Classes and Classics

I am technically studying abroad in Cuba, thanks to a Visa from Brown University. 

Classes at Casa are glorious, Politics, Culture, Cine, etc. But they are representations, demonstrations of what Cuba used to be, or is, or will be. They are as real as photos, though as useful as a hypothesis never tested. So I looked around, wandered a lot, and stumbled across some alternative classes... 

Boxing and Salsa, so classically Cuban.  

Miranda's personal boxing studio, and my little slice of heaven three times a week, two hours at a time,  we bear the heat, sweat buckets, box, and leave walking on cloud nine. 

My first opposition. 

Our dancing studio doubles as a theater in a primary school. It is slightly decomposing, though reverberates our salsa beat, one two three, perfectly. 

Catching up on September in Havana

The charm of Havana was its strangeness, the vividness of its sudden impression on me, the temporary freedom, grace, it offered. It was characteristic of freedom, too, that, in the end, it became slavery; while slavery had, at times, extraordinarily the appearance of freedom.

San Cristóbal de la Habana

Joseph Hergesheimer

1920

Veradero.
Testing out the life of a Cuban beach bum, similar to a Rapa Nui beach bum...
 just replace free diving with sunbathing, volcanic rock with white sand,
and civichi with rum. 

Flooding on Parado,  a daily occurrence,
 cut our literature class short, and cleared the streets
of all but the most dedicated.

"Pachi".
Record Jockey. Musical encyclopedia. Maker of Mojitos.
Gran Amigo. 

The double Birthday Party in our waterless pool, on the 12th floor of our house, accompanied by Nick's guitar and a well earned piñata.  

Malecon, couples, and co. 

From here, through there, to way over there...

Where to best to begin, but from home?

Missoula MT 

Westward bound in a Subaru captained by Kaya Juda-Nelson 

Idaho.. Lake Moses?

The Gorge, 

Washington, 

straight through 

Seattle,

Bellingham, 

To rest at Dear Dakota's, frequenting the Co-Op, and a glorious culinary tour, till time sent us backtracking.. 

Seattle, 

Tacoma International Airport,

Captain Kaya mans the Sub Solo, and I depart red-eyed on a jet plane 

Miami 

(aka Barbie-Land without city planners)

Havana, Cuba!

Si Cuba! Here the real adventure is marked not only by the official Visa (obtained through Brown University, not a Cuban husband), but also 90 miles of shark patrolled water and decades of ideological separation. 

Here are some footprints (primarily photo prints) to keep track of my path, Hansel and Gretel style.