Mountain Getaways; Asheville, Fairview, and Big Canoe

 

 

I’ve always had a penchant for the mountains, the crisp air, the pristine beauty, the remoteness, all helping to temporarily disrupt the anxiety of our times.  As a consequence we began to occasionally rent a place in Asheville, NC, starting with condos and graduating to homes, all these rentals through a broker (this was pre AirBnB).  We also treated ourselves to a few stays at the iconic Grove Park Inn, its edifice shaped from the granite boulders that were hauled from a nearby mountain, mostly by mule wagon.  The original structure has been added to as time went on.  It is a history vault as well, it’s walls lined with plaques of the people who have stayed there, just about every luminary of the 20^th and 21^st century, including most of the US Presidents.

 

We used to visit the area driving back from CT after spending several months living aboard our boat.  Covid disrupted everything, as well as merely aging.  Also, the boat is now our son’s, so we are not driving to CT anymore.  But the mountains still beckoned. Having visited most of the sites in and around Asheville, this time we wanted to do something a little different.  That is mostly stay in one place where we have views and privacy and quiet.

 

 

So we joined the AirBnB site and began our search.  We wanted not only those spectacular views, but a remote mountain top as well.  We found one, a Chalet with three bedrooms, fully equipped kitchen, a hot tub, and fireplace with plenty of cordwood.  Naturally, the main attraction being glorious views of the mountains and quiet that only remoteness can offer.  The only immediate neighbors we were told might be a sighting of a bear or deer in Fairview, NC, a rural community bordering on Asheville, only 20 minutes from downtown.  The house boasted great reviews, so we said OK; bring on the quiet and the bears and the funky nearby places to eat with the locals.  Of course we didn’t really mean bears, but we read it was possible to occasionally spot one along the side of the road.

Dawn

 

We timed our arrival so could first shop at the local Food Fair and although the plan was to just get the essentials, we were early for our check-in and so we stocked up without really considering how loaded the car was already. 

 

At the appointed time, we began our climb up to our “home away from home” for the next two weeks and I mean, climb and more climbing along the curving mountain roads.  Lost except for the miraculous GPS (what did we do before??) which finally led us to (and we were warned about this from reviews), the final half mile of twisting road which is only one car width wide, with tumbling down the steep mountainside as one option if you got too close to one side, or getting stuck in a deep rocky culvert on the other, which I suppose a 4 wheel drive vehicle with good ground clearance could navigate.  Unfortunately for us our two wheel, rear drive SUV gave us only a little more road clearance than a sedan but no added traction.

 

The rule of the road is the vehicle going up has the right of way which means if you meet one as you are going down, you have to back up to the point you can pull into one of the few driveways (all at 45 degree angles) or back all the way to your house (ours, a 45 degree one as well).

 

Well, in our two weeks there we never saw another vehicle on this stretch.  Lucky us.  Crisis averted!

 

So, we arrived and unpacked like crazy, including groceries, and hauled everything into our halcyon hideaway.

Gound fog in the morning

 

The problem with any rental, no matter how ideal, is acclimating yourself to someone else’s idea of what constitutes comfort.  Our landlady, Brea, to her credit, must be OCD as copious instructions were everywhere.  Except in the entertainment department where she assumes that everyone was ROKU and DISH literate.  Hey, Brea, you are dealing with a couple of old fossils here!  Give us cable and a remote and we can survive.  The sad upshot was we couldn’t figure out how to watch the US Tennis open as we unpacked, missing Coco’s semi final match.  Exhausted out of our minds, we finally crawled to our bed. 

 

The next morning, though, we called and Brea patiently explained how to navigate the TV from the various on screen menus.  It was a day to relax.  Enjoy the mountain views, fit in some reading and watch a little tennis at night. Our mountain Chalet had a wrap around deck with table, chairs, grill, etc. for outdoor eating, relaxing, and viewing.

