Travel to Cuba Remains Difficult but Rewarding

The scenic Vinales Valley is known for limestone formations called mogotes and for distinctive waxy palm trees. Photo credit Billy Giles 

Even though travel to Cuba is opening up new opportunities, obstacles remain. Home stays at Casa Particulares, dining at Paladares and hiring locals when ever possible made all the difference in Sally McKinney’s travels in Cuba. ~ Jerome Shaw, editor Travel Boldly

Supporting the Cubans, Surprised by the Fun!

by Sally McKinney 

All photos credit Sally McKinney unless noted

Eager to get to Cuba before masses of other Americans arrived, my friend, Billy and I flew to Cancun. We bought airfare to Havana, then tried to find a hotel room. I’d been sweating over the computer for an hour before showing Billy yet another listing.

Habana Viejo: Meson de la Flota

Five guest rooms on upper floor

A team of oxen pulls two men in a cart used for hauling.

Along with occasional  motor traffic and men on horseback, 

the oxen plod along along a paved Vinales street lined 

with casas particulares.

Spanish décor, antique furniture, ensuite baths

Ground floor restaurant and bar

Flamenco performance every night ? ? ?

Billy and I traded quizzical looks.  What exactly WAS Flamenco music? Did we even LIKE Flamenco music? What if they played too loud and too late and kept us awake? Aware that other rooms on the list cost even more, I kept on reading.

 “The music stops by 11:00 pm every night.”

Click. Click. Click. Reservation confirmed!

By next evening, we had checked into the Meson de la Flota in Havana’s Old Town and were dining outdoors. Like actors in a movie, we sipped mojitos while people strolled past in the film-set location.

When I walked back into the building, diners were chattering in Spanish around indoor tables. Beyond, on the stage, men in black pants stomped intricate rhythms and women in black boots kicked up red-tiered skirts. Seduced by the scene, I wanted one of those skirts. Soon I was tripping—but not falling—on the uneven floor. After using the room marked “Mujeres”, I went back to our table.

 “Oh, Billy! I LOVE Flamenco music.” 

Next morning, reality hit. Our elegant upstairs room with Spanish décor was twice what we could afford. Worse, we had lost sight of our (self-authorized) purpose: supporting the Cuban people. 

We had come to direct travel funds to self-employed Cubans. That meant staying in casas particulares (rooms in licensed homes) and dining in paladares (licensed family-run restaurants). Although we both used computers at home, we were traveling without a laptop, without cellphones, and spoke only “un poquito Espanol” (a little Spanish). 

The guidebooks listed casas on San Ignacio street, so we started knocking on doors. When a maid opened up and spoke in Spanish, I got discouraged. Owner not there, manager too busy, maybe tomorrow. 

Mariela, casa host at Villa Maikel in Finales 

town, smiles for this unexpected photograph.

After that door closed, meeting Silvia at Los Balcones was delightful! For some reason, Silvia, actually liked us! We were never quite sure why. Not only did she have a room, but she also helped us find taxi drivers, tour guides, even casas particulares in other cities.

At the time of our visit, the typical Cuban was earning between $14. and $20. a month. Deliberately, Billy and I matched services offered by the self-employed to our daily needs. We paid Marisa, for example, to wash, dry and fold our clothes. We hired a strong, young guy with a bici-taxi service to take us around. After dinner at Paladar Los Mercaderes, we left money for the slim, shy (and grateful) waiter.

Each day that Billy and I would go out, hire services of Cubans, then climb back up those stairs, Silvia would greet us with hugs. “Sah-lee!” she’d say. “How are you?” Bee-lee!”  Another hug. Whenever we stayed with Silvia, her place was home.

One day, we took a taxi through the tunnel from Habana Viejo to Castillo de los Tres Reys del Morro. This polygon-shaped. defensive fort was built by slaves centuries ago into a rocky headland. While Billy toured this sprawling complex, I looked for a place for lunch. The bar across from the entrance didn’t serve food, but I could sit there in the shade drinking water. 

Outside, in the sunlit corridor, three men were playing Besame Mucho, and I hummed along. Soon, they started a lively “Guantanamera.”  Revived by the water, I was ready to dance, eager to rock out and around the corner and see the band. After the band leader himself took my picture, I gladly bought the Andy Soldano de Santiago CD! Playing music was their “day job,” so I bought their CD for $US 10, yet another way to support enterprising Cubans.

The dining room at Finca Vigia features hand-crafted Cuban

 furniture and trophies from Hemingway’s hunting expeditions.

Before we left Havana for Vinales valley, on the west end of Cuba Silvia found us lodging in a casas particulares and arranged for a share-taxi ride. The host of the pretty, pink casa, Villa Maikel, spoke no English. Yet, each of us smiled a lot and I used what Spanish I knew. When she pointed to my wristwatch and said “dasayuno?” (breakfast?) I said, “ocho” (eight). Next morning at eight, breakfast was ready! She also prepared a special dinner for us. At $10 a person, this was one of the best Cuban meals I recall: filet of fresh fish, black beans and rice, sliced beets, fresh fruit, and flan.

