Lucky me, I got to return to the warm, hospitable island of Cuba within 365 days of my last adventure there!  This time, we brought Tats and Rick, so the flavour was a little different than my visit with just Alex and Simon, but as a result, we were able to take some photos (Tats brought her old phone).

It had been a busy few months at work and at home, and I was desperately ready for a vacation, so I was very excited to spy the snow-free, fertile ground and beach-lined ocean below as we descended beneath the clouds on arrival!

Also, I must say that while I generally enjoy exploring new places, there is something kind of special about returning to a familiar spot.  I could tell that the boys were as excited as I was to settle in, grab a bite at the buffet, and head to the beach for a swim in what we already knew to be a warm, delightful stretch of ocean on a spectacular beach.  It was fun, too, to introduce Rick and Tats, who had not yet been to Cuba, and had never visited a resort, to the whole lay of the land and watch their enjoyment of this break from the regular routine back home.

Something New

This year, we elected to take up a few of the outings on offer at the resort, which we had not done last year. One afternoon, for example, we all went snorkeling off a catamaran at some nearby coral, surrounded by about a dozen other small boats of fellow snorkelers from different resorts.

An entrepreneurial type out in the water had his own catamaran set up, along with several bottles of fish food and an underwater camera with which -- for a (negotiable) fee -- he would take photos of your group underwater, and arrange to have them delivered on DVD to your hotel later that night by a "sister" of his.  We went for it, wanting to capture this special moment.  (Neither Rick nor Tats had snorkeled before, and for the boys, it was only the second time.)

I was very impressed with the systems they had in place for this sort of thing.  True to his word, the photographer's colleague was at our hotel to meet us in the lobby at 7:15 that evening.  (She was scouring the lobby, looking for familiar faces, since she had never met us, and the only photos she had were of us wet and in our swim suits!) 

The woman showed us the collection of images on her device, we gave her $20, and within seconds she had the photos transferred to a CD-ROM and thrust into our hot little hands.

Horse-Back Riding

Another afternoon, a fellow came by the beach chairs and asked if anyone might be interested in horse-back riding.  On offer for a small fee was a pick up in the lobby of our hotel with a 1950s car, followed by a 45-minute ride along the beach closer to town.  Tats and I took him up on it.

We rode with a French couple who had brought their camera (it was quite rainy, so Tats had left hers back at the resort with Rick and the boys), and they promised to send photos, but at the time of writing, we've not yet received an email.

Jeep Safari

One of the full-day outings offered by the tour operators on-site is a so-called "Jeep Safari" in which up to four people travel by Jeep through Matanzas and around the country side, visiting a coffee plantation and various other sites.  Snorkeling, lunch and a swim in the caves is included.

Tats and the boys were eager, so off they went!

It was nice to have some downtime back at the ranch while the "youngsters" sought additional adventures! (In addition to finishing a great book I was reading, Rick and I also availed ourselves of the free kayaking and did a little spin in a double ocean kayak before lunch.)

Dolphins, Camels and Pelicans

Closer to home, we wandered next door to see the Dolphins.  There also seemed to be two camels which were grazing in a field between our resort and the Delfinario.  I wanted to pet one, but Tats advised against it!  The pelicans were, as always, eager to participate in the fish-eating part of the dolphin show.

​Havana

In addition to having a home base at a Varadero resort, we also  visited Havana again, staying in the same, central apt I had booked for myself and the boys last year, through Air BnB.

While a seaside resort has its own merits, I feel like traveling to a place like Cuba, and not availing oneself of the rich opportunities for at least a little authentic cultural immersion, constitutes a real tourist crime!  Part of the inherent value of travel is expanding ones cultural horizons, and a city like Havana is the perfect place to step outside ones comfort zone  a bit and learn something new.

​Like last year, we booked a one-way transfer on a big, comfy bus through a tour operator at the resort in Varadero, but this time we spent a little more time in Old Havana on our arrival, Simon and I scoping our possibilities for lunch while Alex joined Tats and Rick at the Museo de la Revolucion.​

Once we had found a decent lunch spot, Simon and I  wandered over to Parque Central, and pulled out a deck of cards I had brought with me.  Playing cards on a park bench turned out to be a sure-fire way to avoid tourist harassment; people seemed to assume that anyone comfortable enough to just sit around playing cards in the park must be a local!

Simon and I played for a bit, and mused about what it would be like to live in Havana for several months.  (We both agreed that while it was an interesting city, a Cuban lifestyle might be more readily enjoyed in the countryside rather than this noisy, busy and somewhat stinky metropolis.)

We soon wandered back from the museum to pick up the others and head over to our appointed lunch spot, which turned out to be a tremendously delicious choice with tasty dishes, including the drinks, and -- despite its location in tourist central -- not outrageous in price.

Rick had picked up an excellent map of the city, so after lunch, we easily navigated the route to our host's house on foot to check in.

It was really nice to see some familiar faces so far from home, and I was happy to introduce Rick and Tats to Irena and her son (and later, her dad).