Our Bear Visitor

 

We were having a glass of wine with crackers and hummus early that evening.  Ann had just brought the food inside leaving me briefly while I sat quietly mesmerized by our view.  Suddenly I heard a sound behind me and when I turned I saw a black bear approaching me from behind, actually on the deck about 10-15 feet away.  I jumped up, we locked eyes but the bear jumped too, just as frightened, not realizing that the still figure sitting there was a dreaded human being!  He turned around on his hind legs and walked slowly back to the driveway, surveyed the car, and even stopped for a few photos.  Seeing him in relation to our car gives an idea of his size, maybe 250 lbs.

 

Brea reminded us the next morning about how totally unusual it was that a bear came so close, especially coming up on the deck.  People do have sightings but rarely like that one.

Troyer's Country Amish Blatz

 

We shopped that day at a very local store, half way down the mountain, Troyer's Country Amish Blatz (talk about farm to table and local).  We read that they made the most amazing sandwiches and decided to try this for ourselves.  There we overheard that they would be closing the following day to attend a Willie Nelson concert with friends, some 200 miles away.  Too bad I thought as our son and daughter in law would be visiting for the weekend and it would have been an ideal place to take them for a little local color.

 

In anticipation of their arrival, Ann bought and made “from scratch” a vegetable/bean soup, a nice snack for when their plane arrived at the local Asheville airport and so down the mountain we went the next day to pick up Jon and Tracie.

 

Asheville Regional Airport has its issues -- mostly commuter lines flying under the names of the larger carriers.  This necessitated their arriving on two different flights from LGA but they did get in pretty much on schedule, a half hour apart.  Leaving was a different story.  They were scheduled to leave together, but the flight was cancelled for no reason and was rescheduled for 8.00 am the following day.  We left the mountain top at 6.00 am to get them there in plenty of time.  They boarded the flight on time, ready to roll and then they were told to leave the plane because of mechanical problems.  Rerouting through Charlotte later in the afternoon resulted in flying or waiting around airports the entire day.  This made Ann say that she didn’t think they would ever come back to Asheville again!

At the Grove Park Inn

 

Nonetheless, that gave us an extra day to spend with them.  We toured the area and sampled some of the fun restaurants nearby for dinner, particularly Cooks Corner and Rendezvous.  And that allowed us time for lunch on the Grove Park Inn stone terrace with majestic views of the Blue Ridge mountain range as well as a tour of the Hotel itself which our daughter in law had never seen.

 

 

The botanical gardens offered up not only the local fauna, but during our walk in the forest we went past a momma and baby bear watching us.  VERY nearby.  As the mother bear is very protective we were told not to stop or make any motion that she might interpret as threatening, so we kept moving although Jonathan said to them, “That’s OK, nothing to see here” as we walked on.  They seemed to understand thankfully.  Bears can run up to 30 mph for short distances and were a short distance, so we really didn’t want to engage them in conversation!

At the Botanical Gardens

 

After the “kids” left we were on our own to enjoy the next week and a half.  One of Ann’s dearest friends, Joyce (soon to be 98 years old but acts and looks our age or younger!) now lives there with her daughter Terri and her husband Brian who built a beautiful year round house to their specifications and, wisely, only half way up a mountain.  When Joyce moved from Florida, they converted an en suite bedroom to an in-law quarter and Joyce now has the best of both worlds, the setting and family, as well as being near her other daughter, Pattie.  So we spent some time and had dinner with them later in the week.  I could easily trade our home in FL for theirs in Asheville, but not one other person involved would agree, especially Ann.

 

Joyce and Ann

 

 

No trip to the area would be complete without a visit to downtown Asheville proper.  It’s a funky city so much reminding me of my days in the East Village in NYC.  Most of the locals have tattoos and somewhere in this blog you’ll find a story of Paul Ortloff who was a friend of mine in high school and became a well known tattoo artist, living in Woodstock (think he still does).  Every time I’m in Asheville I think of him.