Awkwardly, I lacked the lingo to ask about tour guides, so we set off on our own. From the casa to the town center, we could walk one way past an open-air market selling woven hats and tote bags. We could walk another way past oxcarts used for hauling building materials. On the main street, near the plaza, we found snack bars, cafes and tour company offices.

In one office, Billy signed up for a long, guided group hike. Next morning, Billy met with the guide, but no other hikers had signed up. So the guide led Billy on a circuit of Vinales valley, past meadows and tobacco fields. They saw limestone formations called magotes and walked through cool, moist caves. 

Along the way, the guide identified two species of birds, a Cuban Tody and a Cuban Trogan—both endemic to Cuba. Billy returned, red-faced and sweaty, his clothes splotched with mud. Even so, he was thrilled with all he had seen. Later he claimed this trek in Vinales valley was one of the best things he’d done in Cuba. And the guide was happy, too, with Billy’s “200 % tip.”

A café near La Floridita—run by Habanaguex--serves this tasty

 Spanish stew of sausages, potatoes, tomatoes and onions.

Later, knowing we had a casa in Cienfuegos and a driver to take us there, I relaxed on the porch. From a chair facing the road, I looked at the flowers and watched horse carts clip-clopping past, even an occasional vintage American car.  

Then came an unexpected phone call. Our taxi driver was “very sorry.” He could not take us to Cienfuegos. The car would not start and he could not get repairs. Billy had gone out, so I sat alone--really stressed and depressed--until the host's niece arrived.

“Not to worry,” Diana said. “My husband, he know someone.” When Diana called him, she got only voice mail, so left a message. “He’s out of range,” she explained. Late afternoon, her husband came bursting through the door. Good news! His friend could drive us to Havana in the morning. From there, we could easily to get a taxi to Cienfuegos. Thus, despite limited Spanish, we could appreciate Cuban hospitality. Even better, we were getting to know Cuban people!

We checked into the Hostal Maria Antonia y Napoles in the Punta Gorda section of Cienfuegos. They had an inviting back yard with grass, trees and flowers and two guest chairs facing the calm bay water. An outdoor table, shaded by a lattice frame, would become my new favorite place for breakfast. We could walk to nearby restaurants in the neighborhood and taxi to the city center.

On the first day, while walking around the open-air mall, I had trouble coping with the heat. For a time, I cooled off in the air-conditioned office of a tour agent. Concerned about possible rapid changes if/when the U.S. embargo was lifted, the agent said she’d worked with Americans and knew their tastes. Cuba was not ready for masses of Americans, she believed. Changes in Cuba should take place slowly.

At the Palatino in Cienfuegos, Septeto Bella Costa
has set up equipment and begun to play. Buying their CD
 helped provide support for Septeto Bella Costa,
while letting visitors enjoy Afro-Cuban music back home.

Unable to find a lunch place, Billy and I found seats at the Palatino, a bar across from Parque Jose Marti. While I watched, an artist made cartoonish sketches of unsuspecting patrons. A five-piece band called Septeto Bella Costa played mambo, rhumba, and son. This midday concert was fun but unexpected; I’d been looking for lunch. Instead, my lunch money went to buy another CD, even more support for Cuban musicians. Billy was surprised when the artist showed him the drawing and paid him $2 to take the drawing home.

Drinking water helped revive me, but—without food—I still felt weak. Reluctantly, we took a taxi back to the Punta Gorda casa. Fighting off nausea, I sprawled on the bed in the hot, stuffy room. Cooled by the sea breeze, Billy sat in a bayside chair, writing in his journal. Later, we paid our casa hosts for a special camarones (shrimp) dinner, but I had little appetite and Billy ate most of my meal.

The next day, I felt only a little bit better and could not do much. That evening, Billy went out to scout around, then came back to surprise me. Curious, I trailed him down the street, around the corner and up two flights of stairs. Our outdoor table at the Pelicano perched high above and overlooked the street. The wait staff brought vegetable soup for my low appetite—and an ample dinner for Billy. The next night, three of the Pelicano wait staff—hanging over the railing of the upstairs deck—saw us walking below. I heard a woman call “How are you feeling?” I looked up to see Pelicano staff waving, so I called back “much better!” In truth, I did not feel better at all. We had done a walking and boat tour of Laguna Guanabacoa and seen beautiful flamingos. Yet, during that excursion, I felt sick and unwell. Yet we traveled on, since we now had reservations in Trinidad and a driver to take us there. 

Longina Musica on busy Obispo street 

displays instruments in the stairwell. 

There were more than 20 types of claves.

