While we've worked hard in our personal life to surround ourselves with influences that positively portray the fluidity of our people, the mainstream world around us apparently continues to wallow in a quagmire of clearly defined roles, rules and gender stereotypes.

The literature, activities and announcements on board harp on these stereotypes, and while no one was outright homophobic, it was generally assumed that everyone aboard was "normal", ie straight and aligned with the gender binary.

In the middle of our cruise, there was a game show, based on an actual TV game show, called "Love and Marriage", held in the theatre. It was here that Tats and I elected to challenge the somewhat stifling straight culture that surrounded us.

On a whim, Tats and I auditioned (if an impromptu queer interpretation of the required ultra-hetero Tarzan scene could be called an audition).... And the next thing we knew, we had won the audience over and found ourselves on stage as one of the three couples selected for the show!

Wedged in between two newlyweds and a husband and wife who had been together for over forty years, Tats and I representated "mid range" (over five years and under 20). We were also the only lesbian couple, and -- I suspect -- probably the only LGBTQ couple they've ever had on the ship's show. As a result largely of this latter fact, we found we gained considerable fame and notoriety; for the remainder of the cruise we kept getting "recognized" wherever we went. This consisted largely of people coming up to us with a big, friendly smile and telling us how much they had enjoyed our performance, and the occasional person yelling, “sing in Russian!“ across a room at Tats, because of a response I had given to one of the questions asked during the game show.

While it was a little disconcerting to be thrust into the public eye like that, it was in some ways a not altogether unfamiliar feeling. As a parent of monozygotic twins, I've become accustomed some level of notoriety (this was especially true when Alex and Simon were small and more easily recognizable as a “pair”).

I’ve only ever been on one cruise in my 45 years, and it was more than half a lifetime ago. So, I was looking forward to a week-long break from the cold rainy weather we’ve been having in Toronto and from the monotony of work. Here is the first part my travel blog for this adventure with Tats, Rick and the boys...

Day 1 - Arrival in Puerto Rico

We arrived in Puerto Rico on the afternoon of December 1, after a 4-hour flight from Toronto. Our travel agent had suggested booking the flight a day early, in case of delays, and extending our weeklong vacation by one day by spending an overnight in San Juan. Although it’s not my usual style to do that sort of thing (I’d be more inclined to pack it in tight, and step directly off the plane and into a cab to the cruise ship terminal, LOL!), I’m really glad we took her advice.

What a delightfully surprising place Puerto Rico is: Warm, breezy weather, beaches within walking distance of where we were staying, and awesome vegetarian options on pretty much every restaurant menu we stopped to read! With its Spanish colonial architecture, Old San Juan reminded us a little of Havana... Minus the 1950s cars, of course. But a very similar vibe. So bizarre that this place is technically part of the US.

The Airbnb where the five of us spent the night was in the Old Town, and we were lucky enough to be graced with a waiter at dinner here who was studying political science. He educated us a bit about PR.

The little island has a long history of colonization, first by the Spanish, then by the Americans. Schooling continues to happen in Spanish, but everyone here seems to speak fluent English, too.

Technically, PR is not a US state. The citizens here do not vote for the president or senators. But they do have some representation in government that is supposed to advocate on their behalf. This is generally met with limited success (as evidenced by the US government's horrifically negligent response after the recent hurricane here).

The result is an urban and rural landscape that is in many ways stereotypical of so many Latin American countries, but at the same time dotted with the undeniable influence of the US - Walmart, KFC, McDonalds and the like are as easily found here as in any American city. From our brief observations, though, the Latin culture is alive and well - sitting on the balcony of our Airbnb this first evening of our travels, the cadence of Spanish conversations waft up from the small groups of people gathered here and there in the street below, and the lyrics of the pop music emanating from the bars and restaurants are almost exclusively in Spanish.

With the kids and Rick tucked safely into their beds, Tats and I decided to explore a little bit, and walked around town to the portlands, where we enjoyed some live music and tried with limited success to practise our Salsa moves in a local square!

Sunday, Dec 2 - Day 1 of Cruise
After a tasty breakfast at a cafe down the street from our Airbnb, we walked to a nearby beach for one last swim in the ocean before heading back to our rooms to pack up our bags and make our way via Uber to the Pan American cruise terminal (as Tats and I had discovered The night before, our Royal Caribbean cruise ship was setting sail from there rather than the closer terminal within walking distance). We learned from our Uber driver that after the storm, Puerto Rico found itself with an unemployment rate of over 14%. As a result, the Government became more open to "disruptive technologies" such as Uber, in hopes of finding solutions to the high unemployment rate.

