Cuba

Craig Writes:

Friday 2 January 2015

Cubana Airlines, what a funny bunch they are. There seemed to be some confusion around which gate we were leaving from that even the Cubana staff seemed unable to clear up.  We were directed to three different gates on two different levels before - forty minutes behind schedule - we finally got asked to board.  The passengers sitting in the front half of the plane were called up first and directed to a bus.   The passengers sitting in the rear of the plane were then called up and put in a separate bus.  When we get to where the plane is parked on the tarmac the passengers sitting at the front of the plane are directed to the planes rear door and the passengers sitting at the back of the plane are directed through the planes front door.  Interesting.  It didn't take Einstein to figure that we were all going to meet in the middle. It was a monumental fuck up and a gleeful act of stupidity that fortunately most of us managed to have a laugh at.

We weren't quite sure what to expect from Cuban customs but we had landed in the right country so that was a good start.  Entry through Customs was actually quite painless, at least for us. Unfortunately it didn't go so well for one of our fellow passengers. Before we were all allowed off the plane three burly men wearing protective gloves and green camouflage jackets came on board and carted off a fella standing only a metre away from me. It was an odd experience to witness.  The man himself seemed oddly more embarrassed than fearful or intimidated. 

Once we were safely outside the terminal we were approached by a handsome young fella called Janny, he was to be our guide for our time in Cuba.   After a quick intro to our driver, the big burly and bald Renee, it was off to the Four Star Plaza Hotel in the centre of Havana. The hotel celebrated it's 105th Anniversary last year. They must have blown the renovation budget on the cake and party hats because they sure as hell haven't spent any money on this place in a very long time.  It is a dump.  No doubt it was a splendid place in its prime but unfortunately that was many many decades ago. Simple things could help, some washers in the taps, some plaster in the holes in the wall, and maybe some toilet paper would be handy.  

We had to improvise with the table napkins.

The silver lining though was that we were finally getting to meet up again with our very good friends Nora, Anastas and the very sweet Anna.  After dumping our bags we all met on the fifth floor at the alfresco bar that overlooked the city.  They had bought some of their Bulgarian friends with them, Milan, Geri and their son Nikki.  We drank Mojitos under the Cuban moon and caught up on each other's lives.  Two drinks in and Nora and Christina were starting to plan our next skiing holiday in Austria.

Saturday 3 January 2015

The plan today was for the others to follow us in their hire cars as we made our way out to the crocodile farm at Playa Giron.  It wasn't a stand out but it was an interesting enough place. There were twenty or so large crocs basking on the shore of an enclosure and for a couple of dollars a tourist could use a Huckleberry Finn fishing pole and feed them a piece of cow hide. 

You could hold one for a small tip.

Callum chose very wisely.

From here we headed to Cueva de Los Peces to play in a Cenote that was over seventy metres deep.  What it lacked in length and width it made up for with its incredible depth and an abundance of different coloured varieties of fish life.

We had lunch at the small restaurant overlooking the Cenote then grabbed our snorkel gear and dived straight in. It was warm and salty and fresh and exciting to look into the depths and see the colour spiral down to a deep dark bruised blue.

Drop your goggles here and they're gone forever.

We gobbled up the hour we were given and then said farewell as the others hopped in their cars and headed off towards Cienfuegos.  We would be catching up with them again soon in Trinidad.  For us though it was on to our accommodation at Playa Giron where we sat on the beach and watched the sun sink into The Bay of Pigs.

Sunday 4 January 

Well the gloss has started to come off our intrepid guide and driver.  Renee, our driver, has a fairly bad cold and hasn't grasped the concept that if you blow the snot out you don't have to keep snorting it up, swallowing it and recycling it with ever increasing frequency and volume.   As for Janny his youth is starting to show.  Outside of the time he picks us up and drops us off, he's not interested.  He won't even acknowledge us in the restaurants even though he's only a table or two away.  He decided to go to the local niteclub last night and it was showing this morning.  He looked like he had gone hard.  He has plenty to say when we ask a question but otherwise he offers nothing and just sits and chats to the driver in Spanish.  We were staying in an apartment that was up two flights of stairs today so instead of offering to help carry the four cases and four back packs they dropped us at the bottom, off loaded the luggage and just left, no offer to help. Not impressed

Before leaving Playa Giron we had a quick visit to the local Museum of the Peoples Triumph.  It was nothing too grand but what it did have going for it was this was the province where it all happened. It was displaying the relics and trophies of the States glorious victory over the imperialist Americans who backed the 1500 Cuban exiles during the Bay of Pigs fiasco. There were plenty of examples of captured weapons, pictures of dead citizens and portraits of dead soldiers who gave their lives for the protection of the Revolution, complete with blood stained uniforms with bullet holes.   

Here's an interesting Cuban fact.  If you kill a Cuban citizen here you can get fifteen years jail, if you kill a cow you can get thirty years. The reason being is that beef is a rare commodity and every cow is sacred.  Not for religious reasons but economic. You can only buy cows from the State and for a significant amount.  You can breed them for milk, cheese etc but any new calf must be registered by the State and branded with a number.  You can sell your cow back to the State but if you do it means your probably desperate because they will only pay a fraction of what you paid for it.  Any deceased cow must be autopsied and you had better hope it comes up as natural causes...or else.

From here we were off for a quick tour of Cienfuegos. There were some interesting buildings, the local theatre where Enrico Caruso once sang and the towns first two story building, a delightful French inspired number in powder blue. One hour was plenty of time.  It was time to go eat before carrying on to our hotel, Club Amigo Costa Sur Playa Larga, a small beachside resort a few miles outside of Trinidad. 

