Not one of them smiled back in response. Their bearded, tanned faces barely moved, inscrutable. The crackle of the fire was suddenly very loud as we walked by. It smelled like gasoline.

For a moment, it looked as if we'd just pass by them without incident, but then the largest one started walking toward us.

I found the continued whispering of the other three men around the fire extremely annoying. What the hell need was there to whisper? No one was even around for Chrissakes!

TO BE CONTINUED...

Cuba, Part 6

2009-09-18T03:15:00.001-07:00

I stood there, at the edge of the hotel lobby, watching the old men play chess. A few minutes passed, and neither of them so much as glanced in my direction. The old man closer to me, hunched over on the stool, disembarked and headed around the corner, presumably to the bathroom.

The concierge guy, who bore a striking resemblance to Castro, picked up his glass of whisky and took a sip, fully savoring his libation. He then held the glass near his waist and stroked his beard in contemplation of the unknown, still not paying any attention to me.

I was fascinated by the level of customer service, but I decided not to let it bother me.

As I stood before him, his look indicated that my presence was an unthinkable intrusion on his privacy. I decided to proceed in English and save us both the hassle of my broken Spanish. This grand old hotel was expensive for Cuba (about a hundred-plus bucks per night), and I sensed that English was spoken here frequently.

"Excuse me, do you have any rooms available for the night?" I asked the old curmudgeon.

He glared at me for a few moments before answering.

"Look at you! I haven't even put my glass down yet! (and he swirled the whisky in his glass for emphasis) You Americans! I want to give you some advise about Cuba, if you will permit me...."

"Sure," I agreed. I liked how he was about to go off on a tirade, but he used the phrase, 'if you will permit me', like he'd become British for just 1.5 seconds. It was hard to be mad at the old man for some reason. He had that tough guy charm.

"While in Cuba, never start a conversation with a request or a demand. Try something like: 'Good Evening, how are you?' In life, there is always time to be polite. It's very American to start out asking for this or that, and it is not an attractive quality."

"Well, it's a good point. I'll remember that," I conceded with a smile. His advice was not bad, one had to admit.

"Now, what can I do for you?" he asked with genuine concern.

"I'd like to know if you have any rooms available tonight, please."

He thumbed thru some pages of a large, yellowed book next to the chess board.

"We do not have anything tonight or tomorrow night, but we have some available after that. Would you like to reserve a room?"

"No thanks, I have to get to back to my friends waiting outside in the car. Have a great night!"

"Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Cuba!" he exclaimed just as his friend reappeared from around the corner and made his way back to the stool.

'Interesting,' I thought to myself as I walked across the lobby toward the door. I turned around for one last look to see them both concentrating on the board, again, like nothing had happened. I liked the old coot.

I ran down the hill, back to the car, and got in.

"Well?" Danielle asked me once I was seated.

"Nothing available. Any advise, Melanie?"

Melanie thought for a moment.

"I know. We'll drop you off at a place where there are a bunch of hotels, not far from old town Havana. One of them will have a room for sure."

"Sounds good," Danielle replied.

It took us about ten minutes of driving to get to the place that Melanie was talking about.

I looked outside the car window.

"Why is it so dark out there?" I asked her.

"There was probably a power outage," she replied as if it were no big deal.

"It's almost pitch black out there, are you sure it's going to be safe?" I probed further.

"Definitely. The hotel is only a few blocks down on the right. You will be fine." she replied.

I looked over at Danielle. She seemed completely unconcerned. I regarded that as a good sign.

"Well, thank you all. We really appreciate the ride!"

Melanie translated for us and her boyfriend and the driver smiled at us, saying something in Spanish that I could not understand. Probably something to do with us having a good trip.

Everyone got out of the car, the boys helped us get our luggage out of the trunk and we said our final goodbyes with hugs all around. And, of course, we got Melanie's contact information to meet up later in the week for a little dancing.

The car took off and we were left on a pitch black gravel road with no one in sight.

