Time Capsule Cuba

Glen in front of our hotel -  newly renovated Hotel Saratoga

Havana is the one place on earth where people who speak English are asked automatically what part of Canada they're from.  But all that is about to change and we considered ourselves part of the first wave of what will become a flood of American tourism as things improve between America and Cuba.  Glen and I had just flown into  Havana on a charter flight from Miami as part of a two week ‘people to people’ visa intended to allow us to authentically experience the ‘real Cuba’.  This first Sunday afternoon we were on our own and we walked to the park across from our renovated, government run Hotel Saratoga; one of Old Havana's two newish five-star hotels, rising above the crumbling ruins of this architecturally rich city.

In old Havana - taxis lined up

Glen and I clearly had different ideas about what to do with this rare free time - our upcoming itinerary spanned much of the island during the next two weeks.  I wanted authentic encounters with Cubans.  Besides limbering up my Spanish for the coming weeks, I was curious how the Cubans regarded Americans, having seen revolutionary propaganda billboards on the way from the airport.  As for Glen, he wanted to look at old cars and see the engines of vintage automobiles.  He lost interest in cultural exchange the minute he walked out of the Havana airport into the parking lot.  We knew that there were a lot of old cars in Cuba, but weren’t prepared for the quantity and quality of 40s and 50s car gems so soon after landing.

Glen's personal favorite

As our Cuban guide introduced herself,  Glen was studying cars.  As our modern, Chinese transport bus pulled away from the curb Glen was studying cars.  There were so many old cars that it seemed like one in every three was a vintage model from the 1940s and 1950s. Glen, a car buff who has restored two vintage cars and two vintage airplanes, kept identifying various years, makes and models.  “That one there is a 1950 Oldsmobile sedan, I wish I could see the engine.” Taking the highway into Havana was like a candy store full of old cars. ‘Here comes a 1947 Hudson, look at that Cadillac…..’   Our guide was basically talking to herself as most everyone was watching the vintage Chevrolets, Fords, and Plymouths as they passed on the other side of the road.

A Russian diesel under the hood

As Glen and I walked across the boulevard in front of the hotel we talked about a compromise of activities for these free hours.  I would greet and meet Cubans for awhile and then he would get to talk cars with the locals.  I turned around and greeted the first person I saw; a middle aged woman rolling a round, white, 5 gallon container that someone had craftily mounted on wheels which contained bits and pieces of a slaughtered pig.  “We are visiting from the United States, I told her in classroom Spanish.  Do you have family there?”.  Her response was immediate and excited.  She gave a big smile with a couple of gaps in her teeth and gave us her full attention, speaking rapidly with sweeping arm gestures.  Yes, she did have family in the United States, but really wanted to talk about what sounded like ‘turtles’.  She spoke so fast it was hard to follow. But we smiled and tried to figure out what she was so excited about.  Testigo, testigo,......Yovah turtles…. maybe that isn’t turtles.  Yep,  here is my dictionary….turtles are tortuga…. testigos are ….. WITNESS.  We had just stopped a Jehovah’s Witness on the streets of Havana carting part of a pig that a friend had slaughtered and given her.  

Back to the 50's - me too!

Glen, who had to turn toward the street to keep from laughing, assisted my exit from this Cuban Jehovah’s Witness and then pointed us toward a line of rare convertibles from the 1950s for hire. Included is a blue and white 1957 Ford, a bright pink 1951 Chevrolet, and a very rare and desirable red 1958 Cadillac convertible. All these cars are essentially taxis.  Ours for the renting.

The cobbled streets of Trinidad, Cuba

It is estimated there are over 60,000 vintage American cars still running in Cuba.  Thousands of American cars were brought into Cuba up until 1960, the year that the United States government declared a trade embargo that stopped all imports. This was a year after Fidel Castro seized power in the January, 1959 revolution that forever changed the face of this  island nation into the new Socialist Republic of Cuba.

Ever since the embargo, resourceful Cubans found innovative ways to keep their beloved and prized American cars in operation.  They could no longer import parts from the U.S. so, sad for car purists, the majority of these cars have been repowered with diesel engines, either from Russia or Japan.

