2022 in Review

New Year's Eve in Cali, Colombia

I started the year in Cali, Colombia. Subsequent to spending another two weeks in Colombia. I flew to Costa Rica. Based in the capital city, San Jose, I made day trips to different parts of this small Central American country. Inter-city transportation in Costa Rica is sporadic but still doable for the most part. I could have enjoyed Costa Rica more if I were an outdoor sports enthusiast. I, however, enjoyed its renown biodiversity. Following my Costa Rican visit, I flew to El Salvador. In order to avoid the stringent Covid requirements of Nicaragua, I had to forgo land transport from Costa Rica to El Salvador via Nicaragua. That would have been a 25 hour bus ride with a transfer in Managua. I saw a lot more historical sites than expected in El Salvador, which is one of the less touristy countries in Central America.

El Rosario Church in San Salvador, El Salvador

In early February, I travelled from El Salvador to Cancun so that I could get a PCR test to fulfill a requirement to fly into Cuba. Cancun, Mexico is a hub for Cuban flights from North America. I had planned to spend only three days in Cancun but ended up spending six days. To sort out all the trouble boarding an airplane, I stayed in Cancun Airport for over 60 hours and took 3 PCR tests. I believe the real reason for so much red tape was that the Mexican airlines were profiting from operating the Cuba-bound passenger flights as cargo planes. Cuba was in such short supply of food and goods. Less than 30% of the seats were occupied. Mexicans labs also benefited from conducting the PCR tests on transiting travelers.

Cancun, Mexico

I spent four weeks in Cuba. Even though I travelled from one end to the other in Cuba, I was not able to visit all the places that I wanted to visit. There were few independent tourists. Even the resorts in Varadero were half full in February. Food was scarce and I made a conscious decision not to eat at restaurants in Cuba. Cuban government had special provisions for the tourists. I ate what was available to the locals. Soon I was also fasting for the Ukrainians when news of the Russia-Ukraine war broke. The visitors in Cuba at that time were mainly from Europe. The war was the only thing that the young travelers could talk about. Although there is internet access in Cuba, many websites are not available in Cuba. Using VPN’s was the only way that I could obtain contact with the outside world. I have posted another blog about my visit in Cuba.

Varadero, Cuba

When I returned to Vancouver in early March, I stayed in a hostel in downtown Vancouver. Masks were mandatory throughout the hostel even though there was no quarantine requirement upon entering Canada from overseas. The hostel was completely filled with returning international students and working holiday visa holders. Housing shortage was once again in a crisis state in Vancouver. I managed to find a place in a suburb called New Westminster. As luck would have it, my current home is in the oldest part of Metro Vancouver close to Fraser River, about 7.5 km from where I grew up in Burnaby.

Spring and summer came very late this year. It was raining so much that I hardly had any opportunity to explore the hidden gems of Metro Vancouver. Instead I took up indoor hobbies such as making crafts and joining online groups after my numerous attempts in creating an edible garden failed miserably. When the rain stopped, I would be out exploring various historic neighborhoods in New Westminster on foot. I consider myself lucky to be able to relearn the history of British Columbia and Vancouver this year. I have also developed a stronger sense of belonging and a helping spirit. New Westminster reminds me so much of my younger days growing up in Burnaby.

My heart was broken at the passing of Queen Elizabeth II in September. She was my role model for as long as I could remember. I am not a monarchist; however, I admire QE II for her loyalty to her realm and people, and for her life of service. The whole world had changed, and yet her steadfastness to the vows she made 75 years ago, did not change. In the same month, I turned 60. My bank changed the label on my account from Everyday Chequing Account to Chequing Account With Seniors Rebate. In reality, nothing changed with the account. I simply do not understand why our society still likes labelling so much.

Inflation hit the world big time. As if the pandemic was not a convincing enough cause for rapidly rising prices, we were told that broken supply chains and the Russia-Ukraine war would further reduce supply and raise prices. If Canada is not a major oil & gas and wheat/Canola oil producer, I would have agreed with the reasons and paid the drastically higher prices. I resisted instead. To combat the ever-ballooning prices, I tried to take less bus rides, buy almost no processed food, cook from scratch, make my HBA products from natural ingredients and refashion my old clothes. I remained on track with my monthly budget. These activities are time-consuming and my days became very full.

