TUESDAY, August 2, 2016-
Jacque took me to Venador's House in Mexico. He is an American who lives in Mexico and has an enormous collection of art in his spacious house. I am going to post some pictures at some time, but for now...
WEDNESDAY, August 3, 2016 - 5:33 p.m. I am sitting in a Cuban square/park and have about 45 minutes left to use the internet here in the park. I had to buy a card to sit in the park and use internet.
The flight to Cuba was over as fast as I could drink a Diet Coke. Customs, also was a breeze, once the suitcase belt started moving.
Here are some of my first impressions of Cuba: Okay, it doesn't seem like I can get any more contact with the outside. My texts are coming back undeliverable.
I went to the park with Tony, my apparent landlord, a black, gay Cuban,bought a card for the internet and tried to log on to every available internet connection with no success.
But an old man sat next to me and talked to me in very infrequent English. He asked if Chicago had too many guns, the typical stereotype, Tens of boys and girls were playing in the park. One errant boy came up to me and made faces behind me for the camera. The old man shook his head.
I asked, "Donde es el restauranta?" Everyone sent me to a pizza kitchen (pick up only) a couple blocks away. I asked for the vegeterian pizza with black olives, onions, mushrooms, etc. and got a cheese pizza with green olives. I gulped it down with a beer. They put it on a flat piece of cardboard then fold it in half and get a plastica bag and cram it in there. I got back to the casa particular (room) where I'm staying, and since Tony told me not to go out at night, I am in for the night now at 7 p.m.
This is in a run-down African neighborhood with about 40% Hispanics. Everyone speaks Spanish, except me. I'm going to have to get out of here. This was supposed to be in "Central Havana." Maybe it is, but there's nothing I can do but wonder the streets where everyone sits idly in the doorways, nothing to do on a hot night.
Bike rickshaws peddle up and down the streets, guys drink whiskey in the streets. No one greets me, meets my glance, or smiles my way, This is unusual for me.
Jacque took me to Venador's House in Mexico. He is an American who lives in Mexico and has an enormous collection of art in his spacious house. I am going to post some pictures at some time, but for now...
WEDNESDAY, August 3, 2016 - 5:33 p.m. I am sitting in a Cuban square/park and have about 45 minutes left to use the internet here in the park. I had to buy a card to sit in the park and use internet.
The flight to Cuba was over as fast as I could drink a Diet Coke. Customs, also was a breeze, once the suitcase belt started moving.
Here are some of my first impressions of Cuba: Okay, it doesn't seem like I can get any more contact with the outside. My texts are coming back undeliverable.
I went to the park with Tony, my apparent landlord, a black, gay Cuban,bought a card for the internet and tried to log on to every available internet connection with no success.
But an old man sat next to me and talked to me in very infrequent English. He asked if Chicago had too many guns, the typical stereotype, Tens of boys and girls were playing in the park. One errant boy came up to me and made faces behind me for the camera. The old man shook his head.
I asked, "Donde es el restauranta?" Everyone sent me to a pizza kitchen (pick up only) a couple blocks away. I asked for the vegeterian pizza with black olives, onions, mushrooms, etc. and got a cheese pizza with green olives. I gulped it down with a beer. They put it on a flat piece of cardboard then fold it in half and get a plastica bag and cram it in there. I got back to the casa particular (room) where I'm staying, and since Tony told me not to go out at night, I am in for the night now at 7 p.m.
This is in a run-down African neighborhood with about 40% Hispanics. Everyone speaks Spanish, except me. I'm going to have to get out of here. This was supposed to be in "Central Havana." Maybe it is, but there's nothing I can do but wonder the streets where everyone sits idly in the doorways, nothing to do on a hot night.
Bike rickshaws peddle up and down the streets, guys drink whiskey in the streets. No one greets me, meets my glance, or smiles my way, This is unusual for me.
I'm glad I read your most recent post first. Sounds like you found a better location:). Glad you are safe!
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