A rare silver color

There is no such thing as a junkyard in Cuba. Everything that would have been junk in America has been repurposed on the old cars.  I never knew how much Glen knows about old cars until he spotted and pointed out substitute parts from one model car used for a different make of car.  This ‘cut and paste’ engineering results in some ingenious workarounds.   A mid-'50s Chevrolet  drives by sporting parts that look they came from an old refrigerator. A 1957 Chevy became a convertible after someone cut the roof off. Glen and I walk up to the line of cars and without a word the owner pops the hood.  He has seen that look before and he and Glen speak the same language - the international language of cars.  The driver explains that he painted the car with house paint and sponges, and shows off his fuel tank - a large plastic water bottle w a complicated feeder system leading to the carburetor.  Further down the line the owner of another topless 1957 Chevrolet proudly lifts the hood to show a Russian-built diesel engine providing the power.

Farming methods from 50s Cuba too

Our tour takes us up and down and all around the island of Cuba and everywhere we see amazingly well preserved American carts from the 40s and 50s.  On the Caribbean side of the island in the 500-year-old city of Trinidad and in the university town of Cienfuegos we see vintage American cars.  But in the farming areas we mostly see horse and ox drawn carts carrying people and crops.  As our two weeks in Cuba come to a close our final destination is a fancy suburb of Havana where luxury hotels line a crumbling concrete seawall.  There are classic car taxis for hire. The last night our entire group exits from a fancy,  privately owned ‘paladar’ in an old mansion and step into waiting taxi convertibles - ours a 1955 Dodge convertible.  A perfect ending for our 2 weeks of time travel.  For classic car fans, there is no place on earth like Cuba.

No Easy Day

I fancy myself an adventurer and somewhat athletic.  But more and more I have the unfortunate habit of running into people who really are. Months ago, friends suggested I volunteer to ride as "sweep" for the 36 mile rocky, winding, singletrack Mountain Bike Tour of the White Mountains in our town of Pinetop, Arizona.  Asking myself the same question every delusional person does before doing something stupid, "How hard can it really be?"

Sky Island Woman and Glen In Bike Kit

After all I looked the part ....my new ultra-light carbon fiber bike with 29 inch wheels defined me as a 'weight weenie' - someone obsessed with reducing the weight of their bicycle (it's a lot easier to pedal a lighter bike folks!) .  And wearing those unflattering, padded black cycling shorts that are the only protection between your tush and your hard (but light!) bike seat.  I may have looked the part, but I know my place in this hierarchy of awesomeness and it was last....not just as a figure of speech - but officially last.  Being a "sweep" is all about being last; escorting and calling in for pick-up of stragglers and helping with equipment malfunctions - what can be so hard about that? 

There Should Be Vapor Trails Coming Off These Bikes!

 As long as I don't "biff" on the more technical parts of the singletrack.  Or go "endo" on the steep downhill or rocky portions of the trail if I have my weight too far forward or  apply my brakes too suddenly.  But I was pretty sure no matter what else happened that I would "bonk" (carb depletion) during the 36 mile singletrack mountain bike race that was starting in the next few minutes.  Straddling my bicycle and waiting for the starting shot way at the back of the pack... behind the hundreds of superbuff mountain bikers, I ask myself again, "how hard can it really be?" 

The Awards Ceremony I Never Saw 

 Very hard.   For someone like me who used to think   riding a mountain bike was hopping on my bike for a ride to yoga, or a mosey around the neighborhood, let me right now draw the distinction between the act of riding a mountain bike and the sport of mountain biking.
Riding a mountain bike is easy.  Mountain bikes are evolutionary improvements on paper boy bikes -  stable, beefy, and ideal for such outdoor sports as going to the store or returning a borrowed spice to a friend.