Now that I was outside, and I could see that it was pitch black for a mile in every direction, and I didn't see anyone else at all, and I had approximately two thousand US dollars in my left pocket...I didn't feel so good about this situation. A terrible feeling crept up on me and was making its way to my brainstem.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Cuba, Part 5

2009-09-11T02:53:00.000-07:00

Danielle and I waited until the two lovebirds disengaged, before we approached them.

Melanie introduced us to her boyfriend, Reydel. He couldn't take his eyes off of Melanie. He was quite excited!

"Welcome to Cuba," Reydel said softly, with decent pronunciation.

"Should we go?" Melanie asked him.

"Yes. My friend is coming," he replied. He stumbled a bit, but he wasn't bad.

The four of us went outside, in front of Jose Marti airport and I felt a wall of humidity, much greater than Cancun's, hit us. My suitcase even felt heavier. I looked at my watch. It was midnight.

We stood outside, in the middle of a moving crowd, and Reydel looked for his friend's car. He didn't see anything and that made me nervous. Danielle and I didn't have a hotel.

"Maybe Danielle and I should take a cab," I suggested to Melanie.

Reydel understood what I was saying and replied.

"No, it is expensive!" he said, raising his voice above a whisper for the first time.

I wasn't sure if I should insist. I didn't want to be rude. I looked at Danielle for some input.

"We should go with them," she said to me, "we don't even know where we're going, anyways!"

She had a point. We did have a guidebook with addresses, but still. Maybe midnight was not the time to figure out the lay of the land for two Americans by themselves. The sky was an inky dark blue with the outline of a few clouds barely visible, and the blanket of humidity pressed down.

Cars pulled up nearby, and it was a thrill to see the '50s American automobiles working perfectly. Truly, it was like a time warp. I had almost forgotten that cars used to look like that. Spacious and sprawling with those big, angular fins for taillights. Much friendlier than they look these days, but, still with purpose and vigor.

We waited about half an hour before Reydel's friend pulled up to the curb in front of us, and got out of the car.

Another round of introductions had me shaking hands with Manuel, the driver, who it appeared spoke no English at all.

As I got into the car, I noticed a wire clothes hangar protruding from the back, near the rear window, that was functioning as an antennae. It was a symbolic reminder of the embargo. There would be no re-ordering of car parts from the U.S. Everything had to be makeshift from here on out. I suddenly realized that there must be a lot of good mechanics in Cuba.

More old-timey American cars passed by, and I had the strong urge for a vanilla milkshake. Any reference to the 50's always made me thinks of diners, milkshakes, and roller rinks.

We all got seated in the car, with Reydel in the passenger seat, and Melanie, Danielle and I in the back. The stuffing was coming out to the vinyl seats and there was junk all over the floor. The roof liner was also coming down around our heads a little bit, but I couldn't have been more comfortable. I was glad to be with people we knew.

Reydel turned back to address me.

"Where?" he said, pointing to the guidebook in my hand.

"La Fortuna, por favor," and I gave him the address of the hotel which was on the outskirts of old town Havana.

Reydel repeated the address to Manuel and we were off. Danielle and Melanie started talking and my mind drifted off somewhere. As we hit the road and got away from the airport, I noticed two things that surprised me, while looking out of my window. The first was that Havana had one hell of a lot of billboards. Just like the United States, but more so.

The difference was that ALL the billboards were government propaganda. They would say things like "Cuba, Si!!" in huge red graphic letters, as if the emphatic support of the Cuban government on a billboard would brainwash an entire population. Which it sort of did, actually. The second thing was that Havana had their stoplights positioned sideways. They looked cooler that way, I thought.

It took us about twenty minutes to arrive at the hotel, which I could not even see from the car window.

Manuel came to a stop at the base of a very steep hill. The grounds were well manicured, with lots of trees and shrubbery of uniform height. Concrete steps ascended to the hotel, which looked like a mansion, yet small in comparison to all the landscaping surrounding it.

I asked Reydel if it would be possible to wait while I checked on the availability.

"Sure," he said.

