Bears and Raptors, oh, my

Sitka

July 15,, 2019

Four years ago, moments after we arrived in Sitka,  I stepped on a rock, fell and broke my leg. I did manage to drag myself to the Fortress of the Bear but that was it. I spent that port day in the medical center on board.

This time I’m scanning the ground for any possible menaces to my navigation. Instead of anchoring off the city, we’re at a dock in a deep water harbor about five miles north. The city has provided a fleet of shuttle buses to ferry us back and forth to downtown, metro Sitka. Sitka is on an island, the fourth largest city in Alaska with 9,000 people. It is connected to the world by boat or air. It has 14 miles of paved roads that wind through the endless forests. The people share this lovely spot with brown bears, bald eagles and salmon.

For ten bucks we took another local shuttle driven by John (30 ish, born and raised in Sitka) first to the Fortress of the Bear, then to the Alaska Raptor Center, both a few miles out of town. The Fortress is a non-profit sanctuary for orphaned brown bears, Two enormous round water filtrating tanks have been converted to habitats, complete with lakes, hills, trees and numerous “toys” to keep the bears busy and not depressed. It is illegal to return bears to the wild, so these guys are permanent residents. 

The compound was closed over the winter for a big building project. It’s not yet finished but will provide better facilities for the staff and visitors. The bears are observed from walkways next to the top of the enclosures (at least 25-30 feet above the bears). Several of the staff are on hand to answer questions, toss the odd treat to the bears (pear, mango, branches of salmon berry bushes) while constantly observing and noting their behavior. The bears do not have a regular feeding schedule (nasty smelling salmon heads and parts from a nearby cannery) to prevent domestication. The lakes in the enclosures are stocked with live salmon from time to time so they can hunt dinner. Treats are tucked here and there so they maintain their foraging skills. Because they will never go back in the wild, there is human interaction. Sadly, Big Balloo, the full-grown Kodiak bear that was quite the entertainer, died a couple of years ago from the same type of degenerate spinal problems than can afflict large breed dogs. One of the staff told me they were all devastated with his passing. She said the only comforting thought was that had he remained in the wild he probably would have been shot years ago.

At the Alaska Raptor Center, the central mission is to rehabilitate injured birds and return them to the wild. These creatures have no human contact. We could observe a dozen birds through one way glass that were in the enormous flight training area. The roof and side are slatted so natural weather (sun, rain, wind, snow) can come in. They eat their natural diet of small critters, but dead not alive. They aren’t well enough to hunt live prey. One handler told us that eagles are not “prideful eaters.” They’ll go after road kill as well as dive down for fish or small mammals. Many of them are hit by cars while they’re picking at road kill. When a bird is judged healthy enough to survive outside, it is released. They’ve been doing this for 30+ years so hundreds of raptors have been saved. The birds that are too injured become residents at the center and teaching tools for the public. It’s located in a lush forest. We were all mesmerized.

I told driver John that some salmon berry branches were tossed into the bear enclosures and two of them came lumbering over, grabbed the branches and headed for the lake where they floated on their backs like otters, chewing on the berries and leaves. John told me that ripe salmon berries are quite tasty out of hand or in jams and jellies. His aunt makes wine from them that she breaks out on New Year’s Day. The berries growing wild right be the ARC parking lot weren’t ripe enough to eat. John said they are very sour. I took him at his word.

Lunch in town—grilled halibut sandwich for me, reindeer (not the ones who work on Christmas Eve) Reuben for Jim. We poked around the shops a bit. Sitka is much less touristy than Ketchikan although zoning is a bit lax. There would be a lovely, large home and next door, something very ramshackle and mossy.

Met my first snippy Aussie today. I thought they were all fun and friendly until I talked to this one on the shuttle. When she found out we were from Atlanta (much easier to identity than Kennesaw) she said they were going to visit friends there next year. 

Susan: When will you be there?

Snippy: April.

Susan: A good choice, certainly better than July or August which are very hot and humid.

Snippy, dismissively and huffily: We live in the tropics so it wouldn’t bother us in the slightest.

