April 14-21 Write in Cuba workshop options

Hola, writers!

For those of you who are thinking about participating in the Write in Cuba trip, here are some workshop options that my co-leader, Karen Wehrstein, will be offering. She is also open to suggestions and requests. Our plan is that we will customize the workshops, seminars and exercises to fit the needs of those who sign up – your feedback and input is requested. Let us know what you want to do and we'll tweak the list of options.

Workshopping options with Karen Wehrstein

INSPIRATION – how to get those fires going and break through blocks!
    - Exercises: drawing from without (the surroundings don't get better than this!) and drawing from within. 
   - Writer well being: like any art, writing must be nurtured in ourselves.
   - The art of deadline use.
 
THE WRITING CRAFT – we can workshop any or all of these.
    - Plot: shape, tension, pacing, info-revelation, plot lines, plausibility, sweet spots, tricks.
    - Style: you can't break the rules properly without knowing them!
    - Characterization: THE technique for creating realistic, compelling characters, the three requirements.
   - Setting: creating the locations for the movie you roll in your reader's mind.
   - Prep: Research, world building, character creation, back-story.
 
PUBLISHING – getting your work in front of eyeballs!
   - Agents: what they do, how to get one.
   - Publishers: what they do for you.
   - Editors: how to deal with them.
   - E-publishing: it's changing everything!
   - Scams: how to spot them.
   - Nuts & bolts: manuscript format, cover letters, etc.
 
ONE-ON-ONE – personal time with a pro
   - Manuscript critique: subject to time limitations.
   - Writing problem-solving: not sure how to start/keep going/get through a part/structure the whole thing/handle an aspect?  Karen can help!

More thoughts on pending change in Cuba

When I think about Cuba, many images and emotions burble through my brain. I see classic American cars, clunky Russian tractors, Ladas and goats galore, yoked oxen working the fields and pulling wagons, horse carts, cattle trucks that double as public transportation, bad roads and good friends, bicycles, bright flowers of many hues and beautiful people of almost as many hues, happy hugs, sincere smiles, music, sunshine, soaring mountains, swells of saltwater and warmth – best of all, the warmth.

Warmth is foremost whenever I find myself talking about Cuba, explaining why I keep going back. The physical warmth of the climate is what first attracted me, as well as the affordability of travel there. That was the bait but the emotional warmth of the people set the hook. I can’t say enough good stuff about the Cuban people. They are easy to love.

Naturally, no population is perfect; there are clinkers in every bowl of popcorn. However, I have to say, the majority of the people I’ve encountered in Cuba are worthy of great admiration and respect. Admittedly, my sampling has been rather small – mainly in the Granma region, around Marea del Portillo and Pilon – but my sentiments have been echoed by other visitors I’ve spoken with and guidebooks I’ve read. The people are wonderful. They are welcoming. They are curious about foreigners and proud of their own rich culture. They are giving, even though they have little material goods in comparison to many countries. They long for greater freedom, from what I’ve observed, but are patient; it will come one day.

Changes are now occurring in Cuba. The government is shifting its weight, reshaping the way it operates. There have been massive federal employment cuts and more are expected but, as a counterpoint, there appears to be greater openness to self-employment opportunities and private enterprise. The scales are finding a new balance. In the long run, I think the outcomes will be positive but, in the short term, I fear there will be many hardships, especially in remote, rural regions like Granma, where there are fewer options than in areas frequented by hordes of tourists.

It is the uncertainty of the upcoming transition that causes me concern, stalls my heart on behalf of the decent people who will likely struggle to survive during this period of flux. In addition to nationwide layoffs, there is talk of the ubiquitous ration books being done away with. These books entitle people to purchase a set amount of cheap food from government-run stores – not quite enough to live on but, by most accounts, vital to the majority of homes. What will families do without the accustomed rations? How will they be able to afford to buy enough food on the more expensive open market when the wage earners in many households have been laid off or had their work hours severely cut? Will theft born of desperation become a more serious problem? Some fear so. I hope not.