The Trinidad lodging, called Hospedaje Sr. Sara Sanjuan Alvares, was inside a stately colonial home. Our room—and several others—overlooked a courtyard where flowers bloomed beside a fountain. In the morning, the kitchen crew began early, chatting in Spanish while rattling cooking pots. They made a lavish meal, but—embarrassed—I ate only small bites, ate only to keep down the nausea. 

After smiling goodbye to the staff, I confided to Billy. “I’m really sick!” Fortunately, I knew about the Servimed clinics for foreigners in Cuba. Carrying the clinic address, Billy and I set off to find it. While Billy forged ahead, I shuffled along the ancient, paved streets, trying not to fall on the uneven sidewalks. Soon we arrived at what looked like a house. Inside the clinic, I waited in a padded, wicker chair, flanked by the green, leafy plants, and inhaled fresh air from the windows.

Dr Maritza and her nurse wanted a urine sample—right away—but I could not produce one. The nurse took me to an airy, white room where I drank water laced with electrolytes, then lay down on a bed. While I was drinking and resting, Billy sat out on the patio, reading about science—and baseball. Aware that Billy prefers being active, I felt even worse about being ill. This was NOT the trip we had planned!

This bookcase and the trophy head decorate 

a bedroom in the Finca Vigia house.

The doctor’s diagnosis: severe dehydration with a kidney infection. Knowing that Cuba lacks sufficient medicines—an effect of the embargo—I pulled out an antibiotic I’d brought from the States.

“Cipro!” the doctora exclaimed. “Yes! Take Cipro!”

She also prescribed Arginor. “Take this until your energy returns.” Then she danced around by the desk, showing me the energy I’d have after I got well! The total cost for medical consultation, tests, glass ampules of Arginor, three hours of observation was $115.30, paid in CuC’s (equivalent to US dollars).

Billy and I walked back slowly through Trinidad’s historic streets. Hidden behind closed doors and ornate, white grillwork, Trinidad reveals itself slowly. The next day, unable to visit the history museum (it was closed), we passed a restaurant and a large man called to us, “Come on in!”

Nice place, pretty dishes, bright flowers, but—too early for lunch. Nobody in there!  Soon a young man set up a music stand. While Billy downed a cool Tukola (Cuban cola) and I let my hot tea cool, more diners arrived, then more musicians. The band, Son Villalba. was playing, so we stayed for lunch. Happily, I listened to Afro-Cuban rhythms and drank in the harmony of the song, “Yolanda”., with its repetitive refrain at the end of each verse, “te amor! te amor!” Each day, we’d been focused on our purpose: support for the Cuban people. We had rarely been looking for fun, yet fun kept coming around the corner, taking us by surprise! Even easier, now, to pay this band $10. for yet another CD.

Bronze bust of Ernest Hemingway seems to

lean on the bar at La Floridita in Habana Viieja. 

Visitors are inspired to drink daiquiris in his memory. 

Photo credit Billy Giles.

In the city of Santa Clara, we stayed close to nearby shops, cafes and a city park. A line of empty bici-taxis awaited outside the door. Inside Casa Mercy, Omelio and his family were a great help to us. At breakfast, he told us stories about his parents during the revolution. Omelio also suggested a paladar for dinner, found us a taxi driver for Remedios, even phoned Havana to re-schedule and re-confirm. So, how would we get back to the capitol? The driver Omelio had chosen would come promptly at ten.

After breakfast, I was dressed and mixing the Arginor when I heard voices downstairs. The driver had come early! But—now stressed—I’d not even finished packing. Then Omelio’s son, Ian, came bounding up the stairs. Twenty-or-so years old, healthy and strong, he grabbed several bags. “Forget my parents, downstairs,” Ian said to us, joking. “I am your baby now!” 

Back in Havana, our casa hosts seemed happy and healthy. They were building on more rooms and eager to host more Americans. Silvia welcomed us warmly to our Havana “home.”

On the Fourth of July, we paid tribute to author Ernest Hemingway by drinking daiquiris at La Floridita. While “Cuarteto D’Amore” played for the midday crowd, we shared our table with a young couple from Prague. This was Independence Day back in the States, so the four of us talked history, revolution and freedom.

Billy ordered bruschetta at La Vitrola café in Plaza Vieja

(Habana Vieja), the food was decorated with this American flag.

Hemingway, who had lived in and loved Cuba, had been a “bridge between cultures” a Cuban official has said. Later, I recalled a conversation with a museum guard. The young woman in uniform had heard me speaking English and asked 

     “Where are you from?” Her smile grew broader when I said

     “Estados Unidos!”

     “Prohibacion no good,” she replied.

     “The American people don’t want the embargo either,” I explained.

So the young woman and I had already met on Hemingway’s cross-cultural bridge.

 And we agreed. “We want to be friends.”

                                                                        ~~~

Sally McKinney lived a normal life before launching her career as a travel journalist in 1985. Born in Valparaiso, Indiana, she moved with everyone else through childhood, high school, and college. Marriage and family. After the marriage ended, her four sons left for Texas and California. Only then could she pack up a notebook and camera and set off to see the world.