 

 

Asheville, like any city, has a homeless population and it is sad to see someone sleeping on the ground there or dumpster diving.  I managed to get a photograph of two young women in plain sight and the body expression of the one waiting tells a story of despair.

 

The main draw downtown for us is a great independent bookstore, Malaprop’s Bookstore / Café.  We could spend all day there.  And we sort of did, ending up buying several books.  I looked at their signed editions section and they had one I wanted, a hardcover of Richard Russo’s latest book, the final one in his “Sully” trilogy, Somebody’s Fool.  I already had the book on my iPad and that was to be my next read.  But it’s a signed Richard Russo! (I have a couple of others).  As I don’t like to mark up clothbound books anyhow, I rationalized that I would get this for my collection and read it on my iPad.  Ann loaded up on paperbacks on the advice of one of the knowledgeable managers there.

 

The next logical step after spending so much time there was to ask to use their bathroom.  No, those are for the staff only, and they suggested we go down the street to the public library which we did.  But, little did we know, within that public library is a used bookstore, another one of our favorite places to browse!  Most books were a buck and in perfect condition!  Had we known that first, we might have saved a lot of $$ so we loaded up there too, my finding a pristine hardcover copy of Joyce Carol Oats’ novel, Black Water as well as a hardcover book by Willie Nelson (more on that later). 

Asheville al Fresco

 

A word or two about Joyce Carol Oats, who, when I was younger, I would read, but as her fiction morphed into gothic, even horror, I rarely read her work anymore.  Shame on me.  She is such a fine writer and given the fact that she’s written more than 50 works, probably one of our best living novelists.  Well, Black Water didn’t disappoint, including its white knuckle terror moments.  Although she has denied it, it seems to be based on Ted Kennedy’s Chappaquiddick tragedy when he left a party on Martha's Vineyard late on a Friday night with a young woman, Mary Jo Kopechne to drive to a ferry landing and his car went off the road into a pond drowning the young woman.   

Black Water by Joyce Carol Oats

 

Oates renames these characters for her 1991 novel, set in a different decade and in Maine.  It is the story of the main character’s death, Oats telling it over and over again from different perspectives and just when you think this is it, it is told yet again and with more retrospective narrative.  The rhythm of the novel alone, and its expectant buildup of terror, makes it worth reading and in part of a day, sitting on the porch, overlooking the mountains, waiting for the appearance of our bear again, I read the entire book.

 

Getting back to the Willie Nelson story.   Much earlier in this entry I mentioned that we had visited Troyer's Country Amish Blatz, and overheard the owners excitedly talking about taking the next day off to see their favorite singer, Willie Nelson.  Our thought was to drop off the book we bought at the library on our way back (and pick up more of their delicious offerings).  Serendipitous unexpected gifts are the best.  When Ann gave them the book, you would think she was offering a gold bar, the gal who runs the store running around the counter to give her a big hug. 

 

Visiting Smokey and the Pig

 

Although we were strangers, all the local places treated us as old friends. That also included visits to the BBQ ‘Smokey and the Pig’ and ‘The Local Joint” which is a diner attached to a gas station.

The Local Joint

 

Also, no trip in the area would be complete without a drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway.  Little did we know, the day we choose was “Heritage Day” and the Arts and Crafts center which we have visited many times in previous years was celebrating with local artisans displaying (and naturally selling) their crafts and in a small tent adjacent to a grassy area a Western North Carolina group would perform the music of the area, mostly ballads handed down from one generation to the next and bluegrass originals.  We enjoyed sitting in the little audience, being among the locals, and watching the families gather on the lawn, a little girl doing continuous cartwheels.  It was like being part of Our Town.

 

Heritage Day Blue Ridge Parkway

 

Alas, the time had come to leave our mountain retreat, pack and close up our Chalet putting it back together again the way we found it.  But that was not the end of the journey as we had promised to visit friends, Kyle and Joe, in their new home in Big Canoe, GA.  So down the mountain we went and on mostly local NC or GA highways we made our way to them, our GPS miraculously taking us to their door in the winding treacherous labyrinth which passes as a road to their home, deep within their mountain community.