At present, tourists can feel reasonably safe from peril in Cuba, provided they take normal precautions to protect their valuables, just as they would at home. If the financial picture becomes bleaker, however, it could mean that visitors to the country become tempting targets for desperate, needy people who have run out of other avenues for survival. That, unfortunately, would only worsen things for everyone, since tourism is such an important part of the economy. One of the attractive elements of a Cuban holiday, in my opinion, is the feeling of safety, in comparison to some other places I’ve traveled.

Will Cuba still feel as warm? Will people still be as welcoming? Yes, I think so. I will continue to travel there, even if images of poverty begin to dominate my mental portfolio. Change will not happen overnight. In the next few years, I’m fairly certain that Cuba will need foreigners more than ever before. I just hope we are able to help the people as much as some of us would like to.

POEM: Love Poem to Cuba

I like playing with images when I write, particularly poetry. Here’s something recently written but not dated - atypical for me. When I wrote it, I wasn’t really sure I liked it, so I set it aside, intending to rework it later. In reading it over today, I’ve decided it doesn’t completely suck, so here it is!

Love Poem to Cuba

I want to absorb you into my pores
like saltwater and sunshine,
run my fingers through your sand
and let your waves lick my toes.
I want to nibble your pineapple,
sip the milk of coconuts and
let mango juice flow freely.

I want to know you as intimately
as the feel of my own hand.
I want to taste your essence,
suck the marrow of your bones
and understand why
you are you.

And when the night comes,
I want to lie with you, cradled
between mountains and beaches.
You are in my breath and
I am in your air, as we
inhale.

– J.R.C.
Nov. 21, 2010

Light at the end of winter: Cuba, April 14-21, 2011

[PLEASE NOTE: Since this was posted, the booking deadline has been extended and the price has come down significantly! It is now (mid Feb.) about $600 for the VIP pkg. Contact me - Jenny - for current details:  jcgb@vianet.ca]

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I am finally ready to officially announce that I am organizing a group trip to Club Amigo Marea del Portillo, April 14-21, 2011. It's being called "Write in Cuba" because there will be a writing-related component, but it's open to anyone!

So, if you're a writer, grab your favorite travel companion (not necessarily the same as your favorite travail companion), and sign up! S/He doesn't need to dress up and pretend to be a writer to be welcomed to the group...unlike the All-Girl Posse trips in October, when men aren't invited, even if they offer to wear dresses.

For this trip to fly, I need to have 10 people signed up by Dec. 15, complete with a deposit of $150 for each. The "Donate" button on the right-hand side of my blog will facilitate deposits by sending money directly into my "Cuba account" via PayPal.

The open quote I now have for this VIP Cabana package trip is $818 (including taxes and deposit) - that's right, it covers your flight, accommodation and all you can eat, drink and be merry! Writing workshops, off-resort excursions or daytrips, if you choose to participate in such things, would be extra.

However, the current price being quoted will likely drop. Sunwing offers a "one-time adjustment" option. This allows us to lock in a lower price, if one shows up on their website up to 60 days prior to our departure date. I'll watch the Sunwing site religiously!

I will be going for the preceding week (April 7-14) as well, and I will be using that time to finalize arrangements for some excursions I think our group would be interested in. For instance, a culturally rich and historically significant 2-day trip to Bayamo and La Plata has been discussed.

In Bayamo, we would see some sites pertaining to the city's history and art, then we would enjoy an evening of live music, followed by a night in a hotel there. In the morning, we would drive to a nearby national park and hike to La Plata, the headquarters of the Revolution. Several buildings have been preserved and, with a little imagination, I'm sure we'll see glimpses of Che and the Castro brothers hangin' out there. I think this will be an intriguing trip!

Other things I will arrange include a special welcome dinner for our group in a private dining area and guided kayak tours into the mangrove to look for manatees...and I'm not teasing! They have been known to graze near the resort.