The old metal, spiral staircase was as rickety as ever, and the view from the rooftop as awesome as I remembered it -- literally, you could just stand there day or night and take in the scenes from the street below.  (Which we did, the next morning.  Caught the local "Tim Horton's" lineup at the lady's house across the street -- she must make some awesome coffee!  But were too slow with the camera to capture the red car that pulled up out front, and the two guys that got out, walked around to the back door, and hauled out a giant pig carcass!!!  In fact we were so mesmerized with the proceedings that we did not even get photographic evidence of "phase two", when a third guy came out of the building with a giant platter, and the first two guys, having presumably unloaded their raw pork into the house/shop, returned, unlocked the trunk and proceeded to unload intestines, liver and other delicacies onto the large plate!!!  As Rick's guidebook said, "In Cuba, expect the unexpected.)

Once we had checked in with our hosts, we decided to check out the city a bit.  I had made dinner reservations at nearby La Guarida (Amazing spot, super yummy food and incredible architecture; highly recommend, though it's not cheap!), and we wanted to get to the Chess Club beforehand and also do some geo-caching if possible.

As always, the old cars provided a visual feast for the eyes.  It was fun to watch Rick's recognition of automobiles he had been young enough to own/drive or recognize from his youth in the US.  And Tats scoured the streets for old Russian models her family had owned before they left the Soviet Union (she was able to locate both i the 48 hours we spent in Havana!)

Capablanca Chess Club

Finally we arrived at the chess club.  Rick, an accomplished player in his own right, was invited to sit down to a round of speed chess.  

Unfortunately, having only played online for the past several years, the combination of having to use actual chess pieces and the pressure of five people watching and scrutinizing the game proved too much for Rick, and he was creamed in under five minutes.

As I suspected he would, he stewed about the opening move for the rest of the evening, and announced the next day that he could easily beat the guy if they played again.  Needless to say, it was a threat that did not have the opportunity to come to fruition during our short sojourn in the city.

Matanzas

Last year the boys and I had stopped to snorkel between Matanzas and Varadero, and this year, I wanted to actually see the city of Matanzas.  So, rather than driving directly back to the resort, we had our Havana hosts arrange a ride for us to Matanzas, where I had prearranged a tour of the city with a local journalism student through Air BnB's new "experiences" feature.  (She, in turn, arranged a ride back to the resort for us from there.)

The city of Matanzas has a different vibe from Havana.  The buildings are not as tall, and -- as we learned from our guide -- the city is set out according to a master plan that allows each property and equal amount of sunlight.

A wide variety of colonial and other influences contribute to the city's eclectic architectural style.  And, like elsewhere in Cuba, both old cars and a love for the poet Jose Marti abound.

Since we were feeling somewhat over-stimulated, and were eager, after our adventures off the resort, to get back to the relative calm of the all-inclusive, beachfront oasis and process the many happenings of the past 24 hours, we asked our guide to shorten her intended 3-hour tour to a more manageable 2-hour session. 

​We were grateful that she was able to do this without sacrificing the climb to the top of the city, which afforded us a view of Matanzas out to the ocean that would have been breathtaking on a less overcast day.

Uncaptured

As always, some of the best memories were not the ones necessarily captured on film.  Playing cards with the kids in the lobby each night after dinner, for example, while listening to live Cuban jazz.  Or sitting down on the beach sharing mate w/ some Argentinian girls we happened across while walking past the resort two down from ours!

Or, my personal favourite, the escapades from the morning in Havana when we sent Tats and Rick off to the Hotel Nacional for a tour of the mafia suites and artefacts from the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the boys and I took our local pesos and hopped on the guagua (Cuban Spanish for public bus) and headed out for a little adventure of our own -- They had the camera, so we have only our memories!

While Rick and Tats took in the historical tour succeeded by a drink on the hotel terrace, Simon, Alex and I made our way up Av 23 (La Rampa) on the P9, as suggested by the gal who made us breakfast at our Air BnB. At 40 centavos (moneda nacional) per person, it was a steal!

After a short visit to the very old , very broken down and very small Jalisco park (a pre-revolution theme park, super fun for the age 4-7 crowd, so long as you don't mind somewhat sketchy, possibly broken, old mini roller coasters and merry-go-round style rides!!) , we made our way over to the Necropolis.  The boys commented on the similarity to the one we had visited in Recoleta, in Buenos Aires, a few years earlier.

But the most fun of all came when we hopped back on the bus afterwards and made our way to Coppelia, determined (now that we had local currency) to finally eat at the REAL ice cream cathedral, with the people, rather than off to the side, at the over-priced, underwhelming tourist trough! 

Having bypassed the guards, we were not disappointed when we landed at a table in one of the upstairs salons, and enjoyed a little people watching along with our dirt-cheap ensaladas de bola, before heading back by "coco cab" to the neighbourhood of our AirBnB to meet Rick and Tats for pizza at a nearby stand.