Big Canoe Lake

 

It can be challenging staying with another couple, living in their space, under their rules, but their commodious home and easygoing attitude made for a pleasurable two night stay.  This community has it all, a pleasant clubhouse with good dining, golf (not for me), a health club, a lake with boats (very much for me), and that fine mountain air.  Joe and Kyle have fixed up their home since they bought it a year ago, into a real escape from the flatness of FL.  I loved being in the woods again, as we lived for 30 years in CT, and listening to the occasional song of cicadas.

 

 

We went out to dinner one night and once outside the community realized we were in MAGA country, someone actually paying to put up this billboard on a state road.

 

Leaving to go home finally was bittersweet, hating to leave on the one hand, but ready for our own bed.  Ironically, even though their home is closer to ours in FL than from Asheville, it takes even longer as you have to go through Atlanta and then cut across FL.

 

So leaving their house early Saturday morning, I set our GPS on home.  It got us to their front door and through their enormous community.  It’s only logical it would get us out.  Oops, not quite, much to our surprise!

 

Apparently, the GPS routes one to a gate exit which will not open for visitors and then keeps rerouting you to the top of a mountain.  We were hopelessly lost and we had wanted to get an early start.  We stopped several people for directions, and they were as vague as the GPS until FINALLY we found the main road out, but we can unequivocally say we saw more of Big Canoe, GA than most of its residents!

 

Finally underway, through Atlanta, most of the traffic consisting of those going to college football games, no real difficulties, and after Atlanta (unrecognizable, the place of Ann’s birth), as usual I set my speed control for 9 miles over the speed limit.  I’ve been driving for 62 years and have never had a ticket for anything and having driven up and down the coast to CT for twenty years to our boat, was not about to forfeit my record.

 

About ten miles from the FL state line, my doing 79 miles an hour in the 70 zone, I noted that everyone was passing me as I was in the left lane, so I settled behind a GA driver in the middle lane who was going 80.  Still traffic (all GA plates) was passing us in the left lane.  Suddenly a sheriff’s car, lights flashing, came up behind me and pulled me over.

 

We were caught in a local GA speed trap.  GA drivers were ok to go that speed or faster even, but the local police hand out these mementoes to anyone out of state (not really speeding tickets, but an income producing “breaking a local ordnance” scheme). 

 

Sort of ruins a great trip.  This officer was a good ole’boy if we ever saw one.  Pleasant but would not want to be Cool Hand Luke under his tutelage. 

 

Home safe and sound once again.  At our age, we wonder how many such trips we might have left in us.  Probably no more long distance drives.  We put 1, 892 miles and 40 hours in the car those two plus weeks.  That’s enough!

 

Troyer's Backyard

Cuba!

Over the New Year we went on a seven day cruise around Cuba, a long-planned trip with our newly married son Jonathan and his wife Tracie.  This trip was Cuba specific, no long periods at sea or stops at other Caribbean ports.  On Dec. 27 we drove down to Miami and boarded Oceania’s stately Sirena, a relatively small cruise ship with less than 700 passengers.

I’ve always wanted to go to Cuba ever since graduating from high school.  My graduation gift was a two week stay with my Aunt Marion and Uncle Walter at their apartment on Collins Avenue in Miami in June 1960.  It was my first time on a plane and a DC 8 Jet no less.  It turned night during my flight from NYC and I was excited to sit in a window seat.  I saw a light in the distance, convinced it was Miami and after some time of it seeming no closer, I asked my seat companion whether it was a light from Miami.  He said, no, it was a light on the wing.  Thus, my feelings of now being a jet setter were quickly deflated.

