2023 Holguin, Cuba - Why Do We Love Cuba?

After a three-year, pandemic inflicted break we are back in Cuba. Playa Pesquero, in Holguin to be exact.

What do we like about Cuba? I’ll tell you a story.

Our flight from Hamilton yesterday was delayed due to a scarcity of baggage handlers, so we didn’t make it to the resort until around 11:30pm. After standing in line at reception check-in for a while, then catching a 6-man electric golf cart ride to my in-laws room to unload them and their baggage, then a final run in the golf cart to our room (which is adjoined to Magnus and Stella room) on the other end of the resort, then some rapid unpacking, quick brush of the teeth, speedy underarm deodorant swipes, visit to the 24 hour buffet for a sardine/yuca/rice/sausage/red wine snack, then a couple of wobbly-pops in the lobby bar to the soothing sounds of the drunken Quebecers getting nutty, we didn’t get to sleep until sometime after 2 or maybe 3am. So by the time we got up this morning, somehow tracked down Ana’s folks after forgetting to note their room number (it’s a massive resort and the black Cuban nights offer little in the way of landmarks), waited forever for the kids to get up, then found a suitable table for six in the busy breakfast buffet, there had already been a thousand people through one of the egg-cooking stations.

Which brings me to my story. As I waited in line for an omelet, I relearned that the Cubans who work in the resorts are simply amazing. By the time I reached the front of the queue, the lovely middle-aged Cuban lady sweating behind the smoking hot grill, skillfully cooking no less than five sizzling and dancing breakfast omelets at a time, was still smiling. And I don’t mean one of those phony retail smiles that the cagey, affectionless dude racking clothes at Winners spears you with when you ask where the gift cards are at as you’re impatiently trying to get in and out as quickly as possible. I mean like a nice smile where she looks into your eyes and reminds you of an aunt or grandma or maybe a friend of either or both of those. Cubans have an endless supply of patience and an ability to shirk off the sometimes revolting behavior of entitled foreigners. It makes you want to become best friends and perhaps Godparent one of their children or them yours. At one point during the day we counted up our previous trips and I think this is our 12th visit to Cuba, stretching over about 23 years. We love it here.

Besides the people, we love the Cuban winter weather. No scraping ice off windows, no furnaces, no ice storms, and no toques/mittens/scarves/boots. No shirt required. No shoes required. Just sun, beach, sand, and warm salty ocean water.

It’s different than the rest of the Caribbean. I’m not sure if it’s because they’ve been under the thick thumb of Fidelisimo dictatorship for over 60 years or that the economic embargo prevents many Americans from showing up here, but it is very much unlike anywhere else you may visit in these parts. There’s no crime, no obnoxious and culturally-vacant franchises, no suicidal drivers, no drugs, and few squint-eyed hucksters flogging local craftwork on the beaches. Of course, the Cubans have no freedom and there’s military dudes and cops everywhere eyeballing them at all times, but that’s a small price to pay for us foreigners to be able to swoop in and enjoy the culture in 7 day, all—inclusive increments at a very reasonable price.

What’s the last thing we like about Cuba? Oh yeah, the cigars! Sadly, today at the resort orientation meeting we were told that the Covid supply chain issues have affected Cuba severely, plus one or more of the recent hurricanes that seem to reliably hit Cuba every season, ripped the prime tobacco fields to shreds, so the cigar supply has been severely curtailed. In fact, we went into the onsite cigar shop today and their humidor was empty, save for a bunch of cartons of grubby Marlboro cigarettes, some cigarillos, and bottles of premium Havana Club rum, unsurprisingly unsold at over two grand a bottle.

It was a fine first day and gave us a chance to get a feel for the resort. Playa Pesquero is a huge place, definitely the largest one we’ve been to in Holguin and probably as large or larger than some of the big ones we visited in Cayo Santa Maria. At its opening in 2003 it was the largest resort in Cuba and has more than 900 rooms. It is located in a sheltered bay which provides calm waters for swimming and snorkeling the sizeable reef, and the beach is simply perfect. It’s going to be a great week.

Magnus Unleashed

At the age of 18 I had just finished high school and was working as a fishing guide at a camp in Northern Saskatchewan in the summer before my first year of university. I’d flown in an airplane twice and crossed the border into the US three or four times on childhood ski trips. I felt suitably well-traveled and had, in fact, probably covered more ground than many of my friends.

But I didn’t know much. And I was terribly inexperienced.

One month ago, the four of us walked into Toronto’s Pearson International airport on a Sunday night. My 18 year old son Magnus was setting off on his first solo international journey. I had hoped to simply drop him off at the departures gate to save a few bucks on parking, but Ana, as a good Portuguese mom, would hear nothing of it.

We accompanied him to the check-in and everything went smoothly. We were very early but the gates were open so we walked to the security queue, which was surprisingly quiet, and said our goodbyes. I was sure Ana was going to bust into waterworks, but she held it back as she hugged her boy and bid him goodbye. He then bent down and gave his sister Stella a hug and told her not to touch any of his stuff. She laughed. As he turned to me, I gave him a better than average man hug, then looked up into his eyes (damn, when did he get so tall?) and said, “Make good choices buddy. But more importantly, have fun.”

He smiled fearlessly and said, “I will,” then turned and flashed his boarding card and passport to the entrance guard and worked his way through the winding line and into the security checkpoint. And to my great delight, he did not turn to look back. Always forward.

