Cuba
Pronounce it Q-ba, or COO-ba if you want. The cruise basically went around Cuba. East side, slice between the Bahamas and Cuba, then around the South side, Johnny, and hit Jamaica. I loved seeing all the white people with the Jamaica gear and mini-dreadlocks. I guess if it makes you happy then cool. Drop your cash however you see fit, happiness is at your disposal. Anyway, a quick hop over to Grand Caymen to the West of Jamaica, where this British territory has them driving on the decided wrong side of the road. Then back home along the West side of Cuba to Fort Lauderdale.
And all the while, Cuba is off to the right. Sometimes you see it, sometimes you don't. But you always know it's there. And one day, as Terren and I stand on one of the decks watching blue and orange smoke come from a few of the smokestacks, the landscape juts up in rugged hills, surprising us both. Is this maybe where the Revolutionaries hid? Probably not, but it's mysterious, this island locked in the past by embargo.
Almost the whole trip the island is shrouded in bad weather, the Cloud of Communism as Terren jokes. I get jokes. But still mysterious, maybe even more so because of it.
We try to find the Bay of Pigs on a map, but it's not marked. I later learn it is in the South Central part of Cuba, and the translation "Bay of Pigs" is likely inaccurate, probably another fabricated media factoid used to stoke the engines of public acceptance. Why not foment revolution? They are pigs, schools and schools of them floundering in the water.
I imagine someday Cuba will be a port of call on these cruises. Fidel will be in the grave by then, having died with the notion that he was able to hold off the "bad old USA" for so long. But it won't last forever, as nothing much does. I imagine the Cloud of Communism will simply dissipate when it happens, and the mystery will be a bit disaplaced, though probably not entirely.
And all the while, Cuba is off to the right. Sometimes you see it, sometimes you don't. But you always know it's there. And one day, as Terren and I stand on one of the decks watching blue and orange smoke come from a few of the smokestacks, the landscape juts up in rugged hills, surprising us both. Is this maybe where the Revolutionaries hid? Probably not, but it's mysterious, this island locked in the past by embargo.
Almost the whole trip the island is shrouded in bad weather, the Cloud of Communism as Terren jokes. I get jokes. But still mysterious, maybe even more so because of it.
We try to find the Bay of Pigs on a map, but it's not marked. I later learn it is in the South Central part of Cuba, and the translation "Bay of Pigs" is likely inaccurate, probably another fabricated media factoid used to stoke the engines of public acceptance. Why not foment revolution? They are pigs, schools and schools of them floundering in the water.
I imagine someday Cuba will be a port of call on these cruises. Fidel will be in the grave by then, having died with the notion that he was able to hold off the "bad old USA" for so long. But it won't last forever, as nothing much does. I imagine the Cloud of Communism will simply dissipate when it happens, and the mystery will be a bit disaplaced, though probably not entirely.
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