Working as a lunch supervisor, as an example, is not an easy task and requires you to be patient, practical and innovative. And, you must have a wicked sense of humor. Imagine yourself going to work every day for one hour. You’re busy at home doing the things you do and then all of sudden you look at the clock and leap to your feet. Out the door you go, off to work, gathering all your paraphernalia, books, paper, markers, games and treats! Oh, the treats the children get from their lunch supervisors! You gather up your goodies, out of breath from trying to get all the things you tried to get done at home so your own children don’t feel neglected, and run to your class. The children swarm upon you like locusts. They, of course, have a million questions, and those questions come firing out of their mouths like machine-gun bursts. You dodge every ‘bullet’ with your smile and your calm demeanor as you hand out hot lunches and Band-Aids while breaking up arguments between the girls in the back row. You stop fights amongst the boys in the schoolyard. You blow whistles that the children often never hear as you tear your hair out because of some issue or another that is going on in your room.

Then there are bosses and peers you have to deal with, who may or may not be on the ball (another reason you tear your hair out). You organize events and find new and exciting ways to teach the children in your class those little life lessons that perhaps the teachers and parents don’t have time to teach anymore. You inspire young minds with stories and ideas and information that may not be on the curriculum. You work at starting newspapers, girls’ clubs, sports clubs and art clubs, giving the children opportunities to grow and find themselves in a freer, less restrictive setting.

You are a lunch supervisor and your job is rewarding. You are adored and I thank you for all of your hard work, for your dedication, for your love of children and how they feel in a place that is, after all, an institution. I thank you for making it more like home, a place where our children feel happy and safe. Where they’re free to discover, to inquire and to learn new things each day as you show up out of breath and panting, just making it ahead of the bell, ready to greet your class with a smile and hugs.

And what of our daycare educators? Those women who put in hour upon hour, morning, noon and night. The women who have the gift, like horse whisperers. Some of our daycare educators seem to have an almost spiritual connection, if you will, to the children. They know when something is wrong with a child. They sense things about the children in their care. They build strong and meaningful relationships with all of the children, and the children are attached and happy to have someone who cares about them. These educators work so hard and are never given their due. They spend countless hours with each of the children in daycare, working with them on projects, helping them with homework and teaching them new things. Our daycare educators see everything firsthand. They watch the children grow, starting in pre-kindergarten and up to that moment when they leave, spreading their wings and discovering new horizons. Along the way you can bet there were some very special daycare educators who were a part of that child’s life, who sat with them when their mom or dad were late during a snowstorm, reassuring them that the traffic must be very bad and that their parents would arrive soon. Educators who were brave enough and strong enough to stick to their guns and not give up on even the toughest child in the group, who managed to instill a sense of responsibility and real autonomy in that child. Who danced and sang and wore funny costumes, because if you can’t laugh at yourself then, well, you’re not going to be able to laugh at anything.

The daycares in our schools are places where ideas are born, where strangers become families and where our children receive constant care from seven in the morning until six at night. Without educators with real compassion and with real passion for this job, our children would be the ones who would lose. Fortunately, we do have very special people who work in our school daycares and I want to thank them for all of their hard work, for the hours they put in and for all of the extra hours they put in without asking for anything. They do what they do because they love it, because it’s rewarding and fun and because to them, each child in their care is special.

Photo Credit

Photo courtesy of Martha Farley – all rights reserved

Apart from horror scenes from a movie, my other reason for ‘dentist anxiety’ is, as a kid I had a dentist who I swear would smoke in the room while he was checking your teeth out. His hands smelled like cigarettes. No such thing as hygiene in those days. He didn’t wear gloves either! It was just the worst place on earth. Maybe he was the dentist from Marathon Man? If I hadn’t known better I might have thought his so-called office was a hidden torture chamber set up by spies. I mean, he was that creepy! So a creepy, smelly dentist from my childhood and a horrific scene from a movie really put a bad taste in my mouth for dentists (excuse the pun.)

Afraid is not the word. A panic attack in full swing, shaking, nervous, bordering on passing out is how I get in the dentist chair. As I said though, all the staff at our dentist office know me pretty well now and try to make the experience as pleasant as possible. If it can, indeed, be pleasant. Just the sound of the drill makes my heart skip a beat, and not in a lovey-dovey kind of way. I swear I’ve seen the face of God looking down on me in that chair, with my mouth wide open, drooling saliva all over the place. What does God think of me sitting there, holding onto my shorts like it’s the end of the world? But it isn’t, it’s just that your mind kind of gets lost in the scraping and pulling and pushing and spraying. My eyes are always closed because I don’t want to see what’s happening. Lord no, that would make it worse. Bright lights and sterile pointy things that could slice your throat? No, it’s best not to know what’s coming! So I try to think of other things while in the chair, to visualize a peaceful scene, like me on a beach walking hand in hand with my husband. You know, stuff like that. But it doesn’t always work. Sometimes the face of God appears out of nowhere, like an omen, and then I feel it: the pinch of a nerve at the root of the tooth the dentist is working on. My hands grip the arms of the chair and I white-knuckle it until that pain goes away. I can almost see God laughing at my dramatic response, no doubt telling all the angels what a wussy I am, and don’t I see what’s going on the world? Third world problems, He thinks to himself.

I’m getting a crown right now, and no, not the royal kind, the expensive kind. And while my dentist was drilling my fake tooth, standing beside me with drill and tooth in hand, I asked him quite sincerely, “Is there any way I could just take all my teeth out so you could work on them like that?” “Ohhh,” he laughed, “in a perfect world Martha!” Damn, I said to myself. So I’ll be selling my firstborn in order to pay for my crown, and I don’t even get to show it off unless I walk around pointing it out to everyone. I don’t think, in general, people would go for that. Mouths are meant to be kept closed, or at least partially closed, at all times. I guess my new crown will not be something I can flaunt.