But Melanie fidgeted with her hands in a way that made me nervous. She really wanted to go home.

"OK. I'll be right back."

I walked briskly up the oversize, concrete steps which had small, wrought-iron lamps every twenty feet or so, casting a small circle of light. It would have been pitch black without them. I looked at my watch. It was just after 1 a.m.

The entrance to La Fortuna featured a very tall and massive wooden door with a brass handle. I pulled it open with my body weight and proceeded into the lobby. It was so stunning in its antiquity and stillness that I paused to take it all in. There were black and white marble floors throughout, large, intricately carved wooden cabinets and tables, and, about fifty feet in front of me was the concierge area where an old man, (who didn't look completely unlike Fidel Castro), stroked his beard and considered his next move on the chess board in front of him. He took a puff of his cigar and adjusted his cap, concentrating.

His opponent was perched on the edge of his stool, hovering over the board, engrossed in the game as well. Neither of them even so much as looked up from the board when I came in. It's not that they didn't hear me. They had to have heard me, it was silent as a tomb for chrissakes! They just simply didn't care that someone had come in. They both had rocks glasses of alcohol in front of them, (presumably whisky), that had created large, wet rings around them from the condensation, which shone from the overhead light above the board.

TO BE CONTINUED....

Mom, still here. Prevents me from finishing Cuba Story.

2009-09-06T07:51:00.001-07:00

Mom still here.

Asking me question such as:

"Why is your computer screen so LARGE? Is that really necessary? Is that good for your EYES?!!! Jesus Christ, that thing is ENORMOUS! What THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU KIDS THESE DAYS!!?"

or more personal questions such as:

"Why do you own so many pairs of green underwear? Did you purchase those in Buenos Aires? Is that what YOU DO WHEN YOU GO DOWN THERE??"

or...

"Why is your freezer filled with chipwiches? Chipwiches do not count as dinner!"

But I am taking her to the airport, shortly.

I'm going to miss having Mom around, I can tell. Moms are cool. For one thing, you never have to do the dishes! I haven't done one g*dam*** dish in two weeks.

Regular posting, including the next part of the Cuba story, to resume shortly.

Perhaps I should cut down on the green underwear.

And, for the record: I did purchase them in Buenos Aires.

Mom is here.

2009-09-04T00:32:00.000-07:00

Y'all will have to excuse my semi-regular posting this week.

The typing noise keeps my Mom awake, (who has super-human hearing), and then I feel guilty so I type really slowly, and then it takes me two hours to type four sentences.

So, in the meantime I shall be dealing with a huge ant infestation in my apartment (which has probably only ever had five bugs in it, total, in the four years that I have lived here). I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the interminable string of 95 degree-plus days we've had in Los Angeles, recently.

Spraying white vinegar was the google recommendation by the way.

The only problem is...

My apartment smells like a giant salad.

-THM

Cuba, Part 4

2009-09-02T22:25:00.000-07:00

We landed at Jose Marti airport, in Havana, deplaned, and we were all funneled into the customs area by a long series of corridors.

Customs was already filled with people. Apparently, another plane had arrived recently. The ceiling lamps, (that were not defunct), cast a yellowish-green fluorescent light upon us and buzzed hypnotically.

Ahead, lay the roped-off area to the booths where the customs officials were all stationed in a row. The booths were numbered one through eight. Danielle and Melanie got in line 4 and I got in line 5. I figured we couldn't put all our eggs in one customs official, er...basket.

The line moved slowly. The officials would chat with tourists while they leisurely perused their passports. Other times, they'd finish smoking their cigarettes while talking amongst themselves, and carefully stamp them out in the ashtray before calling the next person in line. Time, it seemed, did stand still in Cuba.

Then, it was my turn.

As I approached the official, I observed that he didn't look too friendly. The thick, wiry mustache, pursed lips, and dark brown eyes dared me to do anything out of line. I looked back at Danielle with an expression that said, "Well...whatever happens, happens!"