I was so proud of him. At 18 he is inexperienced with so many things, but his sense of independence is strong, he is confident, and he is astonishingly comfortable with his own company…and always has been. The thought of me taking off by myself to Asia at the age of 18 is incomprehensible. It just wouldn’t have happened. Being 18 several decades ago compared to 18 now, I think, is different. Perceived possibilities now are much wider and the world feels less wild and unknowable. Today you can Google Earth right down onto any street of a foreign city you are interested in and do a virtual walkaround, or pull up any of a hundred online travel documentaries, or use any social media app to find and make friends there. But what hasn’t changed is the sense of adventure an 18-year-old experiences as they feel the roar and thrust of the airplane engines, are propelled down the runway, and finally rise into the air and take off into the sky, and as they scan the passengers around them, the full impact of being on their own sinks in and they realize they are truly on their own.

Magnus decided he was not going to be ready to pursue secondary education after grade 12 and wanted instead to take a gap year. We fully supported this and were happy when he found a volunteer program through an organization called Kaya Responsible Travel which was located in Siem Reap, Cambodia – a place we had visited twice before and loved. The eight-week program started in early September and he has been working as a teachers’ assistant at a sort of community centre that offers programming to local children, and his job has been to help the kids practice their English. One of the conditions we made when Magnus proposed an international trip was that he had to do it through some sort of organization which would provide him with support and somebody to guide him along. After successfully arriving in Cambodia after several flight connections and an overnight stop in Bangkok, then settling in quickly to his new surroundings, making a few friends, and working in his volunteer role for two weeks, we were obviously impressed enough with his performance that when he asked if he could do a side trip to Malaysia on his own during a school holiday week, we said yes. He enjoyed an action packed week in Kuala Lumpur and learned a few good lessons along the way, including the unpredictability of the banking system and the importance of having access to money!

Magnus is scheduled to return home in less than a month and I fully expect he will arrive a changed lad. This first two months of his gap year are going to be pretty tough to beat, but I hope he goes onto have many other interesting experiences this year. And I think he will.

Chicago in March

After too many years, we finally returned for a trip to Chicago to see my old buddy Mike Schaaf. Mike and I have been friends since working on a project together in the Bahamas twenty years ago, and have not just kept in touch, but have spent time together many times over that period. Mike’s been a great mentor to me over that time, as we work in the same field, but he has a much wider depth of experience, working in many different industries and countries over the years. He is also a 6' 6" gym monster and ruthlessly beat me into shape during our year working in the Bahamas. To ensure I didn't get too shredded I drank enormous quantities of Kalik beer, which kept me loaded with empty calories and resulted in half of my workouts performed in a state of queasy hangover. But man, we lifted a lot of weight! In fact, our Friday night leg workouts were the stuff of legend; we could barely walk down the gym staircase at the end of it. It was all I could do to stagger weakly to my local bar Hammerheads and prop myself up on a bar stool.

The lead up to our March break trip to Chicago was not encouraging. First, Stella got hit with a terrible cold and was congested so bad she was hardly sleeping. And then Magnus caught some kind of stomach bug and was blowing it out both ends for several days. This was during their school break so they didn’t even get the pleasure of missing classes.

That left Ana and I. We did not want to get sick before the trip. But in a moment of motherly love, Ana went and slept with Stella one night when she was particularly stuffed up and miserable. I had been quite successful avoiding contact with both of the germy spawn, but Ana broke down and exposed herself to the infection. I began avoiding her too as I had a feeling what was coming.

The kids suffered through it and perked right back up the day before we left. On Wednesday Ana reported some unusual joint ache as we drove down the 403 highway headed for Michigan and both of us were pretty sure she was going to get it, but still we hoped for the best.

We arrived in Ann Arbor, Michigan by around 7:30 pm, our first stop as we had decided to do the 9 hour trip to Chicago in two legs. I had been in nearby Detroit the month before for some work training and heard great things about Ann Arbor so we wanted to see it for ourselves. As we drove into town we were stunned by the magnificent buildings, most of which looked to be part of the University of Michigan, but there were also some government buildings and museums, all of which were enormous and well kept. We passed several university sports facilities - a football stadium, field hockey facility, indoor track and field complex, and soccer pitches, making us wondering how all this was funded. Sports in the US is a huge deal - especially college sports - and is in such stark contrast to Canada where there are college sports (apparently), but you just don’t hear much about them.

We had to drive around for ages to find a parking spot, but finally did and then went for a walk in the busy centre area. Despite it being Wednesday, the many restaurants and bars were loaded with people, as were the sidewalks, and all was bathed in light from the giant State Theatre marquee radiating dazzling colours.

We enjoyed a nice meal, did some people watching, and then drove back to the hotel which was actually a scary motel called the Red Roof Inn, but after seeing the name I started calling it the REDRUM Inn, but the kids obviously haven’t seen The Shining because they didn’t get the joke until I told them to spell it backwards. It actually wasn’t too bad - the room just had a faint odour of…something, but it didn’t stop me from having a great sleep.

The next morning we had a quick hotel-supplied breakfast of rock bagels with grape jam, gluey oatmeal and chocolate frosted sugar bombs, and then hit the road for the second leg of the journey to Chicago. After five hours on the road we finally arrived at my friend Mike’s house in Algonquin - a suburb north-west of Chicago. Mike hadn't changed - still big, muscular, handsome, and with an unimproved fashion sense - and coming from me, that's really saying something. In fact just after we arrived, the 80's called him and asked for their jeans back.

After a drink and a catch-up session with Mike we went for a big walk in the nature area close to his house. Ana’s cold or flu or whatever it was had fully set in, and she was feeling terrible, but joined us on the walk nonetheless. We talked non-stop, with hardly a break in the conversation, like it should be with old friends. The girls decided to go out shopping so Mike cracked out some beer and the three lads went out to the garage to scarf some suds and play with Mike's fine collection of power tools. Magnus, with Mike's help, fabricated an awesome wooden axe, and finished it just in time for the girls' return, and after some Chicago deep dish pizza, a ping pong round robin, and a bit of tv watching, we retired for the night.