So, I want you all to mark on your calendars for next April in Atlanta:  pray for heat and a deluge of rain that batters the flowers from the azaleas. And the usual huge lines of people going through Immigration at the Atlanta airport. And maybe locusts. Miss Snippy needs a karmic bitch slap.

Sailing to Sitka

Sailing to Sitka

July 15, 2019

We sailed from Ketchikan to Sitka last night, arriving at 8 am. It was smooth and quiet except for the emergency alarm (7 short blasts followed by 1 long one) that went off at 3:37 am. 

“This is the watch commander. We have sounded the first alarm. Please stay calm and in your staterooms while the situation is assessed.”

Then, “First responders report to deck C, forward elevators.”

Hmmm. The boat is still moving, the seas are nonexistent, we have electricity and water and the toilet flushes. That checks all the boxes for us.

A few minutes after that, “This is the captain speaking.” (Uh oh) “A smoke alarm went off in one of the mechanical closets. There is no fire. My apologies for this disruption.”

And so back to bed.

Everyone was a little bleary-eyed at breakfast, but soldiering on. No harm, no foul.

Ketchikan

Ketchikan

July 14, 2019

Clocks back an hour last night. One of the nice things about sailing long distances is no jet lag when you arrive. The ship will always be on shore time when we stop at a port but when you’re at sea for several days, it’s Captain’s Time. You just get a little card on your pillow reminding you to set your clocks back an hour. That would be IF you brought your own clock! Ships are like Vegas, clocks are very few and far between. I have a little battery-powered alarm clock I bought at Walmart years ago that sits up on the bookshelf in our stateroom.

Ketchikan, Alaska’s First City and salmon capital. First city because it’s the first one after you leave Canada and head north. Salmon capital because they supply a gazillion pounds of the fish to the world. It’s had a storied history over the years supplying food, supplies and comfort to prospectors, lumbermen, fishermen and adventurers. It’s a small town, 8,000 people? Very walkable. There were four ships in today, including two of the biggies which means at least 10,000 visitors but somehow this small place manages to absorb them. There are endless tourist shops for diamonds (I’ve never understood why you would get off a ship to buy diamond jewelry from some random store), salmon (canned, dried, jerky, dips), Alaska souvenirs, clothes, and stuff you forgot.

I left my Nexium at home so the search was on. The lovely woman at the Visitors Center on the pier suggested a convenience store in the back of one of the souvenir stores. No dice. I ran into the Cruise Director who pointed us the other way to the IGA/Kress supermarket. It wasn’t very far to walk and, bless ‘em, they had it, for approximately 50% more than I paid in Georgia, but I was just happy to find it. We wandered around a bit to check prices. The produce was pricey but looked pretty good, with a big variety including cherries! Fresh black cherries the size of ping pong balls from Yakima, WA. Grabbed a bag of those puppies for cabin snacks. I told the cashier I’d thought I’d have to order the meds from Amazon to be delivered at our next port so was more than happy to ante up in Ketchikan. She told me that Amazon overnight was a crapshoot up here and you pay for the service. Couldn’t have been nicer. The citizens work hard in the shops and restaurants when ships are in port but are also quite accommodating. Tourists can be dumb and ask dumb questions (What currency do you use in Alaska?) so kudos to them for their tolerance.

Creek Street provided the color and comfort over the years. Supposedly the last brothel, Dolly’s, closed up in the 1950s. It’s now a brothel museum. The wooden buildings were built on stilts over the creek, with wooden “streets” connecting them. Because the buildings don’t actually touch the ground that was supposedly the work around during Prohibition. Like anyone would care up in Alaska. The buildings now house art galleries, shops and small restaurants. Salmon run up the creek. Kings are running now, but we didn’t see any. That’s 0 for 2 on marine life.