I always thought I had a good set of teeth. I mean, they’re pretty straight. But lately I’ve found I have teeth like my mom, in that some of them kind of overlap others. It must be a genetic thing. I, too, am like my mother in the sense that she never went to the dentist unless it was an emergency. My father would go often. He was either brave or crazy, not sure which, but he would never get his mouth frozen. He would have work done without anesthetic! My father and I differ drastically on this point, even though those needles make my heart pound! I wonder if he enjoyed Marathon Man? He may have. So I suppose I’ve inherited my lack of desire to go to the dentist from my Mom. I never saw her go! Even though she made us all go to ‘cigarette dentist’. I guess it was like the threat of torture to us kids – you better behave or I’ll send you to the dentist! Sounds funny now when I think of it, but maybe there’s just a little bit of truth to that?

Anyway, I can’t complain too much, I’ve been going to the same dental clinic for many years. They know me, my husband and our children. They’re like family to us, and even though Dr. Faguy retired a few years ago, his replacement, Dr. Taouk, is just as wonderful. Both men make you feel as comfortable as possible while in their chair. And the staff who work there, Madeleine, Sue, Angie, Johanne and Shani, are all so good to us. If only we could just take our teeth out and leave them with the receptionist and go back a couple hours later and pick them up. Wow, that would be awesome. Unfortunately that won’t be happening anytime soon!

So I’m just grateful things have gotten better for us as far as dentists go. If I’m going to have massive panic attacks, I’m glad it’ll be with these people and not Dr. Cigarette! Or that dentist from Marathon Man. Phew!

Photo Credit

Photo from Pexels – free for commercial use

Margaret River is a beautiful place to experience the charm of Australian culture. Whether it be through exploring the variety of vineyards or taking up the opportunity to surf sparkling Australian oceans, Margaret River accommodates your curiosity of a vast and exotic country.

Start by exploring the Margaret River water

Hamelin Bay is a breathtaking beach to visit. You can snorkel, scuba dive, and even experience stingrays swimming by your feet—what more could you want from a beach?

Another resplendent beach worth your time is Yallingup Beach, which is just ten minutes from Dunsborough. If you’re keen to surf, many of the world’s greatest surfers start out at Yallingup due to the amazing surf breaks. Or, if you’re just looking for a scenic destination to travel to, you can experience the white sands, and the shallow waters, and enjoy the sunset over the sparkling Indian Ocean!

Perhaps you’re intrigued by the Margaret River water itself. Then why not visit Busselton Jetty? Busselton Jetty is the longest jetty in the world, stretching out 1841 metres. This jetty attracts hundreds of thousands of individuals a year to walk across it.

Busselton Jetty from lighthouse

You can also discover the Mammoth Cave!

Margaret River also contains one of Australia’s largest caves: Mammoth Cave. The cave features fossils of extinct animals and houses the noteworthy extinct Megafauna of the Australian region. The cave contains beautiful clusters of limestone formations, which is a result of the natural geological processes that have been occurring since the beginning of Earth’s creation, which make it an unforgettable cave to explore. This cave is self-guided, with an MP3 player educating you as you delve into the cave at your own pace.

Maybe you enjoy long distance walks?

Cape to Cape track is the longest track in Australia, stretching to around 140 kilometres long. This walk is known to take around 5-6 days to complete, and features crisp waterside views along with the natural elements of Margaret River. Alternatively, you can take your bike along your adventure for a quicker journey, since there’s a bike track for you to enjoy.

Stairs to the beach at Moses Rock Road carpark near Margaret River, Western Australia

Enjoy a glass of wine at one of the vineyards

Margaret River is filled with breathtaking vineyards across the entire region and is known for its quality wines around the world. The winemakers of the Margaret River region are leaders in the wine-making industry and have been known to create wines that will surely make your taste buds dance.

Cape Mentelle is one of the wineries in the region that produce some of the most well-known wines such, as  Cabarnet Sauvignon, Sauvignon Blanc, or Semillion. The vineyard dates back to 1970, when industry pioneer brothers David, Mark, and Giles Hohnen had planted their vineyard among the Margaret River soil. This legendary estate displays sensational panoramic views that will leave you in awe whether you’re a beginner in the wine-tasting game or a connoisseur.

Leeuwin Estate produces some of the world’s finest wines. Since 1972, Robert Mondavi has been producing wines in the area with the goal of developing premium wines. Leeuwin Estate is now exporting to 30 different markets and continues to create beautiful wines for the world to enjoy. Discover tastebud sensations, such as the Art Series Chardonnay, along with the lush vineyards at the Leeuwin Estate on your next Margaret River adventure!

Pay a visit to the local chocolate factory!

Margaret River is also known for its chocolate factory, which produces quality chocolate varieties for your enjoyment. The Margaret River Chocolate Factory crafts hand-made, award-winning chocolates and opens the creation process for all visitors to enjoy. Free taste testing is also included! Bring your friends or family along and enjoy a coffee with an item on their chocolate menu, such as their home-made cakes or chocolate fondues.

Overall, in the Margaret River region there is so much to explore and do! Come and visit today for an enjoyable and unforgettable experience with your family and friends. You’ll come back with some great memories and an enhanced appreciation of Australian landmarks and culture.

Photo Credits

Photos are Licensed by Adobe Stock

Guest Author Bio
Oliver Kucharzewski

Oliver Kucharzewski is a writer for the Azure Holiday House in Dunsborough, with a love for dogs, great-tasting Japanese food, and an appreciation of the beautiful world we live in. In the day he is a coffee connoisseur, web developer & digital marketer; and in the evening he is a university student and a contributor to a local youth group, with an aim to drive himself and others to experience true joy.