Billy Giles and Sally McKinney ride in a horse cart,

 a traditional means of transportation in the Vinales valley.

Eager to explore, she trekked through New Zealand rainforest with a Maori-owned tour company. Hired villagers on Viti Levu to build a bamboo raft. Sampled 20-or-more wines in one long day. Cooked fresh seafood on skewers in the Kuala Lumpur market.  Dined and then danced to tribal drums one night in Kampala. 

About to retire in 2011, she went to Tanzania for a volunteer program and found a travel companion. Billy had always wanted to see Machu Picchu, so they traveled the next year to Peru. After that came great trips to Panama, Ecuador, and Cuba.

Sally has already visited 47 countries, yet eager to pack those bags again. Her grandson and fiancée have invited family and friends to their Loire Valley wedding. Guests stay in a chic French hotel within Fontevraud L’Abbey. Already this story has heroes and heroines, a main plot—and sub-plots. Might as well go! 

How to book casas particulares in Cuba

In the article, Billy and Sally report on the casas partiulares in Cuban homes. Below are the addresses and phone numbers:

xxx

El Meson de la Flota

Calle Mercaderes #287E

Habana Vieja, Cuba

www.tripadvisor.com

xxx

Los Balcones Casa Hospedaje

Silvia y Pepe

Calle San Ignacio No. 454

e/ Sol y Santa Clara

Habana Vieja, Cuba

(53) 7867-5551

xxx

Villa Maikel

Calle Rafael Trejo No. 14-B

Vinales, Pinar de Rio

Cuba 22400

(53) 048-69-67-00

xxx

Hostal Maria Antonio y Napoles

Calle 35 #22

e/ O y Litoral (La Punta)

Punta Gorda

Cienfuegos, Cuba

(53) 43-513 196

xxx

Hospedaje Sra Sara Sanjuan Alvares

Simon Bolivar (Desengano) No 266

e/ Jose Marti y Frank Pas (Carmen)

Trinidad

Sancti Spiritus, Cuba

(53) 41- 993997

xxx

Casa Mercy Hostel

Omelio Moreno Lorenzo

E Machado 4 e/Cuba y Colon

Santa Clara, VC

(53) 42-216941

Xxx

To book rooms in advance from outside the country, use a booking agency. TripAdvisor lists El Meson de la Flota, Casa Mercy, and has many other casa particular listings for Cuba.   AirBnB lists Villa Maikel and lists casas in Vinales and elsewhere. Another site to try is   CubaCasas.net.  After arriving in Cuba, use the telephone or use an Etecsa computer or—perhaps—show up at the casa door.

Special notice to Americans. The official website of the U.S. State Department has much useful travel information.  https://travel.state.gov/content/passports/en/country/cuba.html

Americans should pay special attention to the latest guidelines from U.S. Treasury Department, Office of Financial Assets Control (OFAC). 

Travel Adventures in the Galapagos Islands

A female and a male giant tortoise approach one another other.(Are they flirting?) They reside inside an enclosure at Charles Darwin Research Station on Isla Santa Cruz. 

The Pace Picks Up in the Galapagos:

How Will I Ever Keep Up?

by Sally McKinney

The sun warms my skin during the half-hour boat ride from San Cristobal. Billy and I are both wearing swim suits, even though we’re older than the others, he’s “not a water person” and I’ve not been snorkeling for years.

Soon Darwin’s Scuba Dive boat drops anchor near rocky Isla Lobos. To me, the water looks dark, deep. . .and scary.  Timidly, I pause on the deck, planning my moves. After the others jump in or dive, I’ll sit on the top rung of the ladder, reach out, then roll off into a  shallow dive. 

Rudely, someone behind me yells, “Jump!”

Then I’m assaulted by a louder voice, “Just jump!” Surprisingly, I plunge into deep water and surface
promptly. Through some miracle, my snorkel tube stands above the water and I can breathe air.

One of the crew swims up to offer a life ring draped with ropes. I’m glad to hold on. My swim buddy leads me along a cliff wall where we move through a school of mauve, yellow-tail surgeon fish. On my right and above me, there’s a gray shape: a young sea lion. Beyond this one, another one, fully grown. Sea lions are often playful in water, but this pair is not. They move steadily away from us, yet I’m excited. We’re the first snorkelers from the boat to see them.

When my energy starts falling, I paddle back to the boat and pull off the swim fins. Now,  the problem. With my legs bent, feet on the lowest rung, I can’t pull myself up.

“Climb on up” yells a voice from the deck. I pull up again, harder, but still lack the strength. Ready to help, Billy and a boatman both pull my arms from above.  Soon I am sprawling across top rung, groping the wet deck, feet in the air. How ridiculous this must look. We’re all laughing.