Here's a list of the extras the VIP package includes:
• Fully stocked mini-bar with best Cuban brands (once upon arrival)
• 1 Gala dinner during stay with lobster and wine
• 1 Sunset cruise per stay
• 1 Lagoon tour per stay
• 3 Excursions to Cayo Blanco per stay
• Express reservations at à la carte restaurant
• Turn down service
• Safety deposit box
• Express check-in
• Different bracelet
• Welcome letter signed by general manager of the hotel
• Late check-out

 The clincher for me, as I'm sure it will be for you, was the "welcome letter" signed by hotel's GM. (Ha, ha!) Do they know how to sell the place or what?! Well, that's partly why I'm doing this - organizing group trips - I think the place (more correctly, the people of that area) could do with the added economic injection a nice gang of Canadians could supply. You could think of these spring and fall trips as booster shots in each shoulder season for the people around Marea del Portillo.

I know that the 45 women in October's All-Girl Posse were extremely generous in both their gifts and tips; I'm sure proud to have been part of that group! We had some adventures, as you can read about in other posts, and we had a lot of fun in the sun and under the moon. Perhaps I'll be able to travel with some of you again soonish, either in April or October of next year.

Meanwhile, I'll be looking forward to hearing from you and I'm happy to field any questions you might have about the resort, the VIP pkg., the pricing, the possible excursions, or whatever.

Adios,
Jenny

Tale #5 - Native idols, pop stars & a singing posse

After a crazy, later-than-planned night of hanging out at the Niquero police station, a gaggle of posse members were up bright and early to ride again. This time, we were transported past Niquero (waving at our new police amigos as we passed the station) for a hike in a beautiful and culturally interesting national park.

Cuba's Desembarco del Granma was designated as a national park in 1986 and inscribed as a world heritage site in 1999. Within this protected expanse of land – over 26,000 hectares – there is a quaint little fishing village called Cabo Cruz, which has a great lighthouse (photo opp!), a charming beach and a decent seafood restaurant (that is not open on Mondays). Also within the park, there's a historic region known as Las Coloradas, which is important for several reasons.

This was were the Cuban Revolution physically began. The Castro brothers, Che Guevara and 79 of their closest friends came ashore here – "desembarco" means "landing." When in the neighborhood, you should stop at the museum and see the life-sized replica of their legendary yacht, the "Granma." The boat is remarkably small!

When I visited the site on a previous trip, my friends and I hiked out to the actual landing site on the mangrove-snarled coast. (This time, that wasn't possible; I was told that some of the concrete walkway had been damaged during the summer's storms.) It's hard to imagine fighting one's way through that murky, mucky terrain, as those young revolutionaries did. It would have been incredibly exhausting and, since they'd landed in such an obscure location, there would not have been many options for getting a bite to eat.

On this trip, however, the group's goal was to hike into the Las Coloradas site that's immensely rich in archeology and native history. Here's an excerpt from an encyclopedia site that talks about this special place, explaining the cultural heritage:

"The area has a remarkable archaeological value as it was the original settlement of groups that belonged to the Taina Culture. In the area, the local population has strong genetic and spiritual links with this group. The El Guate archeological site includes a group of ceremonial caves. There is a well-preserved XIX Century lighthouse. Finally, most of the relevant milestones related to the Cuban Revolution took place in the area of Cabo Cruz. For instance, in 1956, 82 members of the Granma yacht landed in the area of Las Coloradas."

At the archeological site, stairs give you access to some of the most spiritually significant caves, containing several important idols and a couple of phallic stalagmites. En route to the caves, the terrain is quite rugged, so be sure you've got sturdy footwear...and plenty of water.

Our group was very glad to have two incredibly knowledgeable guides, Nelson and Leicy. They adeptly answered all our questions and provided many interesting details about the site, including the flora and fauna of the area. They both love to share information, and enthusiastically did so – particularly Nelson. In fact, the day of our excursion was supposed to be his day off but, because he truly enjoys talking about history and nature, he volunteered to lead our group!