I managed to find the quilt shop, yarn shop and book shop. I definitely remember the quilt and book shops from our last trip up here. I chit chatted with a fellow visitor in the quilt shop then ran into her again in the yarn shop. She said she was also on the Maasdam and so was another woman looking at yarn. She’s organizing the sea day needleworkers gathering: 10 am in the Crow’s Nest. Bring your knitting, crochet, needlepoint, embroidery or whatever. These groups form on every ship. It’s fun to meet people from all over the world plus learn what’s happening on the ship. I optimistically brought three knitting projects so I’m ready to stitch and bitch.

Note: Received Jim’s ticket for the Russia tour today so I’m off the hook.

Day Two, Strike Two

Day Two, Strike Two

Scenic Cruising Inside Passage

July 13, 2019

Yesterday I sent us to the wrong cruise terminal in Seattle. Strike one.

Today Jim was looking at our tickets for excursions and realized there was just one ticket for me to go ashore at Petropavlovsk, none for him. You don’t need a Russian visa if you’re on one of the ship’s excursion, so no ticket, no visit. No problem says I; we’ll go to the Shore Excursion desk. It must be an oversight. Oops. It appears that on July 8 when I booked the shore excursion I hit the wrong button and reserved just for me. Oops. Two tours that day, both sold out. But Jim is #1 on the waiting list. Day two, Strike two.

Lovely ride, though, from Seattle to Ketchikan. Some saw humpback whales. I did not.

Northern Pacific and Land of the Rising Sun

Seattle, July 9-12

We came to Seattle a few days early to see my brother and sister-in-law on nearby Whidbey Island, sight see in town and hop a ferry to Bainbridge Island to visit Churchmouse Yarns. I’ve been subsidizing them by online ordering for so long; I needed to visit the Mother Ship.

Just before we left Georgia, Jim’s sister Sherry texted that she and Phil would like to drive up from Portland and cross paths in Seattle. A quick phone call and the plan was afoot. They would meet our flight, drive us into Seattle, have dinner with us and stay over night. An unexpected and welcome chance for Jim to spend time with one of his three favorite sisters.

Churchmouse was on the calendar for the next day so Sherry and Phil decided to take the ferry over to Bainbridge with us and then be on their way home. I love ferry boats, always have. It all started with the Balboa Ferry that crosses Newport Harbor between Balboa and Balboa Island in Southern California. It’s about a two minute ride, three car limit unless they were all VW bugs and then four would fit. I think it cost a nickel for bike and rider in the 50s-60s. Probably the coolest way ever to go to our dentist whose office was across the bay. But I digress.

Turns out this was Sherry’s first car ferry ride. After driving the car onto the ferry, we hopped out and climbed the stairs up to the top decks for a beautiful view of the Seattle skyline. It was a short ride, maybe 20 minutes or so but what a fun way to get from point A to point B. Sherry and Phil headed off towards home while Jim and I ambled down the street of precious shops, me with a bag full of yarn, to take the ferry back. We learned that walk-ons are free on the return to Seattle. Thank you Washington State Ferry system. 

We Ubered (always choosing “Good conversationalist” in the preferences so I can pump the driver for local knowledge) from hotel to the Space Needle and Chihuly Glass Gardens. Despite the rain showers (the complete Seattle experience) we enjoyed both. The Space Needle had a revolving restaurant up on the top until a couple of years ago. The restaurant was removed, the floor replaced with something see-through (glass, plastic, whatever), and now visitors can stand on the clear floor and look down or look out the windows and watch the world pass as the floor revolves. Such a weird feeling, but a fun way to spend 50 bucks! Our theory of travel is, “We probably won’t be here again, so lean in, admit you’re a tourist and do it all.”

Back to the hotel, a little wet and tired, but in time for Happy Hour. Cocktails and bar food for dinner. What could be better? Until I chewed on a truffle fry and lost a crown, tooth not tiara. Put that puppy in a cocktail napkin and into my pocket and then had another peach whisky sour to ease my (non-existent) pain and suffering. Nothing like a dental crisis on day two of a 35 day trip. I called my dentist who advised sticking it back on during the day with Fixodent,  tried to find a dentist in our first port, Ketchikan on a Sunday, and then decided, tooth didn’t hurt, it’s way in the back, so just ignore it until I’m back in Kennesaw. Head in sand is my favorite go-to solution.