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Billy and I had spent months planning this long trip with two weeks in the Galapagos Islands. Located in the Pacific Ocean about 600 miles (970 kilometers) west of Ecuador, the Galapagos archipelago measures 3,029 square miles (7,844 square kilometers). To stay within budget, we came up with this plan.  Fly from Quito to San Cristobal. Stay in town three or four days. Explore on our own, either walking around, with a driver, or on a day tour. Mid-week, travel by ferry from Isla San Cristobal to Isla Santa Cruz. Continue with land-based touring. Meet up with the cruise ship on Isla Baltra.  Take a Guantanamera cruise to eight more islands. Then fly from Isla Baltra back to Quito.

During that first week in the islands, my biggest challenge: to keep up with Billy! Unlike me, a near-sighted book reader, he’s a sharp-eyed outdoorsman. In fact, he’ll return to Tanzania soon after the Ecuador trip to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro.

On Isla San Cristobal, Billy and I enjoy walking from Casa Blanca to the nearby beach. Even during breakfast on the terrace, we watch magnificent frigatebirds, soaring over the harbor on thermals. From the pier, we photograph sea lions resting on the beach, the pups covered with sand. This coating of sand helps protect their skin from sun. During a day trip, I walk on a rickety bridge to reach a tree house high in a ceiba tree. Later, we hike to a crater rim where frigatebirds wash their wings by diving into the freshwater lake.

On Santa Cruz, we have an equally good time. From our lodging in Puerto Ayora, we take long walks to the beaches on Tortuga Bay. Along the maze-like paths at Charles Darwin Research Station, we discover giant tortoises behind a fence, napping. Just before we leave, one of the males awakes, lumbers over to a female then climbs on top, attempting to mate. People gather around, murmuring, clicking cameras. After a few minutes, the female moves off, so the male ambles away, soon munches on green grass.

From our lodging in Puerto Ayora, a long taxi ride followed by a short ferry crossing puts on on Isla Baltra. We meet guide, Javier Cadena and other passengers at the airport, then board the Guantanamera. We’d found the boat through HappyGringo.com . (I was thrilled the boat has a song!)

The first night on the boat, during the long cruise to Isla Genovesa, the rolling, bumping and bouncing of the small boat keep me awake, fighting off nausea. The first full day of the cruise, a light rain is falling. After breakfast, I ride with others—people from six different countries—in a panga (inflatable boat) to Isla Genovesa. Somehow, I’ve lost sight of Billy (who probably climbed into the other boat).  Unable to find a hand-hold on the panga, I’m afraid I’ll slip off the unstable, rubbery edge.

After we land on the beach, I wait while the others go snorkeling, then set off on a so-called “easy hike.”  The trail, marketed with white stakes, crosses rough, cracked dark lava field. After walking a while, awkward and unbalanced, I need to rest. After the others hike on ahead, I huddle on a rock like a black lump, wrapped in my poncho. During two weeks in these islands, I often pull a fleece over my swim suit, wrap a sarong around my legs (or shoulders), block wind or rain with my poncho, often wipe rain drops  off my sunglasses! When Javier and the others come back over the lava, three of the young people, wearing only brief swim suits and flip-flops, look chilled and miserable—yet do not complain.

Lunch on the boat becomes a welcome break. Afterward,
instead of a nap (there’s no time for a nap?), I stumble back into the panga. We approach a rickety platform built into the face of a cliff. From water level, I notice a series of large boulder blocks above us, worn smooth. Are these supposed to be steps? Beside these blocks, there’s a rough, wooden railing. . .with gaps between the rails.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I tell Javier.  Since we met only yesterday, he may not realize I’m eighty years old. “Oh, yes you can” he replies, while pulling me from the rocking boat. Along with unstable balance, I’m seriously afraid of heights. I land on my feet, upright, but teetering, too close to the edge. Regular dancing twice a week back home should have improved my balance, but—clearly--it has not. So I warn myself, “Do not look down” The next so-called “step” is too high for me, even with my long legs. From behind, someone shoves me. From above, someone else yanks me up. On my left, I hold on to the railing, whenever I can—and keep climbing up.

When I reach the trailhead, the rain has stopped. People from the panga hand me my daypack and a monopod that doubles as a hiking stick. Without help from the others, I would not have made it up those steps.

The filtered, overcast light transforms the landscape into a dream world. Near the trail, exotic birds, warming their nests, look back at me. Beyond the booby nests, several male great frigate birds, their red gular sacs inflated, are spreading their wings, trying to impress females. During the coming week, I’ll marvel at sea turtles in a mangrove estuary and stroll among red-orange crabs on dark lava rocks. Yet, this scene on Genovesa remains my favorite, worth all the effort.

After surviving that amazing first day, I stretch out—tired and shaken—on the bunk in Cabin Five. Without help from sure-handed strangers, I could have slipped off those boulders and plunged into the water.  Amazing that I made it to the trailhead! So I rest there, thankful for everyone’s help and grateful to be alive.