After the hike, we ate lunch at the Niquero Hotel and, once again, Raul Lora appeared to us. I spotted him in the lobby and, like Leticia had done the day before, accosted him. He graciously agreed to let us sing Happy Birthday to him again (Oct. 17 is Raul Lora's birthday – send him a card next year!), and then hauled out a larger-than-life poster of himself as background for photos. Here's a link to the man in action – Raul Lora with El Abuelo (a different YouTube clip than the one linked in the preceding post, Tale #4). He still owes the posse a song, in my always humble opinion, since we sang to him twice!

Following lunch, we had a little free time to wander about the streets of downtown Niquero and absorb some of the atmosphere. This was the final day of the town's annual carnival, so there was a parade and a bit of dancing in the streets, not to mention live music and roasted pigs. It was fun to hang out, take pictures and get better acquainted with Leicy – another new friend in Cuba, whom I'll be looking forward to seeing again.

As we headed out of town, we waved, once again, to our cop friends. We were very glad that we didn't have to pay them a visit this time.

Tale #4 - To catch a thief, with great Cuban gusto

And on the fourth day, the posse got their man.

So, me and my posse – at least good chunk of the 45 amigas – went to Niquero to take in the carnival. This once-a-year hoopla draws a crowd, to put it mildly. When we arrived in the late afternoon, the parade was on and the streets were packed. We had to wriggle our way through the crowd, doing the odd limbo under ropes, to achieve sanctuary at the Niquero Hotel, where we were to dine that evening.

I looked around and saw some loonie-sized eyes. Culture shock in mild degrees. The crowd we were politely fighting our way through seemed somewhat surprised to see us slightly pink and white women passing among all the lovely brown people, in all their varying shades. This party was not being put on for the tourists; it was a genuine hometown hoe-down.

We'd been warned that such a crowd draws pickpockets, so I kept close watch on that purse of mine, as did the other amigas, all the way to the hotel. After a tasty and filling dinner, we turned about and headed back down the humanity-clogged street toward the open area where the bands were scheduled to play in a few hours. Some of us were very much looking forward to the live performances, although others were already tired from being in the hot sun.

[ASIDE: As a foretaste of music to come, we had the chance to meet Niquero's homegrown national star, Raul Lora. During dinner, Leticia, our quick-thinking tour guide, recognized him in the lobby, rushed out and invited  him to greet our group in the dining room. Cute as a puppy, he has a great smile and the camera loves him, as do most members of the female persuasion. We learned that his birthday was the following day, so the posse sang "Happy Birthday" to Raul. He grinned broadly but didn't return a tuneful note! Saving his voice for the concert, I guess.]

But, let's go back to the street. Following dinner and dessert (eye candy, that is!), we began wending our way through the crowd. One amiga, Karen, walked single file in front of her daughter, so Kaitlin could monitor her mother's backpack, which contained all their valuables. As I found out later, Kaitlin had smacked away the hand of a man who tried to reach into the backpack, and then felt her camera being yanked from its pouch, which was across her shoulder.

Kaitlin yelled "Help!" and dashed after the mugger, mother hot on her heels. However, by the time they charged past me, Karen was flagging. I saw her stop, panting and looking stricken. I followed her eyes and saw her beautiful blond daughter disappearing down a dark alley with about 20 men running along with her.

I did not know what had happened. Perhaps a purse or passport had been stolen. Was someone hurt? All I knew was that I could not let that child out of my sight – she was my amiga, part of my posse. I started running. (For those of you who know me, please pick your chins up off the floor and close your yaps.) Yes, I ran. After about 20 years of walking or skipping briefly, I ran. In my skirt and cheap, glittery thong sandals, I ran.

I caught up with Kaitlin as she was wearying. We held hands and kept running. The pursuing crowd had grown. Three dozen people, maybe more, were charging through the dark, muddy streets with us – or, by this point, mostly ahead of us. When we came to an intersection, some went this way and others went that way, leaping puddles in either direction.