The West Coast had severe winter conditions a week before Christmas. With the portable heater cranked up in my bedroom, I stayed inside for a week with only 3 activities (eating, watching videos and sleeping) everyday. I began to understand how it felt like to be in  hibernation. It seems to me that winter in Vancouver is turning as harsh as it is in the rest of Canada. This winter gives me more incentives to reside in a warmer place during the cold months in Canada. After all, I am a “senior citizen” now. LOL

How I survived Necrotizing Fasciitis in 2019.

While traveling in Ghana, West Africa in March 2019, I contracted a bacterial infection on my right foot. As it turned out, it was Necrotizing Fasciitis or commonly known as flesh-eating disease. 

In the early morning hours of March 8th, 2019, I was on a long-distance bus from Tamale to Accra. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling feverish. My feet were swelling up. I thought it was because I was on the bus and couldn't move around for an extended period of time. When I arrived at the bus terminal in Accra, I had to remove my shoes and put on a pair of flip flops. I rested in the bus terminal for a couple of hours before walking to the guesthouse which is not far from the terminal. After checking in, I rested in the air-conditioned dorm for the whole day. I did not eat lunch or dinner. I ate nuts and biscuits that were in my bag.

The next morning the guesthouse staff came to my dorm and offered to bring me breakfast because I was too weak to even get out of the dorm. I noticed that there was a 1" diameter blister on my right foot. One of my dorm mates was an American girl who was studying medicine at the local university. She thought I had a parasite in my foot and advised me to seek medical attention soon. After taking a sip of the juice and a bite of the scrambled eggs, I vomited violently all over the floor. The ladies came back to get the tray. They were worried and called their manager. Within half an hour, I was carried out by two men to a taxi waiting outside the building. One of the men accompanied me to a nearby private hospital. I sat in a wheel chair in the hallway next to the Emergency department for nine hours before being admitted to a ward. At that time, the blister turned completely black and covered half of the surface of my right foot.

There was no air-conditioning in the 6-bed ward. The other occupants of the ward kept turning off the ceiling fan which was directly above me. I was feverish and had no water to drink for the whole day. Late that night, a nurse came by with a pair of  scissors and cut open the blister. I don't think she even bothered to sterilize the scissors. Blood and lymphatic fluid came pouring out. The nurse eventually put a stainless steel pan underneath my foot after I exhausted the supply of absorbent pads. The wound was left open for hours before she came back to dress it. Then I was given antibiotics and painkillers on IV. I was able to purchase bottled water from another nurse after midnight.

In the middle of the night, I needed to pee. I rang the bell no less than five times. Nobody came. I struggled to get up, carried the IV stand and did an obstacle course to the bathroom. There were visitors sleeping on the floor. After breakfast, the technicians came by to take my blood. I protested because they were supposed to take a fasting blood sample. Apparently the technician could not tell the difference between a fasting blood sample and a regular blood sample. Swelling and skin redness continued. The pain in my leg did not cease. Drainage from the wound remained heavy.

The next day when the doctors were doing the rounds, the chief surgeon told me that my wound was caused by diabetes and being overweight. I disagreed with him, stating that though I was fat, I was never diabetic. Then he said it could be Cellulitis.

I also informed him that I was still feverish. He changed the prescription. I was not convinced that I was receiving proper care in this hospital. So I signed a waiver and got discharged from the hospital after paying the $700 CAD bill with my credit card. I returned to the guesthouse around lunchtime. The staff told me that there was no dorm bed. I had to stay in a private room.

After washing up and having something to eat, l did a lot of research online. I also frantically sent out messages to people who might be able to help me. Nobody responded except for one. My Spanish friend, who works at WHO, recommended a doctor at the University Hospital to me. But that hospital is further away. Because the AC was very strong in the private room, I had a good night of sleep. The drainage from the wound was still heavy.

The next morning I went to the Outpatient Dept. of Ridge Hospital (Accra Regional Hospital) with a small bag of toiletries. I was counting on getting at least a new dressing. Perchance, if I got admitted to the hospital, I would have the essentials with me unlike two days ago. Before a nurse would change my dressing, I needed to consult with the doctors for my first visit. I was seen by a team of three doctors after waiting for 1.5 hours.

The more senior doctor of the team said to me that I should be on aggressive antibiotics IV treatment for a week. I bargained with him, stating that I had a plane ticket to return to Canada on March 24th. He said that if I chose to wait to get treatment in Canada two weeks later, he would have to sever my right foot before I could leave the hospital that day. From then on, I knew something seriously wrong was happening with my right foot.