While the initial attractions in this necklace of islets might appear to be the larger Cayo Coco and Cayo Santa Maria, a true connoisseur would quickly spot tiny Cayo Guillermo as the diamond is this particular chain.

They say that Cayo Guillermo was a favorite spot for Ernest Hemingway to hang out, and during my recent stay at the Hotel Playa Pilar, it was easy to see why.

Mounted on the smaller section of the Playa Pilar Beach, the hotel is directly adjacent to a national park that sports a protected area of towering vegetation-covered dunes… and a beach that is one of the more spectacular in the Caribbean.

Hotel Playa Pilar is an all-inclusive family friendly resort, with a large pool, an active and friendly recreational staff, and free daytime baby-sitting services for children (parents take note since this is a rarity). There is however a charge for young ones still toting diapers. The kiddie facility has a great playground and its own pool with an area for parents and grandparents to watch… or not, depending on the mood.

Both kids and adults will enjoy the free Spanish and salsa lessons and daily fitness programs.

Dining includes a buffet with cuisines to suit young palates and old, as well as four specialty restaurants, three of which can be booked on a complimentary basis by all guests. The Japanese-themed restaurant is worth the show, though it might leave you wondering how your personal Cuban chef manages to hang onto all of his fingers.

The Mediterranean eatery has yummy fish dishes, including a succulent Cuban take on bouillabaisse. Other offerings are provided by a gourmet restaurant and a Cuban steakhouse. Families generally prefer the earlier sittings, so book later if you want a more intimate dining experience.

The Spa provides an oasis for adults with its own hydrotherapy pool and both a Finnish sauna and steam room. Singles and couples massages might be just the ticket while the kids are being entertained elsewhere.

Non-motorized water sports are all included, so feel free to book a kayak, paddle boat or to take a catamaran ride out to nearby Half Moon Island. Evening entertainment is also included, ranging from the exotic to traditional Cuban to the downright spooky “Horror Show” that will have the young ones squealing.

With all the on-site activities, it’s tempting to not even leave the resort, but at least walk up the beach to the larger section of Playa Pilar. This is one of the nicest beaches I’ve seen in the Caribbean, with fine powder-sugar sand that will tickle your toes as you walk. Watch for areas of sharp coral on the way if you choose to walk up the beach, or take the shuttle bus if you prefer. The dunes are cool to look at but are protected so don’t climb them (there are some nasty thistle-bearing weeds that look like inviting patches of green grass… be warned).

The more adventurous among you can venture to the Cuban mainland and sample authentic Cuban culture in the provincial capital of Moron (accent on the second syllable please) or even fly to Havana.

The Cubans are a genuine and friendly people who love kids and enjoy life. Get to know some of the staff and you’ll quickly be rewarded with friendly smiles, perhaps even a flower woven from palm fronds, or an elegant rose folded from a napkin.

Consumer goods such as soap, toothpaste and nail polish are a safe bet if you want to show your appreciation for excellent service.

Tourists use the Convertible Cuban peso, which is pegged to the US dollar. Best shopping bargains are Cuban cigars such as Cohibas and Monte Cristos; aged rums such as Havana Club and Cuban crafts; especially lovely and inexpensive wood carvings, boxes etc.

Our special thanks to Janet, with guest relations, for making our visit a wonderful and memorable one as well as to all the staff at Hotel Playa Pilar. Keep an eye out for us next year!

Photo Credits

Photos courtesy of Stella van der Lugt—All rights reserved.

Mr. Meng describes how he was tortured—with electrical shocks and beaten with electrical cords, similarly to over a million other men, women, and children…all for no other reason than the paranoia of a despot. The atrocities were committed mainly by young boys (and some girls) from rural areas aged 15 to early 20s, who were indoctrinated by the mad doctrine of Saloth Sar (later known as Pol Pot), the General Secretary of the Communist Party of Kampuchea. Like many of the higher echelon of the party, he had studied in France, though not with much success, having flunked out three consecutive years before being expelled.

The brutal commandant of S-21 was Kaing Guek Eav, alias Duch, who was brighter than Pol Pot, scoring second highest in the country on general math testing and later becoming a math instructor.

Ironically the millions  targeted for death were the educated, because they were supernumerary and not useful the to the agrarian state envisaged by the Khmer Rouge. Wearing glasses was a criterion for execution…

One of the interrogation rooms in the S-21 has been left intact. A simple chair and desk in front of which sits a metal bed frame and shackles.

Metal conducts electricity.

Inmates could choose whether they wanted to be shocked, or beaten with electrical wire. After all, Pol Pot’s state was called Democratic Kampuchea.

A poster of a disemboweled prisoner sits on the wall to the right of the desk.

The prison cells of S-21 are otherwise empty now, with the exception of the haunting photos of the men, women, and children who died there posted along each corridor. The fronts of the buildings were covered in barbed wire fencing to prevent prisoners from taking the easy way out by jumping from balconies and committing suicide. One building still sports this grim facade.

Mr. Meng’s life was saved by his artistic talent. Duch wanted someone to draw a portrait of Comrade Pol Pot. As an incentive, the successful candidate would not be executed. The artist’s test was simple. He had to draw a portrait of Pot that was indistinguishable form a photo. The painting was photographed and enlarged and a panel of judges had to try to distinguish the painting from a photo. If they could not do so, then the candidate lived… if they could, he would be immediately killed.

Meng passed the test and was left alive long enough to be rescued at the fall of Pol Pot’s regime in 1979, along with only half a dozen others of the thousands that had passed through the camp.