But riding up, down and around a mountain on a mountain bike is a difficult thing.  Mountains that look simple, solid and inspiring from afar look way different up close and personal.  The narrow tracks that wind through the forest just wider than your handle bars are daunting and mined with rocks, roots, loose scree and ruts.  The good news is that on a singletrack mountain bike race, your tiny world becomes very focused and you can eat as much as you want.

These Muscled Thigh Guys Are FAST

Hours later as I claw my way up the narrow winding singletrack well behind the pack I tell myself, "I am doing my duty back here".  I extend words of encouragement to stragglers telling them not to overextend themselves; no shame in walking.   Then I realize at this speed I might as well be.  My bike must be an engineering marvel to be able to stay upright at a shuffling pace.  Then, just as I am about to totter over from my glacial pace, the trail makes a steep drop over rocks and I hang on for dear life.  Although my mountain biking skills are not to be counted on, my bicycle is capable of saving my sorry self all on its own and bounds ahead over the toughest obstacles and rocks.   I literally study the ground ahead.  In theory the autumn leaves and forest views are awesome on this trail, if only I could risk tearing my gaze from the rock strewn path in front of me.  I am also on the lookout to make way for the serious front contenders I meet head on, returning back hours ahead of the stragglers.  MAKE WAY! Trails like this are the domain of muscled thigh guys with tattoos that read 'ANIMAL'.
 
After climbing and dropping through the narrow trails for six hours I get a call from the race organizer.  "We hear you are encountering problems out there.  Time to bring the stragglers back."  Inwardly rejoicing,  I describe my position and the organizer tells me , "There's a trail right ahead that'll take you to the bottom. It is about the same distance, but will take you off the side of the mountain and onto the forest road."   I'm all over that piece of wisdom.  I grab my "stragglers" and break the news that since the awards were given out two hours ago, no harm - no foul in taking the easy way back.  Quiet cheers of relief from all concerned. 

 

  
After seven hours in the saddle my husband Glen and our friends are waiting for me as we cross the finish line.  Everyone else finished hours earlier and they are relieved to know they won't have to search the forest for our bodies.
  
Like everyone who narrowly skirts disaster and lives to tell of it, I only realize what fun I've had at the end, while eating large quantities of Fig Newtons.  I would try to convey this happiness to my husband, but he is already talking about course and training improvements for the next year.  "Next year"? I ask with my mouth full of cookies.  But then I lean back on the grass next to my bike, content in the knowledge that I have accomplished something worthy.  Next year is really far off.  And after all, "How hard can it really be?"

Our Challenging Route Along Singletrack

   

Off the Beaten Path In Costa Rica

              Sky Island Woman finds the REAL Costa Rica

Our keen "all natural" host

When we were picking a country in Central America to visit for an entire month we kept hearing "Skip Costa Rica.  It's expensive and touristy."  Well, in some places it IS expensive, touristy and full of gringos.  But there are ways to experience the best of this spectacular country far from the ziplines, butterfly farms and trip package tourists.  Costa Rica has plenty of less-traveled rural towns where you will never hear English spoken and the adrenaline rush comes from the intense, mind blowing beauty of nature. 

The Songbirds and Gardens Compete Mightily With Breakfast At Our Rural Finca

Glen and I have already been in Costa Rica for three weeks - no strangers to the intense greens, vivid birds, monkeys and wildlife.  But this is the first time we ever wanted binoculars at breakfast, distracted from our huevos rancheros by some of the more colorful of some 250 bird species found in this area.  This is how a tropical paradise would be if it was Photoshopped of any flaws and set to a soundtrack of bird calls and nature sounds.

Everything here is "issimo"

The gardens surrounding the lodge attract birds, butterflies and the occasional frog.