I greatly admired my Uncle Walter and Aunt Marion, both fiercely independent, idiosyncratic thinkers, excellent long distance swimmers (they would do a hundred laps in their apartment’s pool each day), and Uncle Walter worked out with weights.  I had trouble keeping up with them and they were a laugh a minute.  My uncle took me on his route of stocking cigar vending machines and told me he had a surprise for me.  He asked me to pack overnight and we jumped into his VW Beetle and set off to Key West, which looked even more like a cow town back then.  But what I vividly remember was the talk in the town about Fidel Castro and genuine fear he might invade the Keys.  Yes, unthinkable, but it stuck in my memory.

During college I was painfully aware of Cuba, first because of the pathetic CIA Bay of Pigs invasion in April 1961 and then those 13 eventful days in October 1962 when we were on the brink of nuclear disaster, with my dormitory in NYC in the bull’s eye.  During my college years we thought – if we didn’t have a nuclear war – that we’d be drafted to fight in Cuba.  I, like many, admired Castro when he first came to power, mostly for his engaging swagger. 

But as with most communist forms of dictatorship, the moneyed classes were driven out and a “new class” came into being, communist officials who knew how to enrich themselves, even if they wore military fatigues.  Milovan Djilas outlines it best in his classic The New Class: An Analysis of the Communist System, published by Praeger in 1957.  Ironically, my publishing company bought Praeger thirty years later.

Some say Castro was worth nearly a billion dollars, lots of gelt for a humble revolutionary, while others say that figure is way, way exaggerated.  It really doesn’t matter as after the revolution he lived well in relation to most Cubans and undeniably he had absolute power and admiration.

It was with these thoughts that we booked that cruise to Cuba sometime ago.  We were fearful Trump would sever the ties that the Obama administration worked so hard to forge, but luckily we were able to depart and because we booked so early we were able to arrange our own independent tours with the emerging entrepreneurs in Cuba, Cuban travel agents. 

To bone up on Cuba – more for a “feeling of the Island” than an exact history -- I read a fascinating novel by Rachel Kushner, a novelist of remarkable talent, her first novel, Telex from Cuba.  This is told through multiple converging stories involving American families managing American sugar cane interests in Preston, employees of the United Fruit Co., and other privileged Americans in nearby Nicaro managing a nickel ore business.  They lived royally on the backs of Cuban, Jamaican, Haitian and Chinese workers.  Those stories are juxtaposed to the exploits of “Rachel K” a Cuban showgirl who poses as a Frenchwoman, and her suitor, a traitorous Frenchman who plays up to whoever is in power.  Through their eyes we see Batista and Castro in action.  It is quite a portrait of American imperialism and the struggle for raw power, culminating in the Cuban revolution.  Through the novel I had a sense of what it must have been like to live on this island, one that has always been in a state of revolution of some sort, foreign powers and internal struggles perpetually at work.

Castro’s revolution ushered in Communism, and as we embarked on our trip I also wondered about how we would be treated by the Cuban people, and what their lives are really like.  Although this was a seven days cruise, four of these days were on land.  As a small ship the Sirena can easily go into the harbors of the three cities we visited, which included two days in Havana, one day in Cienfuegos on the south shore and one day in Santiago de Cuba on the far south eastern shore.  The circumnavigation and the short trip from and back to Miami covered 1,667 nautical miles, giving one an idea of the size of the island.

Needless to say, the highlight was Havana which so clearly displayed the contrasts in Cuban life today.  They are a proud people, striving to move towards a better life and while communism has provided the people with basic food, free education as well as all medical care, many live on the brink of poverty.  The government now permits some entrepreneurial activity and in each city we visited we contracted with local Cuban guides (against the advice of the ship), and this was one of the highlights of our trip, being able to talk frankly with each.  Our guide in Havana is a trained engineer, but he said work was scarce from the government (the only employer of engineers) and therefore he supplements what engineering work he can find with being a guide.  