The bones of all the others rested in the “killing fields” of Choeung Ek. Prisoners were not deemed worthy of wasting a bullet, so there heads were bashed in with rifle butts, their throats slit, or they were simply buried alive in the graves they had been forced to dig for themselves.

In 2008, S-21 commandant Duch was put on trial before a tribunal for his crimes, along with other Khmer Rouge leaders. Meng had a chance to confront his tormentor again, after thirty years. The familiar refrain, “I was just following orders”, was heard again as at the Nuremberg Trials in 1945-1946. As then, those words did not provide a defence for genocide or cruelty.

There has been no formal justice for the many rank and file of the Khmer Rouge killing machine. Cambodians remembered some of the worst offenders, though, and according to Meng, many fell to machetes or were doused in gasoline and burnt alive by friends and relatives of their victims.

Pol Pot died in 1998 without ever being brought to justice (though he was about to be turned over to authorities and either had a heart attack, committed suicide, or was poisoned… depending on your sources).

Duch, however, will languish in prison for the rest of his life, thanks in part to the efforts of Mr. Meng.

If you go…

Our guide, Sun (Houn Putrasmey), was fabulous. A member of the Association of Phnom Penh Tourist Guides, Sun can be reached at: hpr.rasmey@live.com

While visiting the museum, be sure to say hello to Bou Meng and get him to autograph one of his books for you.

Photo Credits

Photos courtesy of Stella van der Lugt—All rights reserved. 

In any bar, the waiter places a rum bottle on the table beside your cocktails. It’s your choice to tip in more, if you want to follow their preference for a stronger kick. Such extravagance hardly breaks the bank: a bottle of white rum costs about $2, while Reserva rum (the dark seductress, aged for years in oak barrels) costs about $9 a bottle.

It explains why mojitos are available everywhere, although it’s worth making the pilgrimage to Bodeguita del Medio, the place that Ernest Hemingway declared made the finest mojitos when he lived in Havana in the 1930s. Nothing much about the place has changed, except for the impenetrable layers of graffiti on the bright blue walls, scrawled with the names of revelers from around the world. A barman is feverishly at work preparing long rows of mojitos at a steady pace. Don’t insult him by ordering just one; this is where you settle in for a session. 

Hemingway enthusiasts also flock to La Floridita, which invented the frozen daiquiri and now declares itself “la cuna del daiquiri” (the cradle of the daiquiri), but the pink-walled restaurant and bar is largely a tourist trap, fleecing customers more than double the price of the same drink from a street bar.

Better options can be found in unexpected places, such as the 3J Tapas Bar in Vinales, within Cuba’s western tobacco-growing country. This place serves a daiquiri like a fierce rum martini. It exploded within me like a depth charge.

Such pleasure comes at a cost, and I can only say beware of the rum coma, since the following eight hours are lost from my memory. Admittedly, this came largely as a consequence of that day’s seven-hour bus trip across the country, from Trinidad to Vinales. Each passenger had a bottle of rum in their bag, eager to share and make merry, but without much in the way of mixers. 

Why not indulge when the spread of white rum cocktails continues to surprise? Pina coladas, which I remember unkindly as sickly sweet concoctions from the 1980s, proved a revelation. Made with freshly-crushed pineapple and coconut milk, they were a gloriously potent shake. Or switch to dark rum for an enticing Cuba Libre, a tall drink on ice with local cola and a squeeze of fresh lime.

In Belize, the rum brand is different, but the cheap price and clean flavor is consistent. My pick of the local brands was Travellers gold rum, reminiscent of the gorgeous Goddards Gold Braid Rum that was imported from Barbados but bottled and marketed by SA liquor merchant G.F. Cleland & Sons, until production was inexplicably stopped in the late 1980s. Tears were shed back then. But sitting on a balcony in hilly San Ignacio with a bottle of Travellers and a bucket of ice brought a big dreamy smile back to my face. 

In Guatemala, rum is only made from sugar cane honey rather than molasses, and created as a luxury commodity as well as a common drink. The Botran family is rum royalty, using sugar cane from the family estate in Retalhuleu to make superb rum that is aged in oak barrel soleras. Visitors are discouraged from going to the factory at Quetzaltenango in central Guatemala—there is no tasting room, nor organised tours. It was therefore a surprise to find the lavish La Casa de Ron (House of Rum) in Antigua, a sumptuous tasting room for Botran’s suite of premium rums, including Ron Zacapa, the world’s most expensive rum.

Giant crystal tasting balloons are brought to your table with great pomp and ceremony, encased in a smoke-filled glass dome that is removed extravagantly. It’s almost comical, but don’t laugh. Drinking elite rum here is a serious business. Adding ice raises an eyebrow; adding water draws a frown; adding cola would probably incite aggravation. This is a pure essence, best enjoyed neat, akin to cognac but with a friendlier sweet note among its dark caramels.

If this is all too sedate, you only have to walk two blocks to taste something much wilder. El Barrio is a dangerous place; Graveyard Tattoos is located within its courtyard, circled by five bars. Leering old American guys laugh hysterically with skinny blond European backpackers at one bar, while a young local lay slumped beside the entrance, only an hour after sunset. Within The Whiskey Den, its Irish owner makes more than a dozen of his own rum infusions—with apple, with blueberry, with bamboo, with carrot, with cinnamon, with peach. Not many succeed, but how can you tell if you don’t do the research?

Photo Credits

All photos courtesy of David Sly—All Rights Reserved

This post first appeared online at The Adelaide Review

It’s almost midnight on the Malecon, Havana’s famous broad promenade that flanks the ocean, and an old man with a silky tenor voice unexpectedly launches into an emotive ballad. His song carries through the humid night air to the apartment blocks opposite, while around him young couples draw close and spontaneously begin dancing a slow, sexy salsa. Sleep can always wait when there’s a sweet slice of Cuban street poetry like this to savour.