I got to the booth and stood in front of the guy. We were separated by the standard, thick piece of glass with a little semicircle cut out of the bottom to slide the passport thru. He lit up a new cigarette, puffed a few times, and a miasma of fumes filled the tiny, yellowed booth.

He eyed me up and down, silently. He was evaluating something, but I'll be damned if I knew what it was.

"Pasaporte, por favor," he asked perfunctorily.

I paused, sounding it out one last time in my head. Then, the words came out of my mouth.

"Soy americano. No estampe por favor mi pasaporte," I pleaded, holding myself as confidently as possible and sliding the passport thru the open space in the glass partition. I remembered that I had twenty U.S. dollars in my left pocket. But would I have the guts to bribe him if it came down to it? How much trouble could that get me in? Bribing a customs official in a country where I wasn't supposed to be? I shook it off, mentally.

He grabbed the passport, or maybe his mustache grabbed it, and he was still staring me down while he did so. He waited a few extra seconds before he looked at the cover of the passport that has "United States of America" written across it. Then, he actually whistled. One of those long whistles that authoritative figures sometimes make when taking a subordinate to task, and then he proceeded to leaf thru it and examine each page carefully. At some point, he must have noticed that all of my facial muscles sank in unison because, then, he started laughing. Not exactly a belly laugh, but it was uncomfortable for me, the gringo.

"Don't worry, man," he said, his face lighting up with a mischievous glee, "I'm not gonna stamp your passport. I knew you were American before you even came up to the window."

I breathed a huge sigh of relief. A long exhale.

He took out a small piece of paper, with the Cuban flag on it, from underneath the counter, stamped it, and tucked it inside my passport before handing it back to me. I turned completely around to booth four, but it was Melanie at the booth. Danielle was still behind her.

"Have a nice trip in Cuba! I hope you enjoy your stay!" he said to me with perfect English.

"Thank you very much...I will!" I replied overeagerly, and rolled my suitcase to the other side of customs, and, officially, into Cuba!

I watched Danielle go through without a hitch. Her customs guy went through the exact same process and, finally, wished her a pleasant journey.

These guys weren't trying to get one extra penny out of us! And God knows, we would have been happy to give it to them. They must have been under strict orders not to take any bribes. Imagine how much extra money they could make! But I guess it wasn't kosher with Fidel. So, therefore, no one did it.

Danielle came up next to me, rolling her large, black suitcase which looked almost identical to mine. As she did so, we saw Melanie running to greet her Cuban boyfriend. He was shorter than I had pictured, but handsome enough. The two embraced and kissed and I had to turn away. The passion of the re-union was almost blinding in a way.

Now...how were we gonna get to our hotel...oh, wait, we didn't even have a hotel!

TO BE CONTINUED...

Cuba, Part 3

2009-09-01T03:53:00.000-07:00

Danielle and I paid for the tickets to Havana and headed over to the airport bar. There was a large window looking out onto the tarmac. It looked as if it were about to rain, and there were no airplanes in sight. Just a set of metal stairs sitting in the middle of the runway, leading to the clouds. It made for a great picture.

We sat down and waited for someone to come over and take our order. The bar was pretty much full. I wondered if all these people were going to Cuba.

"Can you believe she said that?" I asked Danielle, referring to the ticket lady's comment that Cuban planes might land 'whenever they felt like it.'

"It did seem a bit on the casual side," Danielle laughed.

"It's a good thing we're not in a hurry," Danielle added.

"That's true." I agreed.

The waitress came over and we ordered a couple of margaritas with salt.

While we were chatting, a girl sat down at the table next to us. She looked to be about 21. I guessed that she was a student.

"Hi, I'm Melanie," she said, introducing herself. She probably felt she had to do that because the tables were so close together.

"Hello! I'm Scott, and this is Danielle. Join us for a margarita! We heard it could be a while."

"Oh, it will," Melanie affirmed.

Danielle and I looked at each other and she spoke first.

"Were we the only ones not to get the memo on Cuban planes always being late?"

"It's a well known problem," Melanie remarked.

Well known to whom? I thought to myself. She was just a kid!

