Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Catamaran Tour

Since we could only afford to go on two day-trips, Paul and I carefully selected the Havana tour and the Catamaran Tour.



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In rained the morning of the Catamaran tour, and by rained I mean poured as if the ocean had been sucked up and was being forced at us from all directions. This was serious rain. Luckily, by the time we were ready to board all that remained were cloudy skies and turbulent waters.

I enjoyed riding facedown on the net at the front of the vessel with the wind whipping my face and the waves splashing on my shirt front.



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Our first stop was for snorkelling in a small reef off the boat. To be honest I was unimpressed with the snorkelling, in part due to the ineffectiveness of my old snorkel and the turbidity of the waters.



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A passing fishing boat, likely containing Cuban fisherman who were annoyed by the rowdy drunken Canadians.



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The next, and best, stop was at a huge enclosure out in the ocean. This was where we got to swim with the dolphins! The dolphins can actually leave the enclosure at any time, but choose to stay where they are fed.



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First the dolphins did some tricks, then swim past so we could rub their bellies. Then they circled back around to give us "kisses".



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Finally we posed with the dolphins and a man took our photo. He later brought the photo to the hotel so we could buy a copy for 10 pesos. That's the best 12 bucks I have ever spent; what a great photo for our anniversary.



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Soon we were off and arrived at Cayo Blanco for another traditional cuban meal. We weren't exactly sure how buns and hashbrowns constituted a 'traditional cuban meal' but we decided that this unidentified item was deep-fried sea horse.


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We played in the ocean for a while and then it was time to board the Catamaran again. The way back to our resort was filled with excitement: we had a visitor!


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(It's hard to get a good photo of a wild dolphin pacing the boat when everyone rushes the rail.)


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In keeping with our "Cuban tradition", the catamaran had an open bar. The combination of Cuba Libre (rum and coke with lime) and hours in the sun meant that we were in for some good entertainment on the ride back.


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Sue telling stories.


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Dance party on the boat!


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It may just look like I'm squinting in the sun and happy about dolphins, but actually Amanda had just done a pole dance for me and then tried to drive the boat. She was quite intoxicated and screaming at the top of her lungs, "Whoooo! I'm a doctor! Whooo!" while dancing with her pole. Among other things, this trip was to celebrate her graduation from medical school.
The only reason you're not seeing photos is she is very very embarrased about it.

Alright, fine. Just one photo.


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This particular sexy move apparently involved kneeing Graeme in the head. (Gotta love her!)

Monday, December 10, 2007

Havana

There was absolutely no way I was going all the way to Cuba without some kind of cultural experience. While staying at the resort was nice, it's just not the kind of traveller I am. Fortunately we were able to sign up for a walking tour of Old Havana, including a traditional Cuban meal, followed by some free time in the arts market and a quick drive-by tour of New Havana.

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The most immediately noticeable thing about Havana was the buildings. Everything was full of color and life, incredibly vibrant, even the buildings that were falling down.

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The streets were filled with beautiful oddities: a woman crocheting sweaters, a canopied bicycle, a man painting in the street, an enormous woman in a fluffy white dress selling fortunes and a wiener dog in a mesh shirt waiting for a ride.

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This sweet little girl yelled "Ola!" cheerfully to all the pasty white folk who passed.

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The people of Havana leave flowers for Mother Theresa on her book every morning.

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According to our tour guide, Louis, Cuban citizens are given a very minimal amount of money for doing their job, barely enough to stay alive. Everyone gets the same amount, whether they are a doctor or street sweeper. In order to get by, everyone takes on second jobs or more. The best way to make money is to work where there are tips, like at the resorts (which is why sometimes the person bringing you wine could be a doctor).

The impression that I got was that the minimum standard of living is higher than in Canada, but the average is much, much lower. Knowing that there was need, we brought along toiletries to give to the maids in the resort, and we tipped plentifully where ever we went. I also brought a big bag of school supplies with me to Havana and asked Louis where a good place to donate them would be. Louis went above and beyond and took us to a nearby primary school. He gave the bag of nylons that I'd brought to the principal to distribute to the teachers. She then arranged for us to go into a classroom upstairs and they brought about a dozen students from each class through and we handed out the supplies to them.