It’s one reason why Cuba is currently on the radar of many travellers. Some say they want to experience the country “before it changes”, although no-one can identify just what Cuba will change into. The US agreement to restore diplomatic relations with Cuba means that more US tourists will soon be coming—and big cruise ships have started docking in Havana—but there seems no eagerness to become colonised by the US. Cuba remains too bold and vibrant to submit.

Visitors are more eager to engage with the local music, dancing, food, rum, and classic cars. Even with a solid language barrier in place—most people speak only a Spanish or Creole dialect—strangers greet you with a grin, or in the rural areas an old cowboy politely tips his hat in greeting. There is no street hustle for money. Instead, a strong sense of community and fraternity flows between young and old, especially at sunset when people haul their rocking chairs into the streets to chat lazily with neighbours. 

There’s an absence of Western luxury, yet Cubans live more comfortably than most of their Caribbean and Central American neighbours. It’s noticable as you move around the country, and the landscape changes drastically between cities.

In Cuba’s western highlands, the lush tobacco-growing region around Vinales has steep-sided limestone mogotes erupting dramatically in tight clusters from the surrounding fields. Guajiros, the leather-faced mountain farmers, ride their horses down the main street, while the front porches of shacks covered in brilliant bougainvillea serve as makeshift barbershops.

The vibrant candy-coloured cottages of Trinidad, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1988, are relics from the early 1800s, when the Spanish colonised this area to produce sugar. The cobblestone streets now ring with a festive spirit. Hot young salsa troupes, such as Profesor de Salsa Cubana, teach the basic steps during rooftop classes, then urge you to put them into practice later that evening at the open-air casa de musica beside the cathedral in Plaza Major. Dancing continues in Disco Ayala, a deep cave on the edge of town formerly used as a hospital during the war of independence but now has intelligent lights pulsing to the salsa beat until 3am. Mornings in the town are understandably slow.

In Cienfuegos—expected to be a major port for Caribbean cruiseliners—concrete homes with sleek art deco lines are being boldly repainted in anticipation of increased tourism. Casa Esparanza, a beautifully clean suburban home that offers bed and breakfast accommodation, has been accepting tourists for six years, and profits have enabled the owners to add a pool, spa, cocktail bar and a second block of rooms in their back yard. It’s far more lively and engaging than a conventional hotel, because you get to know the proud host family through mangled Spanglish and extravagant hand gestures over a few outstanding pina coladas, made with fresh pineapple juice and costing only 2CUK (the equivalent of $2US). 

The state-run Casas Particulares program, established in the late 1990s, has helped alleviate a critical shortage of beds. Cuba had 3.5 million visitors last year but only 62,900 hotel rooms, many in tired old buildings or in states of disrepair. Casas have filled the gap, along with Airbnb, which has surged to more than 4000 listings in the past year, making itthe fastest-growing market in Airbnb’s eight-year history.

Casas show a fascinating change in how Cuba is coming to grips with new entrepreneurism, although in the heart of Havana’s old town it’s quite deceptive. Dilapidated mansions near the seafront are a pitiful sight, their crumbling facades signaling both fierce humidity and neglect. Families own a lease for interior apartments, but the government owns the building, and neither considers it their role to repair the outside. So it takes on the look of ruin, while casa rooms inside retain a sense of grandeur: high molded plaster ceilings, brilliant tiled floors, ornate shuttered windows.

Amid these crumbling buildings, there are new signs of life. Frente rooftop bar and restaurant has a cool contemporary style that would be at home in Peel Street or Melbourne’s Flinders Lane. It’s similar at Nao, on a cobblestone laneway, with a salsa band leaning against the wall while we eat the local speciality, ropa vieja: shredded beef flank simmered in tomato-based sauce until it falls apart. It’s understated and delicious.

Cuba is vibrant again.

Throughout this neighbourhood, the avenues crawl with classic American convertibles that serve as taxis. You can stretch out in the back of a pink Cadillac Eldorado, or climb aboard a creaking 1937 Ford Plymouth, still operating by some miracle of makeshift engineering. It matters not that holes punctuate the bare metal floor, or that the gears groan and grind, the young driver, who co-owns the vehicle with his farmer, beams with pride. It’s a curious metaphor for Cuba’s mix of old and new influences; what’s old is new again in heaving Havana, as the climate of change begins to take grip.

Photo Credits

All photos courtesy of David Sly—All Rights Reserved.

There, in the shadows of a building that dated back to the Soviet occupation, by the look of it, she smoked as I sipped beer. But chatting about our day of exploring the city, we weren’t expecting the slice of Budapest life that was about to unfold.

And we would have missed it completely if our accommodation plans had worked out as intended.

Several floors up, a door opened and a man hovered on the threshold. From the shadows inside the front door a woman softly called…

But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

A birthday surprise

The trip to the Hungarian capital came as a complete surprise. It was my birthday a few days before, so I had just a few days to prepare myself and plan for the trip. I was flying on a Friday evening to meet my other half, already in the city for a conference. But rather than stay in the conference hotel, she had booked an apartment for a couple of nights.

Online, it looked pretty good. And I’m sure it is.

But when she collected the keys from the agent, it turned out we’d been allocated quite a different property. Whereas the apartment we had seen online was refurbished to a pretty good standard, the one we got was a shambles and was poorly furnished. The double bed seemed to be a couple of pieces of furniture pushed together. I didn’t investigate what, but no bed is that shape. And there was a danger of us falling through the gap. The front door didn’t even lock, although thankfully there was a grill that did. 