Saturday was a huge day. Despite waking up feeling worse than ever, Ana used the power of coffee and cold meds to get her moving and soon we were out the door. We went for a huge, delicious, American-portioned breakfast at a local restaurant called "Burnt Toast", conveniently just down the road from Mike's place. The server brings out these bodacious, bountiful plates while I'm thinking "There is no way in hell I am going to be able to put a dent into that mound of grub". Fifteen minutes later my plate is clean and I'm picking away at the uneaten home potatoes on Stella's plate, and then Ana's, and then I go back to Stella's and eat the remaining half of her pancakes. I lova dis countdry!

We first drove to the nearby marina where Mike keeps his powerboat in the summer, had a quick look around, and then continued driving eastward right to the shores of Lake Huron. Here we turned south and followed the shoreline through some of the most expensive and exclusive neighbourhoods in the region, and stopped along the way for a beach walk. Suburb eventually turned into city, and we snaked right into downtown Chicago amidst the towering buildings and congestion of vehicles.

We spent the afternoon wandering the streets of Chicago, stopping first at the Art Institute of Chicago, but only making it in as far as the bookstore as we didn't have enough time to commit to properly exploring the museum. There I found a coffee table book of naked men and found an image of a particularly virile young Adonis with a python sized wanger and a magnificent sack. I brought it over and stuck it right in Ana's face, hoping to gross her out, but she just took the book and started flipping through it, interested. I considered buying it for her for Christmas, but it was almost a hundred bucks, so I decided instead to write her a love poem and work on a real good sexy dance.

Chicago downtown welcomed us in and we walked up and down the busy streets, ogling the magnificent buildings, watching people, popping into shops, stopping for lunch, and eventually making our way to Millennium Park and grabbing some photos by the giant stainless steel bean sculpture. From here we drove over to Navy Pier, the busiest tourist attraction in Chicago, and explored the lush indoor tropical gardens, shops, and the kids went for a ride on the giant Ferris wheel. The weather was not great as it was cool and there were intermittent showers throughout the day, but hey what do you expect for March in Chicago - a city not exactly known for its fabulous weather. But it is certainly a city full of life and I couldn't help but visualize us sailing Bella Blue all the way across Lake Erie, up through Lake Huron, and back down Lake Michigan right to one of downtown marinas and spending a good few days here in the heat of the summer.

The drive back to Algonquin was quite long as the traffic was thick and dense, but fortunately Mike had one of his famous cd compilations to listen to in the van. He calls them the "Best of Schaaf" but I just call them the worst music of all time. It's a deplorable mix of those songs that make you lurch for the tuner when they come on the radio and then stick in your head for days. We're talking John Denver, Peter Paul and Mary, "Afternoon Delight", "Seasons in the Sun", Captain and Tenille, "Rhinestone Cowboy", that sort of crap. Ana lucked out as she was feeling so terrible she had passed out in the back of the van, and the kids were just paralyzed at the sonic vomit leaching into their ears so they didn't even know what was happening. The worst part was I knew most of the words to the songs, which must come from deeply repressed memories from driving around in the back of my parents' wood panelled station wagons in the 70's, with the 8 track cranked. That's why Mike is the best - he marches to the beat of a different drummer. A bad 1970's drummer.

Sunday arrived - St. Patrick's Day and Mike and I were up early drinking coffee and chatting. But after watching the local news and seeing the massive waves of people rushing into downtown to watch the Chicago River being turned green (a 50 year old tradition) and the big parade, not to mention Ana sleeping like a corpse upstairs, we ixnayed the plan to head back downtown and instead decided to spend the day at Rancho Relaxo el Schaafo which seemed to suit everybody just fine. We visited, goofed around outside, Mike and Magnus build a birdhouse, Stella and I played ping pong, Ana drank tea and tried to get healthy, and then we all went for a short shopping excursion to the nearby super plaza. Mike's daughter Arielle, her husband Andrew, their dog Aslan, and Mike's sister Julie came over for supper and we had a lovely time drinking beer and wine, playing with the mutt, and putting together a nice feast. When Mike and the kids were outside chasing the dog around, Arielle and Andrew dropped a news bomb - they were pregnant! But we were sworn to secrecy as they hadn't told Mike yet and were planning an elaborate reveal for him two weeks hence. So we toasted the soon to be parents and then zipped the lips. It was a most excellent evening, and I could hardly wait for Mike to learn he was a grandpa!

We were up early the next morning, said our goodbyes to Mike and then started the return journey back to Canada. We took a slightly different route home, and the drive went well, making it back home in under nine hours. With another Power Weekend under our belts, I never cease to be amazed at the great variety of locations that surround us, and how easy and fun it is for us to travel to these places.

Going to Syra-Cruz

Winter. This damn, never-ending winter.

When winter gets us down, we usually pack up and go somewhere. But now that the kids are getting older and into the more important school years, we're finding that taking them out of school for vacations is becoming problematic. So, it seems that for the foreseeable future we are going to be tied into the school vacation holiday schedule or long weekend trips.

Fortunately, we live in the best part of Canada and the destination opportunities for weekend trips are unlimited. Yes, I do really mean "unlimited" because there's no way you would be able to explore all the fantastic places around here within a single lifetime.

Back in February my dad came for a visit and we took a long weekend trip to Syracuse, New York. We took off right after school on the Friday of the Family Day long weekend and drove straight there, making it in less than four hours. It took that long to train Dad how to pronounce the city name as he was stuck on calling it "Syra-Cruz" which, admittedly, is a much cooler name, but sadly, just not quite right.

