Cuba - Day 1 - “Gold, God, and Glory”

8/22/15, “Gold, God, and Glory”

Santiago de Cuba, Cuba (San Pedro de la Roca Castle)

Why did the Spanish Conquistadors set sail for the new world?  The answer we learned in school was quite simple: gold, God, and glory.  The gold has long been spent and, other than a handful of names, the glory, too, is long gone.  God, however, remains.  He remains throughout the entire Caribbean and all of Latin America.  The Spanish (and English and French and Portuguese) served their God.  With two-thirds of the island still holding to the Spanish religion (Catholicism), it is clear that the Spanish got what they wanted.  However, it was not an easy path, especially with threats from other European powers.  That is why they built castles and forts such as this one.  Commonly known as “El Morro,” San Pedro de la Roca Castle allowed the Spanish to defend against their rivals.  The fact that everyone on this island speaks Spanish and most are Catholic speaks to the success of the Spanish effort.  It also makes this castle the perfect place to begin my religious studies in Cuba.  However, I woke up over six hours ago, and a lot has happened.

It took me no time to get out of bed, get ready, and to the check-in counter.  That was when I realized why they told us to get there three hours early.  The line was incredibly long, and everyone had trolleys of stuff.  Not luggage, just stuff.  I soon realized that these items, clothes, even TVs, were gifts for their friends and family in Cuba.  I had never seen anything like it.  I wound up upgrading to first class for a nominal charge, which was well worth it.  In fact, with my nap on the flight to Miami, sleeping at the hotel, and the nap on the Santiago flight, I am fully rested.  After I checked in and filled out all the paperwork, just a little more than I would for a normal international flight.  I went back to the hotel for breakfast (bacon and eggs), having my first cup of coffee since Monday.  I then went through security and was soon on the plane.

First class was exactly half-filled, which meant I had two seats to myself.  We soon landed in Santiago.  One of the main reasons I opted for the upgrade was that I could be first through passport control.  I was.  He spoke no English, but he had few questions, only wanting to know if I had visited Africa.  He stamped my passport.  I now have Cuban and Iranian stamps in my passport.  My bag took forever to come out, but, when it did, I proceeded through Customs.  Oh, right, before I went to the baggage claim, I had to go through a security screen again.  He seemed to think I had an external hard drive.  It turned out that my Taylor Swift CDs looked like a hard drive disk in the X-Ray.

As soon as I stepped outside, I was approached by a taxi driver and a baggage handler.  I knew I was being scammed.  After a bit a minute, I asked for my bag back, and he asked for a tip.  I handed him the first small banknote I found, far more than I should have given him.  I then heard my name.  That was my driver, the one I had reserved.  We proceeded to a pink Chevy that was about the same age as my mother.  We made our way to the first site, this castle.

As soon as we got out of the car, I lit up a Germany Exclusive Por Larranaga.  That meant the cigar went from Cuba to Germany to the United States, and I am now taking it back home to Cuba to smoke.  We explored the castle and talked about the religious diversity of the population.  I found the spot from the inscription photo, but it was shaded, so I couldn’t get a good photo.  Ernesto, my guide, said that I couldn’t smoke in the car, so we explored the castle some more, the realization of where I was finally kicking in.  I was floored by the wonder of the castle.

I picked up a souvenir, and we headed to the car, where I got my laptop.  I walked back to the bar, which had a great view of the castle, and I ordered a Havana Club rum, not caring that it was before 11 AM.  I sat down, where I took in the view of the castle and proceeded to write this entry, as I smoked and drank, which I will now close so that we can get back on the road.

Santiago de Cuba, Cuba (Parque Céspedes)

Alright, I figure I’ve got about half an hour before I start to crash and need to go back up to my room.  Gold, God, and glory.  That is the theme of today’s entry, and the three world heritage sites we visited today neatly fit into that.  Let’s start with glory.  While Cuba, like any country, has its national heroes, such as Antonio Maceo, the hero of this region, there was little glory to be found among these parts we traversed today.  There may have been glory to be found in defending Cuba from el Morro, but that time has long since passed.  In fact, it feels like a lifetime ago that I closed from the castle this morning.

Our next stop would focus on gold, the ancient coffee plantations, which provided a way of life for so many early Cubans and helped in developing an entire region.  However, it was no easy task to find one of these ancient coffee plantations.  After I closed, we headed to the hotel, where I checked in, changed money, and changed into more comfortable clothes before getting on the road.  We were going to stop in Guantanamo for lunch, and my little sheet said the coffee plantations were right in the city.  He said they were another 100 km away, towards the National Park, and he thought it was all too far to do in one day.  Rookie.

The tip I had planned for him was, I would later learn, about equal to the average annual salary of a government worker here.  If he did not follow my schedule, there would be no tip.  We could not find a quick place to eat in Guantanamo but later found someplace nearby where we could get ham and cheese sandwiches.  I just ate the ham and picked at the cheese.

As we drove, I asked him about the religious views of the country.  I expected that such a religious country would have deeply set religious values, such as the Catholic Right of our country would impose.  I was wrong.  Abortions were legal for the first two months.  Many people lived together without getting married, even having kids together.  I was shocked by how liberal the values were for such a deeply religious country.  I could not get a straight answer on homosexuality (no pun intended), due to our language gap, but I did ask about Muslims and Jews.  He gave me a non-answer, which I suppose was the answer.  There are so few of each that no one gives them a second thought.