Of course, I love walking among unique creatures on these islands. Yet the schedule is “go, go, go” Breakfast at 7:00 am! Climb in and out of the panga. Take a two-hour hike. Then go snorkeling. Pause for lunch, do more hiking, more snorkeling. What am I doing in this watery boot camp? When can we all relax? How can I ever keep up?

It does help that Cabin Five is on a level with the dining room, a small bar, and a library/lounge. However, to reach Upper Deck, I climb up step-ladder stairs. Once I climb up, I enjoy seawater views and get to sit in a chair! If I plan ahead, I can enjoy a sunset gin-and-tonic in the chair. After ordering the drink from Senor Kleber, I climb up the ladder. The bartender mixes my G & T, and finds an agile crewman who carries my drink up the ladder.

Cabin Five, with its carpeted floor and ensuite bath, is the size of a walk-in closet in my former home. Billy and I fill the shelves with stuff, then stash duffels and daypacks in odd corners. Some floor space remains, so Billy and I politely take turns standing in this space.

Now and then, if he’s left something behind, Billy stands on the deck and calls through the window. 

“Hey, Sally.  Can you reach my sunscreen?” From lower bunk, I find whatever he wants, then hand it to him. He smiles through the window, “Thank you!” then closes the curtain.

As we adjust to daily life on the boat, I realize we’re getting great value from this Tourist Superior Class cruise. Our travel companions come from England, Germany, Switzerland, Australia, Chile and the United States. The meals are tasty, nutritious, filling. The bunks are comfy, the linen changed daily. Most important to us, the experience: walking among wondrous creatures on volcanic islands. 

Yet, during the long, dark bouncy cruises from one island to the next, I have problems with sea sickness. Billy, who wears medicated patches prescribed by his doctor, copes very well. Even though I’ve cruised on various small boats, I have trouble on this boat at night with the roll, pitch and yaw. After that first long, rough night (I’ll spare you the details), I start getting anti-motion sickness pills from the crew.

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During the morning panga ride to Isla Bartolome, the air is fresh, the sunlight cheery. On the way over, I photograph Pinnacle Rock and the great scenery. Yet, when I start walking with the others up the trail, I begin to feel weak, sweaty and aching. Falling behind, I start chiding myself. Why have I not trained for this?  During my late sixties, I hiked almost every day to research and write a hiking guide book. Here on Bartolome, the highest point is only 114 meters (374 feet)!  The others have all gone ahead, walking steadily, chatting and laughing. 

Could I be dehydrated?  Sitting on a step, I gulp all my water and munch  stale, salty chips. When I recall that Billy will climb Mt. Kilimanjaro after the Ecuador trip, I feel challenged to start walking again! Surely I can make it to the summit of Bartolome!  Eventually, I do join the others, happily smiling in the Guantanamera  group picture.

On  Itinerary One, the Guantanamera calls at Western Islands, including Isla Isabela. When the boat reaches Urbina Bay, the others jump into pangas to snorkel from the black sand beach. (Even though it’s raining?) Lagging behind on the deck of this floating home, I tell Javier I’ll stay on the boat. Javier’s nature walks and talks are excellent, and I hate to miss any of them. When I cancel, I’m afraid he’ll be upset. Instead, he says “I’ll send a panga for you at 3:30.” By 3:00 o’clock the rain has stopped and my water taxi has arrived. The bouncy little panga rides up over swells and down into troughs. What a thrill.

“Sit on the rim” the boatman says. Poised on the rounded edge, I pivot, plunge my legs into shallow water, walk onto shore over packed sand. During the hike above Urbina Bay, we find bits of coral and sea shells, remnants from an earlier, uplifted marine reef. To the east, the conical peak of Volcan Alcedo pierces the clouds. Along the trail, a land iguana with rough, textured skin stands in a clearing, as if posing.

All sixteen of us pile into two pangas to explore a mangrove estuary. Javier points to three species of mangrove: red, black and white. When the boatmen cut the motors, a few Pacific green sea turtles swim past us. Near Isla Marielas, I watch a flightless cormorant, young and inexperienced. I can relate to this, as he struggles in the water, crying “Ah, ah, ah”

“He’s been separated from his group,” Javier explains. The stray bird splashes weakly, swims toward a rocky islet, clambers onto shore. Standing upright, he shakes water from his frayed wings.

After I adjust to the routine, daily walks among rare, wild creatures feel normal.  At Punta Espinoza on Fernandina, I teeter across the raised surface of lava rocks. Reaching out with both arms helps me stay balanced. Masses of marine iguanas thrive here, more than we’ve ever seen. Sally Lightfoot crabs scoot about, then slip into crevices. On this remote island, where no human has ever lived, I
feel fully alive,

That night, Javier announces a party! The sun has set, the stars sparkle and frothy waves splash on the sides. White tables have been pushed back from the center of Upper Deck. Yet, this is not the usual party scene. Wet clothes dangle from lines above the railing. 