With an election this year, and rumours of a combined currency on the horizon, Cuba continues to evolve at a rapid (by Cuban standards) pace.

​Happily for us, during this visit, we were still able to enjoy the visual and experiential time-warp afforded by the old cars and still-somewhat-limited digital infrastructure. Like last time, I enjoyed the opportunities this encouraged for strengthening personal connections with the people I love most, and for forging new ones with the people whose country we were guests in.  I also relished the time to read voraciously (I started and finished Everybody's Son, as well as several longer magazine articles while away, and the kids polished off two thick books each). 

On our final morning in Cuba, we by-passed the 8:00 a.m. milk run and elected instead to enjoy a leisurely breakfast and one last walk on the beach, before hopping into a local car to take us -- for the price of 9 CUCs, some batteries, a baseball cap, a few t-shirts, some children's books and some other odds and ends -- to the airport at a more reasonable 10:30 a.m. arrival for our 12:25 p.m. departure back to Toronto.

I feel very lucky to have had the opportunity to visit this amazing place once again, and am grateful for having packed so much excitement, relaxation and learning into such a short length of time.

Parenting monozygotic twins allows one a glimpse inside a uniquely intimate relationship between two visually "identical" people.

When the boys came from their dad's yesterday wearing the same shirt, I thought I'd take a nice photo. (They rarely dress alike, so when they do, the "twins effect" is quite jarring!)

As one of them said to me later, when I had expressed my frustration that they refuse to post pose nicely for a photo, "but we had so much fun, right mom?" Ahhh, twins... such a blessing!

Simon and I had the most amazing encounter this past weekend.

Having decided -- after a recent "Spooky Lagoon Tour" -- to conduct his history fair research on the Island community's history, and having successfully convinced his school partner to join him in this quest, Simon approached me for some support.  It wasn't a hard sell; I've always been a fan of the Toronto Islands, and finding out more seemed closer to  fun than "homework"!

Tumbling down one rabbit hole after another on the Internet, I finally stumbled across the Island History Project (tihp) online, and contacted someone with my plea for a "primary source", preferably an interview with an islander, for my son and his school partner.

I was soon exchanging emails and phone calls with a fellow who had lived on the island in the 40s, and who was now living in the US, but still in touch with his old community.  He was willing to set Simon and his friend up, and shared our contact info with two gentlemen who still lived on the island, one of whom was none other than Jimmy Jones, the guy whose stories had sparked Simon's interest in the first place!

Not long afterwards, we arranged to meet the two elderly islanders at one of their homes on a Sunday afternoon.  In the end, Simon's school friend couldn't make it, so Simon left him to do some book research, and he and I set out alone on the gloomy November weekend to purchase our ferry tickets and visit the large park that tourists usually reserve for sunny, summer day trips.

 We said good-bye to the city, and boarded the ferry bound for Ward's Island, armed with 6 scones and a jar of jam from one of our favourite bakeries.

Peter and Jimmy proved to be spry in both body and spirit, and we spent a delightful afternoon together, listening to stories that covered considerably more territory than the few questions Simon and his partner originally had in mind.... Simon jotted down what he could, and I listened intently. 

We learned that Centre Island's park-like Avenue of the Islands was once a bustling main street of a real town, complete with restaurants, several grocers, a pharmacy and all manner of other businesses, a fact I later confirmed in more detail by further intrigued googling at home!  And while there is a lot written about the "wealthy" families who built summer homes on the island, both men confirmed that all sorts of people lived on, worked on and visited the islands, and further, that when the houses started to be demolished (the City claimed it needed the space for a large public park -- despite the copious amount of parkland already available and in use on the site), it was not the wealthy families who lost their homes first... if at all. (The exclusive yacht club, for example, was never touched -- it stands and is used to this day!)

They told us stories of how the city had started their demolition derby with the town on Centre first, coring out the community's backbone, so to speak, before moving westward and then eastward towards Wards Island, where both Jimmy and Peter presently lived.  It was a sobering moment when both men recalled the impact on many families of being evicted from their homes, or of the threat of having their homes demolished.  The fight was a long, hard one, and one not without a few casualties.

On a more upbeat note, Jimmy also told us that many of the homes still standing on that part of the island had been built from materials that came in a pre-fab kit, ordered directly out of the Eaton's catalogue - he remembered a time when both Eaton's and Simpson's had several deliveries a day from the city to the islands.  (A house could go up in a weekend, added Peter, noting that it helped if you had several friends and a little beer.)

He recalled with fondness the rich and vibrant communities that had existed all along the island, including many details from the amusement park and Baseball diamond on Hanlan's Point, where Babe Ruth had hit his first professional home run, and where the busy airport I now fly out of stands (much to many islanders' chagrin).  Jimmy's dad had been a clown at the amusement park; his mother had sold tickets at the ticket booth -- that's how the family arrived there in the first place, and Jimmy has lived there ever since. (85 years, as he told us, and Simon did the math to make sure!)