We finally found a coffee plantation, after asking numerous people on the way.  It was run-down and no longer in use, obviously, but it was exactly what I was looking for.  There were many locals there, and we interacted with them.  I lit up an H. Upmann, but I knew I would not be able to finish it.  We were tight on time, and I could not smoke in the car.  We spent about half an hour there and discussed Cuban prices and rations.  Apparently, every citizen gets a monthly ration of sugar and salt and cooking oil, among other things, along with five eggs.  Wait, five eggs?  They get like half a pound of salt but only five eggs?  I can eat five eggs for breakfast.  Half a pound of salt is 200 grams, which is 40 teaspoons.  That’s a teaspoon of salt a day, fine.  Five eggs?  For the whole month?  I didn’t get it.

He also told me how shockingly low the price of sugar was, like two orders of magnitude lower than in the states, but it was in line with the low salary.  The average government worker’s monthly salary in Cuba is about equal to the minimum hourly wage in parts of the United States.  Reader, let that sink in.  However, private jobs do exist.  Additionally, all education and healthcare is free.  What about the taxes, though, for those private jobs?  It’s something like 70%.

There was a little shop next to the ruins of the coffee plantation, and I thought at first it was a museum.  No, these were actual items for sale.  They had cigars, grown locally, made in the next town over, Baracoa.  They looked and smelled fine.  I bought 23.  It cost me about the same as I regularly pay for 1 or 2 cigars back home.  We headed to a coffee shop, where I got 25 more cigars in a sealed package, along with a coffee.  The price was even cheaper there.  The best part?  I can legally bring these back to the states.

Our next stop was to be Alejandro de Humboldt National Park, but I had a splitting headache at this point.  Was it heat or hunger, or was it lack of caffeine?  I had only had half a cup of coffee this morning, so it was all too familiar to get this headache when I skimp on my morning caffeine intake.  We stopped by Ernesto’s friend house.  The friend was out, but his mother (or grandmother), made us some coffee.  We also arranged to rent a car.  Ernesto said we could not keep doing my ambitious itinerary on his car.  It was too much distance, and we needed a faster, more reliable car than the 1950s Chevy.  I reluctantly agreed.  We had to take a very bad road, bad even by Cuban standards, but we were soon enough at the National Park.

The clock has just struck 2 AM, so I will wrap up.  The WHS file for the National Park mentioned how the plants had to uniquely evolve due to toxins in the rocks.  Is that what the locals believed?  That the plants looked the way they did because of evolution?  Or was it because that was how God created it.  I’m quite sure that they believed every bit of beauty to be found in nature is only there because God created it.  I was technically in the WHS at that point, so all I needed to do was light up a cigar and turn around, but I had wanted to reflect here, to see if I could begin to understand what the locals feel when they look upon what they view as God’s creation.

I budgeted myself another half an hour, since it was almost sunset, and I did not want us on that bad road with the potholes after dark.  I opted for one of the new cigars, called El Credito.  With my first puff, I knew that it was a real Cuban.  With my second puff, I knew it was a good Cuban.  With my third puff, I thought it might have been the best cigar I’ve ever smoked.  I walked around as I smoked, reflecting and admiring the creations of nature, preferring to believe the explanations in my science textbooks, rather than the ones to be found in religious texts.  It was soon time to turn around, and we back in Baracoa before long.

Baracoa is Cuba’s oldest village, established four years before Havana, in 1511.  We got dinner at a restaurant called Calalula, a name Ernesto found amusing for some reason.  I got the pork covered in cacoa sauce and a Cuba Libre, along with coffee before and after the meal.  It did not help my headache, which was now at the point where it was painful just to stand up and sit down.  With my first bite of food, my first Official meal in Cuba, I announced “53.”  The meaning should be clear to my reader.  After dinner, I said it again, this time, “53 down, 140-some to go.”  It was slightly past 9 PM.

Four hours later, with me napping sporadically until midnight, we were back in Santiago de Cuba.  My hotel is cross the street from the famous, historic Parque Céspedes, which was quite bustling for it being close to 2 AM.  I sat down there, where I proceeded to light up another El Credito and write this entry.  As I wrote, I was accosted by beggars.  I just wanted to finish this as quickly as possible.  The first one started by asking for a cigar.  I thought he was going to sit with me as he smoked it, which would be a worthwhile person-to-person experience, but he just kept it for later.  Then he asked for money.  That was too much.  I turned him down and pretended my Spanish was much worse than it was and waited for him to go away.  He did, eventually.

Alright, one last thing before I close.  Cuba has been exactly how I expected it to be.  There have been no cultural shocks or surprises, other than the cheap prices of some purchases.  It is more similar to Panama than any place I have visited, and I expect Havana to be extremely similar to Panama City.  Alright, on that note, I will close.  Tomorrow our travelling party will grow from two to four by the end of the day, as Ernesto’s girlfriend will be joining us for the rest of the trip, and my best friend will be waiting for us at the hotel tomorrow night.

My Religious Studies Trip to Cuba - Day 0 - "For Whom the Bell Tolls"

“My Religious Studies Trip to Cuba”

8/21/15, “For Whom the Bell Tolls”

LaGuardia Airport, New York (LGA)

Until I wrote this headline, the reality of what is about to happen did not quite hit me.  In 12 hours, I will be getting on a plane to Cuba.  Yes, actual Cuba.  I will be embarking on a religious studies program to Cuba.  Tuesday will mark the 500^th Anniversary of establishment of Havana.  My best friend and I have been discussing this for years, how would we go.  Would we go illegally?  Would we make up some excuse?  Then, in December, the unthinkable happened.  A legal avenue opened up for us to travel to Cuba.  We could design our own religious studies program and make our own itinerary.  My best friend, who is extremely religious, was glad to go through with the legal route.