Our new friends occupy a circle of chairs, reluctant to move. Drawing on experience, Senor Kleber sends up pitchers of caipirinhas throughout the evening. Lead by the captain and crew, Javier dances early on, flapping his arms like a great frigatebird. Inspired by the recorded Latin dance rhythms, I can not sit still! By the end of this party, nearly everyone dances.

Since I’ve known him, Billy has been caring, supportive. Over time, this shy guy has gradually revealed a heroic side. Now he’s facing me on the dance floor. Pumping our arms. Kicking our feet. Tonight, I feel young. We are dancing!

When it’s time to go “home,” Billy and I mock-dance  across the floor.  From the top step of the ladder, we wave good night to our dancing amigos. Aware of the cachaca still sloshing through my body, I climb down backwards  and move very slowly.

That night, the boat rocks gently on the starlit bay. During the stroll to Cabin Five, we pause to inhale the sea air.  After my favorite day, we can relax, pull up the quilts, and sleep, sleep, sleep.

Sally McKinney has been a travel writer and photographer for 4 decades and has hundreds of travels
stories in magazines and newspapers.  She has also written several guide books. You can read another of Sally's travel adventures here on Travel Boldly about her learning how to travel in her 80s in Peru and Tanzania.

Here are some of Sally's recommendations for travel in the Galapagos Islands.

"We really liked the  www.HappyGringo.com tour company. They helped us find an affordable cruise on a clean, small, safe boat. After booking the Guantanamera through Happy Gringo, we met Javier and our new amigos at Baltra airport. This plan let us combine land-based touring with cruising (which is the only way to reach most of the islands). Our enthusiastic companions were a variety of ages and nationalities. Javier Cadena was an outstanding bilingual guide whose skills ranged from first-aid to dancing!"

"We found most of our lodging (in Galapagos and on the mainland) through www.booking.com  .
We’ve also used and liked  www.hostelworld.com ."

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Azores - The best place in the world to get wet.

Surfing is one of the adventures you can experience in the Azore Islands. (Video)

 Azores - The best place in the world to get wet

by Ben Whitmarsh

As a Brit, there are certain traits that I have been blessed with just as a consequence of my place of birth. Perhaps the most vital is the ability to have fun whilst everything around me is wet. This means that I along with my fellow country folk, are uniquely placed to offer unrivaled judgment on all kinds of activity that involves some degree of dampness. Therefore when it became clear that my trip to the Azores would involve a variety of liquid based activities, I licked my lips in anticipation. (I also like my lips to be soggy)

Before I regale you with tales of Azorean water adventures, let me give you some details about the place itself. The Azores is an archipelago of 9 islands in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. They belong to Portugal, so they are also technically the most westerly point of the continent. This means if you want to swim between North America and Europe, this is the best place to start. However, my suggestion to any would-be Atlantic swimmer would be to stick around here for a bit longer and fully experience the delights of the Azores.

Firstly there is some exquisite diving available, offering opportunities beginners to professionals with diving in an ocean bank guaranteeing both an adrenalin rush and lifelong memories, particularly in the south coasts if the island. The water temperature is not too bad throughout the year, ranging from 17º C to 24º C. In fact in winter it is common for the sea temperature to be higher than the air temperature.

But the two activities I am going to concentrate on here are canyoning and surfing.

Surfing in the Azores

Surfing the Azores: Photo João Miguel Martins

For a surfer, if you hear the word archipelago you should immediately realise that the surfing will never be boring. 9 islands mean a bonanza when it comes to variety. In some places it is rocky and steep and in others plain and sandy. All this adds up to waves to suit all tastes, and they are remarkably consistent.