Eventually, the perpetrator was cornered in a cement-block house that was under construction. He leaped through an unfinished window and darted into the bushes. I dug out my small but mighty Petzl headlamp and did my best to illuminate the shrubbery.

Within moments of the robber being trapped in the home's back yard, the police zoomed up in a trio of white Ladas . They had a much better spotlight. We had to leap out of their way as they sprang into action. Karen had caught up with us by then, so the three of us joined hands and stood, somewhat symbolically, beneath the sole street light.

Somewhere amid all this chaos, a woman from the madding crowd accosted me with agitated gestures. She kept saying "Dinero?! Dinero?!" Was I supposed to bribe the officers? It was not clear. Eventually, I ascertained that she was asking if money had been stolen – no, just the camera.

At one point, poor dear Kaitlin commented, "The camera is not worth it!" It was several years old, she said, and not in great shape. But, the crowd was eager to assist and the local constabulary had been having a slow night; once the wheels are rolling, there's no stopping until the mission is accomplished. And so, it was.

The bad guy was shipped off to the police station. We exhaled. Then, through vociferous hand signs, we were directed to get into the back a cop Lada. We complied. What else could we do? So, picture this: three normal-sized women with hips (we nicely filled the backseat) being asked to shove over so a large plain-clothes police officer could add his bulk to the rear payload. I think he must have been holding the door shut because, even with Kaitlin plunked on my and Karen's laps, I can't imagine how the guy closed the car's door. But, we were rolling.

Once at the police station, we quickly discovered that they spoke no English and we spoke no Spanish, to speak of. In my broken bits of sentences, I stated: "Un momento, por favor! El autobús. Translator." I dashed off down the street towards where our tour bus was parked, mentally calling to my friends to bring Leticia. They got the message; she and our bus driver, Jose Alberto, met me very near the bus.

The three of us hurried to the police station. By this time, mother and daughter had already identified the thief in a line-up. Pointing a finger is universal.

Leticia immediately availed herself and was closeted in the bowels of the building, along with Kaitlin and an assortment of officers, for the next two and a half hours. Meanwhile, Karen and I hung out on the front porch of the police station with Jose Alberto, intermittent officers, somebody's wife and a couple of random children. I passed out gum.

Somewhere along the timeline, an officer wandered in, carefully wiping a camera. Someone had found it in a puddle, where the thief had thrown it. Although the lens was shattered, Kaitlin was able to salvage her photo card, which was of most importance to her.

As the evening wore on, I hiked down the street a couple of times to check in the with posse occasionally. By about 11 p.m., they were getting understandably hot and restless. "Jose," I prompted, "el autobús – frio, por favor." Bright and handsome young man that he is, and unusually tall for Cuba, he got it. In short order, he'd moved the bus, parking it in front of the police station, and cranked up the air conditioner. Amigas were soon snoozing cooly.

The police paperwork was winding down. Later, Kaitlin told me, the interview time was protracted because the officer taking her statement typed with a slow form of the traditional international hunt-and-peck strategy. And, the official police printer got jammed as it was trying to burp up the proper sign-here documents.

By about 11:30 that night, we were finally underway back to the resort. It was later than we'd planned to return but nobody complained. En route, I passed my newly acquired cowboy hat among the amigas who were still awake and split the tips evenly between our dear driver and equally dear tour guide. All's well that ends well.

Yes, it ended well for us. The thief will likely do jail time. The thugs, hopefully, have learned not to mess with my posse!

For anyone reading this tale, I hope you will learn the same lesson as the members of my posse. Muggings can happen anywhere, we agreed. But, where in North America would you have dozens of people who don't know you dash off after a criminal? Where would you have so many people immediately mobilized to assist you? Not in Toronto, or even Huntsville!

People in Cuba are willing to help, no questions asked. They will help strangers as readily as locals. They will go out of their way to help. This was demonstrated to me, time and again, during my most resent stay at Club Amigo Marea del Portillo. Do I need any more reason to love this country, these people?