Both Jimmy and his neighbour (and our host) Peter were engaging and lively story-tellers, who had a remarkable number of details crammed into their heads.  One got the feeling that there was probably no question about the island's history that either one or the other couldn't answer... and we asked many.

Simon, fairly quiet during our visit other than the questions on this list, seemed greatly affected by his interaction with the two men; he chattered with me afterwards about his impressions, and seemed quite pleased at having met Jimmy in person, recognizing the asset of such a meeting to both his school project and his personal development as a Torontonian.

Taking our leave from our host and his guest, we headed back to the ferry docks, Simon and I, and I reflected on how fortunate newer islanders are to have access to such a lively wealth of information about their beloved home's past still living in their midst.  Those lucky enough to have not lost their homes in the dramatic city seizure of the 60s and 70s now live in community with an eclectic mix with fellow "old islanders" and newer converts, islanders "by chance" in some cases thanks to the now-35-year wait list/lottery.

The island has certainly changed over the past hundred years, both geographically and politically, and to be able to learn the island lore from someone who has been through the bulk of those changes in-person is truly a treasure!

As we boarded the ferry back to the city, I gave Simon a little squeeze. 

​Although I'll probably never realise my own dream of living on this particular island, I'm grateful for our fairly regular day trips here, and in particular, I feel a tremendous amount of gratitude for the opportunity to sit in on this unique aspect of my son's history fair project research.  I sure learned a lot.

By the way, if you're keen to learn more about how the Island was formed, geographically speaking, check out this 2012 article from Blog TO!

After this past summer's flooding of the Toronto Islands, it was a real pleasure to be able to participate in a "spooky lagoon tour" this fall, and expand my already nerd-like knowledge of island lore... "Murder at the Lighthouse" was originally set up by two of Toronto's water taxi companies in an attempt to recoup some of the losses from this summer's negatively impacted business (the taxis typically ferry private parties between the city's harbourfront and the islands, but the latter were closed to the public for most of the season this year).

The tour begins with a little history lesson on the mainland, in a tent erected to house a television set that shows some old footage from the island and the Toronto harborfront. The existing narration is accompanied by a local actor, who tries to excite the small group about the haunted lighthouse we will soon visit on Hanlan's Point.

The photo of Billy Bishop City Ctr airport -- one I regularly fly out of -- covered in pre-wartime houses is alone worth the price of admission!

Then it's onto the boat for the 12 of us (a few warm blankets are scattered on the seats for those who forgot to dress in layers on this cool October night), and an audio tour begins, narrated by none other than 85-year-island-resident, Jimmy Jones (the Unofficial Mayor of Toronto Island).

What a treasure to hear Jones recount tales of the Trillium ferry, and share his own personal memories of Hurricane Hazel and the vibrant communities that once flourished all along the Toronto Islands! (And as an added bonus, the accompanying music is classical, rather than the all-too-ubiquitous pop.)

Soon, we leave the city behind, and make our way down the dark lagoon towards Canada's second oldest lighthouse, and Toronto’s most famous ghost, J.P. Radelmüller.

An apparently drunken ghost from the past greets us at a little dock island-side, and invites our group off the boat and into the island... if we dare!

While we follow the eerie light of her lantern towards the old Lighthouse, the previous small tour group departs, leaving us stranded with this shady character at the Lighthouse.

After an engaging recount of the main theory behind Rademueler's unsolved murder so many years ago (he was a bootlegger, and it is thought that some thirsty soldiers from Fort York wanted more than their share one night in 1815), we're taken to see where what's thought to be the Lighthouse keeper's bones were found and re buried some years later. Another ghost (the murder victim himself?) appears out of the shadows, and chases us back to the dock, where another water taxi is just arriving with the next group.

The ghost retreats into the darkness, our island host bids us an intoxicated farewell as she greets her next group, and we slide onto the small boat for the journey back down the lagoon and across the harbour to the city.

Although some might find the tour a little "hokey" (and certainly not super scary), as a Torontonian and an island history buff, I must say I thoroughly enjoyed it. I thought the content was well thought out and the transitions were perfectly timed; I just found the whole thing really endearing!

My only suggestion for improvement might be to include some narration on the ride home, about this summer's flooding, perhaps, and about what the island has come to mean for Torontonians, as a transition back to the present. That being said, when I shared my closing idea with the kids, they pointed out that it was already information overload, and that some people might prefer to just cuddle up on their blanket and enjoy the boat ride back in silence, as they reflect on and process what they've heard.

We finally got around to visiting the newly developed Trillium park and William G Davis waterfront trail, just east of Ontario Place. Apart from being an awesome place to watch aircraft departing CYTZ runway 26, it's also a wonderful spot just to enjoy the great outdoors!

One of the most impressive structures to me is a large pavilion, constructed with soaring roof lines and lots of wood.

There is also a geocache, and a pretty nifty rock wall and climbing feature; when we returned the next weekend with the kids, they climbed forever. Even the dog liked it, getting right into the little "cave"!