Unlike the private hospital, this public hospital does not accept credit cards. The cash that I had on me was only sufficient for one day of antibiotics and some painkillers. When the antibiotics ran out on March 12th, I begged the ward doctor on duty to let me have a 1-hr leave so that I could take a taxi to go to the nearest ATM which is just a couple kilometers away. He would not let me go. I was put back in bed with my right leg more elevated than the rest of my body.

The following day there was only Paracetamol in my IV. I was secretly taking the oral antibiotics that I got from the private hospital. After the second meal of the day, I was burning up and drifting in and out of consciousness. Around 10 pm, one of the two younger doctors  from the Outpatient Dept. came by to check on me. I remembered telling him that I could not make it through the night. I urged him to harvest my organs as soon as possible after my demise. I wanted to give my kidneys to the young lady sleeping in the bed across the corridor. She was waiting to get a dialysis session. Her brother had been scrambling to raise enough funds for one dialysis session.

The next morning I woke up still feeling weak but somehow the redness and swelling remained at the knee level for my right leg. The skin on my right calf became shiny. Around 1 pm, the young doctor came back with a box of antibiotics, painkillers and dressing supplies. He told me that he arranged for an account with the Hospital Finance Dept. for me, and he went to the pharmacy to pick up the supplies for me after duty. I could almost kiss him except that I was too weak to even sit up in the bed.

The antibiotic treatment continued for another four days. Dr. Richard would come by to see me everyday. Drainage remained heavy but the dressing was only changed every other day because very few nurses know how to change dressings. They would come around to take body temperature and blood pressure every 4 hours and changed the IV bags. Fortunately, the ward has central air-conditioning. I did not have to give myself sponge baths daily. Though the bed sheets were badly stained with the drainage from my wound, they only got changed on the fourth day. But there were no new sheets. I was sleeping on a vinyl surface for two more days before I signed a waiver and got myself discharged from the hospital. 

After the IV tubes were removed from my arm, another doctor offered to drive me to the closest ATM. I knew I would be strong enough to leave the hospital. I would be better off staying in the guesthouse as long as I kept keeping my right foot elevated and taking oral antibiotics at regular intervals. The pain was constant whether I took painkillers on IV or not. I paid the $500 CAD bill for my 6-day stay with cash, signed a waiver for the early discharge, and left Ridge Hospital on March 18th. I returned to the guesthouse and a dormmate helped me install a sling for my foot. Except for one day when the guesthouse was full, I stayed in the same guesthouse until I returned to Canada. Every other day I would go to the Outpatient Dept. for a new dressing. I would have bandage from toes to knee. An infected mosquito bite wound on the side of my calf never got healed and it had to be covered too. 

During the transit from Accra to Vancouver, my foot swelled up and the skin became very red again. After arriving in YVR, I went directly to Burnaby Hospital. After a series of tests, I was hospitalized and put on antibiotics IV again for the reinfection. I was in the emergency ward for another two days before being sent to a ward. The nurse in charge of the ward would not let me stay in the hospital. I went back to my friend's house. I was told to report to Outpatient Dept. to get my dressing changed on alternate days even though drainage was still heavy.

I was staying at a friend's house which is four blocks away from Burnaby Hospital. A homecare nurse was supposed to come to the house to change my dressing on alternate days. I became a training subject. Several student nurses came with their instructor to perform home care for me on three different days. That routine went on for another week or so until one night. I had a high fever and was in severe pain. I had to go back to Burnaby Hospital. I was in the emergency ward for a few days before being admitted into a ward. Nurses in that ward did not know how to dress my wound. So again I was told to go home after a couple of days in spite of the redness, swelling and heavy drainage. Before the head nurse discharged me, I talked to a social worker. My friend did not want me to stay in his house any more. He was unhappy with the homecare teams. The social worker was unable to find me a temporary place to stay.

My "friend" wanted to charge me $1200/month. He also asked for sexual favors. I ended paying him $887 for the 3-week stay and the airport pick-up. He attempted twice to have sex with me. From then on, I would walk to the Outpatient Dept. for a dressing change on alternate days. I was very lucky to have two nurses that would debride my wound at the dressing change. The debridement was done without any local anesthetics. They would engage me in deep conversation during debridement. The swelling and redness finally subsided after 4 debridement sessions to have all the dead, leathery tissue removed.

In the last week of April, I found a place in Vancouver to stay for six months. My file was transferred to a community clinic near my place for wound care in addition to the requirement of seeing specialists at Vancouver General Hospital once a week. By the time I was about to move out from Burnaby to Vancouver, I had taken all kinds of antibiotics by IV or orally. The size of my wound did not decrease. The Burnaby Hospital dermatologist finally called the day before my move-out to arrange for an appointment. If I had waited for the dermatologist to debride my wound, I probably would have gotten a couple more re-infections. I did send a letter of appreciation to Administration of Burnaby Hospital praising those two nurses who did the debridement. 