Our Finca Lodging - Oxcart Relic From Early Farming Days

You can see why they call it the Green Path

The abundance of birds and wildlife here is no accident.  Roger (Ro-her) and Rosie, our local hosts at Malekus Mountain Lodge have taken the spectacular “all natural ingredients” of Costa Rica to a new level.  They recently planted native trees with berries and fruit to attract birds, as well as indigenous squash, tubers, and fruit to serve at meals. This beautiful, friendly family is also lucky enough to possess and cherish a primary growth tropical forest which somehow escaped the handsaws of ancestors.  To allow guests and friends to fully appreciate the intense wildlife within the jungle forest, the family worked three months to build what Glen and I call “El Sendero Verde” or The Green Path.  When Roger and Rosie offered to take us we jumped at the chance.  As Roger strapped on a machete - “every paradise has serpents!”, we spritzed with bug spray.  We took off through their lush, private, jungle along a 3.5 km path hand laid from fallen hardwood tree sections.  With every step I pictured the hot, sweaty labor involved with constructing this one way trail through the jungle forest.  We found the Green Path an incredibly intimate way to get up close and personal with a jungle forest but not have any adverse impact on the environment.  In other words,  sneak up on any jungle critter who didn't clear out when they smelled our bug spray! 

Dynamic Rosie - Energetic and Great Sense of Humor

Naturalists at the nearby Park list 250 bird species

 Places like this aren’t found in guidebooks.  We were directed to this finca by a savvy friend who also prefers authentic, off the beaten path exploring.  He promised it as a “must do” and well worth passing up the gringo intensive tourist towns crammed with ziplines and butterfly farms.   No travel clichés here at Malekus Mountain Lodge, a private 288 acre organic farm and ecolodge nestled between Rincon de la Vieja Volcano National Park and Miravalle Volcano National Park.  After an hour’s drive from the Liberia International Airport we found ourselves nestled between the rainforests of the Central Highlands and the dry tropical zones of the Pacific Beach towns.  An ideal situation that offers plantings, birds and wildlife of both systems. 

These guys add a new dimension to driving at night

Roger and Rosie are the real deal; they love life and are passionate about keeping their finca and lodge authentic.  We felt enfolded into their family and wished we could stay for weeks.  Perhaps Roger and Rosie recognized kindred spirits because on our last night at the finca they took us up, up, up along a cleared, wider trail to their own personal “mirador” or lookout -  the highest spot on their expansive property.  In the light of the setting sun and a full moon overhead we could just make out Lake Nicaragua in front and towering volcanic peaks to the east and west.  With a cool evening breeze blowing on our faces, birds singing good night and two lovely new friends sharing their beautiful finca - this is the real Costa Rica.  We’ll be back. 

  Mountain biking is a national pastime here on
trails and dirt roads that see more cattle and horses than cars.  

This finca was the highlight of our month in Costa Rica.  If you are traveling there it is worth a stop.

https://es.airbnb.com/rooms/2778152?checkin=22%2F04%2F2014&checkout=25%2F04%2F2014&guests=2&s=CCXL#reputation-mark

   

The Turtles Are Coming...The Turtles Are Coming

Early arrivals of the Olive Ridley sea turtle Arrivada at Playa Ostional, Costa Rica

We look out on the sea on this moonless night and with the help of sparkling phosphorescence notice dozens of little black heads popping in and out of the waves.  They are slowly but surely advancing our way, scattered along the horizon of black, volcanic sand.  A unique and amazing spectacle of nature -the turtle armada has begun.  

Mom turtles heading both ways - all exhausted at the effort

We found out about it from a local expat "turtle whisperer".  " The Arribada has started on Playa Ostional and you don't want to miss it. "  Literally translated,  Arribada means Arrival.  An Arribada occurs every month.  During an Arribada, in a single night anywhere from thousands to hundreds of thousands of sea turtles march heavily up the beach at high tide to conduct what can only be described as a mass nesting.  Arribadas follow a lunar cycle of 3-4 days before a new moon.  Countless female turtles begin congregating affshore several days before riding the high tide in to begin their nesting march to the same spot they themselves hatched years before.  Over the course of the next few days as many as 500,000 mother turtles will dig nests along an 11 km stretch of Playa Ostional, a short drive from our temporary home in Costa Rica.  