"What else do we have to watch out for?" I asked her.

"You guys are going illegally, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yep."

"I don't know much about that because I've always gone legally. I'm doing research for school, so I can get special permission from the government. And...(and here she actually blushed a little bit), my boyfriend lives in Havana."

"You've been to Cuba before?" Danielle asked, surprised.

"This is my third time."

"Wow." I said.

Melanie talked about her boyfriend for a while, and shared the story of how they'd met, and she gave us some advice on places to see in Havana, and before we all knew it, four hours had passed and we were all sauced from the rounds of margaritas. The sky was getting darker through the window as we waited. A storm was brewing. Our plane was already two hours late, as advertised, so we made the best of it and continued chatting. Melanie was good company.

Finally, six hours after we had sat down, a small Soviet plane rolled slowly onto the tarmac with the Cubana Airlines logo painted on the side. It was an old wartime prop plane. It almost looked like a toy out there with nothing else around it. Our flight number was called over the loudspeaker, and I started to get a little nervous. it was really happening! We were going to Cuba!

About twenty of us filtered thru the door and walked across the tarmac to the little plane, rolling our suitcases. Two men pushed the flight of stairs I had seen earlier, up against the plane so that everyone could board.

As we entered the aircraft and prepared to sit down, I had the distinct feeling that this metal rat trap was held together with chewing gum and clothes hangers. I never get nervous boarding planes. I simply don't have any fear of them. But this time, I did. This thing was old and rickety!

Danielle and I sat next to each other, of course, and I studied her face for any sign of nervousness, but there wasn't a trace of concern. Perhaps I didn't know her as well as I thought. One of the passengers probably could have jumped into the aisle with a machine gun, threatening to take over the plane, and Danielle would have calmly gotten out of her seat and dispatched him with a karate chop or two, and thrown him thru the hatch and onto the runway, wiping her hands together a few times for added aplomb.

After everyone was settled, the captain announced Havana as our destination, and the plane took off, a little skittishly, the propeller blaring, window glass vibrating madly against the plastic framework, but everything held together and it seemed as if we'd make it without landing in the drink.

Throughout the flight, I kept practicing the phrase "I'm American. Please don't stamp my passport!" in Spanish. It was only a few words, but I had a lot riding on that sentence. If the customs official in Havana stamped my passport it would be game over. But I made myself relax and forget about all that. After all, I didn't go on this vacation to worry about what could go wrong the whole time.

I pushed my seat back further, and prepared for the unknown...

TO BE CONTINUED...

Cuba, Part 2

2009-08-31T00:57:00.000-07:00

Danielle and I decided to go to Cuba.

The risk involved did not deter our enthusiasm for the idea.

This was going to be my first trip outside the continental United States. I'd never even owned a passport, before. Hell of a first trip, I thought to myself.

I did a couple of days of thorough research with the goal of keeping us from going to jail or being charged a $10,000 fine by the U.S. government. My research showed that ignoring the embargo occasionally had its serious consequences.

This made Cuba even more alluring. After all...tons of Americans had been to the Paris and seen the Eiffel Tower, but CUBA?!....now that's an adventure!

I discovered that there were three "gateway cities" used by American citizens as pit stops on the way to Havana. They were: Montreal, Mexico City, and Cancun. The most popular of the three seemed to be Cancun so I chose that one. It was Spring Break, so we'd just blend in anyway...you know...assuming we were being followed by the C.I.A.

Once we got to Cancun, I would do two important things:

1. I'd get twenty to thirty dollars worth of Mexican pesos, and tuck it into the guide book in case we had to bribe anyone on the way back.

2. I'd buy our roundtrip tickets from Cancun to Havana, in cash. No sense leaving a paper trail within the first six hours!

Danielle and I spent the next week sneaking up on each other, intermittently, and yelling, "CUBA!!!" The excitement about the trip grew, exponentially, with each passing day.