The building where we had lunch was a former palace built by a Spanish General in 1912 and left vacant for decades after his sudden death until it was bought by Cubas pre-revolutionary leader, Batista .  There is now a great little restaurant on the ground floor after which you can make your way to the on the top deck to enjoy the breeze of Jagua Bay and the incredible views.

Very nice if you like that sort of thing.

Club Amigo seems like The Ritz Carlton after the last two places. We're really not that hard to please, a clean room, firm bed, running water and toilet paper in every bathroom keeps us happy. The bonus here was that the food is goodish and the barman knows how to make a decent Mojita, and, like Playa Giron, it is an all inclusive resort.  A bit like Club Med where all the food and drinks are included but in a post revolutionary kind of way.  The next three days should be good.

Monday 5 January

Renee, our snot gobbling phlem - bott of a driver, has successfully managed to impart some of his Cuban bugs to Christina and she is feeling a little under par.  We have decided to forego our tour of a large paddock where some old sugar mills used to stand and stay at the resort for some sun and relaxation and more importantly some time away from El Snotty. 

I had the beach to myself this morning.  I set the alarm and was on the shore at 6.30am for some much needed yoga and a quiet swim, it was delicious.  

After breakfast we all grabbed our towels and wandered down to claim a spot and enjoyed those warm Caribbean waters under a clear azure blue sky.  

One of the activity coordinators from the hotel started was roaming the beach trying to arrange a beach volley ball match.  He finally managed to wrangle up two teams, The Rest of The World - Australia, Brazil and Cuba against three Canadians.  It was never going to be pretty, in fact it would be fair to say we absolutely flogged them. 

Setting up for a perfect spike.

Basking in the glory of our victory I retired to a beach chair with Christina to enjoy a couple of celebratory Mojitas as we contemplated lunch.

The food is nothing special but it filled the gap and fuelled us for a table tennis tournament after lunch.  

Our postcard moment.

Nora, Anastas, Anna and their friends, Milan, Geri and their son Nikki have arrived just in time to come play in the 4pm water polo tournament. Should be lots of fun and an opportunity to burn of some alcohol calories. 

Little did we know that water polo could so quickly turn into water smackdown. It was ninety minutes of water churning body slamming fun.  The numbers on each team changed as team members left the pool injured or in search of another Mojita. One thing was for sure, no one left that pool unscathed be it a bruise a scratch or something that was possibly a bite. It was a lot of fun. 

This tranquil setting was the scene of our water polo smackdown.  

After dinner we all retired back to the pool area to watch the hotels little cabaret show and enjoy a couple of Nora's Cuban Montechristos.  The energetic young brunette dancing with the skinny guy wearing the tight lime green jumpsuit was the standout.  It was unbelievable, he wasn't wearing any undies and his penis was jumping around like a possessed garden hose.  You just couldn't take your eyes off it.  His hair could have gone up like a flaming bush and I swear no one would have noticed.  Still, he seemed to be enjoying himself and we all appreciated his athletic display.

The crew at dinner, minus Charlie and Anna.

Nora was not happy when I volunteered her for the singing competition  and I think she came seriously close to putting her cigars back in the box.  But she didn't.  She actually did very well, she didn't win but she came a very close second.  All in all it was a very entertaining night.   

Thanks for sharing Nora.

Tuesday 6 January 

Today we drove to the waterfall at Parque El Cubano. It's up in the Sierra Escabray mountains which overlooked the stretch of the Caribbean Sea that is Casa Amigos 'swimming pool'.  It was a short pretty 1.5 km walk through the jungle on a cool overcast day.  Nora, Anastas and Anna were with us, we chatted and stopped here and there to take photos, we saw a hummingbird, then we turned the corner and came across it.

A tall cliff face covered from top to bottom in what looked like old flour bags, there were hundreds of them. But they weren't flour bags, it was a gargantuan colony of wasps.  Callum was about to charge forward to take photos before Janny grabbed him by the arm.  They are apparently extremely sensitive to noise and have been known to attack if disturbed. They are there in such significant numbers that once they have stung their prey to death, a most terrifying and painful way to die, they pick up the bloated dead and carry them back to their nest where they lay the eggs of the next generation inside them. 

We were encouraged to take photos but warned to not speak too loudly or move too quickly.  It was a horror story just waiting to happen.  We clicked quietly and left quickly.

When we arrived at the waterfall it was bags down, gear off, avoid the two metre long black snake with the white dots that slide just past Charlie - apparently it's not venomous- and then jump over the side of the cliff into the pool below.  We warmed up with a small jump of only a few metes to gird our loins for the higher jump to come.  I continue to be amazed at the courage of my two boys when it comes to jumping off high things. Callum was keen to jump from the very top, easily fifteen metres, but I had to veto that as I probably would have had to jump with him. 

The water was deep and dark and refreshingly cool.  There was an enormous cave behind the waterfall that was eerie and slick with moss and algae and very likely the home of trolls and things of the night. I'm sure there was lurking going on in the shadows and the deeper darker recesses. I for one was glad to swim under the waterfall and back into the light.

We swam and jumped and swam some more before heading back to the cars under the cover of a light misty sprinkling.

Back at Casa Amigo we worked off lunch with a vigorous ping pong tournament.  Charlie and Callum are both naturals and I am inclined to think we may need to invest in said table when we return.  After exhausting ourselves in the table tennis arena it was time to rest up at the beach before the afternoons beach volleyball rematch. Knowing the importance of hydrating before rigorous activity I headed to the beach bar for a few extra Mojitas.  My team lost but I put that down to insufficient hydrating.

     

After dinner we had time for cigars, more Mojitas and a couple of games of pool before heading off to Trinidad for our nightime tour. The big bonus here is that Callum is babysitting Charlie, Anna and Niki and all the adults are getting taxied in in our van.  Yippee.