But there was hot and cold running water, a small kitchen with a fridge, and there was wi-fi. And it was located right in the centre of Budapest, so couldn’t have been more ideal, from that single point of view. Not exactly luxury accommodation.

That was what we had, so that was what we would make do with. We were not planning on spending hours in our apartment. We just needed somewhere to sleep and a place to store our luggage while we were out exploring the city.

Friday night: banks of the Danube

And explore Budapest we did. I arrived just in time for us to go to a nearby restaurant for a much-needed beer and something to eat.

I was looking forward to Hungarian food and drink, and on the whole I was not disappointed. Almost everything we ate was really good and excellent value for money. The local brew tasted good, too.

You see a lot of goulash on restaurant menus, a dish that is definitely worth trying at least once. Many dishes are spiced with paprika, and sour cream is another frequent ingredient.

After dinner, we took a stroll along the bank of the Danube, watching the moonlight on the surface of the black water compete with the lights of the city and the occasional river traffic.

Budapest was created in the nineteenth century by the unification of three towns; Buda and Óbuda on the west bank of the Danube, and Pest—where we stayed—on the east.

Walking along the riverside, there were plenty of youngsters sitting and drinking, enjoying the warm weather before it finally broke. We got as far as the Chain Bridge, a suspension bridge opened in 1849 and, according to Wikipedia, the first permanent bridge across the Danube. On that Friday night they appeared to be filming though, the area taken over by a film crew and a car crash staged on the bridge.

On the way back along the banks of the river, we came to a small square where a dance class was taking place. A number of couples danced their own tango, with music provided by a portable music player. It was surreal, but nice to see the locals enjoying themselves on a warm Friday night.

Saturday sightseeing

We slept surprisingly well on that odd bed, and woke to another glorious day.

First job of the day was to find somewhere for breakfast while we decided exactly what to do with ourselves. I had had little time to plan our sightseeing but spent a couple of hours the day before flying looking at some of the itineraries posted online. From those, I added the most frequently recommended sites to a custom Google map I had access to on my iPhone, while on the move.

Buda Castle at night

While enjoying a delicious “Budapest breakfast” at Anna Café on Váci Street, we talked about what we would do for the day. From there we walked to Kossuth Lajos Square and the Parliament building. It is pretty impressive, but best seen from the other side of the river, but from our position, we could take the metro under the river to go to and explore the Castle District. This area is dominated by Buda Castle, but consists of many architectural gems, including the Fisherman’s Bastion and Matthias Church. Here, the cobbled streets and mixture of Medieval, Baroque, and 19th-century buildings make it a natural draw for tourists, and the Fisherman’s Bastion provides a spectacular vantage point for viewing the Pest side of the city.

We visited the ruins of the church of Mary Magdalene, and here the true horror of Budapest’s more recent history became apparent. A tower that is almost all that remains of the church, mostly reduced to rubble during the Second World War.

Here among the ruins is an exhibition of photography comparing modern Budapest side by side with shell-damaged buildings. The damage remains atrocious, and much of the city’s glorious architecture has been rebuilt, having been flattened; first by allied bombers, and then during the siege of Budapest. For 50 days from December 1944, the city, defended by Hungarian and German troops, was surrounded by Soviet forces and pounded mercilessly. It wasn’t until the 1960s that most of the city began to be reconstructed to reclaim its former glory.

After being refuelled and refreshed by a beer and goulash at one of the many restaurants in the area, we headed for Buda Castle. But when we arrived we found there was a chocolate festival, and decided to not go in after all. Instead we explored as much as we could of the castle and its gardens from the outside. In fact, it consists of a rather spectacular palace surrounded by the castle walls, and is immensely impressive when illuminated at night. However, it is largely a post-war reconstruction. The communist regime tore down much of what remained during the 1950s, and even rooms that survived were gutted. The interior was modernised and several surviving exterior details were simply demolished.

After Buda Castle, we walked down the hill and along the Danube again before taking the tram across the river to Deák Ferenc Square and back to the apartment.

St Stephen’s Basilica

That night we headed to see St Stephen’s Basilica, and then to the area where you find the so-called “ruin bars” for a beer and a bite to eat.

There we went into the Yellow Zebra Pub, which as well as food and drink, weirdly, offers bike rental. It was extremely relaxed and the staff were friendly, but the bar did get packed. But that’s as it should be on a Saturday night.

Locals and tourists alike enjoyed live music. I sampled one of a selection of local beers and we shared a bottle of a local red wine.

For starter we tried camembert marinated in some kind of pickle, the only wrong move we made all weekend. It was one of the worst-tasting things I have ever eaten. The main dish was a selection of cold meats, which was interesting, although not spectacular. The Yellow Zebra was great value, though, and after dinner we took a leisurely stroll back to the apartment via the Danube. And that brings us back to where we began.

A slice of real Budapest life

Back at the apartment we sat outside in the dark, with a cigarette and a beer while planning our Sunday morning. Several floors above us a woman called softly to a man just outside the front door. When the man tried to leave she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him, unwilling to let him go.

And as he tried to disentangle himself, she just held on tighter until she followed him out onto the gangway, running the full width of the apartment block.

She was completely naked. Although she appeared to become aware of our silent presence several floors down, she continued to call to the man as he escaped her clutches, blowing kisses and waving at him as he descended the stairwell. Only after he disappeared into the night did she slip inside her apartment and softly close the door.

Photo Credits

Photos by David Leigh – All Rights Reserved

Guest Author Bio

David Leigh
David Leigh has lived in Catalonia since 2001, where he runs Simply Barcelona Tickets. He visited Budapest in September 2015.