I had not taken a shower since March 9th because Pseudomonas Aeruginosa was found in my wound. I was told to protect my wound from water. People usually contract this bacteria from unsterile surgical equipment. Remember the unsterilized scissors from the private hospital in Accra. I suffered from this kind of negligence even two months afterwards. The Infectious Diseases doctors at VGH ordered a biopsy on my wound and the infected mosquito bite on my calf. The resident doctor at the operating theatre got a little zealous and took out too much tissue from the bite wound. He had to put seven stitches on that wound to stop the bleeding. 

Because of the mishap with the biopsy, the source of my infection was eradicated. From then on, the size of my wound decreased steadily. I stopped taking antibiotics near the end of May. I was still taking painkillers 3 - 4 times a day. When my file was transferred to VGH, I also became a case study for the med students from UBC, especially those considering Dermatology as their specialty. Since they did not see the dead tissue, I also gave their instructor a copy of the collection of photos of my wound from March 10 to May 9. The senior Dermatologist recommended a skin graft. He told me that it would take at least six months to complete close if I chose not to have a skin graft. The graft would probably reduce the healing time by 50%. I signed up for the skin graft. When a Surgery resident called me mid-August, I cancelled the booking because I was flying out of Canada two months later. 

To this day, I am still perplexed, thinking how a simple bacteria like Streptococcus A could create such havoc and even be deadly if it is not treated promptly. I hope by sharing my experience, I could save someone from dying of Necrotizing Fasciitis. By the way, the mortality rate of NF is 25 - 35%.

#necrotizingfasciitis #cellulitis #bacterialinfection 

 

Art of Spuddling

 

I was elated to learn about this word about two weeks ago on Facebook. While the term sounds a bit derogatory, it, however, describes my current lifestyle accurately. As a matter of fact, I think I might be able to write the book on the topic of spuddling.

After an early retirement decision in 2011, the course of my life changed forever. At first, I was bored out of mind. I went from juggling a couple of jobs and studying to a barely simmering state. I did not appreciate my new lifestyle. I sought things to do so that I could look busy for the outside world. In the beginning, I focused on simplifying my life and improving my health. By Summer 2013, I was already down to a few suitcases of clothes, a few bins of doo-dahs and a few boxes of books, etc. I lost about 20 kg and became fitter than I was in the previous decade. Upon the advice of the nutritionist, I ate less processed food. I cooked more often even though I was not gifted in cooking. As it turned out, cooking is a time-consuming activity.

While taking care of my mother in the first part of 2015, I learned about the plasticity of the brain and care-giving for stroke patients. Other than this primary focus, I also studied theology and philosophy on my own. I did not think that it was necessary for me to obtain another degree. I was content with whatever knowledge that I could gain in my limited spare time. I self taught philosophy with no particular schedule or timetable. At about that time, I would also sew my own clothes with my mother's sewing machine. My stock of fabric went from 3 bins to 1 bin. I learned that I could live a happy life with very little.

When I came back from my East African visit in April 2016, I was told by my family that my caregiving service was no longer required. I had even more free time. I volunteered in various community events especially in the summertime. My weekends were packed with activities. I started a walking routine for my fitness. I thought of finding a companion but the encounters were not fruitful. I had been leading too much of a solitary life to get accustomed to small talks and/or tolerate the demands of a relationship. I also started to try out my hand in simple cooking and baking but it could not engage me for too long. I learned that my spuddling lifestyle did not mix too well with socializing.

Since 2013, I travel and live outside Canada for roughly six months a year. During my nomadic periods, my main activity is exploring and getting different experiences. I do not have much free time to do anything else except to prepare and record my visits. This is the most enjoyable activity for me, and I have not gotten tired of travelling yet. I had wanted to opt out of social media such as Facebook and WhatsApp in 2018. Social media is a big waste of time and it reminds me of the dog-eat-dog, competitive society that I dwell in. I reactivated my Facebook account in November 2018 during my West African journey. I made a conscious decision to use social media to educate and entertain other people though I derive no joy from it.

Other than volunteering at community events, I have also participated in research studies since 2016. Sometimes I receive an honorarium, sometimes not. I chose studies that appear to be interesting and have practical real life applications. I tried not to pick longitudinal studies because I did not like to commit myself for follow-ups in years to come. My only request for all these studies is to be notified when the findings are published. Occasionally I would take part in group discussions. I am really not that interested in other people's opinions on socio-economic issues. I might not be in circles of higher learning but I managed to keep abreast of the latest research studies.