The first Sunday afternoon we went there, the weather was quite stormy, creating a magnificent backdrop for the city skyline.

In between watching planes land and take off, we marvelled at the light, and were able to get some great shots of the late afternoon sky.

Another thing I noticed throughout the park, which I did not take photos of, was the incorporation of various indigenous features, such as a number of "marker trees" and plaques explaining their significance, and some moccasins carved into the stonework near the entrance of the park.

If you walk further west along the path, you come to the old Ontario Place grounds, which we walked into the second time we went to the park. There are remnants of the old park in its former glory; you can see the Cinesphere and leftovers from the old water park.

​Are you a parent?

If you can read this sentence, you have a moral obligation to read at least one ministry curriculum or policy document, and get actively involved in your child's schooling.  More specifically, you need to engage your child's teacher.  Yep, even if your kid is doing well at school.  (Actually, maybe especially if!)

"What colour?" asked the lady at the chocolate shop (I was buying some treats to go along with the gift cards I had gotten the kids' teachers, and she wanted to know what colour ribbon she should tie the little boxes with).  

When I hesitated, she helpfully offered, "male, or female?" as though a particular gender "owns" any particular colour scheme.  

The best part was when I challenged her by asking nonchalantly whether we were really still asking those sorts of questions in 2017, she responded completely unfazed with, "well, I just wouldn't want to put like a pink ribbon if it were for a boy, you know?"

I didn't bother to tell her that one of my boys regularly wears pink yoga pants.

"Deviant Behaviour"

Someone I work with  was telling me last fall about their experiences in the middle east, and about how "deviant behaviour" (they were referring to anyone who loves someone of the same sex as themselves) was looked down on.

Although my colleague is not violently homophobic, and tries hard to say the "right" things, they are blissfully ignorant of their heteronormativity, and of the general annoyance (at best) and internal pain (at worst) caused by some of their comments.

Recently, another colleague -- who also identifies as LGBTQ+ -- and I were debating the merits of "tolerance".  I don't want to be tolerated, I explained, because someone thinks they're "supposed" to be "okay" with who I am because some law says so, but really they think there is a problem with the fact that I am gay.  Rather, I want to be accepted as I accept others, the same as any straight person is accepted, because I'm a human being same as they are, with human rights same as they have.  

To be "tolerated" stinks of "deviant behaviour".  And while my thoughts and actions as Vera may be deviant, who I love is not!

Aren't We There Yet?

A colleague of my partner's scoffed at me last December when -- tired of the small talk in  the kitchen at the holiday party, and eager to forge richer conversational fodder -- I raised the issue of oppression in Canada.  

​We were discussing pay equity (men and women getting paid the same -- or not, as the case still often is, shockingly -- for similar jobs), and he was surprised that I would suggest such a thing is still an issue in Canada in 2017.

This white, male, straight, able-bodied colleague went on to suggest the usual "gender/racial/LGBTQ, etc. bias isn't really a thing anymore" line, that allegedly we'd solved all these problems, at least in Canada.
​
My partner tried to engage him in data-based conversation at work later in the week.  She soon gave up. Like white people of privilege in response to last year's Black Lives Matter protest at Pride, he could not be convinced with facts and logic.

Not sure how, but suddenly three months have passed since the glorious week Simon, Alex and I spend on this warm island, and I still haven't found a few minutes to blog about the experience, despite posting both Alex's and Simon's impressions soon after our return in early Feb.  Tonight, though... tonight!

I should preface this post by confessing that any photos herein are pilfered from the Internet.  Wifi being sketchy, and me wanting to completely unplug and focus on the kids and on the cultural experience, I did not bring my phone (and therefore not my camera, watch, calendar, etc.)

It was a freeing if sometimes frustrating exercise, and while I marginally regret not having captured some personal experiences "on film" (digitally), overall I am glad I left my screen addiction behind in Canada that week.  After all, for nearly a decade, my mother traveled to Cuba every year, long before Smartphones and personal computers, and survived every time to tell the tale, so I figured we could, too, and we did!

First Impressions

It was delightful to witness the boys processing their first impressions of Cuba, and make connections to other Latin American countries they have visited... it wasn't long after we stepped off the plan in Varadero that they began reminiscing about Argentina; certainly the climate felt similar to Buenos Aires, the palm trees, warm, humid air... and the fact that the officials all spoke Spanish and the announcements over the loudspeakers were in Spanish, too!

The Varadero Airport is considerably bigger (and more touristy) than the smaller one my mother, grandmother and I landed at years ago on the other side of the island, and while I felt a bit inauthentic introducing my kids to Cuba in this fashion, I knew that the rest and relaxation of the tourist resort would form only part of the trip (more on that later), so I forgave myself!

We boarded a bus along with several other tourists eager to get whichever destination they had booked from a number of resorts along the Varadero strip and -- after a bit of a delay due to a fellow passenger who succumbed to the temptation of the overpriced airport carts and bought a cigar and a cerveza -- we were off to the hotels.