I bought a Lonely Planet guidebook on Cuba and read it, cover to cover. The preface to the book was funny...I'll paraphrase it: "We here at Lonely Planet are in no position, legally, to advise you to break U.S. law by traveling to Cuba. However, and this is very important...you don't want to be a wuss, do you? DO IT, DO IT!!!"

I learned some interesting things from the Lonely Planet Cuba:

1. Many people in Havana (and elsewhere in Cuba) turned their homes into makeshift bed and breakfasts, called Casa Paticulares. This was a more interesting choice than a hotel, as you got to be part of someone's family for a short period of time, practice your Spanish, and pay $20 to $30 dollars, per night, for food and lodging. Not bad. Cuba was very cheap, if done this way. Hotels, on the other hand, usually started at around $70 to $80 U.S. dollars per night.

2. There were three operating currencies in Cuba: 1. The Cuban peso 2. The U.S. dollar and 3. Something called CUC's, or, Cuban convertibles, (which had a 1 to 1 relationship with the U.S. dollar), and was the predominant currency used by tourists. I was warned by the guidebook not to exchange any currency on the street, and to always do it at the bank. One of the reasons for this was the fact that currency exchange booths on the street would often try to take advantage of tourists' lack of knowledge and give you Cuban pesos in exchange for U.S. dollars which were worth far less than Cuban Convertibles or CUCs. In addition, it was nearly impossible for a non-Cuban to spend Cuban pesos at all! Therefore you had to brave the bank every time you needed an exchange, which I was warned could take half a day. Apparently, the banking system in Cuba had an entirely different sense of time than American banks, and a simple deposit of funds could be used as an opportunity to socialize for quite some time.

3. It could not be emphasized enough: if you lost your cash while in Cuba, you would be completely unable to obtain any funds or credit, so it was imperative to mind your belongings at all times. Keeping your passport in your front pocket wouldn't be a bad idea, either.

4. Do not, under any circumstances, drink the tap water.

5. Most hotels took U.S. dollars, so you probably wouldn't have to worry about converting your money immediately upon landing in Havana.

OK...so far, so good.

We got everything ready in the week leading up to our departure date, and before we knew it, we were leaving for the airport.

Danielle and I took a flight to Houston, had an hour layover, and landed in Cancun.

As planned, we got our thirty dollars worth of Mexican pesos at the airport in Cancun, and headed over to the surprisingly small Cubana Airlines booth to purchase our plane tickets.

I approached the friendly looking Mexican lady at the counter.

"I'd like to buy two round trip tickets to Havana, please. The soonest flight you have."

I looked at the board above her.

The next flight was supposed to arrive in two hours.

"Yes sir...that flight is scheduled to arrive at 6pm. But just be aware that it may be very late. How would you like to pay?" she asked, pleasantly, as if the fact that the flight might be very late was of absolutely no consequence whatsoever.

"Cash. Why do you think it could be very late?" I probed, looking back at Danielle to see if she had heard.

"It's a Cuban plane, sir. Sometimes they arrive on time, and sometimes they arrive whenever they feel like it," she laughed.

Wow. Picture someone at American Airlines saying something like that!

"Really?"

"Yes, really. That will be $360.00."

"That's hilarious!" I said to Danielle, pulling out the cash, and noticing that she was highly amused by the warning as well. It didn't bother her. We were on vacation after all! Why stress about anything?

'We'd better settle into the airport bar,' I thought to myself. I got the impression from her statement that clocks might not even exist in Cuba.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Cuba, Part 1

2009-08-28T02:15:00.001-07:00

It was early March, 2005.

I had been milling around the apartment in West Hollywood for weeks. Trying to figure out something to do.

Up until recently, I'd been working on a television show called "AWE" that had a segment on basejumpers who liked to go to Monument Valley, Utah and do their thing off of impossibly high and narrow spires that looked like giant stalagmites. The only way you could get up there was by helicopter. These guys would just step off these toothy-looking suckers, hundreds of feet in elevation, physically throwing their parachutes above their head as they did so. It was really fun footage to look thru.