Those ubiquitous 1950s American cars you see in Cuba, particularly in Havana, are owned by industrious Cubans who keep those cars going, fabricating parts which are unobtainable.  Those which are not convertibles have had their heating systems removed and honest to goodness air-conditioning retrofitted.  These cars are hired by the tour guides and are part of the tour package.  Some are not in good shape, no seat belts of course, and when you’re doing 60 MPH way out in the countryside with everything rattling it can be disconcerting.

Our tour in Havana was in a 1948 Ford convertible, looking like Greased Lightening before the paint job.  No shock absorbers though, ouch, on the Havana streets!  Cars such as these are revered in Cuba and are handed down from one generation to the next.  The expense of maintaining them is more than offset by the tourist revenue opportunities.  Before Obama opened up Cuba to more American tourists, the staple tourist trade in Cuba was Canadians and Europeans.  The Cubans of course embraced Obama and the opportunities they imagined having Americans now as their tourist base, but since Trump there is trepidation that this fountain of income might be obliterated.

Because of changes made by the Trump administration, once again making it more difficult to visit Cuba, the exchange rate of the dollar to the CUC which is supposed to be on parity with the dollar, is penalized 13% (vs 3 or 4% when exchanging the Euro or the Canadian dollar).  American dollars are sometimes accepted for payment, but that is not the general rule.  No American credit cards are accepted and needless to say bank ATMs are non-existent. 

One of the striking things about Havana is the juxtaposition of splendid Spanish colonial architecture to buildings that are mostly rubble or merely reflect the drabness of socialism.  Only certain buildings are carefully maintained, mostly government related.  Public transportation is in overcrowded buses, Soviet or Chinese made (as are most of the cars that are not classic 50’s American cars, although you’ll see a VW or even an Audi here and there).  When buses cannot do the job, they use old American trucks for transporting people.

Conspicuously absent is advertising.  Not needed in a communist country where all your “needs are taken care of.”  Also mostly absent is political advertising and no monuments to Fidel (who did not want any, being a man of the people), although there are statues galore to Cuban heroes of the distant past.

While wandering the streets of Havana, salsa music emerges from every nook and cranny, meaning the ubiquitous bars and clubs, including those frequented by Hemingway, sort of a local American “hero” there, and why not, famous writer and thanks to his love affair with Cuba.  Hemingway’s Floridita bar boasts it is the “home of the daiquiri.” A brief video of Hemingway's Mojito Bar and its continuous music can be seen and heard here: https://tinyurl.com/yb3mnfg7

Also present is the history of the revolution, bullet holes still apparent on the old barrack walls, now a school.  Hotel Nacional de Cuba exhibits show the Cuban response to the Bay of Pigs and the Cuban missile crisis of 1962.  The Hotel was home to the stars before the revolution but on the grounds you can explore its elaborate trenches and grounds where 100,000 Cuban troops prepared for a possible invasion while Russia and the USA traded nuclear threats.

 Other parts of the city such as the Plaza de la Revolución pay homage to Cuban heroes, as well as displaying munitions as a part of the U-2 spy plane wing which was shot down.

At the Harbor entrance is a massive Fort, El Morro, and nearby the 66 foot tall El Cristo Marble Sculpture, with its panoramic view of downtown Havana.  I’ll let some pictures do the talking and these are only a selection of those I took and edited.  More photos of the trip can be viewed at this link:

https://qq0u.app.link/e/1U20GBj7hT

Next stop was on the southern coast of Cuba, Cienfuegos, where we were greeted by our guide and driver in a 1954 Mercury.  

 Cienfuegos has a beautiful bay and is in the heart of the agricultural region.  Its small city center is recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage site for its 19^th century architecture.  Our first destination was the Botanical Gardens which, unknown to us, was miles outside the city, accessible on a narrow highway.  When these old cars get up to speed one wonders whether they will hold together.  The Botanical Gardens is the one sight in Cienfuegos which was disappointing in that the gardens seemed to be poorly maintained, and so many of the varieties of plants and trees can be seen here in Florida.  But the ride out there, viewing the countryside, was worthwhile.