Now it was time to board the ship. The terminal was an example of organized chaos: People crowded into various clusters to drop their luggage off at designated areas, then moved on to the security line and then on to yet another line to get checked in.

After ironing out a few other logistical details and attending our respective musters for the obligatory safety demonstration, we reconvened for dinner in the main dining room. A tasty array of options were offered, and everyone found something to suit their taste.
Afterwards, the boys once again dashed off on their own, this time to attend some teen club activities, and the adults found their way to the pool deck to watch the ship set sail.

Afterwards, Tats and I went dancing, took a stroll through the shopping area, played a game show, attended a performance and even saw a shooting star from the helipad before heading back to the room before midnight, where we found the boysies, teeth brushed, in their bed awaiting their mommies! (The deal was that everyone had to be in bed with teeth brushed by midnight.)

Dec 3 - Cruising to Curacao (Day at Sea)

After a somewhat restless night, Alex and I got up early-ish (8 am) and headed off to the library. While Alex wrote in his journal, I tried to capture the first few days in notes and photos on my phone, determined to post a blog at the earliest opportunity for free wifi!

While we waited for the others to wake up so that we could ask go to breakfast, I reflected on the advantages and disadvantages of life (as an amployee) on a cruise ship. Already we’d met folks from Ukraine, China, St. Vincent, the Philippines and the UK. This appealed to me. What an interesting work environment and a place for the incubation of diverse perspectives! But I know there are other considerations… for example I know from a family friend who spent a few seasons as a performer on a boat, as well as from my schema as an airline pilot's wife, that there are different “classes” of employment. Not everyone enjoys the same salary, living quarters or other benefits. Nevertheless, for the young, unattached worker, cruise ship life must offer a tremendous opportunity to do a bit of traveling, and meet people from all over the world, and even learn a few snippets of different languages over time. Nevertheless it must be an odd sort of life, too, with people constantly coming and going, as contracts and and new ones begin for different crew members. I remember from our friend, that constantly saying goodbye can be one of the greatest challenges of cruise ship life, and I heard that again from a personal trainer I met later on the cruise.

Our day at sea was relaxed but not boring. While having breakfast at the main buffet, we ran into Simon and Rick. Once we'd finished eating, I took everyone outside and showed them the helipad. We then deposited Rick on a lounge chair on the same deck, and the boys went off to enjoy some teen club activities while I return to our room to discern whether or not to Tats were still alive. She was, and had just woken up from a long slumber.

The rest of the day included some individual activities independent of one another, and a common lunch followed by shuffleboard on the promenade deck – – just like the 1950s!

Given our early arrival the next morning in Curacao, we decided on a relatively early bedtime, with lights out by about 10:30 PM.

Tuesday, Dec 4 - Curacao

Another restless night for me, though thankfully everyone else seemed to fare OK. By about 6:30 AM, I couldn’t bear the too soft/uncomfortable mattress any longer, and decided to abandon my tossing and turning iin favor of getting out of bed to enjoy a peaceful morning on the promenade deck.

By 7 AM, the helipad already had a few spectators gathered; it seems I was not the only one with the idea to use this vantage point to observe our arrival in Curaçao. Collectively, we observed a rainbow, and land ahead, and in the ocean around us, the first ships we had seen in a long time. We were no longer alone in this big body of water!

I found a deck chair on a more abandoned side of the promenade deck and enjoyed a moment of peace and quiet while capturing the previous afternoon’s events in writing.

Soon, I felt a distinct change in the movement of our big ship. The gentle rocking of the open water had ceased, and leaning out over the rail, I could see another enormous cruise ship ahead of us. We had landed in Curaçao!

After snapping a few more photos of our arrival and the set-up by the crew down below, I went back to the room to wake up the kids and head over to breakfast in the main dining room.

Tats had arranged for herself and the boys to do their open water dives as part of their scuba certification here, and so we walked through the city and on to “the Dive Bus“, about 3.5 km from the ports.

While the walk was not particularly long, the heat and humidity made it quite arduous, and we stopped about halfway for a lemonade, and decided at that point that those of us who are not up for the walk would continue on in a taxi. #BestFifteenDollarsEverSpent

Soon we arrived at the dive bus, and Alex, Simon and Tatsy got sorted out for their dive, while Rick and I rented some snorkel gear to use at the little beach across the street.