Now, I wasn't prepared at that time, to do any basejumping, but the thought of spending a week or two at Monument Valley seemed pretty good to me. Spend a little time with nature. Get away from all the computers and monitors for a while.

One night, my girlfriend Danielle, who I was living with at the time, came home and asked me what I was going to do.

"I'm thinking about going to Monument Valley. Ever heard of it?" I asked her.

"Yeah. That sounds nice. Utah, right? But I have a better idea...let's go to Cuba!!"

I thought about it for a minute. Then, something occurred to me.

"Wait...isn't it illegal to go to Cuba for us?"

"Yeah, but so what? Let's do it anyway!"

"Where in the hell did this idea come from? Can you get off work, even?"

"I just found out that I have two weeks off coming up really soon, and I thought of this idea...I'm not sure where it came from," she admitted.

The next day I started doing some research.

There were hundreds of U.S. citizens who had been fined over $10,000.00 for going to Cuba. A small portion of those had served jail time. Statistically speaking it was somewhat akin to being hit by lightning, but the thought of owing 10 to 15 grand to the government did not fill me with joy. Nor did jail time.

I shared the results of my research with Danielle.

"That's not going to happen! You can be so silly, sometimes!" she laughed.

Well.....one had to consider the source. This was a woman who had backpacked thru Guatemala, by herself, in the middle of the night, for weeks. Not too many women who would do that.

"Well you might not be the best person to give an objective opinion on this matter," I informed her, delicately.

"Whatever. Let's go to Cuba! CUBA!!" she yelled excitedly.

I had to admit...the idea was starting to infect me.

So I researched the matter further.

No credit cards would work for a U.S. citizen, in Cuba. You would be required to have all the money--in cash--you were going to spend (plus some safety percentage) on you at all times. You could not be wired money from the U.S. under any circumstances. Phone calls to the U.S. were virtually impossible with ordinary phone lines. If anything happened to you, it could go badly, because, after all, you were not even supposed to be there, legally.

How would we carry two thousand dollars on us? That's a lot of pocket change!

Was that viable?

What if we got caught?

What if they stamped our passport? (which they probably would...customs officials always stamp your passport) How the hell would we get back into the U.S. with a Cuban stamp on our passport? It just didn't seem all that smart. Something would trip us up. Plus, I couldn't get over the idea of carrying two thousand dollars in our pockets. How long would you last in downtown L.A., in the middle of the night, with that kind of money on you? And it was legal to be in downtown L.A., mind you!

"Quit your damn worrying!!" Danielle kept saying.

Slowly, but surely, she was convincing me of the utter coolness of the idea...but I had my reservations about the whole thing...

TO BE CONTINUED

Estonia.

2009-08-21T14:09:00.000-07:00

I repeat: I am thinking of being a tour guide in Estonia.

Have I finally gone off the ol' cliffity cliff 'o' sanity?

Yes...I believe so.

TOUR GUIDE IN ESTONIA.

TOUR GUIDE IN ESTONIA.

TOUR GUIDE IN ESTONIA.

Yep, still sounds ridiculous.

TOUR GUIDE IN ESTONIA.

Had to get one last one in there.

On the Dordogne

2009-06-21T05:32:00.000-07:00

Things in past days:

1. Swimming in the cold, light currents of the Dordogne River in a town with houses set into cliffside rocks. My balls froze a bit on that one.

2. I girl I met told me that I have a "very boyish quality". It's strange that it made me sad, I wasn't sure why. Perhaps it's because I don't want to face the eventualities that come with having an ordinary adult perspective. She hit it on the head, though. I've always felt a bit Peter Pan-like.

3. I realized this is one of those trips where the beauty of the particular sets of company, the countryside with it's rows of grapevines being picked by our friends, the music that accompanies all the soirees: (Sia, Ladyhawk, Fink) is going to sink into my bones and always remind me of my first exposure to Southern France which is an important moment of my life. The beauty and slowness and appreciation of food, wine, good company, here, is unforgettable.

4. I am buying a bottle of Pastis when I get back home to remind me of the things I have seen, felt, heard against the everpresent backdrop of the Dordogne River.