In fact, he is so religious that he refuses to travel on Shabbat, so he will not be meeting me there until Sunday.  I will likely not be able to post after this entry until I return to the United States, but the entirety of the blog for this trip will focus on the religious studies and, in particular, how religion affects the daily lives of Cubans, be they Jewish or Catholic.  There is so much unfamiliar about this trip, not the least because I will be almost entirely off the grid, possibly even without Wi-Fi, for the entirety of the trip.  It will not altogether be different from my trip to Iran, where I was completely disconnected from social media and work email.  Here, though, I might not even have Wi-Fi for three days, or possibly the duration of the trip.  I will be entirely reliant upon my trusty driver/guide, whom I assume will also serve as my cultural ambassador to the island.

This is such an interesting and novel trip, and I am possibly almost as excited to learn about Cuban culture and religion as I am to visit the famous sites of the island.  While so much about this upcoming trip is unfamiliar, the past 24 hours has been the epitome of familiar.  It seems like every time I’m about to embark on a big trip, I have a big night of partying and drinking the night before I fly out, which causes a problem, since I have to wake up early to pack and get ready and everything.  Or I want to get in early to work to finish up some last minute stuff before I leave, especially true this time since I will be off the grid.

In short, Day 0 is usually a busy blur.  Last night and today were no exception.  We did a guys’ night out at the office, and it was 1 AM by the time I got home.  Fortunately (and smartly), I had already packed the night before.  I somehow managed to get everything I needed to do done at work and probably had my most productive day in ages.  I even was able to print out all my itineraries and paperwork and be ready to walk out the door before 5 PM.  I had my traditional pre-departure lunch at Hop Won, boneless spare ribs and shrimp with lobster sauce.  I then had an H. Upmann, which I would finish up after work while waiting for my car.  I also picked up a copy of “For Whom the Bell Tolls,” which Ernest Hemmingway famously wrote while staying at the Hotel Ambos Mundos in Havana.  Needless to say, that is where we will be staying.  How magical it will be to read his book in that very hotel, 70 years later, like nothing has changed.  Don’t ask for whom the bell tolls.

I was soon at LGA, where I breezed through all the lines with my priority status.  I had even been upgraded to First Class.  I set off an alarm with the screening machine, just like I seem to be doing every time I fly out of New York.  I then caught a glimpse of the monitor, and there were two yellow boxes at my left (or maybe right) upper thigh, exactly where my pocket would be.  Does the pocket have a weird lay?  Is that why I’m always setting off the alarm.  I do always where these pants when I travel.  Maybe by the end of the trip, the pants have been worn enough to counteract whatever effect the pockets had?  Who knows?

I headed to my gate, and I am pleasantly impressed with the improvements LGA has undergone.  I can sit at a table, plug in my electronics, and order a meal sent right to the table.  I opted for corned beef hash and diet coke.  It was delicious.  Overpriced, but delicious.  I then proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, as we are about to board, scarfing down the food, as I wrote.  I have a hotel room booked at MIA, so I will probably add to this entry there and then publish in the AM.  The entirety of the Cuba of the portion of the trip will be published in one post, most likely.  I can’t believe this is finally happening.

Miami International Airport, Florida (MIA)

One step closer.  My journey into the unfamiliar of the familiar continues, venturing into a hitherto unknown part of a familiar airport.  I am now in a place fitting called the Miami International Airport Hotel.  It’s literally inside the airport.  The distance from the elevator lobby to airline check-in desks is less than the distance from my office to the elevator back at work.  I am in Concourse E now, my airline is one terminal over in Concourse F.  Even for only three hours of sleep, it’s worth the price of the room just to be able to relax comfortably before my flight.  It is slightly after midnight, and I have a 4:30 AM wakeup call for a 7:30 AM flight, as they told us to check-in three hours ahead of time.  I should have no trouble getting to the check-in counter by 5 AM if I wake up at 4:30 AM, and the full three hours is not necessary this early in the morning.

After I closed, we soon boarded the flight, and asked for a Bacardi Rum, appropriately enough, along with a Diet Coke.  I had forgotten that Delta serves the unaged swill for their rum, the silver stuff, which is only appropriate for shots or a mixed drink.  I mixed it in the Diet Coke, making a diet Cuba Libre, quite fittingly.  The in-flight meal, chicken dumplings and shrimp, was quite good, and I slept most of the flight.  We took off late, and, by the time I got my bag, walked to the hotel, checked in, got to my room, “fixed” the smoke detector, and went to the bathroom, it was after midnight.  I had lit up a Padron, one of the new ones, Damaso, which I like better than anything they’ve ever made.  After I was settled in, I laid down on the bed, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, so that I can get some sleep.

Since it is after midnight on a Friday night, almost all of my friends are either out partying/drinking or are asleep by now.  My flight leaves at 7:30 AM, which means everyone I know and love under the age of 40 will still be asleep, and I will then be off the grid.  In other words, whatever Facebook Likes I have now received are the last notifications of any sort I will get from the outside world until I get back here on Wednesday.  I wonder how lit up my phone will be when I land back stateside.  Though I have been texting back and forth my sister, since it’s three hours earlier in Portland.  She is almost as excited about this trip as I am.  Alright, that concludes the Day 0 portion of the trip.  When I next write, I will be en route to Cuba.

The First States - Day 2 - Exciting Delaware

8/16/15, “Exciting Delaware”

New York, New York

When I kept referring to “exciting Delaware,” I meant it as a joke, but, in truth, after our 24 hours in Delaware, I was quite pleasantly surprised.  I was misquoting the Delaware scene from Wayne’s World, but the quote worked.  Everyone we knew who ever lived in Delaware told us the same thing.  There’s nothing to see there.  That is what makes the scene from Wayne’s World so funny.  I actually just Snapped the squad asking if they wanted to watch the movie tomorrow night.