Covid 19 Pandemic somewhat removed the volunteering component of my spuddling lifestyle. During the lock-downs, I tried my hand at cooking and baking again. This time around I was mostly successful because of the daily practice. Traditional recipes do not appeal to me as much as fusion dishes. I suppose it also serves the purpose of expressing my creativity. At about the same time, my desire in finding integrated and comprehensive solutions for climate change and renewable energy renewed. I repurposed and recycled a lot of items that were discarded in the lanes of my neighbourhood. I learned that I had to tweak my activities to fit my aptitude to make spuddling enjoyable.

Many of my friends work full time beyond the official retirement age. They don't want to retire because they are afraid that they would be bored when they retire. Their lives would become meaningless. My advice to them is that “I am having the time of my life since my early retirement in 2011.” It makes me happy to know that I can satisfy my curiosity whenever I want. I am more altruistic than ever because I have time to help people in need. I have time to practise mindful living. I even have time to write blogs and compose original, entertaining posts for social media. I have indeed mastered the Art of Spuddling. LOL

Cuba in early 2022

I visited Cuba from Feb 9 to Mar 8, 2022. Even though I had visited 114 countries before setting foot in Cuba, I was taken aback by the status quo of this socialist country. It was one of the most challenging countries to travel in many aspects.

Soon after booking a hostel in Havana a week before my scheduled arrival, I received an email from the hostel, informing me that I should bring hard currencies such as EUR, CAD and USD to the country to spend. The reason was that there were black markets for these currencies which could fetch 3 to 4 times the official exchange rates. Also, it would be unwise to withdraw money from the ATM's at the airport. Armed with all the USD that I could withdraw from an ATM in Cancun, Mexico, I tried to fly into Havana on Feb 6th. After three attempts with two different airlines at the Cancun airport, I finally arrived in Havana on a scantly filled commercial flight in the early morning hours of Feb 9, 2022. The plane was, however, fully loaded with packages and cargo.

I waited at the airport for a few hours before taking an official taxi to city centre. The ride was 25 USD and I paid the driver with US cash. At the airport, I found out a few things. The state-owned exchange bureau at the airport would not change USD. The state-owned bus company, Viazul, is only operating at about 20% of its pre-pandemic schedule. Tours to various attractions were operating at about 10% of the normal schedule. I saw no more than a handful of independent tourists during my 6 hour wait at Havana Airport. Supposedly, there were TransTur buses running between the airport and city centre 3 or 4 times a day. The ride would cost 5 USD (cash only).

When I woke up from my afternoon nap, I was hungry. I asked the hostel owner if I could find a supermarket or grocery store nearby. He replied that there was no supermarket or grocery store in Cuba. He told me to change my USD with the parking attendant outside. I changed 10 USD for 900 CUP. A French couple showed me where I could get dinner at some local restaurants. I wandered around the neighbourhood for about an hour. I saw people buying and selling from the windows of unmarked houses. Restaurants served food in small portions. My 900 CUP could only get me a plate of food but no drinks. I eventually bought 2 lbs. Of croquettes for 240 CUP. When I returned to the hostel, I showed the croquettes to my host. He shook his head and gave me a plate of rice and beans, salad and salsa. He told me to save the croquettes for another day.

The next day when I visited Old Havana, I was approached by various people to change money. When I walked on a pedestrian street near Parque Centro, most stores were empty and/or locked up. Vendors sold their goods on small stands outside the buildings. By early afternoon, most stands would disappear when the goods were sold. Panderias (bread shops) only opened for a couple of hours each day. Shoppers brought their own bags and lined up outside the bread shops for hours. I also noticed that there was very little garbage on the streets.

There were two young men from Germany at the hostel in Havana eating bread with ketchup for dinner. They had very little cash on hand and would not be leaving Cuba for another week. I helped them by giving them 56 USD cash for a bus ticket they purchased for me online with their credit card. However, that amount of money was not enough for the rest of their stay in Havana. A few days later, they found an expat from France who would give them 85 CUP for every EUR they e-transferred into his French bank account. It was a whopping 20% commission!