Just as the divers benefit from constant moderate air and water temperature, so do the surfers. It means that the boarders are out and ready to go pretty much all year round making the Azores a great place for those who want to catch some winter surf.  However, don’t fear – this doesn’t mean that the surf zones are overcrowded – anything but. The Azores is still relatively unknown as a surfing destination. There are some famous places though with the "point breaks” and  "beach breaks” of the islands of Santa Maria and São Miguel achieving international fame.

~~~

Ben Whitmarsh on G+  and  on Twitter

The Box - a single parent swaps West Yorkshire, England for Kihei, Maui, Hawaii

The box  literally that was the inspiration for Annaliese Morgan, a single parent from West Yorkshire, England to book three plane tickets to Hawaii for herself and two sons.  It is a big leap from life in the United Kingdom to life in Kihei, Maui.

The Box

by Annaliese Morgan

As I throw yet another burnt pan in the bin, hearing cheers of “It’s another world record!” from my boys, I think: “Is this really the epitome of me? Is being the worst cook on the planet my sole legacy?” I can feel something else bubbling and erupting, something way bigger than a boil-in-the-bag rice, something no one else seems to understand, but me.

I phone for the proverbial take away and then it happened. I opened ‘The Box’. The box is covered in maps of the world and brass clips. It stares at me every night and every morning from the corner of my bedroom, begging me to let myself in. But the old friends’ voices of fear, logic, and “Yeah we would all love to do that” usually prevent me from doing so. But not this time. This time I open it; the physical box, and the closed box in my mind. I remember thinking: “the time is now”.

… Welcome to the Seven Wonders of Annaliese World.

Hideout, waterfall and cave off t
he Hana Highway, Maui, Hawaii.

Hawaii, London (UK), Gran Canaria, Los Angeles (USA), Greece, Italy and Japan - each with my own reasons why I need to be there. Each with their own wonder to discover. Each with their own culture to be found, treasured and shared with the world at large. I realise why, until now, this epic journey has remained in the box and why the “I’ll do it one day, when I’m rich enough, know enough, when the boys are older, oh, and what about the dog?” has played over and over.

You see, I never made the decision to do this; it never dawned on me that everything else in my life that I have achieved, whether it’s writing books, passing exams, or learning to walk again, a decision was made to achieve the result I wanted.

The very next day I booked three tickets for me and my two boys to leave for Maui six weeks later. Part of me didn’t even realise I’d just begun the journey of the Seven Wonders of Annaliese World.

Six weeks later, it’s 3 AM and I’m waking my boys up with two suitcases, three flight bags and enough excitement from all of us to supply the national grid. I ditch the nerves and apprehension that is swirling, unsure whether it’s that or the excitement making me feel sick. With one last check of documents and one final pep talk to the boys about behaviour for the journey, their faces so alive… and we’re on our way to the airport, swapping West Yorkshire for Kihei, Maui.

Rainbow Eucalyptus Tree off the
Hana Highway, Maui, Hawaii

Fast forward a few weeks and Maui has changed my life, and I intend to be back there soon. Without fail, expect to spend some $ here, but every one of them is worth it. Many people who live here rent half their house out; a cheaper option for accommodation that creates needed income for the owners. We made lifelong friends with the couple who owned the house we stayed in, and it was a way better experience than a hotel. 9-5 life doesn’t seem to exist there - which I loved - most jobs, of course, being outdoor-orientated. The happiness, caring, and a slower pace of life is everywhere in the Aloha state. They even drive slowly - compared to where I am from at least! It’s not without its stresses of course; the cost of living, the problems of burning the sugar canes, the oceans and marine life are taking a hit amongst others.

There are cheaper options for food (which can start at 8$ just for a gallon of milk!). Some supermarkets offer discount cards if you sign up and give your phone number. Costco near Kahului airport (around a 20 minute drive from Kihei) is a cheaper and key place for groceries. There are many other cash saving tips, so don’t let the cost put you off visiting this island that cocoons you in its magic.

Granny's Beach, Lahania, Maui, Hawaii

I still have many places to discover and explore on this small island. It’s shaped like a woman - look at
a map of it - it’s staggering! But here are a few of my
memories. Paia was funky; more hippy than Kihei. Just beyond Paia is Hookipa beach, the windsurfing mecca and the place for Honu watch. (I was invited to this courtesy of the Hawaiian Wildlife Fund; awesome guys doing awesome work. Up to 40 Green Sea Turtles leave the ocean and bask on the beach every day around sunset - an incredible sight to (respectfully) watch.

The road to Hana hides many waterfalls that are not on the main tourist list. They’re outrageously beautiful, although the famous hairpin bends which run for miles and miles made me feel sick! Personally, I didn’t like driving it. Do not miss the Rainbow Eucalyptus trees whilst on this road either. The native flowers of Hawaii really are what you see in the pictures; you can stare at them for hours. The Lavender Farm near the Haleakala Volcano I fell in love with, as I did with their lavender tea and biscuits.

One of Annaliese's favorite beaches
Baldwin Beach Paia, Maui, Hawaii

The beaches are a stereotypical tropical paradise. Two of my favorites were Baldwin beach in Paia, and Big beach in Makena, also nicknamed breakback beach… The waves break right on the shore line, causing many spinal injuries every year to those who are not ocean-aware.

There are many more experiences and places for me to ramble over, but don’t take my word for it - go! Spend time with some of the nicest (and healthiest) people I’ve ever met in one of the most enchanting places I’ve been.

I was told by a wise lady, “The Hawaiian islands call to you, and bring you there, not the other way round". I would agree with that statement entirely.

~~~

Annaliese Morgan is a leading veterinary nurse turned professional writer. Authentic, inspirational and funny, Annaliese has led a challenging life, learning to walk after a serious accident, living as a single parent, and then sharing her astounding journey via her blog. Her passions include creativity, inspirational writing, and world travel - she is inspired by cultures and enjoys sharing her knowledge with her readers. Annaliese on G+



Editor:

What is in your travel box? Where do you dream of going? What changes have you always dreamed of making?  Do you have an adventure like Annaliese's to share? Please share your travel desires in the comments below.