Travel Bloggers Set my Sails.


JEWISHCUBA.ORG
JEWISHCUBA.ORG

I’ve been staying in a hotel during a short interim while my house is rented. It is not the most profitable venture, but it does bring some extra cash into my pocket.

{Photo credit http://www.JewishCuba.org}

While I am in the hotel observing guests; their mannerism, conversations, and facial expressions, I have come to the conclusion we are not only on a fiscal cliff we are on a sinking shore of wet sand. I do not see these guests who’ve come for Spring break and skiing, lapping up the Southwest serenity. I see glum faces and sluggish bodies weighted down by heavy tote bags, and they seem to shuffle like the very old or weak, from the pathway to the lobby. I am not excluded; by the time I checked into the hotel, my body was withered from house work and preparation. All I wanted to do was sink into a bed and hang the Do Not Disturb notice on the door. Why has our vitality sunk into the sand? Are we suffering from too much information, too many alerts, too many scandals, too much uncertainty that the adventure in livingness has turned into misadventures.

In reading the WordPress posts, I’ve discovered the Travel blogs are the ones that revive my interest in the world I haven’t seen. These are the ones I read because they strike my flame for travel instead of of comfort and complacency. Cuba has been stirring in my imagination ever since I discovered Cuban Salsa, about twenty-five years ago! Thanks to you travel bloggers, I made the decision. This is the year for CUBA. Now that it’s written, I must follow my word.

ROAMING TO THE UNKNOWN


When I look beyond the quarry of my own chains and tough rowing as a writer, to that glorious painting that transforms every day, as if the sky was a Puccini scarf; of fuchsia, tangerine and turquoise, my soul is nourished.

Santa Fe is star power, and can shower your life with photographic moments on the half-hour. Like any city, village, or town you have some culture to conform to, or else you won’t be taken seriously.
In Los Angeles, I learned you have to be able to put on slapstick phoniness to get a conversation going with a stranger. Here in Santa Fe, amongst us Anglos, the advantages come if you are believably bohemian, liberal, quietly subsidized comfortably retired and artistic.

I don’t score well, and my direction is following Lawrence Durrell, Spirit of the Place, and living where you would never expect to live. I wish I could control my impractical, impulsive and annoying spirit of adventure. I think about cities of high rises and Jewish deli’s, at least five movie theaters built in the early 30’s, and neighborhoods of discovery. I just can’t give up the comfort of cocooning with humanity.

I long for the city, just as when I was thirty, all I ever talked about was SANTA FE. I lead a confusing life.

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