Blog / Website: Simply Barcelona Tickets

Sydney Harbour Bridge

As a Canadian, my first impression of Australia was one of pleasant familiarity. Australia, like Canada, is a huge country with a small population, and it is resource-dependent for its prosperity (whereas Canada is known for lumber and oil, the Australian economy is dominated by mining and agriculture). Instead of frozen tundra, Australia’s vast, uninhabited hinterland is burning desert, and the majority of the country’s population lives along a thin strip of coastline, which has just enough water and a benign-enough climate to be livable. Like Canada, crime rates in the cities are low, prosperity is apparent and the people are friendly and polite. In short, I felt at home in many ways.

Sydney:

With a population of over five million, Sydney just tops Melbourne as the country’s most populous city. You would need a year here to see everything, but in our four days, we visited the Rocks District, with its historic buildings and quaint Victorian ambiance; the Royal Botanical Gardens; and the marvellous Sydney Opera House, which was designated a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2007. Designed by Danish architect Jorn Utzon and gracing the right side of Circular Quay harbour, the Opera House is a lovely counterpoint to the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

Sydney Opera House

Another must while in the Sydney area is a day trip to the World Heritage-designated Blue Mountains. The views are spectacular, with rushing waterfalls and bracing mountain air, but bring a jacket, because it can get cool and misty. This is a great spot for hikers—the trails run the gamut from easy to challenging, but all boast breathtaking views.

Cairns:

The next stop on our whirlwind tour of Oz was the tropical northeastern city of Cairns. Here, the Wet Tropics and the Great Barrier Reef make this area of North Queensland the only place in the world with adjacent UNESCO World Heritage sites. Certainly the highlight of any Australian visit is the Great Barrier Reef, the largest reef in the world at 2,000km in length, with a surface area larger than all of Great Britain. It is listed as one of the seven wonders of the natural world, and for good reason. I’ve embarked on diving excursions in the Galapagos Islands, Cuba, and Mexico, but the Great Barrier Reef boasts the most colourful coral I’ve seen anywhere, and a host of reef life, including sea turtles, minke whales, dolphins and clownfish, not to mention a 7-foot whitetip shark who, “checked me out”…

Easy tiger…er…shark!

From Cairns, another great day trip worth taking is a run up to the rainforest town of Kuranda, by train. The narrow-gauge railway features antique cars and fabulous views of the Barron River Gorge, the rainforest, and waterfalls. A visit to Kuranda National Park affords traditional “dream time” performances by Aboriginal dancers that depict native myths and creation traditions extending as far as 50,000 years back in time. Here, you can gain insights into the Aboriginal culture and even learn to throw a boomerang. There are lots of friendly wallabies and kangaroos to pet, and even a few Tasmanian devils around, but with the strongest bite for their size of any animal on Earth, petting is not recommended.

Melbourne:

At 38 degrees latitude, Melbourne has a temperate climate and is Australia’s centre for arts and culture. Fine dining restaurants abound, and the city is very European in ambiance, even having Parisian-style open-air boats cruising the Yarra River. The Old Melbourne Gaol, a spooky 19th century prison, is an ideal spot to get an appreciation for the “bad old days” of convict Australia. If prison chic is not to your taste, however, then indulge your shopping propensities at the Victoria Market, the largest open air market in the southern hemisphere.

Alas, after a unique, fine dining meal in Melbourne aboard a vintage trolley car, our holiday in paradise ended all too quickly, and it was back to Sydney for the long haul home. The flight back provided a chance to savour the many memories formed in our two-week stay, and I was glad I had saved Australia for last. The mixture of the familiar and the unique that this continent-country embodies proved a fitting ultimate venue for my tour of all the continents.

Photo Credits

All photos courtesy of George Burden – All rights reserved

This article first appeared at The Medical Post

Canada. 

No, that is not a typo. In 1625, in an effort to develop Nova Scotia (Latin for New Scotland), King James I created what were known as the Baronetcies of Nova Scotia. Wealthy merchants and others of means could receive large grants of land and noble titles in exchange for hard cash. The catch was that you had to receive your grant on the territory that constituted the baronetcy, namely, Nova Scotia. Said baronets didn’t want to make the long, arduous, and often dangerous trip across the Atlantic, so King James took the simple measure of declaring a portion of Edinburgh Castle to be in Nova Scotia. A plaque found to the right of the castle’s main gate, before you cross the moat, declares:

Canada in Scotland since 1625.

“Near this spot in 1625, Sir William Alexander of Menstrie, Earl of Stirling, receiving sasine, or lawful possession of the Royal Province of Nova Scotia by the ancient and symbolic ceremony of delivery of earth and stone from Castlehill by a representative of the king. Here also (1625-1637) the Scottish baronets of Nova Scotia received sasine of their distant baronies.”

Despite these noble aspirations, Nova Scotia ended up in French hands again, but later became a British colony with the subsequent expulsion of the Acadians immortalized in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem, Evangeline.

Ultimately, Nova Scotia entered into confederation with Canada. Down through time, despite all of these events, however, the Royal Decree continued to hold. Homesick Canadians staying in Edinburgh can take heart that they simply have to make a brief journey up the Royal Mile, approach the castle, and re-visit their homeland.

Edinburgh Castle

For this we should offer a toast of thanks to Scottish King James VI, who became King James I of England and founder of the Stuart line of British monarchs—an event triggered when Elizabeth I died without issue. Of course, you would have to wave your goblet of wine over the water glass if you did make such a toast, at least if you’re a good Jacobite. This was meant to acknowledge the “king across the water” and refers to the fact that James’s descendants stubbornly insisted on being Catholic in a protestant nation, hence resulting in their being ousted and exiled “across the water” to France.

Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobites met their ultimate defeat here.