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The principal asked us to only give one item to each child, but what use is a pencil sharpener without a pencil, or pastels without paper? (You can see in the photo above, I'm sneaking this litle guy a sharpener.) Soon all of the goodies were gone and they led the disappointed stragglers away. My heart was just breaking that I hadn't brought more, that some children went without even these small inexpensive items. But as we walked back through the school to the street I saw that in the classrooms the children were all sharing the goodies with the rest of the class, without any sign of greed. This was the best part of the trip, for me. (If I ever go again I am bringing only the following: one giant bottle of sunscreen, camera, bathing suit, one shirt, one pair of shorts, chacos, and a giant suitcase full of the best school and medical supplies I can find. As a chronic over-packer, this is saying a lot.)

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These women are paid by the government to wander the streets of Havana and kiss tourists for photos. They then demand "one cuban convertible" from the unsuspecting tourist. The male version of these women is in the background in the photo of the man painting on the side of the street above.

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Louis then turned us loose in the arts market for 45 minutes, which wasn't nearly enough time. We wandered through a small city of stalls, examining the wares and fending off beggars who thought we should give them "souvenir for my baby" or money for having a Canada flag tattoo or 5 pesos to braid my hair (clearly they have not met my hair).

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We picked up a little turtle carving, some carved Havana rum coasters and this painting, from perhaps the most laid-back man in the entire market, which we paid 10 pesos for and an arm and a leg to have framed in Canada.

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All too soon we were running for the van and on our way to New Havana.

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The view from the Capitol building.

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Revolucion square.

Of course, you can't go to Cuba and miss out on having your photo taken with Che.

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Sunday, December 9, 2007

Cuban Holiday

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Last night I was looking at Melanie and Jim's photos from their trip to Cuba and I realized that Cuba was definitely missing from my blog. Here's the cure! For ease of digestion I have split our trip up into 4 parts with about a dozen photos each. We took over 1200 photos (just Paul and I, never mind the rest of the group) so this is only a select few from the scope of our trip.


Paul and I went to Cuba in May 2007 with 18 of our friends. We had contingents arriving from all across Canada to meet in the Toronto aiport in the middle of the night. The Edmonton group arrived first, then the Vancouver contingent, then the Hamilton contingent. This meant that those of us from E-town had a 7 hour layover in the middle of the night. Bleh!



Cuba group



From front to back, left to right (roughly): Jo, Sue, G, Me, Amanda, Mark, Chantal, Harry, Paul, Brandon, Doug, Keith, Leslie, Sarah, Kristy, Helen, Jason, Maja, Margaret and Tom.



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The first thing we did upon our arrival at the resort was change into swimsuits, jump in the pool and order a mojito from the swim up bar. (This caused me to switch to Strawberry Daquiris for the remainder of the trip. I'm not a fan of mint.)



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The second thing we did was go to see the ocean. When we got to the end of the boardwalk, we all just dropped our things and ran right in.



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We spent a lot of time on our trip just hanging out at the pool and drinking. Everyone said that they knew we were Canadian by two identifying features. Number one, everyone else was bundling up because it was only 17 degrees out and we were in the pool in bikinis. Number two, we always had a drink in the pool. They were polite enough not to mention item number three which, depending on the day, was either the extreme blinding whiteness of our skin or the extreme tomato-lobsterness of our sunburns.



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The Iberostar Varadero.



Before we went to Cuba, the only complaint we'd heard was about the quality of the food, that it was bland and boring. My only explanation is that these people must have only eaten from the buffet, which after a couple of weeks might seem so. The food at the à-la-carte restaurants was very good. Below is a shot of our friends at the Japanese restaurant (it kind of cracked me up that people would go for Japanese food in Cuba).


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Paul and I elected to sample the Cuban restaurant. We dressed up a bit for the meal and on the way to dinner one of the gardeners gave me a flower and told me I was pretty. I wore the flower in my hair for the rest of the day.



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This meal was one of the best I have ever had. I finished my steak before Paul ate his, which might be the first time ever (and possibly the first time I have ever finished a steak in one sitting.)



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The weather was incredible the entire time we were there. Despite 30+ degree temperatures, I rarely found it to be too hot. (A minor miracle occured and my hair mostly behaved itself in the humidity, contrary to all expections. I guess it liked being on vacation.) It rained about once a day, a solid downpour lasting from half and hour to an hour and then subsiding. The rain was warm though, and we revelled in it. Things worked out far better than anticipated, considering we went right at the beginning of hurricane season.