What was there to do in “exciting Delaware?”  A lot, it turned out, but all that mattered to me was the Legislature, my stamped brochure (hopefully with all three stamps), and the iconic restaurant.  Unfortunately, the place in Dover with the Stamp would not open until 1:30 PM, and the State Park office closed at 4 PM, which would make it very difficult to get all three stamps.  In theory, it was doable, but I did not like our odds.  It also meant we had the entire morning to kill, but I have gotten ahead of myself.

After I closed, immediately afterwards, I heard what sounded like an air raid siren.  I think I blurted out, “Is this the bloody Blitz?”  It turned out that it was from the fire house, and that was how they call the volunteer firemen to come over.  I went up to the room where my friends were already asleep and got into bed as quietly as possible.  Something was off.  It was way too hot.  Even without sheets I felt like I was sweating, and I knew there was no way I could go to sleep.  Was the AC not working?  I checked the thermostat, which read 75.  No, that wasn’t possible.  My friends were under their blanket.  No one under the age of 60 sleeps in a room that is 75 degrees and under blankets.  I assumed that the thermostat malfunctioned and reset itself, especially with 75 being such an even number (yes, I know 75 is odd, but it’s a round number).  I set it down to 68 degrees and being next to the AC, I was soon comfortable enough to fall asleep.

I woke up about 6 hours later, once again sweltering.  I checked the thermostat.  It was now 78 degrees, which meant that most likely one of my friends had turned it up, but I still wasn’t 100% sure.  Who puts the thermostat to 78 degrees and sleeps under a blanket, in summer?  I knew there was zero chance I could fall back to sleep like that, so I put it down to 64 degrees.  6 AM was not the appropriate time to have a discussion about the setting of the thermostat.  It turned out that one of my friends gets nasal drip when she gets too cold, something I am quite familiar with, since my dad has the same.  However, it was a discussion we probably should have had before we went to bed, rather than us just each waking up in the middle of the night to change the temperature, having the result of making the other uncomfortable, not even realizing that the other person needed the temperature setting they changed it to in order to sleep, or that they in fact changed it.

Around 9 AM, awoken by a few notifications on my phone, unable to get back to sleep but not quite ready to get out of bed, I heard my friends whispering, followed by one of them calling my name.  She said she wasn’t sure how to wake me up.  I joked that whispering to each other and calling my name would do the trick, especially given that I was already awake.  We headed down to breakfast, which was quite a disappointment, even compared to Hampton Inn, but I made do.  The coffee was the best part.  After breakfast, we reconvened outside for smokes, where I lit up my Ardor and published my entry while they went for a swim.  Even though I had packed my bathing suit, I had no interest in swimming.  We went back to the room and were out the door before noon.  My friends wanted to see an old plantation, and I knew that the John Dickinson House, a nearby NHL, was on a plantation, which would be perfect.

John Dickinson was interesting character in American history.  He wrote the Petition to the King in 1774, along with the final version of the Declaration of the Causes and Necessity of Taking Up Arms in 1775, which were the two precursors to the Declaration of Independence.  However, when 1776 came, he refused to sign it, arguing that it went too far, that America was not yet ready to declare Independence.  Instead he wrote the Articles of Confederation and served in the Pennsylvania militia as a general.  He would later become President of Delaware.  (This has been summarized from Wikipedia.)  I just wanted to visit another NHL.  It was closed on Sunday, but we snuck in and took our ceremonial pictures as I smoked my E.P. Carrillo.

After we were done, we went to downtown Dover and parked the car by the Old Statehouse.  We were hungry, but nothing was open.  It was practically a ghost town on Sunday mornings.  Even the VCs didn’t open until 1:30 PM.  I finished my cigar a little bit after 1 PM.

We took our ceremonial pictures in front of the Legislative Hall.  We then decided to sit in the shade, which resulted in us getting eaten alive by insects.  We headed to the VC and waited for it to open, but they had neither a Stamp nor an NPS brochure.  They did give me half a dozen Delaware flags as souvenirs.

We headed to the Old Statehouse, which was now open, and they had both, the Stamp and the brochure, each of which were useless without the other.  This marked my 240^th National Park Site.  First State National Historical Park, it’s called, though it’s really just a collection of historic sites across the state grouped together as one NPS unit.  We were now starving, so we stopped for lunch at the first place we saw, a McDonald’s.  No way was I counting that as my first Official meal in Delaware.  We were in a bit of a time crunch to get the other two stamps.  I had estimated we would be at the next stop by 2:30 PM, which would give half an hour there and allow us to get to the State Park office at 3:30 PM.

Between the stop for lunch and traffic, it was 3:15 PM by the time we got to New Castle, which put us on a very tight schedule to get to the State Park by 4 PM.  It was doable, though.  I lit up my special anniversary edition My Father cigar, which was very disappointing for the price point.  What makes My Father cigars so special is that they are an excellent cigar at a very low price point.  This cigar was three times the price and not much better than the standard blend.  New Castle had two NHLs within a short walk of each other (one of them had a Stamp), along with being part of New Castle Historic District, so three NHLs.  I had utmost faith in my ability to do that all in fifteen minutes, even having time to stop for a souvenir.

As we were entering the historic district, we saw a sign that said “best coffee,” and my friends were more interested in that than taking ceremonial pictures at famous, historic sites.  They said they’d go to the coffee place, and we’d reconvene in 15 minutes back at the car.  We had parked in front of the George Read house.  He was one of two people to sign the Petition to the King, the Declaration of Independence, and the Constitution.  Roger Sherman was the other.  I took my ceremonial pictures in front of his house, and I still had plenty of cigar left.  I headed to the Old New Castle Courthouse, stopping at a disappointing souvenir shop.  I also realized that I forget to pick up a Sunday paper for my collection.