I was amazed at the variety of fish in such a small reef! Gorgeous colors, and fish in all shapes and sizes.

Afterwards, we walked down the road a little and settled in for a few hours a nicer beach, in a rented cabana, where we enjoyed pizza and the ocean breeze. Unfortunately, like so many places, this establishment insisted on blasting and noisy pop music, so our beach sojourn was not as relaxing as it could have been. However, it was nice to lie down and have a little rest on such a hot day!

I had lugged my novel along intending to start it now, but decided to take a little nap instead.

Afterwards, we walked back to the Dive Bus to meet Tats and the boys, who were just returning from their dive!

P.S. So blogging takes longer than spotty wifi permits--so this was finally posted while waiting on the ground at UYZ for our gate!

On my arrival at the check-in desk in Toronto, the nice lady asked me where I was staying in Boston, to which I replied, “hmmm... I have no idea, I’m flying out with my partner, who is a first officer, and I don’t know the name of the hotel that’s been booked”.

And that’s were the trouble started.

“Is he a pilot with this airline?” The nice lady asked; “yes, she is”. (My gently corrective response.)

We debated back and forth whether — given that this was a company employee — the customer service rep might have access to the hotel info (my partner, probably engaged in her pre-flight briefing with the crew, was not responding to my texts).

Eventually the CSR summoned her colleague at the next kiosk and made the inquiry: “This lady is flying to Boston and her partner is a pilot on the flight; do we know which hotel the crew is staying at?”

The colleague wanted to ascertain everyone’s status: “He’s the captain on the flight, or the first officer?”

“She’s the FO” I calmly explained, and added a meek, “Sorry, she’s not responding to my texts right now.”

Long story short, we found a temporary solution until my female first officer partner finally texted me the details. But I was left with an annoyed sense of mistaken identity.

I couldn’t figure out whether it was gender stereotyping at play [Even people who know I’m gay do a double take when they find out Tats is a pilot — the first assumption when I say “my partner flies for (insert airline here)” is that she’s a flight attendant. Cause, you know, only men can be pilots apparently.] or heteronormativity (I’ve noticed that since I let my hair grow ever so slightly beyond my usual short fade/undercut, there is less of an assumption about my LGBTQ+ status... especially when I’m not decked out in plaid and/or Doc Martins!!)


It suddenly dawned on me that it actually didn’t matter whether gender bias or heteronormativity was the culprit — the use of the pronoun “they” would have solved either problem... AND would have signalled more generally a culture of inclusion on the part of the airline.

Here’s to the use of the pronoun “they”, and to the evolution of grammar in support of a more inclusive language!

Before we embarked on our recent road trip to Newfoundland, I had heard many wondrous things about the beauty of this land. I wondered, before we left, if I would fall in love with it the way I had with PEI years earlier.

As we disembarked from the ferry in Port-aux-Basques and made our way carefully through the early morning fog that rolled across the landscape (a remnant of an overnight thunderstorm), we caught periodic glimpses of the majestic hills that define this part of the island. The view was so visually overwhelming that I wept. And for once, my kids -- also in awe of the magnificent beauty surrounding us -- didn't ask me why I was crying!
​
As we continued to work our way north along the Viking Trail (the highway that traces the island's west coast), through Gros Morne National Park, past many brooks and streams, towards St Anthony, we enjoyed a visual feast each day. There were few appetizers and little dessert. The landscape offered up mostly main courses: One strong and powerful rock formation gave way to another, always another. Water gushed and trickled and danced its way down the mountains, across the rugged landscape and out to the sea. And the sea was big and omnipresent, always to one side of us, creeping in and out to form little inlets for fishing villages, but always eventually stretching out, out, out towards eternity. 

A soundtrack of Stan Rogers and other Canadian east coast artists served as an auditory complement for many hours of most days, as we took in without boredom the feast laid out before us.

In the people we met along the way -- whether through a local theatre performance, a band accompanying our supper one night, or the tour guides on the whale boat and at L'Anse aux Meadows -- we sensed a deep appreciation for, and love of, this landscape. They were connected with the water in ways that I would say most other Canadians, even those from other east coast provinces, aren't. Every brook is marked (and many accompanied by hiking trails), and the ocean plays a key role in the history of almost every family on the island for generations back. Their pride in this land is evident in the way they speak, the way they carry themselves. 