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It rained about 10 minutes after I took this photo.


Tomorrow: Havana!

The World is on Fire

Environmental consciousness is something I feel fairly strongly about. I believe quite firmly that the impacts of our actions are both invisible and cumulative, that small changes can cause big ones. I also think that environmental consciousness and social justice are fundamentally entwined.

The belief in environmental consciousness started early for me. It’s the one good thing about myself that I can credit to my mother; this is the part she got right. A fundamental appreciation for all living things was a part of it, as was a wonder in the beauty of nature. (Except for spiders, she’s terrified of spiders; although she did have us put them outside rather than squashing them). I was taught a respect for life, in any form and learned to find the function of a creature before judging it. Finding the function invariably led me to a positive judgment. Usefulness is next to godliness in my books.

Whenever I need to recharge my spiritual batteries, I head out into the river valley, or find a nice tree to climb. My childhood was primarily spent in the Mill Creek Ravine or up the giant elm in our back yard, book in hand. One of the most wild and vivid memories of my childhood is from the time I snuck outside during a giant windstorm, climbed to the very top of the highest tree in our yard, well above the height of our house. I hooked a leg around a branch and let my arms fly free as the wind tossed me around, the tree was my only anchor to the world. When I was eleven we moved away and I was heartbroken that we couldn’t take that tree with us; it was my childhood home.

In junior high, my academic challenge class was lucky to have a teacher who was passionate about environmentalism. This was in the late 80’s, when environmentalism was just starting to be trendy. We filmed a short documentary on pollution in our school area, focusing not just on waste and littering but water quality, landfills and industrial dumping. Starting in 1987, when I was 11, we organized and ran a recycling program in our school, which continues to operate to this day. We set up a system of cardboard boxes lined with plastic bags and an attached list of recyclables in every classroom in the school. We collected and sorted the items once a week and arranged for pickup and transfer to a larger recycling facility in the city. (For perspective, our city’s “blue box” residential recycling program began in 1988.)

My high school was right next to the river valley and many hours were spent exploring all of its depths and winding turns, all of the secret hidey-holes it held. Many lunch hours and missed classes were spent running and climbing there. I joined the hiking club and traveled the province wandering through tamarack in fall and mountains in the spring.

After some career confusion and program jumping, I ended up in NAIT’s Biological Sciences Technology program, in the Renewable Resources stream. I broadened my knowledge base about the world around us and the incredible creatures it contains. Meanwhile, I was a member of the Canoe racing team for two years, the cross-country skiing team for one and took a winter survival course.

My studies led me to a job with the Alberta Research Council doing field research as a range and forest technician. While the physical work could be tedious and repetitive, I enjoyed both the outdoor labour and the view into scientific enquiry on such a broad scale. I liked pondering the potential impacts of our research and the ways in which the accuracy of the experiment could be improved. For the next three summers I worked on this project while completing my BSc in Environmental and Conservation Sciences, which took the knowledge base I had developed at NAIT and expanded it to include information on how to manage populations, human impact on our world and the wider issues now facing us.

My eventual goal was to complete at least a Master’s and possibly a PhD (although I never would have admitted it at the time). I loved the idea of exploring possibilities through research. I loved my job in the bush but spent most of my time trying to find a way to improve the quality of the data collection. I wanted to be in charge of the project, rather than the grunt just following instructions. I wanted to fix the project. The only way that I could see to do that would be to get the schooling to be allowed to be in charge.

Unfortunately at this point I stalled out. I had the grades to get into the Master’s program, but didn’t have the references required. I’m not a networker or a social butterfly. I kept to minimal participation in class discussions and likely few of my professors realized who I was. I prefer to communicate in written form and that was very much what I did. Also, because of my unusual route through the program, I actually had some holes in my background that needed to be filled before proceeding to the graduate level. I spent the next couple of years remedying these issues while working to pay off my student loans. I geared up for a 2005 application to the Master’s in Renewable Resources program, but life proceeded without a regard for my academic goals and I finally realized that field research was not necessarily the best match for what I wanted my life to look like. I’ve been at an academic standstill ever since.