I took my ceremonial pictures in front of the famous, historic Old New Castle Courthouse, which was where the stamp was, ditched my cigar, and prepared to head in.  It said that it was closed because a tour was in progress.  Huh?  I should still be able to get my stamp, right?  Wrong.  The front door was locked, along with all the other doors.  Fuck.  That meant that I could not get all three stamps.  My friend messaged me, saying they were still at the coffeehouse and running a little late.  It didn’t matter.  The third stamp no longer mattered without the second one.  A brochure with two of three stamps is the same as a brochure with just one stamp.

I went to meet them at the coffee house and got myself a cup of coffee.  We joked if it would be the “best coffee” like the Chinese food last night was the best Chinese food in Dover and whether or not the coffee would make its way into my blog.  Spoiler alert: it did.  Wait.  I did that backwards.  The coffee was very good, and, the guy at the front told me where to get my newspaper, along with explaining what was meant by “tour in progress.”  It meant that the staff was leading a tour around town, so no one was staffing the Old New Castle Courthouse.  No longer constrained by time, we sat outside to enjoy our coffees as we took in famous, historic New Castle.

We headed back to the car, and I finished my coffee with a little bit of a cookie.  We headed out of town, driving by the Old New Castle Courthouse.  Wait, I saw the sign now said open.  Ooh, maybe I would be able to get this stamp after all, which was a much better stamp than the one at the State Park, anyway.  They were, and I did.  We then went to Walgreen’s, where I got the newspaper, along with picking up some Dogfish Head IPA next door.

We made our way to the State Park, which was still open, but all the facilities were closed.  There was a big sign that said “ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES PROHIBITED,” not that that stopped us from cracking open a couple of IPAs for our walk.  There was a thing to pay for parking.  You had to put cash in an envelope and write down all of your vehicle information, quite a process.  “They’re getting ‘Black Toyota with Rhode Island plates,’” I announced.  We also didn’t have the right change, so we could only put in for half of the requested fee.  We could have gotten away with not paying at all.  I lit up my H. Upmann, and we walked around, finding a trail, too.

We made our reservation for dinner at Delaware’s “most iconic” restaurant, a college bar by the University of Delaware, Deer Park Tavern.  The list said that college kids go there for nachos, burgers, and Dogfish Head Beer, which was exactly what I wound up getting.  After our walk, we drove to the bar, which did was not filled with college kids at all.  I guess college kids don’t get drunk at 6 PM on a Sunday, and it was still summer, too.  The meal was good, not as good as lunch yesterday, though, but I could tell it would a really fun place to go at night if you were a student at U of D.

After dinner, I walked out while my friends were paying the check.  I had given them cash for my portion, and they were using their cards to split the rest.  This was actually my first Official meal in Delaware, finally, after 28 years.  Once I walked out, I did my ceremonial announcement, something like, “Well, that’s Official, and I managed to make exciting Delaware Complete in the process.”  I had the meal, the Cuban, the NPS, and the Legislature.

I lit up an Avo, and we were soon on our way.  It was 7 PM, only an hour behind the original schedule I had drafted up, which meant that we could be at Penn Station by 10:30 PM.  It was 10:30 PM by the time we returned the car.  I did not get home until after midnight.  There was lots of traffic, everyone returning from their trip to the beach.  There was a line at the service plaza for gas, since New Jersey is full-service only.  It was an exhausting drive home, but we played Fearless for the ride, and we all sang along each time “Love Story” and “You Belong with Me” came on.  I got another coffee at the service plaza and finished my cookie with it.  Those cookies are so good.  This was a new drive for me, though I am quite familiar with the very similar drive Sunday night on the Hutch through Connecticut.

We got the airport, returned the car, took the AirTran to the train station, and a train was coming in ten minutes.  Of course, there was a delay on the train.  It was 11:45 PM when we got to Penn Station, three hours behind the original schedule I had drafted.  We said our goodbyes, and they took the subway to one of their houses, while I walked outside to get on a bike.  No bikes.  I walked.  I stopped at the corner deli by my place to get a diet cherry soda, which I quickly downed.  When I got to my apartment, it was sweltering, and the AC was not doing its trick.  It’s fine now, but I needed to just veg out while the AC kicked in, not smoking or writing.  Once I was sufficiently chilled out, both physically and emotionally, I lit up an OpusX and proceeded to write this entry.

I suppose some reflections are in order, but I am dead tired, and my cigar is almost done, so I will just say this.  We had an amazing time together, enjoying each other’s company and the famous, historic sites in our own way.  That was the fun thing about the trip.  We were interested in seeing most of the same sites but for different reasons, and we all got to do things we wanted to do.  I did what was necessary to say, “Delaware Complete,” and I found NHLs that they were happy to see.  They just want to go somewhere together, and this was a trip that worked for them.  I think it’ll probably rank pretty high on my list of weekend road trips.  With that I’ll close this entry, along with closing out the trip.  Next stop: Cuba.

The First States - Day 1 - Nearby New Jersey

"When something is too easy to do, you never do it."

8/15/15, “Nearby New Jersey”

Dover, Delaware

There something to be said about travelling the way I do yet failing to properly explore my own city.  My island (Manhattan) alone has 87 National Historic Landmarks, another 26 accessible freely or for a nominal fee by public transportation.  One is literally a block away from my cleaners.  Why then did I not visit it until last summer?  Any other trip, to any other city, a chance for an extra NHL would be an easy sell, subject to time.  I’ve lived in my building for seven years, and there have been plenty of evenings where I had nothing to do.  I think that is the answer to the question.  I always assume there will be time, that I can always visit the site at some other time, yet I never do.

Last summer, I made that happen and visited every single NHL in Manhattan and Brooklyn.  I was going to do the other boroughs either later that summer or this summer.  Never happened.  The summer is almost over.  Unless I do it in two weeks, it will have to wait until next summer, when I am in full Olympic mode.  Will it really happen then?  Today, during day in nearby New Jersey, I did the opposite.  I made it happen.