As usual, we had no real plan for the weekend, so on Saturday morning we jumped in the van and headed downtown. Syracuse downtown is like many US rust belt cities - packed with magnificent, towering, classic buildings that indicate just how powerful and rich these cities were back in their industrial heydays. Somehow many of these cities have managed to keep these buildings alive, although there are always some you see that have fallen into horrible disrepair and are awaiting some shrewd developer to bring them back to life.

We parked the van and went for a blisteringly cold winter walk. The frigid wind was howling through the streets and between the buildings and we were practically the only ones walking around. We found refuge in the grand and magnificent Marriott hotel and inside found a display of typewriters from the early 1900's - some of which had the original non-QWERTY keyboards, some which were made for typing musical notation, and some which had symbols that none of us recognized. These heirlooms from the past were a testament to the large number of typewriter manufacturers that made Syracuse their home. We also found a grand piano where we hammered out a few poorly executed tunes and caused a real ruckus, but managed to leave on our own terms before they kicked us out.

From here we went to the Erie Canal Museum. Since moving to Ontario, I have been fascinated with the Erie Canal and have read several books on its history. The building of the original Erie Canal, which allowed barges to travel by water from New York City all the way to Buffalo, giving access to Lake Erie, was truly the driving force behind the incredible expansion and development that happened in this region. At the time, the idea of building such an expensive canal over incredibly difficult terrain seemed not just physically impossible, but foolhardy. But the economic impact of the canal was immediate and dramatic and the 7 million dollars in construction costs for the original 7 year canal project would be reclaimed in tolls within 10 years, both for the original project and for the later enlargement and expansion. The canal brought down the costs of transportation by a factor of 10 and resulted in an economic bonanza for the state of New York.

The museum is located in the last remaining weighlock building, which is where the barges used to enter and be weighed on giant scales to calculated the toll charges owing. It is strange to see the museum's location, because the original Erie Canal is no longer here, having been rebuilt along a different, more northern path during one of the expansions. They do have some photographs of what the area used to look like with the canal flowing through the city, but it is completely unrecognizable.

I loved everything about the museum, especially the full size canal barge and the big exhibit dedicated to the history of the mules that used to pull the barges along the canal. If you ever find yourself in the area - don't miss it: https://eriecanalmuseum.org/.

From here, we went to take on the Destiny Mall, an All-American supercenter with a thousand and one opportunities to separate you from your greenbacks, from an indoor electric go-kart track, to hundreds of retails shops, to bars and restaurants, movie theatres, and, of course, a massive kids park with electronic gaming, canyon climbing, virtual reality and a bunch of other stuff we didn't see because we decided to get sloshed at the Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville pub instead while the kids had their fun. 

Now who would have thought drinking in a mall could be any fun at all? Not me. But I was wrong. There was a huge queue of people waiting to get into Margaritaville for dinner, but I managed to sneak us into a table by the bar, claiming we were just stopping for a quick beer. Well the beers were cheap, atmosphere strangely amazing, music fantastic, and we were surrounded by images of various lovely beaches in the Caribbean, so much that we felt we were truly somewhere else, so celebrated by spoofing our Facebook buddies with shots of us all around the Caribbean. Every 35 minutes the table would be full of empty pint glasses so we'd get the waitress to clear them all off so we had room for our elbows, more pints and nachos.

We finished up the mall adventure with an intense session of cornholing. If you are laughing nervously right now, you're probably not American, so just look up "cornhole" online and it will all make sense. It's their national pastime. Yes, you're still laughing.

The next day we had a leisurely breakfast at the hotel, a big swim and hot tub, and then went to Central New York Boat Show. We weren't able to get to the big Toronto boat show this year, so needed our fix of winter boat browsing. The boat show was okay, but focused mainly on pontoon boats and small powerboats, so not much for us sailors there, although it was well set up and not insanely packed like the one in Toronto.

We headed back downtown to take in the Syracuse winter festival that was supposed to be happening, which included a big chili cook-off. Sadly, we could not find the place to buy chili tickets, nor could we find much of anything going on, and it was still freezing cold outside so instead we found an awesome restaurant, THS - The Hops Spot, which had at least fifty craft beers on tap and a dozen craft poutines on the menu. This obliterated our plans for a "light lunch" to save space for a huge meal later, but hey, who's complaining?

After lunch we went for another walk downtown and found the Landmark Theatre. There was a show about to begin, but the staff member at the door allowed us to come in and take a quick look at the lobby. It was magnificent, ornate, grandiose, and oozing with history and we were quite sad that we weren't able to see the actual theatre space...maybe next time.

The girls wanted to do more shopping so they dropped us off at the hotel where Magnus, Dad and I played a rousing game of "Ticket To Ride" (our new favourite board game) and then back for another hot tub. The girls eventually made it back and we went out to the Olive Garden for a leisurely meal and then back to the rooms to hang out the rest of the evening.

After a slow breakfast Monday morning we packed up, piled into the van and drove back to Canada, stopping along the way only for gas, but enjoying the ride back. We had a great visit with Dad and were happy to be able to visit a brand new US city, which we will certainly return to soon.

Cuba 2019 - Home to Beat the Kids

We are back home, and still have a little of the sunshine glow leftover from Cuba. Our tans did not immediately fall off at the airport, sprinkle down our pant legs and leave a trail of discarded skin dust in our wake, such as what happens when people from Saskatchewan return from vacation in January to the moisture-less air and polar bear friendly temperatures. That’s why they must constantly sweep the floors from November to April at the John G Diefenbaker airport in Saskatoon. And then again from May to October for all the prairie dust.