The Newfies we met were confident and funny, without being arrogant; they were just very sure of who they were, geographically and culturally speaking.  Where many Canadians waver in terms of what one might call a national identity, Newfoundlanders stand tall and certain. It was clear: We were in Newfoundland, but Newfoundland was not in us the way it was in them!

I enjoyed our time on the road tremendously.  As a Canadian, getting to know this part of my country a little felt like an important pilgrimage.  And I was very impressed with the landscape. 
But I did not fall in love.
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As we wound our way back to the Confederation Bridge, and Nova Scotia gave way to New Brunswick, and we eventually were able to glimpse the red soil on the other side of the strait, my breath caught a little.  This beautiful place I get to call home sometimes is not nearly as impressive in its majesty as its larger sibling to the east, but it is a pretty little island, and strong in its own right.

Abegweit, the cradle in the waves, with its red soil, blue skies, endless potato farms and arguably the best beaches in Canada, is my one true love, and -- much as I was pleased with our time in Newfoundland -- when we finally crossed the bridge and found ourselves on familiar ground, I was happy to be home. And, when I flew back to Toronto about a week and a half later, I was still hungry for a few final glimpses of the red isle... as we took off into the sunset, I couldn't stop snapping picture after picture of my one true love!

Where words and photos sometimes fail, music steps into the gap! This post is a tribute to my teachers who introduced me, over a K-12 education, to some of the music that brings the the majestic landscapes and rich cultures of this magnificent country to life. In particular, it is an appreciation for the music of Stan Rogers, and East Coast music generally.

I recently returned from a road trip to NFLD.  ​With two teenagers in tow, I set out in our rental car from St Peter's Harbour, PEI, to St Anthony, on the north-western tip of the other island, primarily in hopes of seeing the whales.

​The journey there and back entailed 6 days of driving (big country we live in!!), and endless hours of music and podcasts. (On the latter, the boys and I enjoyed several episodes of Hidden Brain; I highly recommend for some thought-provoking discussion when on the road with teenagers.)

After being forced to listen to "Africa" by Toto for the 17th time in one day, I decided it was time expand our repertoire a little, and introduced the boys to Stan Rogers. They'd heard Barrett's Privateers before, but it was their first time with some of his other well-known numbers, and Northwest Passage soon became a favourite musical score to the rugged landscape that served as a backdrop while we whizzed along the Viking Trail in our rental vehicle.

I remember my Grade 13 music teacher insisting that we listen to Stan Rogers; he informed us that as Canadians, this was an artist whose work we should know.

My 18-year-old self had never been east of Quebec, and I was not particularly impressed, especially since my musical tastes at the time centred more around 80s rock genre and bands like Rush and Van Halen. My 45-year-old self, however, driving along the west coast of Newfoundland with the ocean on one side and mountainous terrain on the other, was considerably more appreciative.

After several hours of Stan Rogers on repeat, I downloaded some additional east coast favourites, and the boys soon replaced Africa and Northwest Passage with The Islander, which we had to listen to at full volume and sing along to at the top of our lungs ("Come on, Mom, sing!") multiple times a day.

While in NFLD, we went for supper one night at a restaurant with a live band and mummers. "I'se the Bye" was played and danced to, and I was taken back to my elementary school days, where Mr. Mec did his best to instill some Canadiana into us lowlifes through his commitment to a robust music program each year.  We sang this drinking song and others, too, and I quickly downloaded it for the next leg of our journey.

On that same album was What Shall we do with a Drunken Sailor, which I recalled from my junior Kindergarten days, where Ms. Burnell (sp?) played it for us on her autoharp, and we sang along with vigour, a bunch of 3- and 4-year-olds, blissfully ignorant that this east coast favourite was perhaps not super appropriate in its vocabulary or concepts for such young, impressionable minds.  The rhythm was catchy, Ms. B's enthusiasm was infectious, and our singing was loud and passionate (and probably a little off-key)!

Thus was crafted the foundation for my later appreciation of east coast drinking songs like The Night Pat Murphy Died and the afore-mentioned Islander, among others.

​As we neared the end of our 6-day odyssey around a mere smidgeon of the east coast, and were on route back to PEI so that one of my kids could catch his plane from Charlottetown back to Toronto, we played a few of the original playlist favourites again... but not without periodic interspersals -- at my boys' insistence -- of their new favourites, too! 