Princeton has seven NHLs.  We went to each one, along with two in Paterson.  In fact, this entire trip could be summed up along those lines.  It is the easiest possible weekend trip I would want to make.  For fuck’s sake, I have never Officially been to Delaware.  The one time I went was just to stop at a rest stop on the way to DC.  Technically, I still have not been able to consider Delaware Official, since I am yet to have an Official meal.  That’s the problem something being too easy to do.  You never do it.  This weekend, we’re doing it.  We had a hectic, albeit extremely enjoyable day, so I will get down to recording it.

I suppose it began yesterday when I got a text from my grandfather that I would not be able to see him in New Jersey, as his dog got sick and was in the hospital (the dog).  I knew something was going to happen, some reason why I couldn’t see him.  I have not seen him for over a year.  Each time it has been something, and while each reason he has had for cancelling has been believable, the regularity with which the cancellations have occurred borders on unbelievable.  Even my brother’s wedding he could not attend for health reasons.  I wanted to make an effort to see him, to make as easy as possible for him, but even this attempt fell through.  I called him this morning to confirm.  There was no way to see him.  Well, that fucked up our plans, but it also gave us a huge chunk of unplanned time.

I got ready, threw some clothes in my computer bag, not even bothering to worry about packing my computer bag, trusting that I would have whatever gear I would bring to Scarsdale and Delaware requiring nothing more, and biked over to Penn Station, where my friends were waiting.  I picked up breakfast at McDonald’s, as I always do when I’m in the city on a weekend, and met my friends at the ticket machine.  We got our tickets and headed to the train.  The plan was this.  We’d take the train to Newark Airport, pick up the car, head up to Paterson Great Falls, back down to Newark for lunch and then make our way to Dover, where we’d spend the night, hopefully arriving before sunset.

I will also add that there is something unique about this trip, in that I am travelling with new travelling companions.  Unlike my other travelling companions (other than my family and my best friends), these are two people about whom I deeply care, one of whom I very dearly love  This was not a trip where I spent hours a day for weeks negotiating an itinerary with someone who was footing/splitting the bill or a trip where I was planning by fiat since I was footing the bill.

No, this time, we just came to a consensus to make a trip that we would all enjoy.  I had my list of things I wanted to do, but this was nearby New Jersey and exciting Delaware, so it was more important that we just had fun.  I had an itinerary, which quickly fell to shit, and we didn’t even follow a set plan.  It was like nothing mattered other than enjoying the trip.  If we missed a site, so be it.  This was nearby New Jersey.

So far, everything has gone fine, but it could have gone the other direction just as easily, which wouldn’t have mattered.  I told my friends that, without fail, every time I tried taking the train to Newark Airport, something went wrong.  This was to be no exception.  The train was stalled and got in 20 minutes late.  I was glad I was not trying to make a flight.  Then, they couldn’t find my reservation at Hertz.  I made it for Newark Airport train station, not the location at the airport itself.  It all got sorted, and we were soon on the road, heading to Paterson Great Falls NHP.  Remember, nearby New Jersey.  I still did not have a stamped brochure from this NPS.

I went a few years ago with my parents, but the place with the brochures was locked.  They have since renovated, but it took me this long to come back.  Alright, I am dead tired, so I will wrap up as quickly as possible, probably even waiting until the morning to publish.  We were also planning to go to an abandoned psychiatric hospital, which my friend’s favorite thing to do.  Unfortunately, the hospital was demolished.  I lit up my Davidoff Escurio, and we were soon at the NHP.  It was wonderful.  We even found an abandoned trail, which led to a house or some type of building that had been demolished, just the wall along the river still standing.  There was still a window without glass.  I am sure my reader can figure out what I did out that window.

There was another NHL nearby, an abandoned baseball stadium.  They love abandoned stuff.  I love NHLs.  I had enough cigar to make it to the stadium, Hinchliffe Stadium, which was part of the Negro League.  We took our ceremonial pictures and were all starving and extremely thirsty at that point, so we just wanted to go straight to lunch, which was to be at Top’s Diner, New Jersey’s “most iconic” restaurant, the ninth such one I have been to since I started this quest 3 months ago.  At this rate, I’d be done with the quest in 12 months.  Right, tired, need to finish.

There was a bit of wait, which made us even more starving.  I indulged myself, and we shared an appetizer platter.  For my main course, I got their famous short rib burger, which was delicious, along with a milkshake.  The meal was phenomenal.  It always is.  I also got some red velvet cookies to go.  I know, I shouldn’t.  What to do now?  We opted on Princeton.  It was on the way.  It had a bunch of NHLs, along with a cemetery and a battlefield, perfect.  I messaged my cousin who lived there.  Maybe we could meet up.  The plan was to go Albert Einstein’s house, the cemetery, and the battlefield, which is also an NHL.  Well, it turned out that there are seven NHLs in Princeton, all within five minutes of each other.  Long story short.  We went to each one (pictures of each to be found at the bottom of this post).

Albert Einstein House

I lit up a Padron, and we were on our way to Princeton.  When we got to Albert Einstein’s house, which had no sign but was clearly it, I lit up my Cabaiguan, figuring it would be the perfect cigar for an NHL run.  We took our ceremonial pictures at Einstein’s house, and I decided we could go to three more famous, historic houses, since they were all within five minutes of each other or so.  We’d skip the sites at Princeton University and then go to the cemetery.  If we were tight on time, I’d be okay skipping the battlefield.  Hell, maybe I’ve even already been there.  I know I’ve been to Princeton University.  I was supposed to go to school there.  Life had other plans in mind.  When my friend asked if I was happy how everything worked out, I could not honestly answer that I was.