Tale #3 - Picking up friends on the Cuban byways

When in the rural region of Granma, where I love to travel in Cuba, if you rent a car, you frequently find yourself picking up friends on any roadtrip. In fact, it seems almost rude to roll with an empty car. However, Harvey, I play it safe – when I'm driving alone, I only pick up people I recognize, and women.

One afternoon, I stopped for a young man I remembered from a previous trip, and he remembered me too. At that time, he had wanted to practice his English, and he proved quite pleasant to chat with. Since returning home to Canada, we have become virtual penpals, and I am helping him with his written English. He's got a good head on his shoulders, even though he's never lived anywhere but Pilon in his 22 years, and doesn't particularly want to live elsewhere.

On another day while returning from Pilon, heading back to the resort, I invited a woman to sit in the front passenger seat. As I drove, I glanced over at her and saw that she was holding a dark blue cloth bag in her lap. Emblazoned upon it was my store logo: "reVIBE! ~ reclaimed clothing and eco-eclectics." I had taken about three bags there in April. What are the odds that I'd come across a woman I didn't know, happily using one?

Turned out, we had an amigo in common – Agustin! She pointed to her shirt and pants, explaining that he had also given her some clothing...from my store. Instead of going directly to the resort, I drove all the way into the village of Marea del Portillo, so that this new amiga and I could pay a quick visit to Agustin's  home. A delightful encounter!

It can prove quite intersting to pick up hitch-hikers and discover how frequently they become friends. And, you haven't truly lived unless you've dodged endless potholes and random goats with a full carload of sweaty bodies in a tin box with no shocks and wonky air-conditioning. Woo-hoo!

Tale #2 - More reasons to take Frisbees to Cuba

After a delayed departure from the Manzanillo airport, due to my temporarilly A.W.O.L. bicycle, the All-Girl Posse was finally on the road to Club Amigo Marea del Portillo, Cuba, where we expected to hang out, have fun and perhaps enjoy a few benign adventures.

Less than an hour into our journey, however, the bus broke down. So, there we were, more than half way to the resort but too far away to walk, and it's not advisable to hitch-hike, en masse, with a pile of suitcases. We were, for all practical purposes, in the middle of nowhere, on a scorching hot afternoon, completely unacclimatized and exhausted from flying out of Toronto at some too-early hour.

Most of us had had little sleep the night before, and we'd missed lunch. Tired, hungry tourists quickly get restless, then grumpy, when they have to stand by the side of a road, even if the scenery is lovely.

In the shade of a nearby tree, a small collection of children watched us with mild curiosity. They must have been thinking: why the heck are these white folks standing in sun? We observed each other stagnantly, shuffling our feet on our own sides of the road. Then – click! – I thought of Frisbees.

I asked the bus driver to help me pull my bike box out of the cargo bay. I ripped open a corner and wormed my hand inside, eagerly retrieving a Frisbee. I marched up the hill to the children and tossed the bright disk towards them. With some hesitation, one of them picked it up and awkwardly threw it back to me. Game on! They quickly learned how to properly hold and pitch a Frisbee, and were soon whipping it back and forth, giggling with glee.

Some of my fellow passengers grabbed their cameras and recorded the action. Others dug into their suitcases and pulled out school supplies and other gifts. The ice had been broken. They now felt free to interact with the children and the other people at the two small, clean houses beside the road. The children brought us fruit and I shared my secret stash of granola bars. It wasn't loaves and fishes but it helped to tide us over and keep us entertained. People relaxed and smiled. Puppies were cuddled. A Frisbee found a new home.

As our replacement transportation arrived and we heaved ourselves aboard, one woman told me that she thought the bus break-down experience would be one of the highlights of our trip. We had yet to arrive at the resort.