Trinidad is the third of the original seven villages established in Cuba and dates back to 1514.  It's really quite charming and we'd love to come back at another time and wander some of the many galleries and shops, but tonight is not about that.  Tonight is about music, salsa and drinking.  Our first stop was the Canahanchara Club, famous for the Canahanchara drink, honey, lemon, ice, water and rum, apparently it's a medicinal drink, good for the throat. It sure felt good going down.  

We drank, we salsaed, we watched some of the locals shake their thing and then we moved on to  Casa De La Musica - or La Escalinta, the staircase.  This place was packed and the band here was bigger and brassier than other bands we had seen.  We climbed the stairs and found a spot to stand where we drank some more and swayed some more.  Unfortunately we had had to impose a curfew on ourselves of 12 o'clock, to be fair to the kids, and this came around way to quickly.  Janny had spoken of a famous club called the Cave, or disco Ayala -a nightclub built inside a huge cave - that we would all have loved to have gone and explored but it didn't open until 11pm and that just wasn't going to work.  Maybe next time but for now we banked this short memory and headed back. 

     

Wednesday 7 January

It is with a sad heart that we say goodbye to our dear friends Anastas, Nora and Anna and the newest additions to our Bulgarian family, Milan, Geri and Niki.  Our eleventh hour bid to extend our stay one more night was not successful so, after abundant hugs kisses and plans to catch up again, we piled into the van and headed towards the mausoleum and museum of the legendary revolutionary Che Guevara.  We stopped on the outskirts of Santa Clara to have a look at some of the actual train carriages that the Batista government was sending to reinforce their troops at Santa Clara.

These carriages held the weapons and supplies that helped Castro win the revolution.

Unbeknownst to them the force under Che Guevara's control had derailed the line and was in waiting to capture their weapons and supplies.  It was the turning point in the revolution and another notch in the Che legend.

From here it was a short walk around the Santa Clara main square before lunch and then onto the mausoleum.  It was interesting to see some actual belongings of the man, his .45 colt, his binoculars, his watch, his pen etc and finally, his last resting place inside the mausoleum.  He's obviously attained mythical status since his death and I don't have his T shirt but at least I can now say I've seen his grave  and understand a little more of the man who went from saving lives as a doctor to taking lives for the revolution. 

The massive monument that stands over Che's mausoleum.

From here it was a three hour ride back into Havana and a chance to rest up for our walking tour of the city tomorrow, but, not before finding the best little Cuban pizza restaurant in Havana for dinner.  Two cocktails, four pizzas and two deserts for less than fourty Aussie dollars.

Thursday 8 January

Everyone was very happy with the ten o'clock start to our walking tour this morning.  Our expectations were not high but as it turned out we were very impressed with Havana. It did have a lot to do with having a guide who knew where we were going and what we were looking at. Janny has redeemed himself a little since our night in Trinidad.  

It is a very easy city to get around.  The roads are a simple grid system so it would be hard to get lost. We walked the four main squares of the town stopping at our leisure, first for some roadside Churros and then at a small chocolate factory for the best hot chocolate this side of Ecuador.  

I would gladly drown in  a vat of this.

It was thick as molasses, had hints of cinnamon and vanilla and came with thin wheat biscuits.  When you dipped them in the liquid chocolate it stuck like honey to a hive.  It was unbelievably delicious.

Obispo st is the main artery that cuts through this part of the city and at the very end of the street is La Floridita.  It is famous as one of Hemingway's favourite bars in Havana and is only a few hundred metres down the street from Ambos Mundos, the hotel where he stayed on and off  from 1928 to 1938 . 

They say Hemingway still haunts his favorite corner of the bar.

It was in this hotel, in room 511, that he wrote parts off To Have and To Have Not, Death in the Afternoon and Green Hills of Africa.  His original typewriter and his adjustable desk - he liked to write standing up - are both there as are some of his beloved fishing rods.  While not the grandest room in the hotel it had the best view of the city.  

How much more brilliance could he have produced if only he'd had an I Pad.

A couple of streets over is the famous La Bodeguita Del Medio, a small crowded bar with a five piece band crammed in one corner and tourists spilling out into the street.   The original owner used to give credit to all the writers and artists in return for them decorating his walls with messages and drawings.  Today there is hardly a spare centimetre of wall space left. Hemingway was very happy with the trading terms here and quickly became a regular.  His ode to how good the Mojitas and Daiquiris are here is immortalized in a framed piece of the wall that hangs above the bar.

Friday 9 January

Our final day in Havana and what better way to end it than a tour around the city in a 1952 convertible Buick and 1956 convertible Chevrolet. We toured the Maleca sea wall, an eight kilometre long stretch that comes alive at night with a gathering of locals and tourists who come to sit on the sea wall and eat, drink, listen to live bands and off course to dance. 

We visited Revolution Square, a large bitumen area surrounded by important government buildings, a monument to their national hero, Manuel de Cespedes, who lead the first Cuban independence movement against the Spanish, and the scene where a crowd of two million gathered in 2010 to listen to a concert for peace. 

So much fun, until you sitting behind a chugging bus or a truck.

From here we went to 'the lungs of Havana,' Isla Josefina, a vast expanse of jungle that delivers a refreshing pause of clean air after the often choking fumes of driving in an open car behind buses and sixty year old spluttering American classics.  We quickly realised as we left our cars for a walk down by the river that where we had been let out was not the picturesque picnic area Janny spoke off where the locals gather on weekends but at the spot where the local African Cubans come to practice their religious rituals.  We looked on in amazement as two fellas wearing white shirts and golden Christmas tinsel around their necks, slit the throats of three chickens and set them adrift in the swirling eddies of the river. 

Recently deceased chickens, very recent.