5. There is more beauty and love in life than we can possibly imagine. Easy to forget that when the train never stops.

Conversation by the Dordogne River.

2009-06-16T02:36:00.000-07:00

Gary and I sat on the patio at a restaurant on the Dordogne river and watched the boats go by, very slowly.

The sky was full of clouds and it had been drizzling for most of the day.

It was the perfect opportunity to do nothing but drink two glasses of red wine under the wainscotting of grape vines and Bouganvilla. Ancient stone buildings stood around us, silently monitoring the passage of generations.

What else to talk about in such a setting, but...women.

The pace of life here is so slow, languorous even, I feel that I could live in a place like this and be happy. It's difficult to know the depth of such feelings while on a small vacation.

Who knows? Maybe someday I will live in Europe. What a thought! To live and work and raise a family in Europe!

I very much doubt I will live in Los Angeles for the rest of my life.

Arrival in Bergerac, France.

2009-06-15T04:32:00.000-07:00

I've been here for three days.

It took me 25 hours to get from LA to Bergerac.

Flew into Paris and then, directly from the airport, took two trains to the South of France, where one can appreciate lush rolling hills, an endless sea of vineyards along the thin, two-lane highways, and a slice of humanity that really seems to squeeze the juice out of life.

35 hour workweeks are the law around these parts. If you work any more than that, you begin to build up vacation days. Sounds pretty damned civilized if you ask me...a guy who worked months and months of 70 hour weeks as an editor in Los Angeles.

Anyway, my friend Gary who lives here in Bergerac, threw a welcome party for me, my second night here, that filled up his apartment, overlooking the Dordogne River, to the gills. Everyone brought food, wine, and, yes, even Absinthe. Two guys brought guitars and sang songs for hours: some French ones and some American.

It was my first time partaking of absinthe and after doing so my consciousness proceeded to fly out the south-facing window and over the Dordogne River for a while before returning back to the party. The mixture of songs, and French being spoken by all the guests (but especially the women) were just as intoxicating as the beverages.

Artists, musicians, and social workers were present for the event. The absinthe was brought by the only tatoo artist in the area, a colorful, raspy-voiced Austrian named Martin. Gary and I had a visit last night in Martin's converted horse stables, (which looked to be from a Renaissance painting) over a few glasses of wine, and we will have more on him later.

As it so happens, my second day in Bergerac, Gary had a job shooting a wedding a few towns over which provided a good opportunity for me to film him with my video camera. I need a lot of B-roll for when I do his interview about living in France for the past two years.

I have never seen such a picturesque wedding. I got some good footage, which is key, because I'm here to capture as much as possible of the life here and return to LA and make something out of it.

It is also noteworthy that I was hit on by one of the bridesmaids who was a shamanistic drummer living in Bordeaux. I'm just throwing that in there for good measure.

Welcome to the Hollywood Machine Blog!

2009-06-14T04:04:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone...

Welcome to the Hollywood Machine blog!

For the last eight years I have concerned myself, mainly, with two things:

1. Working as a television editor in Hollywood.
2. Traveling to as many places around the globe as possible.

It's been a long and interesting ride to the position of television editor in Hollywood, but in January I lost my job and used the opportunity to pursue my biggest passion: travel.

I went to Buenos Aires and Rio in April, where I had an almost lethal amount of fun, and I'm currently in Bergerac, France (about an hour from Bordeaux).

Why did I come to Bergerac?

I'm shooting some footage for a travel show idea and seeing some of Southern France along the way with my buddy Gary who lives here.

I'll be in Bordeaux, Toulousse, etc for three weeks, and when I return to Los Angeles on June 30th, I will have to procure an actual job, or have an unexpected windfall of some kind.

This is my second trip to France, the first one being centered around Paris, while this one is all about the Aquitane/Dordogne region.

I'm at a crossroads in my life wherein I have to figure out a way to travel for a living...an interesting problem-solving opportunity.

Therefore a large part of this blog will be concerned with the way in which I achieve that goal.