Playa de Oro

Our own destination was Playa de Oro and -- while dated -- it was nevertheless larger than any resort I'd been to before: Two large, multi-floor hotel buildings flanked a giant pool with a walking path/bridge,  several bars and small restaurants dotted the property, and the main lobby building featured an enormous dining room with buffet, a health centre and stage.

The rooms themselves were simple, and the paint in the hallway was peeling in many places, but truth be told, we spent more time at the beach anyway, as the pull of the ocean was strong.  Swimming, playing cards, reading together... and in the evenings, a card game in the lobby, while listening to some Cuban Jazz that the local house band played after dinner.

La Habana

One of our intended highlights was an overnight trip to Havana.  I had never been there before, but I knew it was an important cultural hub to introduce my children to, and since AirBnB had very recently become legal in Havana, I booked a Casa Particulares through that familiar platform before leaving Toronto and took my printed out confirmation along with a Lonely Planet guidebook that featured a whole section on the capital, and included a pull-out map!

The plan was to visit the Museo de la Revolucion, walk along the Malecon, and just generally take in the atmosphere of this incredible city of 3 million people. I had also intended to check out Hemingway's house, but that was not to be, as it was located too far on the outskirts, and our time in the city was simply too short.

The first step was getting there.  On a cash budget and wanting to put more money into the hands of locals and less into the already overflowing coffers of the tour agency, I booked one-way transfers on a bus, through the hotel.  My lonely planet guide suggested I could hire a local car once in Havana to take us back.

Havana is divided into three main sections: Habana Veijo (or Old Havana), Centro and Vedado.  Our Casa was an apartment upstairs in a private home on Gervasio, in central Havana, about a block from the Malecon (and, as it turned out as I later discovered, literally up the street from the Paladar now located in the home featured in the movie Fresa y Chocolate).

The trouble was that I actually had no idea where we were going, and of course, no way of contacting the Host, what with being internet- and device-free for the week!  I came to this realization about two thirds of the way to the city, and started hurridly and more than a little panic scouring the fold-out map in my Lonely Planet guide... Irritatingly, the Veijo map seemed to end where the Centro map began, without overlap at precisely the spot I needed.

So we trusted our luck with a taxi outside of the museum (well, first we had to argue with a driver who saw a helpless woman with her tourist map, two kids and a lost look on her face; I soon ditched that guy and used my pathetically limited Spanish to charm my way into a half-the-price-but-according-to-my-guidebook-still too-much ride in another car, and thus we experienced our first of several short rides in the world famous and ubiquitous antique Cuban cars!)

Once we found the building where our Casa was located, we run the doorbell by the metal gate to the upstairs apartment, and the hosts' father let us in, and took us up another flight of stairs, a rickety old staircase, and into our top floor flat.  Two large terraces impressed us, but remained largely unusable during our one night visit, due to the rainy weather.  Instead, we dropped off our bags, claimed our beds, and headed out for a slice of pizza at a nearby corner stand our host recommended to us!

After our bite to eat, we wandered the streets and took in the ambiance, which was thick with art, music and culture, despite the pervading drizzle.  

Transportation

Havana, like most of Cuba, has relatively few cars, given its population.  Most of the cars on the road look like they belong in a 1950s mobster movie... at least from the outside.  The other ubiquitous make and model is the Soviet-era Lada.  A few European and other "modern" motorized vehicles are starting to find their way onto the island, but these are well beyond the financial possibility of the average Cuban. Many walk or bike, and those who do own cars have become adept at creatively maintaining their vintage models!

In addition to cars, a number of covered bike- and moped-taxis serve smaller groups of tourists.  Collectivo taxis offer a sort of Cuban "Uber Pool" solution, with many locals heading in roughly the same direction cramming into a larger car.

"Public" Transit

As in Varadaro, there is a "public" bus for tourists (5 CUC, about $7 CAD), and then there is the really public bus, which tourists do not use, which one pays for in local pesos unobtainable to tourists, at a rate of about 10 cents a person, and which we totally rode, I having wisely brought a few toys and some hard-to-get decent chocolate with me from Canada (in Cuba, it is not uncommon to see a local bus driver with his kid on his lap, and this was the case with the driver who's bus we happened on, and so I supplemented my offering of pesos with said Canadian chocolate and everyone was happy).

Two long-haired blond boys stood out like sore thumbs on the bus, and the locals looked at us with a mixture of curiosity and mild annoyance, but we took it in stride, and rode for as long as I dared, keeping one eye on the window to assess the surroundings, and the other eye on my guide book map, as I did not have a bus route map, and knew therefore that wherever we went, we'd either have to walk back or use some of our dwindling funds for a taxi.

