Hasta la Victoria Siempre.

This phrase in Cuba means "until victory, always and symbolizes enduring commitment to the values of Che's revolution which celebrated its 58th anniversary this year.

So much unabashed joy,warm welcomes and friendship. Old classic cars and crumbling infrastructure. The common bond of socialism. The proliferation of poverty. Visiting was both a thrilling and devastating experience. The Cubans people are intense and passionate. They talk loudly and use their hands. A tremendous commonality exists in a diverse society where races mingle without the level of  tension that racism breeds here in the United States. There is so much music, art and theater that creativity is an integral weave in the social fabric. I am still processing many conflicting feelings after my visit.

Their economy uses two currencies, one for the paychecks of the people and one for luxury items like hotels and restaurants. The national currency of the people is worth about 1/24th the value of the upscale currency, which is roughly based on the value of the US dollar.

Tourism is huge in Cuba. Many Americans don't realize that the rest of the world has been visiting regularly for quite a while. Yet, with the US embargo, the tourism-reliant economy is not enough to keep the people's economy afloat. Folks earn very little. A medical doctor makes around the equivalent of thirty dollars a month. Their rents and mortgages are paid by the government and food allotments of lower quality merchandise are given to everyone daily but those who can afford better quality items, buy them.

Houses can now be bought and sold. Higher up the hillsides and often near the ocean are nicer homes. Following purchase, all living expenses are paid for by the government. People who rent rooms in their homes or turn part of their homes into restaurants for tourists can supplement meager wages. I didn't find a classless society, but it is one without homeless people that has a safety net for the very poor.

The people we talked to said there are forms to fill out for everything. We saw a store in Havana where large appliances and sound systems from companies like Panasonic were in boxes. The woman who ran our pension in Trinidad said is a very regimented and it takes a while to get permission to buy things. People are used to waiting. The lines for the bank and the money changing office wound around the block.

Restaurant food is very simple. Cuba doesn't have salsa or tortillas or even potato chips. Homemade crackers with a mayonnaise-garlic-mustard sauce is a typical appetizer. The sea food is good and relatively cheap. Portions are small, which is a very tropical climate works well. If you ask for salsa, forget it. This is not Mexico. But they will gladly bring you oil, vinegar, salt and pepper. So, if you like salads, you're in luck.

We didn't find any supermarkets or tiendas in which to buy instant coffee or milk. What they call markets are startlingly stark. There is a lot of alcohol of all kinds and Cuba produces at least four brands of beer, all very tasty and cheaper, for tourists, than water. The people don't pay for water. Cigarettes and soft-drinks proliferate at the bodegas and there are no anti-smoking laws anywhere except museums.

In spite of the intense heat, there is very little air conditioning. Fans proliferate. I did get more used to the heat as time went on but it is painful to walk outside in the April sun during the day.

The penalties for drugs or violent crime are harsh. Marijuana use can bring 35 years. They still believe that weed leads to hard drug addiction. The streets are safe, even for women at night.

Music is everywhere. Traveling musicians descend on restaurants and play in bars. Many are very good and the streets at night are alive with sound.

The internet is not generally available. At fancy hotels it is 30 dollars an hour. We learned we could buy cards from the phone company for the equivalent of three dollars that would connect us for an hour if we stood in the street in front of a big hotel that had Wi Fi.

There is no advertising and very little signage. Billboards are used to glorify Che and the other movers and shakers of the revolution. All things pertaining to revolutionary philosophy are called propaganda, a word that doesn't have a pejorative slant in Spanish.

Toilet paper is like currency. Bathrooms are not free. They cost between 10 and 50 cents a pop, er pee, and there is a person, usually a woman, out front handing out little pieces of toilet paper for your use. If you speak Spanish, you can usually talk bathroom attendants into not taking money in a restaurant where you are purchasing food. Or if, like me, you bring your own toilet paper and promise not to flush. The bathrooms are clean but only in the fanciest restaurants and hotels do the toilets have seats on them.

Gay male Cubans are visible but quiet about issues. We met one Afro-Cuban lesbian. I didn't see any transgender people. As an experiment I dressed butch one day and was taken for male as long as I didn't speak. We got harassed less as a straight couple. As two women we were pestered for taxis continually and everyone assumed we were lost and needed help.

Some people talked politics with us. Many were afraid to express themselves. The national bookstores had a few leftist works considered propaganda. The used bookstores were packed with a wide variety of non-fiction, poetry and novels. They have large public libraries as well.

All in all, Cuba was a mind-opening experience. It is a socialist country quite different from others like Sweden. It has positive and negative sides to the vision of equality. But the warmth of the Cuban people is undeniable. They seem to truly enjoy each other's company and to live life for so much more than material goods. I can also see why someone would want to leave and try life elsewhere. If and when they do, I imagine they feel very isolated and alienated.

Una Gringa en Mexico

Statue in Guanajuato

There is no substitute for travel. It is a way to feel part of a world so much greater than yourself that opens up a vast array of cultural norm and shines a light on the things we take for granted and fact that these assumptions are not universal in nature.

Although many of their lives are harder, people tend to be much kinder in Mexico. They will readily help friends and family and go out of their way for foreigners. Folks put up with our grammatically flawed Spanish, answered our stupid questions and walked us to places we couldn’t find.  There is a warmth, a generosity of spirit, that is totally unlike anything I’ve experienced in the USA.

This is a laissez-faire capitalist country and hard-working people sell everything from folk art to food to bathroom use, which comprises a national industry. Imagine a job in the US where individuals spend their days giving out toilet paper and cleaning toilets that individuals may use for a fee of 3 to 5 pesos a shot (about 15 to 30 cents). The poverty in Mexico is astounding but so is the growth of a rising middle class.

When it comes to ethnicity, there is an obvious caste system. The darker skinned, indigenous people predominate in the service industry as maids, shop employees, lower level restaurant workers. Yet being an individual entrepreneur is pretty much unregulated. Folks can set up a artisan booth, a taco stand or a public bathroom without government intervention or guidelines.

Mexico is a place where you are on your own in many ways. Real estate taxes, even on mansions tend to run about 30 to 50 dollars a year. Due to lack of genuine police protection, the cops don't get paid much and there is widespread bribery and corruption. The rich and middle class create their own gated communities and hire private security. It is a libertarian dream state. It is left to the individuals to protect themselves and their property because, to quote Bob Dylan, “the cops don’t need you and man they expect the same.”

Deborah and I met up with a relative of a friend who had been living in San Miguel for over ten years. She had increased the height of a wall between her place and her neighbor’s because the adolescent males next door kept trying to break into her place. She said they were bored rich Mexican kids who just wanted a challenge. She also believed that the police had earmarked her as the problem because the family was wealthy and influential. And, in spite of the fact that she is of Mexican-American descent and speaks Spanish, she is considered a perpetual outsider.

That is the dark side of family bonding; the relative ostracism of the expatriate community which, in turn, tends to stick together like any minority group. To American eyes, there is an appalling lack of public safety regulations. Children ride in open backed trucks.  Everything you eat is at your own risk. The potholes in the street are treacherous and there is no such thing as a lawsuit for tripping and falling anywhere, even on government property. I can’t begin to imagine what disabled people must endure. Fireworks punctuate the night like gunshots and dogs run wild.

I have finally come to terms with the fact that I could never live in Mexico. As a long-limbed, big-footed, somewhat sexually-indeterminate, pink-skinned creature, I stood out in every crowd. I longed for the anonymity of blending and the luxury of simply seeing others on the streets who looked like me. I am very happy to be back home but also grateful for the cultural experience of Mexico our close, yet very different, neighbor to the south.