Later on in our trip, I had another opportunity to introduce the fine art of Frisbee fetching to another group. During a very pleasant day trip known as the "River Tour," I pulled out a Frisbee and got some of the amigas to play while we waded in the water. Several of the women who were our hosts gamely joined in but, at one point, the Frisbee sailed past the intended catcher and landed in the current.

Since I was wearing my sturdy, toe-protecting Keen sport sandals, I unabashedly dashed after it, diving into the drink and body surfing in a vain attempt to overtake the free-floating Frisbee. When the river rounded a bend, however, I galloped through the shallows, cut off the corner and got ahead of the rogue toy. Then I jumped back into the deeper water and managed to grab the frisky disk at long last.

I tossed it, one last time, to the woman who lived there, at the little farm beside the river. She smiled and immediately began using it to serve fruit.

Tale #1 - My bike had an adventure of its own!

I'm still working on getting into the Great White groove. I've been back in Canada for a little over a week but part of my mind is still walking in sunshine in Cuba, where I spent the last half of October. I was welcomed back home warmly by my hubby and pets but coldly by the climate.

On my second day here, trying to wade through the virtual mountain of e-mail, the power went out, the temperature dropped and it began to snow briskly. I couldn't help but think that, in Cuba, when the power goes out (as it frequently does), at least you don't freeze to your chair. I lit a fire and coped. Praise be to the coffee gods or goddesses for thermal carafes.

My most recent trip to my second home, Marea del Portillo, in the Granma province of Cuba, was so full of adventures, activities and interesting encounters that it's hard to know where to begin. Perhaps I'll just follow the musical advice of Julie Andrews as Maria in "The Sound of Music" - to start at the very beginning because it's a very good place to start. (Everybody sing along!)

In the wee dark hours of Oct. 13, the posse gathered at Pearson, Toronto's international airport. Forty-two women boarded the Sunwing plane and jetted off to Cuba. Destination: Club Amigo Marea del Portillo. Goal: all-girl fun! (No rude remarks from the testosterone department, please.) This was the inaugural All-Girl Posse trip to Cuba, which I expect to become an annual October activity. By the time we'd arrived, our ranks had swelled to 45; we adopted a woman and her two daughters who were pals of another posse member and just happened to be booked into the same resort that week.

The flight itself was relatively uneventful, our arrival at the Manzanillo airport was filled with the usual humid chaos and, in short order, the first adventure began. This involved my bicycle going on a journey of its own. It got to go for a ride on top of a Lada and visit a Cuban home! Apparently, while I was indisposed (in the baño), my bike box had been spewed forth onto the luggage carousel and subsequently disappeared. In its stead, a bedraggled-looking box with another woman's name on it stood in the arrivals lobby, forlorn and unclaimed. The search was on!

While the security guards were looking around and shrugging, some of my posse rushed in and reported that they'd seen a box with my name on it being loaded onto a car that hastily drove off. Of course, I thought, my bike box - which had been neatly taped together by the Algonquin Outfitters bike shop lads - would look like more of a prize than that other ratty box with its peeling red duct tape.

We tracked down the woman whose name was on that unappealing box and she explained that she had brought it for her son's friend, whom she didn't really know. Since she would be staying at the same resort, we agreed that she would try to contact the intended recipient, via her son in Canada, and endeavor to arrange a swap. I would, in effect, hold her bike for ransom. In order to promote international peace and good will, we decided to believe that the gentlemen with the Lada had erroneously taken my bike box and, naturally, would want to set things right. (I was not feeling as optimistic as I sounded.)

However, that was indeed the case! Before the bus had gotten very far out of town, the box-bedecked Lada caught up and flagged us down. The bike owner-to-be was very keen to exchange - and he hadn't even opened the box! When he got home, he explained, he looked in through a handle hole and saw Frisbees. If there were Frisbees inside, he knew his "special things" would not be in that box, he said. (Note to self: always pack Frisbees with your bike...sort of like companion planting.)

Soon, we were on the road again, smiling broadly and clinking cans of cerveza. Then the bus broke down....