Upon returning home, I stacked my nice new Romeo & Julieta tubed cigars gently in my humidor and loaded up the sponges with water to keep them well nourished, just in case some of the tubes leak. The reason they package some cigars in tubes is because once they are sealed at the factory they do not have to be stored in a humidor right away, but it’s not a perfect seal so air can still leak in and out. There is some debate as to whether you should remove the tops of the tubes when you put them in a humidor, or just leave them sealed. I leave mine sealed, but do make sure my humidor is always at the correct humidity level so there is little chance of them drying out. That will keep them safely packed away until I start using them in the summer. Ah, summer.

Well, I’ve changed my mind on that Jordan Peterson book “12 Rules for Life”. I am about three-quarters of the way through it and it is not a great book. Yes, he has some interesting ideas, and two of the chapters are quite readable, but you need to wade and strain through a whole lot of academic wanking and religious dogma. The religious pieces are particularly surprising, as I’d expect a guy like this to be a card-carrying atheist. Saying that, he doesn’t ever really spell out his religious convictions, leaving one to wonder why banters on so incessantly about the bible, Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel and Moses and the rest of the gang. The “Rules of Life” he builds each chapter around are actually sensible and good, but then within the chapters he goes on and on about things that may be interesting if you are a philosophy egghead or Old Testament aficionado, but seem completely unrelated to the suggested rule. It’s rather annoying. There are nuggets of gold here and there, but you really have to dig for them.

The one chapter I really enjoyed (and was much more accessible than the others) was the one entitled “Do not let your children do anything that makes you dislike them”. I love this line! How many times are you out in public and see children behaving like wild animals with their parents standing by, doing nothing to correct their behavior? Peterson says that disciplining children is hard – very hard emotionally on the parents, but it is your absolute duty and responsibility to do this, because if you don’t do it, then somebody else will – and that other person just might be jail.

He thinks parents are basically wimping out by saying things like, “I don’t believe in punishment” or “Let the kids learn to behave on their own”. Children are natural monsters; young kids treat each other in ways that even the worst adults would consider unthinkable. Bullying, beating, ostracizing, humiliating, badgering, torturing, sabotaging – you name it, they will do it. Kids will push and push and test the limits as far as they will go, and if they learn from their parents that there are no limits, and no repercussions, then their parents have just set themselves up for a life of pain, and their kids a world of suffering. If you turn the responsibility for parenting your child to the world, then the world will do just that, but it is going to be a lot harsher and damaging than a responsible parent could have provided. 

Kids don’t learn to be responsible, social beings on their own – somebody has to teach them, and your kids are your pups, so the job is up to you. Only the parents are able to do it with the appropriate level of care, understanding, empathy, and severity because they know their child best. Discipline is necessary to create a properly socialized child, one who knows how to share, how to play, how to show kindness, and how to talk to others. Poorly socialized children have terrible lives. Peterson also says that if you don’t discipline your kids by the age of 4 (and preferably 2) then you are too late, because their bad habits and personality is set by that point. Will it sometimes feel like you are going into battle? Yes. But as the parent you are wiser, stronger, and smarter, so you have what it takes to win…but do you have the will?

Does he recommend punishment? Yes he does, unapologetically. But as a parent, you know what is appropriate for your child. For some children, an evil eye or stern glance is sufficient. For others, a time out. Some may require a flick of a finger or a squeeze on the arm. For others, or for something severe (like running out into a busy street without looking), it could be a spanking. The intention is to provide the maximum amount of learning with the minimum amount of pain.

The other idea Peterson brings up often is the value of tradition and history and that we discard, ignore or change these at our own peril. It’s taken us thousands and thousands of generations as humans to build a society that functions, and in most cases we really don’t know why things work, but they do. This is why doing what your parents or grandparents did is usually a pretty good starting point. Following the new and highly advanced parenting recommendations in a book is simply untested and risky.

Do I agree with these ideas? Yes, I do – all of them. I wish this chapter had been available to me when our kids were just born, because it would have validated the methods we chose to discipline our children, which were exactly how our parents disciplined us. I think every parent with young children could really benefit by reading this one chapter. Or, simply do what your parents or grandparents did.

For now, it’s back to winter, and making it through the few months of cold that separate us from the big sailboat launch in May and the glorious summer season. But until then, I have a new project - the reggae band!  Stay tuned.

Cuba 2019 - Final Day

Our final day. Ana and I began it with a morning beach walk, enjoying the beautiful warmth, the sun, the sand and ocean water on our feet, the smells of the sea, and each other’s company. My wife is one of the smartest people I know and we can get into some pretty deep conversations about religion, politics, philosophy, history. Fortunately, we have enough differences of option to keep the conversation lively and interesting, but not so many that we want to murder each other. This morning we talked about another idea I read in Jordan Peterson’s book (I am beginning to think it’s a keeper), regarding order and chaos. It’s important to have a certain amount of order in your life, but not so much that you get bored and stop learning, so you need a good dose of chaos too, defined as the unplanned, unexpected, difficult, challenging and uncomfortable. That allows you to keep learning, keep challenged, and keep surprising yourself. It’s hard to get that balance right. It’s funny, both Ana and I tend to err on the side of order, but for different things. She is a real drill sergeant when it comes to cleaning the house, packing luggages for trips, grocery shopping, doing laundry and keeping us all well dressed. I care less about that stuff, but I focus on keeping our family finances in order, planning, purging junk from our house, and documenting things (like these travel blogs). And we both love a little chaos - impromptu weekend trips, backpacking in new places, and trying new things. I think our balance is pretty good, but I think we could always use a bit more chaos.