Morven

The next stop was Morven, a mansion that served as the governor’s mansion for 40 years, along with housing Robert Stockton, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.  Next was Grover Cleveland’s House, which was recently sold, and we walked around the grounds, wondering how long it would be before we got chased away.  Then came Maybury Hill, they boyhood home of another signer, Joseph Hewey, and it occupied.  Surprisingly, no one came out to chase us away. Interesting, this different way of visiting NHLs, actually enjoying them instead of just taking ceremonial pictures was so novel, and I only did it because I was following my friends’ leads.   I was done and ready to go to the cemetery.  The address my friend found was inside the University.

We found the church but no cemetery.  Wait, the three NHLs inside the University were all about a three-minute walk away.  I just took my ceremonial pictures at each site: Nassau Hall, the President’s House, and the Joseph Henry House.  The battlefield was not happening.  We’d be lucky to Dover by dark.  We found the cemetery, and I realized that we’d be lucky to get to the “Welcome to Delaware” sign by dark.  We took too long finding President Cleveland’s grave, along with both Aaron Burrs, and my friends lingered.  I lit up a Jericho Hill, and we headed to Delaware.  I calculated we’d get to the border just after sunset.  There was a land crossing and a bridge.

Google Maps advised the land crossing, which was on I-95, and I knew would have a great sign.  My GPS took me across the bridge, iconic Delaware Memorial Bridge, which was probably for the best, but I realized too late, and it was almost dark by the time we crossed the bridge.  The sign was between the bridge and the toll plaza, and it was too tricky to get to it.  I could have managed, probably, but I didn’t really try.  We stopped immediately over the border for drinks (non-alcoholic) and smokes (for them, not me).  I lit up a Camacho along the way, and we were soon in Dover.

I had somehow gotten in my head the merit of ordering Chinese food to the hotel.  That was what we did.  We had to order before 10 PM, and I think it was 9:57 PM when we called.  I knew what I wanted.  My friends each wanted something that was not on the menu.  One wanted scallion pancakes, the other chicken with mushrooms and brown rice.  They had none.  The first friend quickly substituted hot and sour soup for the scallion pancakes.  The other friend did have a backup plan.

The woman on the other end of the food told me to hurry, and she was about to hang up.  Finally, my friend blurted out something that sounded like Moo Shu Pan Fried.  It was actually Moo Goo Gai Pan.  Okay, that was something.  We knew it was a chicken dish, but we didn’t know what it was.  I was going to look it up and let her be surprised when it came.  I saw what it was and just started cracking up.  I knew I had to tell her.  Reader, recall that she wanted chicken with mushrooms, and they said they didn’t have it?  Well, Moo Goo Gai Pan is chicken with mushrooms.  My friend had no idea.  It was just too funny, and we all started cracking up.

I went downstairs to finish my Camacho and call my mother to find out what was happening on the home front.  I finished the cigar and hung up to find out I had four messages from my friend.  They didn’t have enough cash on them for the meal, and they didn’t know where I was.  We soon found each other, and I gave the guy the rest of the cash and his tip.  The meal was pretty good, but it was touted as Dover’s best Chinese food.  Any Chinese spot in Manhattan has better food.  I enjoyed my chicken well enough.

We then went downstairs to smoke and drink.  I had brought some of the bourbon from the wedding, which paired perfectly with my Ardor pipe.  They went upstairs, and I proceeded to write my entry, as I smoked and drank, which I will now close so that I can crash.  It’s been a long and busy day.

Grover Cleveland House

Maybury Hill

Nassau Hall

President's House

Joseph Henry House

The Wedding - Day 3 - Aftermath

8/3/15, “Aftermath”

Hood River, Oregon

“My whole life growing up,” I started, holding my sister’s hands and looking up at her, the same way I looked up at my brother growing up.  “More than anything, I wanted a big sister,” I continued, the tears welling up, “and, now, here you are.”  I had just delivered the keynote speech of the wedding, a carefully crafted masterpiece, a loving tribute to my new sister.  At some point growing up, I realized it was impossible for my parents to give birth to an older child, that my wish would never come true.

I was wrong.  It came true, just not in the way I had expected.  She replied that, being the youngest child, she always wondered what it would be like to have a younger sibling.  It was one of the happiest moments of my life.  Growing up, my brother's friends never teased me, he never would have stood for that.  They considered me their little brother.  It is only fitting that his wife now considers me to be her little brother, too.

My new BFF

How did we get to this point?  Well, I closed before I left for the venue, so I should pick up with that.  Wow, it is just so raw.  Okay, I headed down to meet up with the groomsmen and my new friend, with whom I have developed a special bond, much to my mother’s chagrin.  She is Adam’s best friend’s wife, and she blames Adam for ruining her wedding.  My mom was convinced she wanted her revenge.  If Adam considers their child to be his nephew, wouldn’t that make Tina a cousin of some sort to me or something?

The Belle of the Ball

Adam was late, but we were soon on the road, drinking in the taxi and sharing some final stories and using this last chance to tease him.  I put my computer bag in the back, with my speech, my water bottle, my laptop, and smoking products.  We kept drinking and talking until we got to the venue, discussing, too, when we would have our cigars.  We got to the venue, and we all started walking to the “Groom’s Quarters.”  I thought about my cigar.  Wait, my cigars!  Where were they?  Nooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  They were in the computer bag.  The computer was in the taxi!  The taxi was gone.  Wait, no.  It was driving away.  I ran after it.  It was not stopping.  In my uncomfortable shoes and full wedding attire, I run down that gravel road at full speed, waving and yelling.  He did not stop.  I kept running and waving and yelling.  Finally, he stopped.  I got my bag.