Turtles hatch 80-100 golf sized rubbery eggs two feet down.  No help from the Dad turtles - they stay out in the ocean

We chose to watch the turtles arrive at night.  We did not want to wait for daylight and chance witnessing the attacks on eggs and hatchlings by predators.  The law requires a local guide and we are glad we had Luis to help us find our way along the black beach in the dark.  It was eerie to have countless turtles silently and slowly make their way past us in the search for the perfect nesting spot.  Our own headlamps would have been useless - only official guides carry light on the beach and it must be red to not disorient the turtle moms.  

Luis, our guide, is part of a cooperative of over 300 families that watch over the turtles and try to protect them from predators.  It's a tricky situation though, turtle eggs are thought to be an aphrodisiac in the native culture and highly sought after by Tico (Costa Rican) men.  The local village has an agreement with the government of Costa Rica that allows collection of up to 5% of the first wave eggs (can easily be 850,000 in a large Arribada).  The later batches of turtle eggs are left to hatch and hopefully make it back to sea.  

Local culture has it that since females lay large clutches of eggs three times a year and male turtles overcome great adversity mating in the rough and tumble sea, turtles are sexually potent. Turtle eggs are highly coveted and bring big money to the village.  Called the "poor man's Viagra", a Costa Rican man will eat 3 turtle eggs and expect to perform that many times the same evening.    

  

These gals can be hard to avoid when it gets dark on the beach.  Moms with a mission bumping into logs and each other

As we watch, the beach becomes so thick with turtles dragging themselves up onto the beach to lay their eggs that we have to be careful where we walk.  These are Moms on a mission.  The digging of the nest 2 feet down and hatching of the eggs takes about 30 minutes.  After hatching 80-100 golf ball sized rubbery eggs, the mom turtle camouflages her nesting site by flipping and pounding sand over the area.  At the end it is impossible to say for certain where those eggs are hiding.  We were told that 45 days from now those hatchlings will crawl their way out and try to make it to sea before predators catch them.  It is estimated that only from that  At the end it is impossible to tell where those eggs are hiding.  We understand that 45 days later those hatchlings will crawl their way out and try to make it to the sea before predators catch them.  It is estimated that only one out of 100 hatchlings will make it back to that same beach 15 years later for their first round of nesting.  That is a lot of future nesting for a turtle that could live to the ripe old age of 65+ years. 

A clutch of hatchlings racing to sea and trying to avoid the birds and mammal predators.  HURRY little guys!!!!

This guy looks ready to take on the world!

Then all this quiet frenzy is over.  We are speechless at the specter of countless large sea turtles dragging their exhausted bodies back to the sea; each step a struggle, their bodies not designed for this terrain. Their flippers dig into the sand and push, inch by inch, towards the ocean leaving distinctive turtle tracks, but well camouflaged and hidden eggs two feet below the sand.  The poor moms look worn out as they take deep breaths and rest along the way back to the ocean. It’s taking every last bit of their energy to return home.  We would love to assist but let nature do its thing.   

As much as we detest the thought of eating those eggs that turtle mom worked so hard to deliver, the bargain that has been struck between the Costa Rican villagers and "their” turtles insures that this grand spectacle of nature will go on into the future.

Location of our Nosara rental casa and the turtle beach 12 km north

Wilderness Women Don't Sing the Blues

Wilderness Women at West Baldy Trail Head - 2 More Joined Our Adventure After Work

Women like me aren't difficult to typecast; iPhone toting, REI-shopping lover of the outdoors.  I can light a campfire, pitch a tent, and in bear country know better than to sleep with my chocolate chip cookies next to my head.  But the finer skills of backcountry life must be earned by "just doing it" - without gallant husbands or guys to do the hard or scary stuff.  And sometimes it's fun to get out there with gal pals and enjoy a different type of campsite conversation and camaraderie. That's why our Meet-up group of Arizona Women of Adventure packed as much as we could stuff into our towering backpacks and headed out to camp and hike the 15 mile loop on Mount Baldy - one of the highest peaks in the White Mountains of Arizona.     