After our final magnificent buffet breakfast (where I’ve learned that omelettes must contain olives and jalapeño peppers), Ana and Magnus walked to the Pescador market to do some final shopping while Stella and I set up base camp at the beach. They returned after a while with some new treasures, and then we took a paddleboat out to the reef and spent a good long while snorkelling and soaking up the sunshine.

I took a short break at 11 to go for a reflexology session in a little oceanside hut. I’ve never tried it before, but who doesn’t love somebody playing with your feet for half an hour? At home, I’m constantly lobbying the rest of the family for back rubs, back scratches, foot rubs, leg massages, but (unsurprisingly) don’t often get any takers. Laying on a comfortable table, having somebody rub oil on your feet, while listening to the sound of the ocean waves and bird songs is sort of fantastic.

We enjoyed our last lunch at the seafood restaurant, and Ana got the recipe for the delicious seafood soup from the cook, who was happy to share, in rapid fire Spanish. Ana’s Spanish always comes back to her so quickly, and she is really good at it, while I struggle a lot more, but after a week it does comes back, and I start to feel fluent again, or least capable of achieving the fluency I once had when we worked in Spanish every day.

The pool was our base for the afternoon, but I did take a short break to go out windsurfing one final time. I took the board way out into the ocean to catch the much stronger winds and had a fantastic, fast ride, but by the time I got back to shore my arms felt like jelly. It’s funny how nobody in Canada windsurfs anymore - now it’s kite surfing. I really must try that sometime.

I enjoyed a final cigar on the patio and did some more planning for my reggae band. My friends are going to be so surprised and thrilled to find themselves in a band. I hope they like reggae music. While I did my scheming, the rest of the gang lounged around the room, reading, watching tv, chilling out.

Our final meal was at the Cuban a la carte restaurant, and once again it was delicious. Stella ordered four courses, but I think she met her match because she couldn't her main. She has been eating like a champ this trip, while Magnus has been sort of picking away at things. Ana moderates her meals while I eat like a pig, consuming everything in sight. That first day back at the gym is going to be a real killer.

We enjoyed our last evening drinks in the lobby and watched the Cuban fashion show on the outdoor stage. The models were quite good, and definitely not amateurs. Magnus and I kept our eyes open for the Blue Steel look, but we either missed it, or those Cubans hadn’t seen Zoolander yet. 

With that, our final day came to an end. And sadly, the trip came to an end as well as the next day we were up early, on the bus, on the plane, and back in the van, driving down the 403 highway heading for home.

Holguin, Cuba gets a quadruple thumbs up from the Olson family!

Cuba 2019 - Guard the Cow

I awoke at 5:45 am, got up, went to the bathroom, and then stood there trying to figure out what to do next. I could go for a walk, but it was still pitch black outside. I could go to the lobby bar with the laptop to do some writing, but I didn’t want to get bitten by the no-see-ums which are ravenous at that time of day. I could read, but didn’t want to wake up everybody else with the light. I decided to lay down for a second to reconsider my options, knowing there’s no way I’d be able to get back to sleep, and then immediately fell asleep, and woke up again at 7:30. Problem solved.

The breakfast buffet was amazing, like they always are in Cuba. Fresh fruit, eggs to order, pancakes, bacon, many varieties of cheese, fresh juices, and even great coffee. But strangely, the bread was dry and tasteless - shocking, considering the last time we were in Cuba three years ago at the Starfish resort at Cayo Santa Maria, the bread was plentiful, amazing and delicious. Ana told me that last week she read that Cuba had been having some sort of flour importation issues, and supplies were low, so perhaps that’s the reason. Or maybe they just don’t have a good baker here.

We were looking for a good day trip so I spoke with a porter at the front of the hotel who arranged a taxi to take us to the nearby town of Guardalavaca for a small adventure. As all of you Spanish-speaking folkistos know, “Guardalavaca” translates into “guard the cow” which makes perfect sense to us omnivores out there who love our Brie, prime rib, chocolate milk, sour cream, leather couches, prairie oysters, ribeyes, tenderloins, grilled cheese sandwiches, Yorkshire puddings, and, most importantly, rock and roll leather pants with the string-up leather cord fasteners which we all aspire to wear on stage, but so preciously few of us do.

Our taxi man Osmany Ramirez drove us the 20 kilometres or so to the town and dropped us off at the market. Now I’m not big on tourist markets, but the rest of the family go bat-shit crazy for them, so it was a great starting point. Stella bought a huge bag of trinkets and souvenirs for about seven bucks and Magnus found a fancy, leather wallet he liked for less then ten. Ana may or may not have picked up some silver jewelry, but I held off until the next stop - La Casa del Habano, where I purchased a box of Romeo and Julieta #2 cigars for less then half of what they sell for at home. This took care of the only Cuban shopping aspiration I had for the week. 

Osmany then took us to the Boulevard where we had a quick look at the shops and then continued onto the beach, which was expansive, clean, floury and wonderful. We took some fashion photos overlooking the beach, enjoyed some cold drinks at a cafe, and then taxi’d back to home base as it was getting blistering hot and we were aching for the water.

The beach was calling, so we began walking there but got sidetracked by the ice cream counter at the seafood restaurant. Ana suffered some humiliation when her splendid, tall, flavourful ice cream fell right off the cone and splattered on the restaurant floor. Of course, the Cubans brushed it off like it was no big deal, but the replacement cone was only half the magnificent height of the first one. She got the message.

After setting up home base on the beach under a canopy of thatch, Magnus and I went for a snorkelling adventure while the girls hit the lounge chairs and went for intermittent swims. The snorkelling was surprisingly good, considering we could swim out to the coral patches from the beach, and we saw many types of coral and fish, including four squid, which are not that easy to spot while snorkelling, especially since they are not in a circular, ringed and fried format with tartar sauce and lemon on the side, which is their most common form in Canada.