A long Uber ride the next day to Mulkiteo and the ferry to Whidbey Island. Brother John had already schooled me on how to board the ferry (on this run the bike riders and pedestrians walk onto the ferry before the cars are loaded and you don’t want to be lagging behind, holding up the process and getting “the look” from the ferry workers. I’m proud to say that we acquitted ourselves like natives.) Good time on the island with John and Carol. We managed to book end a long visit with a delicious lunch at the Usless Bay Golf Club (the best name ever for a country club) and dinner from the sea at a tiny joint in Langley (raw oysters and steamed mussels!) before they dropped us at the ferry. There were just a handful of walk-ons so this time we were held back until all the vehicles were on board. We be cool, acted like we did this every day and once again, free going home. Got an Uber to drive us back into Seattle. That was most definitely NOT free. 

And now (Friday late afternoon) we’re on board the Maasdam, heading towards Ketchikan, Alaska. We will sail past John and Carol’s house on Whidbey so I’ve tied my red rain jacket to the balcony railing so they can find us. I am certain that somewhere in the “Welcome on Board” packet, passengers are strictly admonished NOT to tie anything to the balcony railing.

Forgot to mention that I gave our Uber driver the wrong pier number this morning. Holland America always has sailed from Pier 91 in Seattle so imagine my surprise when we got there and found THOUSANDS of people schlepping their bags toward two of those behemoth cruise ships that look more like floating apartment buildings than ships. Fortunately we had so much luggage that I had opted for the big Uber. Little Ubers and cabs have to drop their passengers far from the ships. Shuttles, buses and Suburbans get to drive right up to the front door. The driver knew immediately where we were supposed to be, told me it was no problem and then battled his way back through the multitudes to Pier 66, a peaceful, civilized place where a porter takes the luggage from the car and delivers it to the ship. The Maasdam doesn’t have a rock climbing wall, water slide or any of that nonsense but it also doesn’t make its passengers lug their baggage for a good quarter mile. At this stage of life I’m all about convenience and service rather than razzle dazzle. Well, maybe a little razzle dazzle.

Dinner time....

January 31-February 1, 2019, Havana

Cuba, January 31-February 1, 2019

Havana

After breakfast we disembarked, split into two groups once again, one group going to a rehearsal by the Danza Contemporaranea de Cuba and then Colon Cemetery and a cigar factory and the other group the same itinerary but in reverse.

We went first to the cigar factory. Our very stylish guide explained the process as passed through the different floors. The smell of the tobacco had permeated the wooden floors and walls so it smells like a humidor. 600 people work there, Monday through Friday, 9 to 5 with two breaks and lunch. Some select the tobacco for the middle of the cigars, others the outer leaves, but the main room had dozens of people sitting side by side, each at an individual work station. At the front of the room was a small stage with a chair and microphone. In the morning the reader reads the newspaper to the workers, in the afternoon a few chapters of a book. Sort of a living iPod.

All cigars are rolled by hand, to the size specific to that type. The cigar makers go through an apprentice period to learn the process. After that each person is expected to fill a certain quota every day, depending on the size of the cigar from 70 to over 100. Each worker receives a small number of cigars per day for personal use. There were a few people out on the street selling individual cigars. Hmmmm.

Finally our guide, a very attractive and flamboyant woman of a certain age, demonstrated the proper way to light a cigar. She used a cutter to nip off the mouth end and then a monster lighter with a flame like a blow torch to light the thing. She wasn’t smoking some dainty little cigarillo, but a big old see-gar a good half-inch or more in diameter. Alas we weren’t allowed to take any photographs inside.

The Necrópolis de Colón is one of the largest cemeteries in the world, 135 acres and 53,360 plots where some two million people have been buried. More on those numbers in a minute. We drove through the massive arched entrance onto the main street of the cemetery lined with tombs and crypts decorated in every style imaginable. It reminded us of the cemetery we visited in Buenos Aires. On the side streets are more modest burial plots marked with simple headstones. The Capilla Central is the impressive chapel that is in the center of the cemetery. It’s one of the few churches in the country that holds services, in this case burial services, one after another every day.