It wasn't till we turned to head back that we realised we were in the middle of some sort of graveyard for sacrificed animals.  There were fly infested carcasses, broken bottles and plates and rotting fruit and coconuts everywhere.  Apparently the locals imbued the objects and the animals with their bad thoughts and bad luck and placed them there in an attempt to cleanse themselves.  Janny made a point of saying not to touch anything lest the bad intentions and fortunes be transferred to us.  I was glad to be wearing my New Orleans Voodoo bracelet.

As we walked back towards the cars we saw several large Turkey Vultures ripping apart the bodies of the sacrificial beasts that the flies and maggots had not quite finished with.    

The Hotel Nationale is the most famous hotel in Havana and has a who's who picture gallery of both the infamous and the famous who have stayed there over the years. Presidents, Prime Ministers, actors, boxers, gangsters and musicians from Putin to Ali from Speilberg to Arnie from Myer Lansky and Lucky Luciano to Fred Astaire and Rocky Marciano. It was fun and so nice to be out of the fog of fumes for a little bit.  The tour was two hours well spent and I think we can now leave Havana saying we have seen most of what it has to offer...except for one piece of unfinished business.

You cant leave Cuba without a box of cigars...you just cant.  Janny said he had a supplier he would take us to but it ended up just being the local state retailer who wanted to hit us for $210 CUC for twenty five No.2 Montecristos. We knew Nora and Anastas had paid $80 CUC for theirs.  We passed on Janny's supplier and after several texts made contact with Noras supplier, Daniel. Daniel's supplier was obviously not through the regular channels because from here things went a little clandestine.  

A rendezvous was arranged, payment was agreed and we were instructed to wait in our hotel room for his call at two o'clock the next day.  Two came and went, 2.30 then three o'clock.  Had something happened to spook him, had he been detained, was the risk just too great?

Three thirty came and we were starting to think something had gone wrong.  

Then the phone rang. 

Christina and I exchanged a furtive glance and I picked up the receiver. It was Daniel, he was in the lobby and he had the goods. We exchanged brief descriptions, he was tall, wearing a blue shirt and carrying a backpack.  I was tall, wearing a fedora with a blue band and an Aztec shirt.  I was also told to bring a backpack.  

We recognised each other across the lobby and exchanged discreet nods.  We briefly shook hands he suggested I follow him, ' there are too many cameras in this hotel' he said.

We walked out into the busy street and I followed him down a side street, through a crowded park and finally to a small hotel where we we took the end table facing the pavement. We made polite conversation, had a beer and somewhere in between a package wrapped in a white plastic bag made it's way from his backpack into mine.  The transaction was so smooth I hardly noticed it myself. A small, almost imperceptible nod passed between us and I slipped him a small wad of notes.  He didn't bother to count it. 

We chatted for a few minutes more, he was looking around taking in the crowd who was coming and going.  He seemed particularly interested in two long haired guys in their fifties who had sat at the table next to us. He had seemed ready to go but he settled back into his seat and we chatted some more, the weather, Cuba, the local food. Then as casually as the conversation had started, it was over.  We rose, I paid for the beers and we left. He made a casual glance over his shoulder towards the two ponytails who still sat at the table next to us, we shook hands and he turned and left.   The deal had been done.

Tonight our thoughts turn to packing and the continuation of our journey to Belize. We walked the cobblestoned street of Obispo once more, found a restaurant for dinner and bought a Havana ashtray to go with our cigars. There was a brief mention of walking down to the foreshore and watching the locals do their thing but we wisely opted to stay in.  Wisely, because at 10 o'clock the heavens opened up and a downpour of torrential proportions bucketed down and continued to do so till well into the early hours of the morning. 

Cuba has been a very pleasant surprise. While you can always pick holes, the food isn't great, the lack of loo paper, no internet - actually not a bad thing -, no hot water in the showers, things broken and in need of repair, ATM's with no money etc, there's some interesting back stories to the place if you ask the right questions and dig a little.  

The music is contagious, you just can't not move your hips, even a little.   The booze is cheap, so is the food, the people for the most part are very friendly and the beaches are lovely. Havana, the old part of the city, and Trinidad were the standouts for us. Seeing Hemingways haunts and his hotel room complete with typewriter and fishing rods was exciting for me. I would definitely have to say Viva La Cuba.

Akumal, Mexico

Craig Writes;

Tuesday 30 December

Today was just one of those days where you grind out the miles and just get to where you're going. We left New Orleans and flew to Houston for a two hour layover before hopping on a flight to Cancun.  We had prearranged transport so once we were out of the airport it was into our mini-van for the one hour trip to Akumal.  Check-in was easy - everyone seems so friendly here - we dumped our bags in the tiny room and went straight down to the beach for some of that restorative energy that only the ocean can provide.  

Lol Ha in daylight hours.

We walked the shoreline for a short distance but the sun had set and apart from the well lit restaurants on the beach and the star spangled sky above there wasn't a lot to see.   The twinkling lights and salsa tunes of Lol Ha lured us in and we grabbed a table for four under the large thatched alfresco area.

There was laughter from the happy hour crowd, waves lapping lazily on the white sand, salsa beats supplying the groove and the smell of delicious food teasing us from nearby tables.  There was a collective sigh as our bodies dropped into their chairs.  It was as if with one united breath we exhaled the last of the mountain chill and the niggling snotty noses and welcomed the Caribbean heat into our bodies.  Christina and I made it official with the first of many margaritas and mojitas.

Mojitas and margaritas.

Dinner was always going to be easy, we went straight for the standards, guacamole, quesadilla and a tasting plate of different Mexican morsels.

Wednesday 31 December

Christina and I awoke early this morning to walk along the deserted beach and catch our first Caribbean sunrise.  

Sunrise over the Caribbean.