Back at the beach base, I surveyed our surroundings. As always, there was an abundance of hideous tattoos, which are more often than not, overrepresented on Canadian bodies. Look, probably 80% of our family and friends have tattoos, so I’m not trying to insult anybody, but I struggle to understand why anybody would get “FAMILY HONOUR SACRIFICE” tattooed in giant blue letters on their chest when it’s so bloody obvious that those are important things. Maybe it’s just there for you to see in the mirror as you’re shaving in the morning to remind you why you get up and go to work every day. But then, shouldn’t you get it tattooed in reverse so you could read it easier? Or maybe it’s meant to be a message to everybody else on the beach that you are a real stand-up guy. I don’t know. Maybe I’m getting too old and just don’t get it. But if I ever get a tattoo, it’s probably going to be a Motley Crue tattoo, because at least that makes a real statement.

Since the kids didn’t love the buffet lunch offering the day before, we hit the Snack Bar for burgers and fries - always reliable, predictable, delicious, and open 24 hours per day (in a row). And that’s where we met the Hamburger Family. They were seated at the table next to us, and were comprised of a Mom and a Dad and four Kids. Now normally we don’t really notice, nor care what other people are eating, but in this case we couldn’t help it. The Hamburger Family members each ordered a full meal, consisting of a big hamburger and loads of French fries, and then as soon as the lovely Cuban server delivered the food, they stood up and left the restaurant, leaving all of their food either untouched or barely touched. And this is the problem with all-inclusive resorts; they give license for people to act like total assholes. The same Cuban server returned minutes later to a deserted table, and piled up all that good food in preparation for the waste bin, to the horror and utter embarrassment of everybody else in the restaurant, who could hardly help but notice what was going on. I don’t know if they were Canadians, but if they were then I hope those people never leave the country again as this behaviour was utterly shameful. The worst part was that we found the food to be delicious, as did everybody else in the restaurant, whom all cleaned their plates and surely left the restaurant embarrassed and shocked just like us. And the Cuban server hardly batted an eye, so I guess it happens all the time.

We spend the rest of the scorching hot afternoon at the pool swimming, lounging, playing games and making underwater videos with Stella’s Go Pro-like camera. At the right point of epidural crispiness, we shuffled over to the games area and played billiards, air hockey and ping pong. I was surprised how well maintained the equipment was as this is often not the case as resorts in Cuba. I was also surprised how good the kids were at ping pong; particularly Stella, who managed to beat everybody at least once.

After a short chill-out session in the room, we went to the Mexican a la carte restaurant and had a spectacular meal that made the buffet pale in comparison. We had soup and beef appetizers and then fish, jalapeño shrimp, and steak for mains, finished up with chocolate cake baked in banana leaves and churros with a honey sauce for dessert. Tipping has become much more commonplace at the Cuban resorts - much more so than when we first started coming here, which it seemed to be almost discouraged. You generally leave a one peso tip (CDN $1.35) for a round of drinks and for dinners we’ve been leaving between three and five pesos, which isn’t a lot, but I’m sure is appreciated by the staff.

Magnus is the family scavenger and constantly scans the ground looking for items of interest. He found a little crab that was missing all of its front legs. We’re not sure if they were picked off by a person, or maybe a bird, but he was having real trouble getting around. Magnus was a little shaken up by this and wasn’t sure what to do with the creature, but decided to put him close to this hole where we’ve seen a giant crab. He thought perhaps the larger crab would tend to this little guy and nurse him back to health. But I felt compelled to tell him it’s more likely the wounded crab ended up as a nice meal for the big one. Sure enough the next morning a fresh and empty crab shell appeared in the vicinity. Circle of life, kids.

Over near the lobby, there was all sorts of action. A bride in a full wedding dress was scurrying around from place to place, appearing to be looking for something or someone. The groom was wearing this crazy, blue checkered suit and pounding rum with his best men at the bar. A group of Cubans were getting prepped for the big fashion show scheduled to start within the hour. But best of all was the game of hot potato, being curated by a fast talking MC, involving at least 30 young kids gathered in a large circle. As music blared loudly from the speakers the kids passed a bowling pin around the circle as fast as possible, and when the music stopped, whoever was holding the pin was eliminated. The MC walked over to the unfortunate player, directed the crowd to say, “Bye, bye!” and then escorted the young lad or lassie out of the circle. Sounds like a fun game, right? Well, some of the kids immediately burst into tears upon learning they were out of the game and didn’t get to be the winner. I guess they had to make a trip to Cuba to learn that sometimes you win, but most of the time you lose. It was oddly satisfying seeing these lessons in progress, and makes me wonder how well we’re preparing our kids for life when they can’t handle losing hot potato.

Cuba 2019 - Arrival

I get strangely overcome with joy when airplane passengers break out in applause after a successful landing. I’ve never really known precisely what the clapping is for, but nor do (I suspect) the majority of the clappers - I think many just join by force of social pressure. Is it applauding the pilots (or more likely the onboard avionics computers) that successfully landed the airplane? Is it the pure relief of being hurled through the air at 39,000 feet for hours and miraculously surviving? Is it an expression of thanks to the flight attendants, or perhaps the onboard entertainment? In any case, when the clapping begins, I always join in and find it immensely satisfying. Even though I don’t know what I’m clapping for, I feel incredibly happy, and applaud with gusto. Today, I wasn’t sure which way it was going to go, because moments after the rubber tires smoked the pavement of the Holguin runway, there was no clapping; just people looking expectantly at each other, waiting for somebody else to kick it off. I looked over to Magnus. He looked over to me, raised an eyebrow, and then did a single, soft clap. Then a second. And that was all it took for the passengers to burst out in a hearty round of applause, spreading love and happiness, all smiling, enjoying the ruckus. This was a fine start for our trip to Cuba.