No Stuart ever held the throne thereafter, though the son of James II tried in 1715, and his grandson “Bonnie” Prince Charlie made a determined effort to do so in 1745-1746, very nearly taking London before being soundly defeated at the Battle of Culloden. Many know the “Skye Island Song”, which memorializes Flora MacDonald, who rowed the defeated prince across to safety. Though she is buried on Skye, she did have a sojourn in Windsor, Nova Scotia, where a plaque at Fort Edward commemorates her stay. Ironically, she subsequently married an officer of the British forces, hence the reason for her staying at this British garrison fort. 

Seen from a boat cruising Loch Ness.

We did get to tour the Isle of Skye, visiting the cemetery where Flora was buried. Subsequently, we explored the site of the 1746 Battle of Culloden and walked the fields where the hundreds of Highland Jacobite soldiers met their fate. Stone markers dot the hay fields covering the site and showing where members of the various clans fell, never to rise again.

The Jacobites, cunning highland warriors to a man, had previously sneaked up at night on British government forces and massacred them in other battles. The British this night had strict orders for silence and no fires or lights. The Jacobite army became disoriented, and by morning met a large government army while still in disarray. They were able to charge and break the government line, but at slow speed due to the nature of the ground that they trod. Subsequently, government infantry and mounted soldiers surrounded and massacred the luckless Jacobites.

A stone tower marks the site of the battle and an interpretative display contains many artefacts, including a sword that belonged to “Bonnie” Prince Charlie. Anyone with Scottish highland roots will likely find a kinsman or two who fell at the site. There are records kept on site and inquiries are encouraged.

Eilean Donan Castle, where the classic sci-fi movie, Highlander, was filmed.

Ironically the Battle of Culloden could have been won if the French allies of the Jacobites had been more helpful. King Louis XV that same year spent massive amounts of money outfitting a fleet that, had it reached North America intact, would have expunged the British from the Americas. Due to storms, plague, poor food from corrupt suppliers and delays in departing the fleet, its sailors and passengers were decimated. It limped into Halifax Harbour (then known by the native name of Chebucto) where its commander, the Duc d’Anville proceeded to have a massive stroke and died from a brain tumour. He was joined in death by hundreds of others, and his body still lies in the chapel at the French Fortress of Louisburg on Cape Breton Island.

Had the resources of this expedition, launched only one month after Culloden, been devoted to helping Prince Charles Edward Stuart, history would have been quite different.

After the Jacobite defeat in 1746, the British commander, the Duke of Cumberland, ordered his troops to burn, loot, and massacre their way through the Highlands. He had flown the Red Dragon Banner before giving battle, which symbolized that no quarter was to be shown to the defeated. None was given.

After 1746, the Highland tartan, the bagpipe, and traditional dancing were made crimes punishable by death. Lands were given to those who were sympathetic towards William and Mary, who reigned after James II was ousted in the so-called Glorious Revolution of 1688.

These new landlords, unlike the old clan chiefs, had no love, nor felt any responsibility to look after, the residents of their lands (many whose families had occupied farms or crofts for centuries). During the so-called Highland Clearances, these people were thrown off their property to make way for sheep. The crofters were often simply burned out and left to die of exposure or starvation. But the Highlands Scots were a tough breed, able to overcome almost any adversity. An interesting fact is that the Highlanders carry a gene that makes them hoard iron in their bodies. In rare cases, this causes disease, but simple carriage of one gene means that you are unlikely to develop anemia from low iron stores. The theory is that this gene provided a survival advantage by allowing those who carry it to recover quickly from blood loss. Hence, in the bloody feuds that sometimes occurred between clans or with outlanders, those who carried the gene would recover the ability to fight again much sooner, giving a survival and reproductive advantage. Small wonder that the first Scot named in history was called Calgacus, “the swordsman”, by first century Roman historian Tacitus. (Of note is that the author of this article carries just such a gene, as do large numbers of Nova Scotians.)

The Highland Clearances resulted in a diaspora of Highlanders all over the world, with many more people with Scottish ancestry living in places like the United States, Canada, Australia and New Zealand than those currently residing in the “auld country”. These people were (and are) tough, frugal and savvy…and they thrived virtually everywhere they settled.

Many ended up in Nova Scotia, and especially the island of Cape Breton (with its own highlands), which boasts towns with traditional Scottish names such as Inverness, Arisaig, and Iona. A few people still living here grew up speaking Gaelic; though, despite a popular myth, the Gaelic speakers of Nova Scotia do not outnumber those in the west of Scotland.

The island of Cape Breton even boasts a single malt whisky dubbed Glen Breton, produced at the Glenora Distillery from the soft waters of MacLellan’s Brook, a burn that runs through the property. The Scotch Whisky Producers Association fought and lost a court battle to prevent Glen Breton from using the word “glen” in its name, stating that this would create brand confusion. Of course, we could argue that since Scotch must be produced in Scotland, and since at least part of Nova Scotia lies within Scotland by decree of a Scottish monarch, perhaps whisky produced in this Canadian province should be allowed to call itself “Scotch”, too…I will leave that one for the courts!

The Hunterian Museum at the University of Glasgow. A plesiosaurus skeleton, the beast some people believe to be the Loch Ness monster.

Those of Scottish ancestry who live away have provided a bonanza for the Scottish tourism industry, with huge numbers coming back to seek out their roots, to purchase kilts, to patronize Scotch whisky distilleries, and to take sightseeing tours around the country—perhaps searching for monsters in the deep glacial lochs of the Highlands. These visitors sometimes create a bit of amusement for native Scots, with their unbridled enthusiasm for all things Scottish. But who can blame them for taking pride in their descent from some of the toughest, proudest and most spirited people ever to walk the planet!

Slainte mhath!*

 *Scottish Gaelic for To your health!

Photo Credits

George Burden—All rights reserved