My whole life was in that bag.  It would have been a disastrous way to start the wedding.  I made it back, and they all knew why I had left.  “Did you get your bag back?”  Yep.  I did.  We enjoyed our last moments together, continuing the stories and the teasing.  The father of the bride soon brought us some snacks, which were much appreciated.  I was still catching my breath.  We took lots of photos and had a great time.  We then went to sign the ketubbah, and I was handed the rings.  I was the ringbearer, which meant I made lots of Lord of the Rings jokes.  “When do I throw the ring into Mount Doom?”  That kind of stuff.  Then it was time for the ceremony.

Everything was set up so beautifully, and, as I saw my sister walking down the aisle, I thought about how much I had always wanted a sister and how happy I was to call her my sister, and I started crying, and she saw that, so she started crying, too.  My uncle did an amazing job officiating, and they were soon Officially wed.  We had cocktail hour, which was where we took the Facebook type photos, and everyone hung out.  We would have had time for the cigar then, but the schedule was all off, so we weren’t sure.  After we took all the photos, the reception began, and I enjoyed sitting with my cousins for the last time.

Then it was time for my speech, and the speech was perfect.  It said everything I wanted it to say, and it got the reaction I wanted.  Then, for the first time in, I don’t know, at least fifteen years, I said three words I have never said to someone I wasn’t dating or interested in dating.  “I love you, sis.”  It felt fitting that it would be my sister I said those three words to.  My dad’s speech was even more moving, and I still choke up thinking about it.  He talked about how they thought their life was over when Adam’s mother died, how miraculous it was that my mother came along and brightened their lives, that she made them a family again, and talked about how good of a big brother he always was.  It was so moving.

We finished the reception, and then the guys went out for cigars.  I opted for an H. Upmann, and I lost my shoes.  Tina later came buy with half a piece of pie and asked if anyone wanted it.  I grabbed it before Matt even had a chance to say he didn’t want it.  After I finished, I asked another of Adam’s friends, “Did I just use Tina’s fork?”  We all started cracking up.  It’s okay.  I really do love her.  She’s like a favorite cousin to me, more than my real cousins who were not in attendance tonight.

Go hard or go home.  We're going home...

I soon learned that Adam was well into his cups, and I would up literally having to carry him onto the bus once the party ended.  Other than the 88 cigar I smoked, everything that happened after that point is outside the scope of this Travelogue.  I woke up early and headed down to breakfast with Sokol.  I got the salmon bagel and bacon, which was delicious.  I then came back upstairs and went to the balcony, where I finished the cigar and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that we can head to Crater Lake NP.

Portland International Airport, Oregon (PDX)

Well, here we are, at the end of our trip, while my brother and sister have begun their new lives together.  Yes, I know it sounds awkward to phrase it like that (“my brother and sister”), but there is no other word to describe her.  It is only “Deborah” or “my sister.”  I could not ask for a more loving sister.  After I closed this morning, we made a few last minute goodbyes, to Adam’s godparents, to Tina and the last of his friends who are still there.  Tina loved the picture I posted of her, her husband, me, and Adam, as we left the venue and headed back to the hotel on the bus.  We got on the road and made our way to Crater Lake.

No, something was off.  I felt something I had never felt before.  I think the best word to describe it is “raw.”  I felt emotionally raw.  Not depressed, not happy, not mournful, just emotionally raw.  Add to that my hangover, my tiredness, and my stress about making the flight, it was a perfect storm.  I couldn’t take it anymore, and I had no desire to smoke.  I just wanted to escape, to find the balm that would protect the scab of these raw emotions.  It wasn’t a negative feeling, not at all, just intense.

I was able to point to three things.  First and foremost was how much I love my new sister, how happy I am for her to be part of our lives.  Second was a bit of envy, that he was now happily married to someone he met when he was almost exactly my age, while I am no closer to getting married than I am to going to Mars.  Third was just the general whirlwind of feelings and knowing that I’d be back at my desk in less than 24 hours.  It was too much to handle, and I couldn’t focus on my driving anymore.  I pulled over to take an Official U and gave control of the wheel to Sokol.  I slept a bit, and we were nearing the park, making good time so we stopped at a café for lunch.  Service was atrociously slow.  I had allowed an hour of Dutch Time for the day, and this used 45 minutes of it.  It would really impact our time at the park and cause us to risk missing dinner.

Once we got to the park, my heart just wasn’t in it.  It was a nice view of the eponymous Crater Lake, but that’s all there was to see.  Like the Grand Canyon, there is only so much time you can spend staring at the hole in the ground.  We went to the first viewpoint, and I lit up a Churchill.  We then went on our ceremonial hike.  After the hike, we headed to the first VC, stopping at a few viewpoints along the way.  I got my stamp and pin at the VC, and we then headed to the next VC, where I got my next stamp and a keychain and t-shirt.  It started to pour, which just killed whatever enthusiasm we had left, and I finished my cigar at the next viewpoint.  We called it quits at that point and headed straight to the restaurant.  Once we left the park, my tiredness/rawness returned, and I soon had to give Sokol back the wheel.  We stopped for gas and made it to the restaurant right on schedule.

We ate at Huber’s Café, Oregon’s “most iconic” restaurant, and the oldest in Portland.  I got the traditional turkey dinner, along with a glass of Oregon red, followed by a flaming Spanish coffee for dessert.  The meal was the delicious, and the production value of the coffee first rate.  I have really enjoyed eating at these “most iconic” restaurants, each of which has its own flavor and feel.  Needless to say, I was way too toasted to drive to the airport, so Sokol did the honors.  We were soon at the airport and through security.  We then went to the gate, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, along with closing this amazing this trip.  It was such an amazing time, and have I mentioned how much I love my new sister?  Only a dozen times?  Oh, okay.  Next stop: possible weekend trip to Delaware, otherwise Cuba.