This is a beautiful place.  Imagine the tropical beauty of Bali without the humidity, the fug and the funky smells of the open street sewers, the toot toot and the beep beep of countless taxis and tin pot motorbikes.  This is paradise found where the sun tends to kiss rather than bite and hawkers aren't popping out from behind every bush trying to sell you a T-shirt or a sarong.

After a light breakfast of fruit, toast and coffee we took to the lounge chairs of the pool.  The boys splashed around and made underwater movies and we watched the pods of tourists bob around enjoying their organised snorkel in the warm water of the bay.  A light breeze is softly blowing across the water forming the tiniest of whitecaps, the palm trees are swaying and the air is sweet and clear. Life is bliss!

The view from our pool chairs.

Grumbling bellies eventually prised us from our deck chairs and we headed to the Turtle Bakery for lunch.  Callums spicy shrimp burrito smelt amazing and Christina's fish and black bean tortilla left me feeling wilted. I chose badly and went with the Mexican lamb burger. I'm not sure what Charlie had but it would have had grilled cheese and some sort of meat on it.

Food, food, food!!!

and behold, there was food.

There were more hours by the pool reading and watching coconuts fall at our feet from the nearby trees.  

As the afternoon wore on we decided we best go see what all the schools of snorkelers were staring at and swam out to investigate.  One Japanese guy was going crazy yelling,'fish fish' to his pod of nearby snorkers.  I'm not sure what he was so excited about, maybe it was the first fish he'd seen in a while that wasn't on a small bed of rice.

The water is pleasantly warm, not oily or polluted just sun baked and very pleasant to swim in. The  bottom of the ocean floor is odd though, it looks like a giant mini golf course.  No sand or rocks or coral, just this pervasive light green carpet of what feels like moss.  There really was nothing to see.  I can only assume that these groups of intrepid snorkeli that bob around in their hi-viz buoyancy vests are in search of the turtles that are supposed to frequent this area.  We didn't see any but at the risk of name dropping, after our experience of swimming with the giant sea turtles at the Galapagos we didn't feel compelled to look too hard.

New Years Eve is fast approaching but for us there is little chance of laying on a big one. We are off to the Cenotes early tomorrow so the most damage will be a few margaritas at Lol Ha.  Must go, don't want to miss happy hour.

Three hours later.  Yum, mango margaritas, crayfish and rice, chilli chocolate and rum and raisin icecream, what a great way to say goodbye 2014 and hello 2015.

Mango margaritas.

Thursday 1 January 2015

If there were throngs of revellers bringing in the New Year last night they must have kept the volume very low. Not that that is a surprise.  The clientele here are definitely more Brady bunch than frat pack. It suited us because we wanted to be up early and get to the Cenotes before the crowds did.

After an early breakfast we walked down to the highway and caught the first Colectivo, one of hundreds of small white vans that cruise the highways as a taxi service picking up locals and tourists and depositing them wherever they need to be.

Our destination was the Ecopark Kantun-Chi Cenotes, a system of five large sinkholes that are formed when the limestone bedrock collapses and exposes the groundwater underneath.  The water is crystal clear and although fresh it has a slight alkaline taste to it due to the layers of limestone it has leached through. We chose the package that gave us the five Cenotes plus the underground river tour.

We started with the river tour and for fourty minutes we swam on our bellies through the narrow passages, our life jackets dragging along the bottom and our heads continually testing the helmets we had been given.  At other times we would stoop low through caves being careful not to touch the ancient stalagmites and stalactites that dominated the cavern. Our first Cenote was where the river pooled into a small quarry of water so clear it could just as well have been a pool of shimmering light we were wadding into.

Our first cenote. 

Not much of a fashion statement but those helmets were gold.

Once we had surfaced from the river our guide took us down a series of small pathways through the dense Riviera Maya jungle to find the remaining Cenotes.  To make our way to number three Cenote we sat on a small homemade wooden buggy and were pulled along narrow train tracks by an old donkey.  The bones of his skinny rump were protruding through his thin hide, his head was lowered and his lazy hoofs clopped along in a hollow rhythm as he pulled us all slowly forward. I felt sorry for the poor bugger, I wanted to get out and give him a push.

Just trying to put a bright spark in the donkeys dull day.

The standout Cenote was the last one, number five.  After the tour you were free to return to the other Cenotes and remain there as long as you wanted but you could only visit number five with a guide. It was an open air Cenote while the others were all subterranean. Needing the guide probably had something to do with the ledges.  Yes, there were ledges to jump off.

We all made the first one - even Christina, with a little bit of coaxing- which was only about four metres high.  There was lots of yelping and whoo whoing and splashing.  It was a lot of fun.

Look closely and you'll see Christina about to take the big leap.

The next jump was more challenging, it was closer to eight metres and required you to jump through some bushes before you sailed over the side of the cliff.  This one was just high enough to make the bottom of your feet tingle and your heart  jump a little in your chest. Callum, Charlie and me all yelled our way to the bottom of that one. It was a great way to spend New Year's Day.

The big leap.

Cenote number three, stunning.

Unfortunately our hope of ending our stay with one more lovely meal in our regular restaurant, Lol Ha, didn't quite eventuate.  It would seem that the restaurant gave their A, B and C teams New Years Day off because the service and the food went from noteworthy and delicious to Fawlty Towers and roadside truck stop. I don't normally complain but here I made an exception.  Food aside, it was good start to the year.  Tomorrow we're packing up and heading off to Cuba.