I'll be forever grateful for the memories we made together on this trip, the three of us, and for the magnificent eastern Canadian landscapes that photos cannot really do justice, and which brought tears to my eyes on many occasions as we drove.  But most especially, I'm grateful for the music teachers I had, from Kindergarten to high school, who -- by their exposure of us to this music -- made this adventure so much more pleasurable for all three of us.
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Thank you, Ms. Burnell, Mr. Mec and Mr. Van Zuylen!

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.

One of the "perks" of my current job is that I get to travel, occasionally.  Nothing exotic, all provincial, but nevertheless, it's fun to interact with people in different contexts, and I also find that when spending time with my colleagues outside the office (e.g. at dinner near the hotel, etc.), I gain a better understanding of different pieces of the collective work we do. 

Plus, it's always great to be in the milieu of the various airports across the province, and see big planes up close!! 

That being said, there are times when the novelty wears off...

Work-Life Balance

A challenge when booking flights at the end of a day in the field is finding the balance of early enough to still get home to tuck the kids in (many of our locations are less than two hours away by plane) and late enough to allow for a sense of availability to the people we serve in the regions (i.e. not appearing to be desperately rushing to the airport to get out of there!)

On a recent trip to Sudbury, my colleagues and I took different approaches to this game:  Our "day" ended at 3:15, and the airport was a good half hour drive from the venue.  Nevertheless, some folks booked themselves onto the 4:05 p.m. Porter, thinking they would just compress lunch and leave the site early to get to the airport on time.

Others booked a 5:30 p.m. Air Canada, knowing that if they left the venue promptly at the end of our session, they would still make it to the airport in time to clear security before boarding started.  Still others booked the more conservative 6:40 p.m. Westjet, wanting to take into account possible driving delays due to the weather north of Toronto.

​What ensued felt a little like the amazing race, to see who could get home first... or at all, as it turned out!

Flexibility

As the day unfolded, we began to recognize the need to end a bit early, in order to accommodate participants who had driven in from North of Sudbury.  As flurries began falling outside, news of icy roads and accidents on the highways began to make people nervous.

In collaboration with our participants, we modified our lunch and break plans,  and ended the day in time to allow people who were driving to get a healthy head start.

Hitching a ride with some colleagues who were booked on the 4:05 p.m. Porter flight, I, too, fled to the airport. I was hoping to get into an earlier flight if possible, but failing that, I was prepared to do some work in the waiting area, as I had brought my laptop with me.

But as we stepped out of my colleague's rental car at the terminal, we suspected our journey home would not be as quick as we were hoping for: It was super icy and slippery, and also extremely windy!

Weather, Weather, Weather

As a private pilot, I know how significant a role weather can play on whether and when an aircraft can land or depart.

Sure enough, not long after checking in, the delays began to be announced.  First it was my Westjet, delayed from 6:40 to 7:20 p.m.  Frustrating, but understandable.  Next, the people I had been having an early supper with at the airport restaurant noted that their Air Canada flight, too, had been delayed, though not as much as the 4-o-clock Porter, which had not even landed yet (it was 4:45 at this point).

When we went downstairs so that my 5:30 friends could deal themselves into the security line game, we found out that both the Porter and the Air Canada had been circling overhead, waiting for the winds to calm down and for the runway to be cleared and sanded, so that they could land safely.

As my colleagues worked their way through security, I wandered over to the window to watch the proceedings.  The Air Canada landed, passengers disembarked, and the aircraft was fueled up and prepared for a quick turnaround.  A few grateful colleagues and other passengers scrambled aboard, and the plane soon departed. 

The 4-o-clock Porter, meanwhile, had turned back to Toronto! (We knew before the announcement was made, as another colleague was set to arrive on that flight, as she had some business in Sudbury the next day.) Apparently the winds had been too high to land safely, and the aircraft was returning to CYTZ for a crew change; they'd try Sudbury again later that night, around 9 p.m.  (It was now just after 6!)

Winning the Lottery

As my Porter colleagues came streaming out of the post-security waiting room to get dinner and settle in for a long evening, I reflected on how lucky I had been to be booked on the Westjet.  No sooner had that thought crossed my mind, however, when a  voice over the airport loudspeaker announced that the Westjet flight had been canceled.

Canceled!  Not further delayed, but completely C-A-N-C-E-L-E-D!!!

I wanted to cry!