And now I’m just not sure what I want my life to look like. I’m still supporting many of my environmental beliefs at a basic level. I recycle vigilantly, and now that we have a house I will likely start composting again. Three times a year I organize a “clothes exchange” with my friends, which means that everyone brings over clothes that they’re not using anymore, we go through and take what we want, and the rest are donated to charities. With a like-minded coworker, I have put together many procedures at work to reduce waste and improve efficiency in the office, all of which save time, money and environmental cost (and which my bosses seem to generally oppose, for some unknown reason). We are also investigating natural alternatives to chemical solutions in every level of our lives. I’m just not really sure that these measures are enough for me anymore. While a small change is much better than no change, and can have a cumulative impact, I’m not convinced that I’m satisfied with these small scale actions.

This mental outburst was inspired by last night’s conversation with my high school friends, many of whom are in some way qualified for the discussion. (Jim has a PhD in genetics, Tara did her degree in biological sciences, Melissa’s background is in forestry, and mine is in environmental science.) The discussion was ignited by a question about hybrid vehicles and whether they really reduce our environmental footprint. The heat spread to the justified paranoia that big business is suppressing accurate research in favor of monetary gain, and was in full blaze by the time we reached the idea that global environmentalism is being used to further suppress the advancement of developing countries. The debate stirred up those old fires for me, ones that had burned out their fuel until only smoldering embers remained.

While I sit here and ponder these issues, with my good intentions and my small actions, in my warm house and my comfortable life, I have to wonder if I’m just fooling myself. I have a sinking feeling that I’m a part of the problem and that all of my small measures only really serve to make me feel better about my selfish actions. The world is on fire and I'm standing on the sidelines with splinters in my fingers just spitting at the flames.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Initiation

Paul and I are experiencing the Official New Home Owner's Initiation to the Home Owner's Guild of Pain (which sounds a bit S & M-ish, but I'm beginning to think that might be fairly accurate).

A week after we took possession, there was a huge windstorm here. It knocked down trees and power lines and while it was having so much fun, it thought it might tear off a few of our shingles, just for kicks, and fling them into our new neighbour's yard. Between being incredibly busy, not owning a ladder and being unwilling to admit that something might be wrong with our house before we were actually out of our apartment, we spent a blissful two weeks in denial of our situation. Finally, I assembled the following facts:
- Number one: the shingles in the neighbour's yard are brown.
- Number two: the shingles on his roof are grey.
- Number three: our shingles are brown.
- Number four: we have the only house with brown shingles on the entire block.
- Number five: there is a naked patch on our roof. Damnit! (It annoys me that "Damnit" looks wrong and "Dammit" looks right. "Damnit" makes me feel like I'm cursing baby lice.)

We investigated going through our home insurance but they basically said that it wasn't worth it to pay the deductable. Tara and Steve had left us a stack of shingles in the garage so we figured that with a little instruction we could fix it ourselves (we've both shingled roofs before, but have never been in charge). We asked Paul's Dad for some help and what that ended up looking like was: Paul's Dad fixed the roof, Paul helped, and I ran ground support, bought groceries and cooked dinner (mmm, spaghetti).

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Paul taking shingles up the ladder.

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Paul helping.

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Paul's Dad, hard at work.

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A good view of our very cool new ladder (housewarming gift from Paul's parents). It's incredibly adjustable, which is very helpful in a split-level house.

The roof is patched for now and we'll be fixing it properly once we are out of the sub-zero temperature range. We hadn't even finished recovering from our Induction into the Home Owner's Guild of Pain when the lower half of our power outlets in one half of the living room stopped working. We know that the wiring in our house was done quite creatively (we have more than one switch that we have no idea what it controls) so finding out what went wrong is likely to be a challenge. Only six of the thirty-odd breakers are labeled and I know that Tara and Steve are both highly intelligent and made an attempt to sort them out. This will have to be a project for another day.

Since bad things come in threes, I'll be holding my breath until the other shoe drops (does that make it the third shoe? And if so, where does one wear that third shoe? Wait, don't answer that!) It doesn't really matter that things keep breaking and things will keep on breaking; I'm loving this house more everyday! If that makes me an all-too-willing member of the Home Owner's Guild of Pain, so be it.