6/6 - Today was kind of a throwaway day as we spend most of it on the bus. I got up early to watch the sunrise over the bogotes, which was beautiful and again made me wish V was sitting next to me on the cliff, holding my hand and making me smile. It was cool to see the sun light up the flamboyante trees, now a bright orange in color, and see them come ablaze like miniatures fires peppering the floor of the valley. The rest of the morning was spent sitting on the bus, making our way (slowly) to the orchid garden in Soroa. It was raining the whole way and only let up for a bit once we arrived at the orquidarea before promptly resuming its downpour. The garden was pretty nice -- lots of nice flowers, ferns, and tress leading up to this guy's house. It was all exquisitely laid out -- stone paths and staircases slowly wending their way up the hill to this cute little villa. It is said the guy built the whole area for his daughter as a form of tribute when she died prematurely, planting one orchid for each year she had been dead. It was all rather touching and sad, and made me wish -- well, you know...

After this it was more bus, more rain, and a quick stop at this local painter's house once we get back to Havana. This guy, Fuster, had done the front walls and gates of every house on his street and several others on adjacent streets in his neighborhood, including his own, with these bright, colorful mosaic paintings/murals. They’re these fun, whimsical splashes of freshness and vitality in a neighborhood of endless decay and dreariness. His own house is this trend run amok -- there's giant mosaic sculptures, fountains, paintings, etc. It's on the walls, stairs, everywhere. There’s a pool, a bar, a little seating area, etc., and that's just in the front yard! You’ve got to see the pics -- it's like a crazy adult version of Pee-Wee's Playhouse.

After this it's back to the Nacional to just lay low for the rest of the day. Everyone looks positively beat -- like they're hitting the wall and that now that the bubble of euphoria and excitement has deflated, disillusionment is rearing its head and kicking them about. I sure know it is for me. I feel totally exhausted, mentally and physically, and can't figure out how I’m going to grind out the next two weeks. I need to be busy and there was too much time to sit and think about who's missing this weekend -- hopefully this week will fly by. I just really miss hearing V’s voice. To go from talking to you several times a day for five months to not talking to you at all is agony. This has to be how it feels to break up with her. Ugh. I need to remember that it's only two weeks. Only two weeks...

6/7 - I feel a little better today -- I got a lot of sleep and had sweet dreams, so that was fun while it lasted. First thing this morning we have a lecture on Cuban tourism at ISRI and it's pretty good. It spans the early era of tourism with the rule of the gangster to the focus on national tourism and the crippling embargo during the Soviet era and the latest incarnation with its laser-like focus in international tourism, which is basically depends on with its life to run its economy. (The maxim of not putting all your eggs in one basket apparently has been ignored here, as tourism makes up close 70% of the economy.) There’s a ton of interesting statistics, but the official, like so many others we've met, is hopelessly delusional. Were they to get what they want -- a dropping of the blockade -- this country would be destroyed. It’s a virtual certainty.

Anyhoo, more on that later if you want it. Next up is a walking tour of old Havana. It’s the same stuff I saw last week on my own (I am so smart!), but I figure Rosa (our guide) knows some secrets worth unearthing along the way. True to form, she doesn't disappoint as we get to see a bunch of great hotels on the way (I know exactly where we're staying when we come back) -- we get to see the Hostal de los Frailess (a beauteous little place done up like a Spanish monastery, with a woodwind band in the lobby playing Ava Maria and Quizas, Quizas, Quizas. It was beautiful and truly haunting with the clarinets and cello), the Hostal Raquel (great stained glass ceiling), the Hostal del Habano (a great inner courtyard with peacocks and slope-back rocking chairs), and the Hostal Ambos Mundos (where Hemingway always used to stay, in room 511). We learn why the road outside the city history museum is pieces of wood cut to look like bricks (during colonialism it was the home of the captain general and they made it wood so the clip-clop of the horses wouldn't awaken him during siestas!) and a bunch of other interesting stuff. I get to try a batido fruta bomba (this killer fresh papaya shake) and marvel again at how cool old Havana is. The dense, decaying beauty, the old touches of its colonial roots still evident on the streets (cannons and cannonballs from that era are planted vertically in the street to block certain roads from cars, in addition to various flourishes in the architecture that bear an Iberian stamp). It’s amazing. You’ve got to see it.

After this it's off to meet my new Cuban friends for a drink and some more interviewing before jetting off to the castle (El Morro -- from Before Night Falls, remember? I have to go back in the day!) for the firing of the canonaso nacional, the national cannon. It’s a really cool little ceremony -- this soldier in Spanish garb comes out and lights the path leading to the cannon, touching his torch to these little pyres that mark the route while shouting, "Silencio! Silencio!" Then several other soldiers emerge and head to the cannon, going through some dramatic pomp and touristic pageantry before tossing their muskets into this standing triangle -- whizz! (really cool trick) -- packing the cannon, and lighting it. Then, BOOM! It’s really cool and loud as fuck. After this I’m wiped, so I head back to the hotel for beddy bye.