Baseball is in the blood of Cubans.  It’s their most popular game and many major leaguers have come from Cuba.  Cienfuegos boasts one of its most famous stadiums and I loved the homage to baseball outside the stadium.

Palacio de Valle, originally built as a villa in the early 20^th century, and now a hotel and restaurant, has been carefully maintained, and its Moorish architecture is unique.  The views from the top, of the bay and of Punta Gorda are stunning.  There we stopped for refreshments.

The city center has colonial buildings surrounding the Park José Martí.  Its famous Theatre Tomas Terry was being refurbished (nice to see the effort with such important landmarks).  By the time we reached this destination, it had already been a long day so we returned to the ship.

The final port was fascinating, Santiago de Cuba, the second-largest city of Cuba.  This is on the southeastern part of Cuba, not far from Guantanamo Bay and also close to the two cities of Preston and Nicaro of Kushner’s novel.  It is actually closer to Haiti and the Dominican Republic than to Havana.  While entering the harbor there was an announcement by our Captain that the ship would be departing two hours earlier than scheduled because he was informed that the Port and the town were being closed.  Closed?  Just like that, no advance notice. 

Nonetheless, we met our guide Sharon and the proud driver of one of the muscle cars of the 1950s, a 1957 Oldsmobile Starfire Ninety-Eight.  The driver is one of seven brothers, and it was his grandfather’s car.  He inherited it because he was the brother who took the most interest in maintaining it.  No doubt, it was the most impressive of the three cars we were in during the trip and since my father was an Olds owner in the 50s, I felt very much at home.

Sharon was a fountain of knowledge, the best of the tour guides we had, having studied English and tourism.  She explained why everything was being shut down.  Former Cuban President Raul Castro, family, and government dignitaries were scheduled to visit the Santa Ifigenia Cemetery, where Fidel Castro and other Cuban heroes were buried, to honor them on this the 60^th anniversary of the Cuban revolution, led by the Castros.  They officially came to power Jan. 1, 1959.  She said if we hurried to the Cemetery, we might be able to get in before it closes. 

Indeed, we were the last admitted before it closed and we were there for the changing of the guard before the dignitaries began to arrive.

We’ve been to famous cemeteries before, most notably the Cementerio de la Recoleta where Eva Perón is buried in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The Santa Ifigenia Cemetery is equally impressive, particularly on the day we visited.   

To stand before Castro’s grave, marked simply with the name “Fidel” on a plaque behind which his ashes are housed, fixed to a boulder from the Sierra Maestra mountains where he fomented the revolution was truly moving.  He wanted to be buried alongside the Cuban patriot José Martí, whose statue and grave rises above Fidel’s.  Many Cuban notables are buried there including the founder of the Bacardi-Rum dynasty.

Cuba is a blend of many cultures and many revolutions and no trip to Santiago de Cuba would be complete without seeing San Juan Hill and its place in Cuban history and the Spanish American war.  Memorials there abound as well as stunning scenes from the top of the hill.

We drove by the former home of one of the daughters of the Bacardi family, beautifully maintained as it is now government owned and is operated as a trade school.  On the grounds was a soviet jet on display.

Another roof-top bar awaited us on our return to the city, the streets jammed with revelers to mark the New Year and the occasion of the 60^th anniversary of the revolution.

So we said goodbye to Sharon, the driver and walked back to the ship and soon cruised out the harbor, passing the 17^th century fort which was built to defend the city, Castillo de San Pedro de la Roca.  

A sunset at sea

Then early morning arrival in Miami.

After returning we learned that at the ceremony Raul Castro accused the US of returning to a “policy of confrontation.”  Seems that we have, and the Cuban people are worried once again about their future.  He said that their independence and the revolution "had not aged".  Seeing Cuba, I would agree.