 Cemetery

 Hearse

Now, about that math. How can two million people be buried in 53,360 plots? The caskets of the dearly departed are stacked one upon another in family crypts or plots. After two years, the casket is opened and the bones put in a much smaller casket as long as the femur and reburied. Nelson said that families attend this ceremony. I know they stack ‘em up in New Orleans cemeteries and let gravity gradually compress everything into a smaller space. I’m trying to decide which might be creepier.  Colón is Havana’s burial ground and a very popular tourist site.

 We drove through the immense plaza dedicated to the revolution. Five story bronze sculptures of Che and Marti decorated a couple of the buildings, but no Fidel. In fact, finding anything with his face on it be it Tshirt or post card was close to impossible. In fact, he is not buried in Colón but rather in Santiago de Cuba on the eastern end of the island, ironically very close to Gitmo. His dying command was that his face not appear on any monument, building, clothing or souvenir. It appears that his final wishes have been carried out.

Che on a building

Our last stop before lunch was to watch the dance troop. The dancers looked to be in their early 20s if that old. We perched on rows of folding chairs at one end of their rehearsal space and watched them perform a “ballet” that they will be taking on the road. This was quite a dance. Lots of pounding on the floor, slapping each other aross the face, and chanting who knows what. The choreographer said it was his interpretation of life on the streets. Okaaaay. The Manhattanites in our group thought it was powerful and provocative. We ignorant citizens of the South thought it was just plain odd.

We met the other group at La Guarida, one of the best paladors in Havana. It was a bit more sophisticated in presentation and menu than the others. We learned from the others that they had seen a graceful performance with bright and cheery music and choreography. No hitting, no chatting, no floor pounding.  Well, huh.

After lunch we toured the National Museum of Fine Arts with one of the curators. We opted for the most contemporary wing. Beautiful building, spacious, well-lit galleries but only Cuban artists and not the greatest art I’ve ever seen. Another wing was devoted to European art of earlier centuries but we didn’t visit it. This is the last day and we were starting to run out of steam. The next option was a classical guitar performance at the Ceramics Museum. Luckily for us that museum was just off the square opposite the cruise terminal so we could go to the concert, do some shopping or just go to the ship. We found a small cigar shop in a nearby hotel where Jim bought some for his golf buddies and then back to the ship to pack and spruce up for the Captain’s Farewell Cocktails and dinner.

It was the last time we would all be together. The airport runs were to begin at 6 am the next morning. A number of us had afternoon flights so, bless his heart, the captain let us stay aboard until 10 and then we had a bonus tour taking the tunnel under the bay to the other side to visit Castillo del Morro, the fortress that guards the harbor entrance. It was quite the circus over there with bar carts selling piño colladas, food carts, buses and taxes coming and going. Wonderful views from the fortress walls of Havana and a shop down a tunnel and some stairs that sold coffee, cigars and rum. We spent most of our remaining kooks on coffee, saving some for a little airport shopping.

 Havana

 Taxi

We went over hill and dale through the countryside to the Havana airport. Yunney stayed with us all the way through check in and immigration, saying good bye as we approached the Cuban version of TSA. No TSA Pre-check here but it didn’t take long for us to find our gate. We were once again on a commuter jet, so we were in a cozy waiting room on the tarmac level. There was a small café that served up a dynamite toasted Cuban ham and cheese sandwich on that fabulous bread. It was among the best things we ate on the entire trip.

And what a trip! I’m so glad we went. It’s an island of beauty both natural and fading.  In the rural areas it might as well be the 1800s. Havana has modern areas but so much of its charm comes from the isolation after the revolution. Who knows how long it will remain a communist country and how long before the people realize that the modern world of communication, transportation and abundant foods and medicine is 90 miles away.