Quite possibly my favourite part of riding the public buses (which we ended up doing about three times in total during our 24 hour sojourn in the city) was the insight we got into Cuban "collective" culture, in terms of child minding: At one point, a lady got on with her baby.  In general, one gives up one's seat to a mother with young child, and also to the elderly. An elderly lady was sitting nearby; she reached out to the mother, and without a second's hesitation, the mother passed the infant off to this complete stranger, who held the child on her lap until it was time for the mom to get off, at which point she passed the baby back to the lady, who then got off.  

It was such a non-issue, just a matter-of-fact occurance; the baby was heavy, the old lady wasn't giving up her seat, but she was taking the baby so the mom didn't have to balance the kid on her hip throughout the jostling bus ride.  Amazing!

Then there was Copelia, the ice cream parlour named after the ballet.  Our Casa was about a 25 minute walk from the park, and we visited (though, too shy to join the local line, we went obediently as directed by the park guards to the tourist counter).

No trip to Havana is complete without checking out the Mafia connection... the morning of our departure, we took advantage of the free tour at the Hotel Nacional, site of the Havana Conference, a "business meeting" of the Sicilian and American Mafia some years ago.

The hotel also boasts an impressive. star-studded, international guest list, and we got to soak up a little of this history thanks to our knowledgeable and detail-oriented tour guide. 

Snorkeling

Simon, who had been somewhat cranky due to the lousy weather (it was raining when we arrived in Havana, which curbed our ability to walk everywhere) and a canker sore in his mouth, insisted we go snorkeling.  He had never gone, and decided we needed to go.

I had planned out our finances quite carefully, but had not considered connecting the snorkeling adventures to the Havana trip. In the end, however, doing just that seemed like the most feasible way to ensure we squeezed some off-resort snorkeling into our week-long trip, and so, at Simon's insistence and with a little negotiation on the part of our Casa host's father with the driver, we managed to combine our drive "home" (to Varadero) with a stop at an out-of-the-way little spot I had read about, regardless of the fact that we had not brought bathing suits with us to Havana.

While our driver and I enjoyed non-alcoholic piña coladas and played with the mangy beach dogs wandering around the bar, Alex and Simon stripped down to their underwear, put on the battered old life jackets the guide handed them, and set out to experience their first ever snorkeling adventure, led by a young man who showed me photos of his own children as well as his snorkeling guide license to assure me my kids were in good hands.

Asked later how they liked it, Alex dreamily responded, "it was magic"!

Varadero

After our return from Havana, the overcast skies continued to plague our beach holiday, so we determined to travel off the resort strip, and into the little tourist town of Varadero for the morning.  We packed some snacks and water, as well as a few tradeable items, just in case, and wandered out to the main road to wait for the $5 tourist bus.

It wasn't long until the local bus, headed into town to pick up a larger group, pulled over and offered us a ride for less than it would have cost us for all three on the "proper" bus.  After some haggling, we negotiated an even better price, and the boys and I got onto the bus, celebrating our unexpected luck at finding this better deal.  (In the end, we didn't pay a dime for our ride, as it turned out the driver had grandkids, and happily accepted our offer of toys and chocolate in lieu of cash!)

After hanging our with some freely wandering chickens in the main square, we walked across a bridge into an industrial part of town.  It was sweltering, so we soon headed back to the tourist zone, and ended up on a secluded part of the beach, where we buried our water and bags in the cool sand, and stripped down for another underwear swim in the ocean (albeit this time sans snorkel gear)!

The boys wanted to ride what Simon called a "helmet cab", so after drying off while walking along the beach a little, we hitched a ride for a few blocks in one of the so-called "coco cabs", again trading hard-to-come-by-in-Cuba goods for services.

We ate our snacks, and also visited a local rum outlet so that I could pick up a few souvenirs.  Then we caught a ride in a vintage taxi back to our hotel resort.  Simon said it was his favourite day; he loved the "helmet cab".  (When I pressed him, he said he enjoyed the snorkeling, but that "it was stressful", hehe.)

All in all, I found our day trip to Varadero less eventful than our Havana adventure, but I am nevertheless glad we got to see the town.

Resort Life

As is often the case in Cuban resorts, you go for the sunshine, the sandy beaches, the ocean... not so much for the food! Playa de Oro is no exception.  The buffet was repetitive but manageable; we'd brought our own syrup, ketchup and peanut butter.  Bringing our own teabags turned out to have been a wise idea, too! Black pepper was frequently in short supply as was any kind of decent salad dressing, but we did not starve.

The pasta bar was a hit with the kids (we learned to line up early for dinner to avoid long waits later on), and there were three a-la-cart restaurants, where one was served a variation of the food available at the buffet.  We made reservations at the Cuban beach cafe and also ate at the pool-side Italian restaurant one night, where we were given what I thought were fancy virgin drinks, but which turned out to be alcoholic beverages, which I did not discover until the boys had already taken two generous swigs.  (The end of that story is that after refraining from imbibing for nearly the whole week, I found myself drinking THREE drinks in one sitting!!!)

Our room, while fairly comfortable, was average at best; the bathroom smelled of mildew, and the towels were rarely changed (though upon leaving a tip for the cleaner, we came back to our room to find the old towels had been creatively fashioned into swans and sea monsters).

