Traveling with the Ancient.
Without having to raft the 90 miles back to Miami, we are in the middle of the Ocean back to Miami. Although my Mom drove me nuts with the continual loss and subsequent finding of her sunglasses, I will not be seeking asylum just yet. My mom almost stayed behind in Cuba, when the Navy tried to recruit her to help them interrogate terrorists at Guantanamo Bay Prison in an operation they dubbed Abu Gab; in which my mother would torture the various terrorists by telling them what each tenant of her Senior Living Complex had for dinner for the past 4 years. Frankly, I’ve been subjected to this slowly a la Chinese Water Torture-style slowly over the past 4 years and have confessed to things I’m innocent of just to not hear about Evelyn’s overcooked tilapia for the 1000th time.
We spent the day on the ship, as we had enough of Havana. Havana is like visiting Lola at the Copa, Copacabana, but that was 30 years ago, when they used to have a show. She sits in the dress she used to wear with faded flowers in her hair. While there are many vibrant things about Havana like the old cars, sections of the city look like we actually won in the Bay of Pigs Invasion. Either that or there was a major fire at the Cohiba Factory. As most workers make a Cuban Peso a day and, as I mentioned, it costs a peso to use the bano, it’s ironic that we couldn’t flush communism out of Cuba.
On another sad note, the Ancient has declared that this will be her last trip. I’m pretty sure that she’ll still want to cruise, but probably won’t get off the ship on future voyages. I do have an unexpected new travel partner though in my mom’s walker. Her tricked out walker was somehow filmed in the foreground of every evening show performance that they televise into the cabin. It does a great rhumba, had the run of the craps table, and was the life of the White Night Party. It’s either bring that or try to do a reunion special with Janet Reno and Elian Gonzalez.
Finally, as I cross back to our fortunate lives in the US of A, I am thinking of the late great Mrs. Toralbles, who as a baby, fled to America with her family for a better life. More than rum, more than cigars, more than mojitos, she was the best thing to come out of Cuba.
Hasta Luego, until Scotland in a few weeks!
Rubber Chicken 