January 30, 2019, Havana

Cuba, January 30, 2019

Havana

At dawn we sailed through the very narrow entrance to the expansive Havana harbor. We can already see the pastel, colonial buildings associated with the city. Lucky us, there is room at the cruise ship pier so we won’t have to anchor and use tenders. Another big cruise ship was already there. Havana is frequently on the itineraries of cruises in the western Caribbean. We’re tied up at a nice, modern terminal but look the other way and the buildings on the next pier have been stripped to the studs with no windows or doors or anyone remotely involved in rebuilding. The little passenger ferry we saw crossing the bay has a landing just in front of us.

 Our neighbor at Havana Cruise Terminal

 Looking back at harbor entrance

 Terminal building in shambles

 Nice cruise terminal

 Sunrise over Havana bay.

Stephanie lectured in the morning about Cuban Painting to 1950, then an early buffet lunch and at noon we were ready to disembark. Unlike the cruise ships we don’t have the ubiquitous cruise card that acts as stateroom door key and charge card and is scanned when you get off and back on the ship. We have actual door keys. When we leave the ship we hand in the key and we each get a credit card size pass with our stateroom number. That way they know who is on or off the ship.

We passed through a security checkpoint on the dock, showing our passports. We ALWAYS had our passports with us whenever we were off the boat. Then we went to another building to pass us and our stuff through xray machines and then finally off by bus or on foot.

This first afternoon we split into two groups. One went on the bus with Hermes on an Art Deco Tour and then back for a walking tour of Old Havana. Vice versa for the other group and then we all were to meet up at the landmark Hotel National for mojiotos overlooking the Malecón and the sea.

We opted to walk first so off we went with Nelson for our first real taste of Havana. The streets are narrow, paved with everything from stone to rock to wood, and very busy. All the international banks are gone, but there are Cuban banks here and there. One is located on the ground floor of what was once the Cuban stock exchange building. The top two floors have been converted into car parks. It’s all very colorful and clean for a big city but this is the main tourist area. Some of the big old buildings have been restored with several now “boutique” hotels. This seems to be a generic term for a small hotel. We wandered into the open courtyard lobby of one. It was all marble and massive pots of palms but who knows what the guest rooms were like.

 Bank on ground floor, car parking above

 Side street

The buildings under restoration all have big signs stating the name of the project (usually a museo of something) and who is doing the restoration. This is one of those fuzzy areas. Sometimes it’s the State, but more often a company name is listed so we assumed private money was coming in from somewhere.

We walked from one park square to another and then another. Lots of trees and shrubs and fancy light posts and always a statue or fountain in the middle. Across from one square was what was once the American Embassy. The street in front of it is paved with squares of Maine granite that were ballast in the cargo ships. Another street on another side of the same square is paved with wooden bricks. The story is that the grand building was once home to the commander of the army. His wife was bothered by the clatter of horses hooves on the cobblestone street so she had the stones replaced with wooden bricks to deaden the sound. They’re made from a very heavy, very hard wood that stand up to the foot traffic pretty well but still need replacing from time to time.

Wooden street

There are just a few shops selling souvenirs and trinkets but several selling Cuban cigars. The prices are regulated, no discount shops. Art galleries seem to be the exception to the no-rentals-for-shops. There are a number of them featuring Cuban artists. You are welcome to purchase things to take back but have to pay a fee at the airport to do so. Remember we cannot use credit cards but there’s always a work-around. The artists who sell their work for four or five figures and above accept wire transfers. And another fuzzy explanation of how that’s done since Cuba has no financial relationships with western banks. Sometimes it’s best to just nod and say, “thank you” for the answer.

Nelson is full of little nuggets of fun information. As Old Havana was being restored, the government wanted it to be full of life thus the hotels, galleries and dogs. You see the occasional dog sound asleep in the sun with a license on a collar around its neck. These are official city dogs. They belong to the State. They looked well cared for I’m just not sure who does it. Another fun fact, the big black round things on corners or used to block streets to cars are old canons from pirate ships planted nose down in cement. The street signs are beautiful tiles on the walls of corner buildings.