Wandering over to the ticket counter, I ran into some other colleagues who had also been booked into that flight; they were just arriving at the airport, and thought I was joking when I greeted them with the news that their trip here had been in vain.

Another Night in Sudbury

The group of us got into the ticket counter line; a Westjet agent printed boarding passes for the 6 a.m. flight the next morning, and sent us on our way.

Back into a cab we climbed (this new group of colleagues were gracious enough to add me to their number), and back towards the hotel we had so recently left.

Happily, the hotel was able to accommodate us, and by a little after 8 p.m., we were tucked into our rooms for another night away from home.  I was pretty tired, so after logging into my work email to rearrange some morning meetings I'd no longer be able to attend in person, I crawled into bed, hoping for an early night (the alarm was set for 3:30 a.m., to make the 4 a.m. taxi back to the airport, and I wanted every second of sleep I could get!)

Alas, it seemed there was to be no rest for me: My room backed onto a church of some sort, and several large, deep bells rang loudly and distinctly every hour on the hour. 

When the church bells finally stopped at 10 p.m. (I guess the parish had determined that even the most devout ought to be granted a few hours of uninterrupted silence each night to sleep), I gratefully set out to get every minute of the approximately five hours that stood between me and the 3:30 a.m. wake-up call. 

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

As luck would have it, I appeared to be in a room next door to a particularly amorous couple, who were eagerly vocalizing their late night enjoyment of one another in the adjoining room.  Reticent to bang on the door and interrupt their Sudbury hotel tryst, I stuffed some earplugs into my ears, and attempted to block out the strange sounds next door.  They were VERY loud, though, even with earplugs in, and I was enormously grateful when the more noisy one of the two seemed to have been depleted somewhere around midnight, and I could finally sleep...

... for an hour and a half!!!

Shortly after 2 a.m., my insatiable roommates started up again!

This time I did bang on the door between the rooms, and they seemed to have gotten the hint, because after some giggling, things quieted down, and I was able to squeeze in another 45 minutes or so of sleep.

The Light in the Darkness

Too early the next morning, I joined my colleagues in the lobby -- it appeared they had all had far less eventful nights, having found their rooms to be in a quieter part of the hotel -- and we eagerly piled into yet another taxi for yet another drive to the airport!

It was pitch black out, even by the time we arrive at the terminal.  But out of the darkness there arose a bright light, and that light was our aircraft, prepared for departure.

Our fatigue not withstanding, we took comfort in the knowledge that we would soon be on our way home.

The Grass is Always Greener

After forcing myself to stay awake for a morning of meetings which I attended virtually when I arrived home, I cashed in some lieu time in the afternoon, and slept.  Without church bells or noisy "personal" sounds to interrupt me, I felt the luxury of a good chunk of sleep.

The following week, I shared my tale of woe with anyone who would listen and feel sorry for me; after all, even the delayed folks had gotten to go home the same night, albeit much later than anticipated.  And the others who had stayed had not been auditorily traumatized as had I!

But I soon met my match: A gal who had come off the twice delayed Porter aircraft that same night for an even the next day had ended up in the same hotel where I had stayed -- but she'd been assigned the wrong room by the not-so -helpful reception staff, and when she opened the door to her room upon arrival late that night, someone was already sleeping in the bed!!!

                                                             *          *          *
In the not-so-amazing race, it's not only time that counts, but also quality of delay.  Many points can be awarded for a wide variety of unique and exiting circumstances, keeping the work-travel game interesting and full of adventure, no matter when you may land or how mundane your travel destination may originally appear.

Flying commercially has presented a special thrill for as long as I can remember.

Everything from the view while boarding the aircraft, to the take off roll, to the spectacular cloud porn out the window at altitude gives me a feeling of excitement.

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!

Although Alex was less resistant than Simon about working on his journal daily while in Cuba, the gig was up when we got home.  The working copy of the journal was all I ever got out of him!

Thankfully, he did manage to capture quite a few details of the trip enroute, for example, his write up about La Habana, below...

There was also his commentary (albeit brief, i.e. "fine") about being unplugged:

(For the record, I do NOT "yell" at him "all the time" -- or ever, really -- to get off his device, lol!)

There was also his recount of the snorkeling adventure at Playa Coral...

His review of the resort was Trip Advisor worthy!

On the plane ride home, Alex summarized the trip nicely, but skipped the parts he decided he wouldn't be doing.  Oh well, at least he's an honest writer!