Santiago de Cuba was where I found out that Cubans are still on the food rationing system. One day I walked by a shop (bodega) with a huge price list on the back wall. I could still see that there were four eggs left in the cardboard carton on the counter. I asked the shopkeeper if I could buy the eggs. He told me that only Cubans could buy in his shop. The eggs were priced at 2.2 CUP each. When I went back to my Airbnb place, I saw my host eating steak with rice and beans. I later found out why he could have so much food. His house was registered as a "Casa Particular" which entitled him to purchase special provisions at local prices for international visitors. He charged me 8 USD for a chicken drumstick, rice and shredded cabbage on the first day in Santiago de Cuba. From that day onward, I would only eat food that was available to locals only. I would not go to any restaurants. "Pan con Jamon" became my staple food. Within two weeks, white specks developed on my finger nails.

What kind of food was available to locals varied from city to city. The most common form was sandwiches from bread with margarine to fully loaded hamburger. I once had a fish burger at a cart on the street in Matanzas City for 50 CUP. My favourite drink had to be the freshly squeezed sugar cane juice for 5 CUP. I basically ate on the run; sometimes I would eat my personal pizza or sandwich on a park bench. I carried a water bottle, plastic bags and scrap paper in my bag because vendors would not provide any containers.

I asked several locals about drinking water from the tap. The answer varied from "Yes, definitely." to "Drink only bottled water". In my opinion, boiled or filtered water should be fine because Cuba is a fairly big island that contains several rivers. Wastewater is collected and treated before being released to the waterways. It was hard to find bottled water especially in smaller sizes. A 1.5 L bottle cost 17.50 CUP and 4 L bottle 47.50 CUP. Soft drinks were considered as luxury goods. People drank more rum than beer because rum was much cheaper.

Internet became more accessible to the public only in recent years. The state-owned telecommunications company, ETECSA, provides both mobile internet and hotspots in homes and public places. The cost of internet access was average but the transfer rates were painfully slow. Social media websites such as Facebook appeared to have no blocks but other US and UK based websites were all blocked. VPN's were functional only in Havana and Varadero. To call my bank in Canada, I either would have to buy a calling card from ETECSA or call from a cell with a local SIM with a monthly plan. A 13 minute call to Toronto cost me 26 USD when I had to pay my TD VISA using telebanking.

Prior to the Covid 19 Pandemic, tourists could only travel in Cuba in official buses, taxis or rental cars. The trains were running but at a much reduced schedule. For example, the trains between Havana and Santiago de Cuba ran only once every 4 days when I was there. Train tickets generally cost more bus tickets. I was able to ride in collectivos and local buses on several occasions without being caught and fined. City buses and ferries cost 1 - 5 CUP. Ruteros (unscheduled buses) cost 5 - 20 CUP and nobody knew when and where these buses would go. In addition, there are tricycles, horse carts, pick-ups and converted trucks to cover shorter distances. Intercity buses for locals were primarily retired tourist coaches which cost 10 - 20 CUP. I rode in an iconic classic car three times during my visit.

Though serious crimes are uncommon in Cuba, scams and petty theft happen on a daily basis. When you go to the beach, you should leave your wallet and passport in your room. I always had a hat, sunglasses and a face mask on; however, the locals could always tell that I was a tourist. One day when I got off the ferry to visit the north side of the bay opposite to Havana. A local man walked beside me and offered to take me to the hilltop via a shortcut. He tried to be my guide and told me to sit on a bench outside his farm. Then he asked me for a donation to his farm which looked no more than a vegetable patch on the hillside. When I was visiting in Vinales, there were signs all along Moncada Road. These signs would not lead you to the National Park but private properties. I went into one such farm and the farmer wanted to sell me fruits from his farm.

The biggest scam that happened to me took place in Santiago de Cuba. After purchasing a Cuban made linen dress, I thought I would buy a pair of locally made shoes to go with my dress. When a man approached me for money change, I thought what perfect timing, and agreed to change 20 USD. But he wanted to change 100 USD. I showed him that I only had 40 USD. He told me to wait in an obscure corner. He came back with a pile of 100 CUP bills and told me to count. I was supposed to get 4000 CUP but there were only 38 of the 100 CUP bills. He counted the money again and it was 38. From his pocket he pulled out another 100 CUP bill and 5 of 20 CUP bills. He returned the new pile to me and took my 40 USD. I proceeded to a nearby park and counted the new pile of money. I only received 2600 CUP and was shortchanged by 1400 CUP. I never bought the hand made shoes that I had my eyes on for days.

Cuba is one of my favourite countries in the world. I was in a time warp, in a land where there is no excess for four weeks. When I saw the endless sandy beaches in Varadero, I realized that I was living on an island with so much beauty and among some of the most resilient people on this planet.