New Orleans, Louisianna

Craig Writes;

Sunday 28 December

We sat on the tarmac for what seemed like an eternity waiting for other passengers arriving on a connecting flight.  With the delay and the one hour time difference it was just after midnight by the time we landed in New Orleans.  After the arid freezing temperatures of the Rocky Mountains the atmosphere here seemed almost tropical.  It was foggy, humid and a threat of rain hung in the air.  Thankfully our demur Indian taxi driver drove like she was Daniel Riccardo after one too many Red Bulls.  Before we knew it we found ourselves pulling up at the Maison on St Charles.  We checked in and were all tucked up in bed by 1am.  We decided to sleep without an alarm and chance the 10am breakfast cutoff.

History lesson. It was the French who first claimed Louisiana in 1690.  The French Quarter was born in 1718 when they founded the city of New Orleans as a means of controlling the traffic on the strategically important Mississippi River.  The streets were all branded with the names of French Royalty, aristocrats and Catholic saints so Bourbon st is not named after a barrel of Kentucky's finest but after the ruling House of Bourbon. Disappointing to hear I know.

In one of the deals of the millennium the Americans bought the entire State of Louisiana off the French in 1803 for the equivalent in today's money of .43 cents per acre.  It was called The Louisiana Purchase and will go down in history, along with the purchase of the Island of Manhattan, as one of the greatest real estate deals in history.

We're only here for a couple of days so we have booked the standard guided city tour for tomorrow.  Today though we caught the tram down to the French Quarter to do some exploring of our own.  First stop, Bourbon Street of course.

It's apparently not the Bourbon street of old, the brothels, the burlesque shows, the striptease clubs and the seedy bars are still there but they are a lot less prominent. Although I don't think you have to scratch to far below the surface to find it, particularly if you decide to do your scratching after the witching hour.

You can feel it just simmering, waiting for the sun to set.

During daylight hours you can see it is still a melting pot of bums and bar flies, jazz buskers and tap dancers, cafes, pubs and bars, voodoo shops and art galleries.  It has a vibe about it, no doubt and that vibe changes the moment you turn off Bourbon st, the sleaze factor seems to fade like a fart in a breeze.

Who wouldn't want a huge ass?

We turned into St Anne's st and headed towards Cafe Du Monde. We were hungry for their famous beignets and coffee. The cafe is an institution and has been around forever. Christina knew of it but the first I had come to hear of it was in that great little movie of 2013, Chef. Unfortunately we weren't the only ones to have seen that movie.  The line was a hundred metres long, and that was just for the takeaways. 

Some expensive fried dough here.

Screw that, I offered a waitress a $20 bribe to bring us two serves of Beignets and a couple of coffees. She jumped at it, I should have started at $10. Total cost for six doughnuts and two coffees, $31. But hey, we were sitting in Jackson Park licking the icing sugar of our fingers while others were still shuffling on the spot to keep warm against the cold wind blowing off the Mississippi. Totally worth it.

Who would have thought a lump of fried dough could taste so damn good.

We took a short walk along the boardwalk before turning back into the French Markets where we found a corner cafe with an old time jazz quartet and a sidewalk of people to watch. We went totally local and ordered shrimp and oyster Po Boys, Gumbo and Muffaletta. Delicious.

We walked back along Royal st to a much different vibe than Bourbon st.  Art galleries, busking magicians and guitarists, antique shops, stately hotels and restaurants line both sides of the street.  There are sections that are cordoned off just for pedestrians and this is where you'll find the buskers and the magicians. 

These guys were incredible.

The day turned brisk as the wind picked up so we were glad to climb aboard the next tram and head back to Maison on Charles.

Monday 29 December

It appears that the avenue our apartment is on, Saint Charles, is one of the major avenues that the famous, New Orleans Mardi Gras travels down. You can plainly see the remnants of past Mardi Gras's on trees and the power lines that are strewn with countless strings of shiny beads and colourful baubles.

A Mardi Gras tree.

That was just one of the many illuminating facts that our tour guide, Jarrad, bought to our attention on our two hour ride through New Orleans.

We saw the point where the levee broke in 2005 when Hurricane Katrina smashed through with winds of 200klm/hr. She killed over 1800 people and caused over US108 billion in damage. When the levees broke it didn't come through as a trickle, it was a terrifying tsunami of destruction that none could have predicted.  Those poor souls that stayed to protect their homes were washed away like twigs.

The point where it came pouring in..

We saw the area where jazz was born and heard the story of how a fusion of European classical horns and pulsating African drums gave birth to the syncopated rhythms of early Ragtime.  The negroes would gather after church on Sundays and celebrate life the best way they knew how, by making music and dancing.  It didn't take long before ragtime led to blues and blues led to jazz and by the early 1900's jazz and the blues had become an indomitable part of the soul of New Orleans.

Probably the most interesting stop we had was at the St. Louis Cemetery.  Because the city is a couple of metres below sea level, people are not buried in the ground but in crypts. Now land is scarce and people just keep dying so they have a very interesting way off cramming maximum numbers in. The dead are semi-embalmed, just enough to get them through the burial, then are placed in a wooden coffin inside the crypt which acts like a hot house. One year and one day after the burial the remains are removed from the box, placed in a bag and then beaten to dust by a man with a big mallet. The remains are then put back into the crypt and using a ten foot pole they are pushed to the back and down a shaft at the rear and bingo, the crypt is ready for the next member of the family. Apparently they can accommodate up to five hundred guests in the one crypt.

New Orleans creepy crypts.

We had a drive through the Garden District and stopped to have a peek at author Anne Rices house before being dropped back in at The French Quarter.  We were very keen to see the Katrina exhibition but wouldn't you know it, they're closed on Mondays.  We decided on a walk through the flea market and then doubled back down Royal st listening to the busking jazz bands and the touting magicians before catching the tram back for lunch at The Voodoo BBQ. 