In the evenings, various sorts of entertainment were offered: Circuses, dance bands and live concerts. Most of the shows ran quite late, but we did stay up to catch the pool show, which featured synchronized swimming acts, each introduced in five languages -- Spanish, German, English, French and Russian -- by one of the hotel staff.

The resort's main attraction was of course the beach.  The ocean was amazingly warm, and so many shades of blue and green (such different shades than in PEI, I marveled!) Alex commented that he finally understood how some people could just sit around on the beach all day, which is exactly what we did on two or three of the days... coming early, I would tip the beach guy to wipe down and reserve a spot for us, and then we'd leave a few items on our lounge chairs, and he would look after them if we went up to the buffet for lunch or whatever.

We would swim, nap, read, play cards, chat with the locals (the boys traded some of their t-shirts and shoes for seashells)... one time we even saw a fellow with a pelican following along behind him!  

For those of us lucky enough to be tourists on vacation, it was a little piece of paradise.

​Delfinario

As we found out while wandering about on one of our final days in Cuba, our resort was located right next door to a delfinario.  We saw and heard the beautiful creatures swimming in the lagoon while we were out walking one evening (the delfinario keeps its dolphins in what is called "semi-captivity"), and decided on our last day to go and catch a show.

Although the place is a bit dated, it's pretty cheap if you don't actually go swimming with the dolphins and just watch the show instead, and it was amazing to interact with these social creatures even from afar.

Still To Do...

Cuba is changing rapidly. With the Americans arriving on the scene, the economy and culture is already shifting.  I am eager to visit again while some of the "old Cuba" is still preserved.  Next time I would bring some dog and cat treats (for all the strays) and add black pepper to my arsenal of home comforts.  I also want to visit Habana Veijo, which I did not get a chance to do.  And I will definitely catch the Buena Vista Social Club show the next time I go.

​Sitting here in my Apt in Toronto on an unseasonably cold, rainy, miserably May evening, I think back fondly to our short by poignant week in warm, sunny Cuba this past January. I am hopeful of a return visit sometime in the not too distant future!

​You might think that in a lesbian family, Mothers' Day is kind of a big deal.  Two moms, right?! But having come out later in life, I never got to experience first-hand that lovely, two-mom relationship I often admire with some envy when I come across a young family lead by two women.

My co-parent didn't arrive on the scene until my kids -- who still have a regular relationship with their dad -- were 6 years old. (They're 13 now!)  

​And although they often joke that she is the best "Second Mother" (not "second best", they explain) around, and even tell her that she is the only step-mom they have ("no questions asked", as one kid affirmed in writing in his mothers' day card to her this morning), she is, still, after all, "just" a step-parent, with all the self-imposed guilt and other emotional drama that entails.

In terms of my relationship with my own mother, that also comprises its fair share of emotional drama: Orphaned at 21, I don't have any instagram-worthy photos to share of my beautiful adult relationship with my mother, because I don't have one. 

So I'll spend today's blog post instead sharing my reflections about some observations I had the unique opportunity to make this weekend, while attending a Girls CAN Fly event at a nearby airport.

Canadian Aviation Pride, an organization I volunteer with, had been asked to set up a booth in the hangar.

We did our usual assortment of pre-made rainbow airplane necklaces to sell, and also set out other beads so that kids and their families could make their own necklaces, rainbow or otherwise, before or after their flight. This afforded me the opportunity to observe how families would "help" especially their youngest children with a self-chosen task.

With so many colourful beads on display, most children wanted to string their own necklaces, and it was remarkable how many parents simply could not let their 3-, 4- and 5-year-olds do the fine motor practice until they worked it out.  Each necklace included a chain and 6 beads, and barely a child got to the third bead before a well-meaning parent took over the task and just did it for them.

The first steps to the learned helplessness I witnessed so very often in my middle school classrooms!

Watching a child struggle with a task is hard, no question, but with encouragement and time, most children can complete many "difficult" tasks on their own or with limited support, and the research shows that it is actually good for them to engage in this struggle.  

The other thing that amazed me was how many of the parents basically vetoed their kids' choices of bead colour, style and placement in order to make the necklace as they (the parent) thought it ought to be, rather than how the child herself envisioned it.  I kid you not, I witnessed one parent keep telling his kid to choose different beads than she was choosing, because that would "look better", and watched in amazement while another dad fully removed four of his daughter's six beads, and replace them with different ones, to make a pattern he thought looked better!

It's easy to watch and judge, of course, and so I spent the rest of the weekend pondering my own influences on my kids... of course I want to guide them and expose them to things I deem "valuable", but am I making sure to honour their individual choices as well, even if they differ from my own?

Working so much with the Kindergarten Program this year in my new job, I am well familiar with how important it is for teachers to support students' development of their own identities as learners.  I wonder how well I have done with this as a parent?  I am determined to renew my commitment to developing my own children's resilience, strength and confidence!