Our First Steps - Making Peace With Our Backpacks

Our small group of "Adventurous Women" gathered at the trailhead parking lot.  The ground looked like an REI garage sale.  We were all trying to figure out how to reduce our carry weight by sharing equipment - each calling out inviting ideas to lighten the load.  "I have a tube of really effective DEET bug spray.  I'll take that and we can all use it."  Another gal offers,  "my Neutrogena is SPF 45 and doesn't sting your eyes - you are all welcome to use mine".  And so it goes with excessive snacks and our third "extra pair of socks" (just in case!) going back into the car to make these mammoth backpacks a little more manageable at 30 or so pounds.  

Sara's Mary Poppins Backpack
She Kept Pulling Out Amazing Things
To Include a Hammock, Tarp Patio, Dog Dishes, Tiki Torches,
and Last But Not Least, Happy Hour Cheese and Crackers

Even in it's lighter version, my backpack is the size of a Smartcar.  It has a dozen pockets, 6 zippers, and a functioning bladder.  With a little help from each other we don our packs, staggering the first few steps until we make peace with our burden.  Walking with our hiking poles to give us stability we travel at a brisk pace but slow enough to appreciate the beauty around us.  We backpacked a little over 3 miles into the wilderness when Sara, our expedition organizer, finds our remote campsite; the most perfect spot you could ever imagine.  We shed our backpacks (a sweet feeling as it slides off) and take it all in.  The pine and spruce covered mountain, signs of wildlife and the Little Colorado River.  The river will be our camp "water feature"  and security moat which we must cross on a large log to get to our well camouflaged dark forest and fern green home.  This isn't a Women's Adventure outing, it's a John Denver song.   

To the left is the gurgling Little Colorado River which we called our "water feature".  It also functioned as a moat to keep our little haven private.

 To the right is our foot spa and water purification plant site.  When our tootsies got tired there is nothing better than a cold soaking in stream water.

Location Location Location
Waterfront Property With Old Growth Trees 

Below is our moat bridge which was a bit tricky to navigate with 30+ pounds on your back.  The campsite was worth the risk however. 

A Few Adjustments and We Have A Working Tent

The last time I put up this ultralight two person tent my husband did most of the work.  Now it is women doing for themselves and we are psyched.  My tentmate and I - Julie C and Julie B - don't bother with pesky directions.  Our first attempt looked something between a spaceship and a pirate ship.  Which we blew off to campsite performance art.  Fortunately there are only so many possible combinations of Chinese nylon and snap-on poles and shortly we erected a perfectly assembled and sited tent. Funny how accomplished you can feel over little things like that.  


As we sit around our campsite excited conversations mellow out.  We look out on the mountain we will climb tomorrow, sipping our tea and coffee that we made by purifying our river water and lighting our  personal cookstoves.  Time slows.  Smartphones go dumb.  We  eat our rehydrated gourmet dinners sitting around on logs looking out on the night.  Either through Sara's brilliant planning or serendipity, tonight is the summer solstice with the added bonus of a "supermoon".  We grow silent in awe as the brilliant and immense globe of the moon rises above the treeline.  No matter what it took to get out here it has been worth it.  A chance to connect with our inner selves and other women.  No matter our background, skills or life situation, we bond over the one thing we all common - the mother we are spending quality time with over the next three days;  Mother Nature.  

Julie C - Our Resident Songwriter Belts Out A Tune On Big Agnes - Her Air Mattress Guitar

Sara's Hammock - We Laughed At It and Then Took Turns Swinging Under the Trees - Hammock Envy!

Surveying Our Empire and Calling In Our Late Arrivals To the Campsite
We Were So Well Hidden Only The Wildlife Knew We Were There

Breakfast On The Sun Porch

Soaking Tired Tootsies In The Cold Stream

Hours Of Breathtaking Trail To The Top 

Happy Hour On Sara's Patio
The LED Tiki Torches Are On the Log

Rest Break On The Trail Up 

Our Solstice SuperMoon

Our Water Purification Plant
Filling Hydration Bladders For the Big Push In The Morning

Two Small Ice Fields On The Way Up
Theresa Throwing Snowballs on the Summer Solstice

The Top of Mt Baldy - YAY!!!