The Voodoo BBQ

Christina and I ate there last night and liked it that much we thought we better take the boys. Gumbo, jumbalia, slow cooked brisket and pulled pork, fried shrimp and oyster Po-Boys, Muffalettas and of course bags of sugar dusted, deep fried beignets, we have tried them all.

Just a small sample of the simple but tasty offerings of The Voodoo BBQ.

The Garden District is very close to our apartment so Christina and I put on our runners and decided to walk off lunch by going for a stroll and having a look at some of the beautiful houses.  We thought we'd try and find Sandra Bullocks house, which we did, and also happen to stumble across the house where Brad Pitt lived in that Benjamin Button movie.

Well it's time to pack again.  Tomorrow we head to sunny old Mexico via Houston, arribba.

Steamboat Springs, Colorado

Craig Writes;

Monday 22 December

The plan was to leave Denver at 9am, get to Golden to pick up our snow gear at 10am, have lunch at Silverthorne at 12pm and arrive at Steamboat around 3pm. Well that didn't quite work out.  Posh, our aristocratically voiced English GPS, got us lost and cost us an hour before we got anywhere then a snow storm came in and literally pulled all the traffic going in our direction to a halt.

This was not a pleasant driving experience.

It took three hours to go the 70km from Golden to Silverthorne. Tired, tense and very hungry we pulled into the first place we could find, a Wendy's burger joint. We ordered four Glob burgers and a side of congealed fries and hit the road.

Finally, around 5.30pm, under the cover of darkness and a lightly falling blanket of snow we rolled into The Steamboat Grand.  It's a massive complex of apartments and hotel rooms that back right onto the ski fields. The fields were lit up for the hardcore nighttime skiers, the ones who just didn't know when to stop. The runs looked impressive, long, wide and a lot of them. We've got our ski gear, we've got our skis and boots and tomorrow we hit the slopes.

Tuesday 23 December

I always feel that a little bit of history makes for a more interesting read.

A trapper called John Crawford first came to Steamboat Springs back in 1874, he liked it that much that he settled in with the local Ute Indians and decided to stay.  It didn't take long before it was decided there wasn't enough room for both of them so the US Army came through in 1879 and just drove the Utes off to a reservation. 

Steamboat Springs got it's name when these 'first settlers' heard what they thought was a steamboat making it's way up the river.  The familiar chug chug sound they heard was in fact the local hot springs doing it's thing.  The first impression stuck though and the place was from that point on known as Steamboat Springs.

It didn't take long before 'civilised man' got around to doing what he does best, cutting things down and digging things up. They started to cut down the local forests of Evergreens and Aspens so that meant they needed a timber mill.  Soon after the timber mill there was a railroad and then after that, just for good measure they started digging the ground up for copper and other minerals and hey presto, now you have some mining. 

Then in 1913 a Norwegian called Carl Howlesson happened to be passing through and was so enthralled with the quality of the snow and the hum of this burgeoning little town he decided to stay.  He shared his knowledge and passion of skiing with the locals, eventually introducing the sport of ski jumping.  Soon there were skiing competitions, skiing clubs and the word began to spread. The rest as they say, is history.

We're staying in a one bedroom condo at the beautiful Steamboat Grand. We have the private room and the boys are sleeping in the massive living area on two large single day beds.  Our lounge windows overlook the pool area and a gentle slope of snow covered hillocks.

Best of all we are literally a one hundred metre walk to Gondola Square where all the shops, bars and ski equipment places are. The ski lifts are just another fifty metres on.

It's a chilly minus 8 degrees C today, we're well fed, well rugged up and ready to met our ski instructor Kayla and hit the slopes. 

Bring it on.

With the lessons of our Austrian instructor, Margoose, still fresh in our minds from earlier this year we bypassed the basics and went straight onto a chair lift up to a very wide very forgiving green run. We went through some brief basics, how to snow plough, i.e how to stop, how to turn, how to get up when you fall down - very useful that one - then it was up and down the half way point of Christies Peak to show Kayla we had some idea of what we were doing.  We finished by going to the top of Christies Peak for a nice easy long run home.

We followed the green run section but we'll have a crack at the more difficult blue runs over the next day or so. It was tremendous fun but we were all glad to be pulling the boots off after five hours.

Our first look at a blue slope.

Tomorrow we have a different instructor, Allie, and we'll be looking to go further afield again, maybe even take on Little Rodeo, a sealed section of small jumps, obstacles and a half pipe that could be fun.  Callum is very keen.

The views from the top of Christies were spectacular but that is still not the very top, there is another run that takes you several hundred metres further up again. We're hoping to get there tomorrow.

Wednesday 24 December

It's the end of our second day skiing and I feel like I have just ridden the Three Dams on two flat tyres. I think I speak for all us when I say I'm bone tired and exhausted, but exhilarated at the same time.

We had Allie with us today. We were back on Christies Peak reviewing some of the lessons from yesterday in preparation for our next step forward.

After lunch we caught the lift further up Mt Werner. We were at 9000 feet with a long and winding three mile run home. Even at this elevation the mountain still had more to give. There were other lifts that could take you further up to where the mountain disappeared into the clouds.  We could see skiers sliding down the slopes like tiny tumbling raisins.

Then whammy, the effects of too much altitude and not enough hydrating struck like an avalanche.  Christina did not feel well.  With the hardest run of the day ahead we decided to take the gondola back down and take a run through Little Rodeo and the half pipe.  We'll tackle the big run first thing tomorrow when we're fresh and well hydrated. For now it's home for some relaxing, a nice cuppa and then out to dinner at La Montana, the local  Mexican Restaurant.  Unfortunately Callum wasn't feeling great so it ended up just being mum, dad and the Charlie.  The food was great,  I ended up having the glazed barbecued Atlantic Salmon and Christina had the fish Tacos.  The standout though was probably the fried ice cream for desert. Not very Mexican but very delicious.