 Pirate canon

 Tile street sign on buiding wall

Licensed "city" dog

And the cars! The streets are full of old classic American cars from the 50s used as taxis. Surprise, surprise, the taxis, both the old cars and the new yellow ones, are regulated and taxed. Those used for tourists are bright and shiny, everything from convertibles (I kept seeing the same Barbie-pink one all over Havana) to sedans to station wagons with the third seat facing back. There are also a lot of (regulated) horse drawn carriages available to ferry visitors about. Public transportation for the locals is neither plentiful nor reliable (Yunney said the buses don’t really have set schedules) but the paying guests have a lot to choose from. 1.6 million Canadians visited Cuba last year compared to 600,000 Americans. We didn’t see any Asian tour groups, but no shortage of Europeans. And why not? It’s January, sunny and 80 degrees.

Happy that we had walked first, we settled into the bus for Hermes’s tour of Art Deco Havana. At times it’s a good thing that everything ground to a halt in 1959 because it saved all the architectural gems from being torn down and replaced with something boxy and charmless. We drove by some and visited others. Hermes is a walking encyclopedia of Cuban architecture. We were so lucky to have him as our guide that day.

From the Art Deco area we drove along the Malecón, a seafront promenade that stretches for miles along Havana harbor from the old city to the tall buildings of the new. It really is wonderful and much beloved by the Cubans. However, the rising water levels are destroying the old buildings along the route. There is no climate denying here. Even though the sea was fairly calm, waves still crashed into the wall, salt spray in the air. The salt, heat and humidity are eroding the old buildings at an alarming rate. They quite literally collapse into a pile of bricks and rubble. One solution is to raise the height of the sea wall now about chest high but then it would block the view. Many of the buildings looked beyond saving.

Also along the Malecón is the current US Embassy. A multi storied building still flies the American flag but it is all but abandoned. Yunney told us that when Obama reopened diplomatic relations with Cuba, there was a constant line around the block of people trying to get visas. Yunney said she applied but never got one. Cubans can get exit visas from the Spanish Embassy IF they can prove their Spanish ancestry. Many people are descended from the Spanish but who has a copy of their great, great grandmother’s birth certificate from Madrid? And we complain if the security line at the international terminal at ATL is long. All we have to do is buy an airplane ticket and we can freely go anywhere. As Nelson said, an island can be both protection and prison.

The Hotel Nacional is stately and perched above the Malecón with a huge, grassy area in front, terraced down with tables and chairs here and there and waiters more than happy to bring you a mojito or two. Lots of people taking advantage of the view, the weather and the rum.

 Hotel National

 Looking from hotel across Malecon and Havana bay

Reluctantly we left that lovely setting to go back to the VV to change for dinner at the Ludwig Foundation for the Arts. The Ludwigs were German modern art collectors. There are several Ludwig Museums in Europe that display the art plus the Ludwig Foundation that supports and encourages young artists. The Ludwig Foundation of Cuba follows that mission. We were invited to dinner to meet some of these artists. The dinner was nice and the artists very interesting. We sat with a photographer and a printmaker. Both also taught art in schools. I can’t remember if I already wrote that education is mandatory and free through the ninth grade. By that time those students with special talent in say the arts or sports have been identified and take more advanced classes in their discipline. The printmaker taught advanced art at the high school level. The students have to apply and audition to be admitted. Only 35 per year were accepted at that school.

It was a nice evening BUT, remember, few if any elevators and dinner was on the terrace on the sixth floor. We did pass a door on the third floor with “NBC” and peacock logo on the front. One of our fellow passengers was a news producer (he filmed everything with audio, too) and told us that newspapers and networks used to have permanent bureaus around the world but now maintain offices to be used by reporters flown in to cover specific breaking news or events and this was NBC’s.  You learn something every day. Second issue is that there is very little street lighting in Havana after dark. Very little. We relied on cellphone flashlights to pick our way along the bumpy street and sidewalk leading to the building.

After dinner you could go to the Tropicana nightclub or Buena Vista Social Club, but late night music and dancing seemed exhausting so we party poopers went back to the boat. That is the evening that the wizard Egyptian baker had whipped up pizza and baklava for us. We had a drink and nosh on the covered deck up top. I can still taste that divine baklava.