As we stepped off the airplane, the moist tropical air enveloped me like a favourite blanket, welcoming me back to this fine Caribbean nation. The immigration process was predictably slow, and as we waited in line a drug sniffing dog weaved in and out of the white, wintry legs.

“Magnus,” I said, “I hope that dog doesn’t smell those bacon and Havarti sandwiches I put into your bag.”

“Hey, we’re not supposed to be bringing food in, I don’t want them in my bag! You take them.”

“No man, just leave them in there, these guys don’t care about that. If they do ask you about them, I’ll just say they are mine…unless the situation looks dicey, then I’ll say I’ve never met you before in my life.”

Well, they didn’t care about the bacon sandwiches, and soon we were on the bus headed for our resort - the Fiesta Americana Costa Verde. The ride took less than an hour, during which we had a quick nap to try and shake off the 2am start.

The queue at the check-in desk upon arrival was manageable, but sadly they did not have our room ready yet, so we were directed to leave our bags there and go for lunch, which we did, but with some grumbling as we seemed to be the only ones whom were not given a room immediately. This is the point on a Cuba vacation where you need to toss your Canadian expectations and hair trigger sense of irritability out the window, because time now has little meaning. Quick must be replaced with slow, precise must be replaced by approximate, and obstacles must be faced with a smile and surrender instead of fierce determination.

We received our room key and embarked on what I call the “Victory Walk’, which happens at the start of your trip and is when you cross the resort in your winter clothes, dragging your bags behind you, sweating in the heat, but with a joyful smile plastered on your face for all to see, as this is Day 1 of your holiday and there’s nothing but sand, sun, and free Pina Coladas in your future. The reverse journey on the final day of your trip is called the “Walk of Shame” for obvious reasons..

Ana shoved the key card into the door, and we pushed in, but found the room to be very occupied, with open bags, clothes and other junk flung all around the space. Fortunately, there was nobody on the bed doing the Hokey-Pokey, which would have been quite uncomfortable (but outrageously funny), so we just backed away, returned to reception, got another room, and performed our second Victory Walk to our new room, which was unoccupied, clean and very nice.

After some frantic unpacking and room organization, we left to spend the afternoon on the beach and at the pool, soaking up that beautiful hot sun, watching our ghostly white legs and arms sizzle as we sipped tropical drinks. This is what we came for; this is why we are here.

The buffet dinner was good (better than lunch), but the kids weren’t loving it. We told them the trick is to try little bits of everything to find what you like, and then you can stick with that. I tried talking them into having some of the delicious, fresh papaya that was in plentiful supply, and took up about a third of my own plate. They opted out, but did promise me that they would each try it twice during the week. We have a policy at home for foods you don’t like; you need to try it at least ten times before you can decide if you truly do not like it. Usually by the tenth time trying any food, you start to like (or at least tolerate) it. Stella has this game called Bean Boozled in which you eat colourful jelly beans, but beans of the same colour can have one of two flavours; a delicious one or a disgusting one. For example, the green ones either taste like juicy pear or snot. The red ones taste like strawberry or smelly socks. The blue ones taste like blueberry or vomit. Stella suggested adding a trick bean, which would taste like either papaya or smelly ass. But the taste would be identical! She’s so clever.

One thing we always notice when returning to Cuba is how kind the Cuban people are, and even how kind they look. In most countries, if you scan a group of people, say in a shopping mall or a market, or even just on the street, you will see a variety of faces. Some will look happy, but many will not. That guy looks irritated. The other one looks angry. This one over here looks like he’s going to rob me. That lady looks sad. Her friend looks mean. In Cuba you rarely see such an assortment of unhappy faces. Most Cubans simply look very kind, and you can see it in their eyes. Of course, the majority of exposure we’ve had to Cubans has been in tourist areas, but we have also been through several small towns and spent a fair bit of time in Havana. There seems to be a national sense of optimism, despite decades of enduring a senseless and cruel US trade blockade. The Cubans know how to have fun, and to make the most of their situation, something that cannot easily be said for many of us that live in supposedly richer countries.

After dinner we strolled over to the lobby bar, grabbed some drinks, and listened to a wonderful four piece orchestra play a set of songs. This was followed up by some terrible karaoke sung by drunken tourists who were pounding Havana Club rum all day long at the swim-up bar. It was so bad that one bystander actually covered his ears with his hands and ran out of the lobby.

Magnus had brought along a set of dice so we played a game that’s called simply “Dice”. During the game we got into a discussion about public toilets, as Ana and Stella had gone to the washroom, but none of the stalls had any paper. Fortunately, they found a roll laying on the ground in the corner.

“I never poo in public toilets,” Magnus announced.

“You never use public toilet stalls? I find that hard to believe,” said Ana.

“Nope, never.”

“It’s because he doesn’t have servants to bring him toilet paper when he notices the roll is empty, which is what happens all the time at home,” I said.

“What about the ones at school?” Ana asked him.

“Are you kidding? Do you know how many things could go wrong?”

We all burst out laughing.

“Seriously. The hinges are all rusted so the door could fall off. There could be no toilet paper. Somebody could turn the lights off. Somebody could look in over the top of the next stall. It’s way too risky.”

“What if you have a Code Brown emergency at school?” I asked.

“I hold it.”

Considering our early morning start, we stayed out until a surprisingly late 9:30 pm and then retired to the room, but along the way met the bravest crab in Cuba. He was wandering around the front entrance to the buffet kitchen. Risky, my friend, very risky.