Truly the most amazing fried ice cream.

Thursday 25 December

YES!! Finally we have our first white Christmas. We started the morning with the traditional Xmas stockings for the boys before heading down to a tasty breakfast of fluffy omelettes and thin crispy strips of fatty bacon.  I do like the American bacon.

Nothing says Xmas like a stocking and a big eared hat.

It would have been enough to just wake up to the sight of the mountains, rooftops and trees covered in a fresh layer of Christmas snow but to be snowed on while we were making our way down the mountain was more than we could have asked for.  The falls were consistent through the day but they were light and playful.

We all picked up the pace a bit today, our paralleling had improved which meant we were turning better and were more in control.  It  also meant we could stop without using a tree, a snow bank or each other.  Allie was impressed enough with Callum to take him down his very first blue slope. He handled it exceptionally well.  I on the other hand was less impressive.  I zigged when I should have zagged and was off into the bush again, deciding to go through a snow bank as opposed to around it. While Callum is 'impressive' I apparently am 'interesting.'

But it wasn't just me, with the exception of Callum we all took a few tumbles today but it was the price we had to pay for progress.

Charlie having an unscheduled rest.

We started off from where we left yesterday, the almost top of Mount Werner. From here we cruised about half way down the mountain then took the gondola back up top for a quick lunch before cruising the gentle green slopes the three miles back down.  We said goodbye to our instructor Allie who has been fantastic and tomorrow we welcome back Kayla.

Christmas dinner was not what we had expected. Tonight it was Charlies turn to be the crook one.  We had to cancel the reservations that we had made two months in advance and settled for room service instead. But you look for the silver lining don't you.  We found ours sitting around the dinner table in our trackie pants eating ribs and pizza and laughing at Charlie, who had miraculously recovered and was pretending to be a piece of meat on a rotisserie.  You had to be there.  We opened a card game out of Charlies stocking called Pit and had a ball carrying on like pork chops.  It was a perfect Christmas evening.

Friday 26 December

What a day to finish on.  A continual shower of fresh powder fell from the skies for most of the morning, nothing too Arctic but just gentle and soft flourishes.  It was awesome. It was a day of memorable stacks - who knew snow could taste so good - death defying downhill runs and shooting the banks for some serious air.  Callum was again the standout almost wiping himself out before spinning in a 360 and sailing on like a pro.

We saw many things today, a family of three moose lying amongst the Evergreens on the other side of the valley, we saw guys skiing with one leg and a kid skiing with no legs, we saw conga lines of four year olds tearing down the mountain with loud giggles and rosy red cheeks.  I saw a guy skiing with a young kid wedged in his backpack.

It was an amazing day and considering we all started the day that tired we weren't sure we would make it past lunch we all finished with ease.  Towards the end Kayla convinced us we were ready for a gentle blue run and we all fell for it, but you know what, we did it.  We had lunch at Hazies, a lovely little restaurant towards the top of Mount Werner where once again Callum excelled by choosing the dish of the day, the lobster mac n cheese. I've never seen such large hunks of lobster meat thrown into one bowl before.  It was ridiculous. I for one had extreme food envy.

To finish what had been an exceptional day Callum, Charlie and me took the last run through Little Rodeo for one last crack at the jumps and another run down the half pipe. It was a fitting way to finish what has been an amazing few days.

The half pipe.

Both the instructors, Allie and Kayla, were terrific. Having them there to guide, correct and push us was invaluable. We celebrated our final run down the mountain with some apres-ski in the Sheraton lounge overlooking the ski fields drinking hot chocolate with Peppermint Schnapps before heading back for some feet up.

Heavenly peppermint schnapps. 

We took the shuttle into the small town of Steamboat around 6pm to have a wander before ending up at Aurum restaurant for our 7.30pm reservation.  We had plans to walk the whole five blocks and do some window shopping but it felt every bit the minus nine degrees that the big Wells Fargo sign on Main st was displaying.  We made it two blocks before saying stuff this, let's get to the restaurant. And wow what a meal that was, not that my memory was all that clear after the pre-dinner cocktails.

Tomorrow we pack our bags, take delivery of our new hire car and drive back to Denver for a 7.45pm flight to New Orleans.  This has been a fabulous way to kick start our holiday and although it can be cold bordering on freezing and tiring to the point of exhaustion, skiing is brilliant fun.  We'll definitely be back for more.

Saturday 27 December

The Jeep is packed and we're leaving just in time, the weekend crowds are pouring in. The road back is clear and the weather is fine. We'll cut our travel time in half from when we drove up a few days ago.  In fact there will be enough time to drop into the museum and the grave site of that legend of the Wild West, the famous scout, Indian hunter and showman, William F Cody or aka, Buffalo Bill.

Over 25,000 people came to pay their respects when he was laid to rest in 1917.  His grave lies high up on Lookout Mountain overlooking the Great Plains and the far off Rockies. After leaving his life as a scout and buffalo hunter for the army and later the railroads he became a showman and traveled the world for thirty five years with his pioneering Wild West Show. He entertained hundreds of thousands of people both abroad and through the United States with his authentic display of a slice of what the untamed west was really like. His original outfits and guns and his beloved Bowie knife are all on display.  

Buffalo Bills well used Bowie Knife.

One of the most impressive pieces to me though was Sitting Bulls head gear, his moccasins and his bow and arrows that he used at the Battle of Little Big Horn. He was to join Buffalo Bill in his later years as apart of his show using the fame and notoriety to try to help his peoples cause for a just claim to recognition of their rights as original landowners - sound familiar - and cultural independence.  It was an impressive visit.

Sitting Bulls headdress and bow and arrow from The Battle of Little Big Horn. 

Now onto Denver Airport and the next stop, New Orleans.