Perspectives of a Wandering Geographer

  I grew up during the golden age of big, colorful, gaudy, chrome- and fin-laden, American gas guzzlers.   And I loved them.   To me, cars symbolized the thrill and adventure of the open road and exploring new places all over the eastern United States.   They were also works of art for my young male brain.   One of my favorite photos from childhood shows me sitting behind the wheel of my dad’s ’49 Chevy wishing I were old enough to take her for a spin.   I still remember my excitement when Dad floored the accelerator on his 1950 Olds 88 on a straightaway in rural North Carolina and the speedometer hit 90 before he backed off.   On the morning of my 16 th birthday in 1962, I dragged Mom down to the Mercer County courthouse in Celina, Ohio where we completed the paperwork for my learner’s permit.   Immediately, she drove us out to a country road where I got to drive her big ol’ ’52 Olds for the first time. As a teenager, I could identify the makes, models, and years of most American c

On Sunday morning, I woke up tired.   Was it my uncomfortable pillows (too big and hard)?   Maybe it was the bad air:   exhaust from old cars and moto-taxis with no emission controls and more people smoking with no non-smoking areas in restaurants.   Thankfully, I’m able to eat most of my meals outdoors.   Maybe it was too much air – I had cranked up the fan in my room (instead of using the air conditioner) and I had to adjust it during the night because it was blowing directly on me.   Hopefully, I wasn’t getting sick - a couple people had missed the 90th birthday party I’d attended two days earlier because they had tested positive for covid.   Thankfully,  current covid case numbers in Cuba were down. When I reserved the room, I asked to have breakfast at my casa particular the first morning knowing it would be a Sunday and figuring it would be easier.   The breakfast was ok and included tea, guava juice, sliced fruit (guavas, bananas, and watermelon), avocado, cucumbers, warm bread

The morning after my mother- out -law’s 90 th birthday party in Boca Raton, Florida, my alarm went off very early so I could catch my 6:00AM ride to the Fort Lauderdale airport.  My driver, Mikey Henry, was a Jamaican-born musician and song writer who has a side hustle driving old shits like me around God’s Waiting Room (aka South Florida).  Mikey and I talked about the Rastafarian way of life and the Rasta concept of I and I, which roughly means that two people are one because we all have Jah (God) within us.  Not my religion but as an agnostic pantheist, I can identify.   Lots of people I’ve talked to still think that Americans have to go through Mexico to get to Cuba.  Not true anymore.  Even a relatively small airport like Ft. Lauderdale – Hollywood International has three direct flights per day to and from Havana on both Jet Blue and Southwest.   It’s a bit pricy ($300+ round trip) for a 1¼ hour flight because of both US and Cuban taxes.  My $306 round trip ticket included $66