Baby Turtles and Guantanamo Phil, Oh My!, or, Hottest Spot North of Havana

After living here 3 years, 3 months, and 12 days (yes, I am counting), you would think there isn't much new to do (especially considering that this is a small, isolated base with most of it off limits).

However, I recently had one of the very best experiences of my life right here in little GTMO.

Last weekend, I spent Saturday night enjoying a bonfire with friends and colleagues at Windmill Beach. It was an overcast night, with no moon in sight. The usually brilliant display of stars was non- existent, and the only light came from a few of the pavilions on the beach.

This is also sea turtle hatching season. Female turtles come back to their birthplace every year to lay eggs at Windmill Beach, and there are usually cones set up in the most popular areas to prevent unsuspecting beachgoers from stepping on nests and damaging the hidden eggs.

Friday night was hatching night. Hundreds of tiny turtle hatched from their shells, pushed up out of the sand, and made their way to. . . the pavilion lights.

Without the moon, the baby turtles all went in the wrong direction.

Several of us took buckets and collected the tiny turtles. We set them out to sea and let nature take its course. I was amazed at how small and fragile they seemed. I'm used to the sturdy, magnificent turtles we encounter while diving or snorkeling. I have never seen a newborn turtle.

We gingerly placed them towards the tide and wished them well. Later that night when I got home, I read that only 1 in 1000 survives to adulthood. I'd like to think that one of our turtles will beat the odds. I can't even begin to tell you how exciting it was to hold a newborn turtle and set it on its voyage. I am still smiling thinking about it.

Another first this past weekend: H and I went to Glass Beach with friends, and we watched the sun set from the beach. I've watched more gorgeous, colorful sunsets here than anywhere else in the world, but never from that location. Every beach's sunsets are just a little different than the others. It was a sight to behold.

Of course, I didn't have my camera for baby turtles or sunsets, and frankly, I'm happy to live somewhere that we don't have cell phones recording every single one of life's moments. Please use your imagination and trust me that both were amazing.

What we lack in amenities, I guess we make up for in imagination here.

Someone posted on one of our GTMO facebook pages that Guantánamo Phil, an iguana, didn't see its shadow so summer is coming. While the post and picture were really cute, I like to think that Guantánamo Phil is not an iguana but a hutia. They are a little ground-hoggish if you look carefully.

In my version, Guantánamo Phil is too busy doing things like eating fuel lines and destroying vegetation to care about seasons. This is a good thing since we don't have seasons here. The two days of 70s-80s are over, so unless Guantánamo Phil is a complete moron (or a little high from gas fumes), he knows that we only have summer here. 

One last bit of happiness here---I was driving down Sherman Avenue tonight, tuned in to my favorite Santiago de Cuba radio station, and heard these words: "Her name was Lola/She was a showgirl." Before Barry Manilow got to the part about the feathers in the hair and the dress cut way down to there, I was squealing with delight. You better believe that I got my groove on while jamming down the street. We're not in the hottest spot north of Havana, but some days I do think we are in the hottest spot east of there (did I mention that it's HOT here?). Who would have believed that one of my favorite songs as a Mississippi girl of 8 years old would be playing many years later while I'm living not quite north of Havana, but on the same rock and 600 miles east of it? 

I love the surprises I find on Cuban radio as much as I love the surprises I find on the Cuban beaches. 

FAQs on All Things GTMO; or, What it is, what it ain't

Instead of having something new to say, I compiled a "best of" list from the last 3 years. Think of it as your own FAQ section of this blog.

This is what happens when your McDonald's runs out of meat for a couple of weeks.
Seriously. 

Refugee boat found at the Lighthouse Museum

These are the GTMO-specific posts. Maybe one day I'll put together another list of non-GTMO posts, since those are some of my favorites, as well. 

start here: 

EVERYTHING GTMO

It is What It is; or, Why GTMO is (really) Not Cuba (20 December 2012) This still sums up how I feel about this bizarre and beautiful place. 

Too Many Questions; or, I'm Still Not Hanging With Fidel (22 July 2014) Everything you want to know but are afraid to ask

View of Cuba ("real" Cuba) from the ferry

on parenting in GTMO: 

Drive-bys in GTMo; or, How a Gang Took My Youngest and Brought Back Pigpen (3 Dec. 2012) This is what happens to your children when you move here. You've been warned! 

Big, Huge Hills and Nautical Donuts; or, Field-Tripping, GTMO-Style (31 May 2013) What do you do for field trips when you can't leave the base? Read more here. 

banyan roots at the Bayview Restaurant

on mail, shopping, and other things they don't tell you before you come here: 

Pineapple Problems; or, Where's My *%&! Mail?!?!?  (15 May 2014) The mail issues are like pineapples. Or something like that. I tried to make a fancy analogy and it sort of worked. 

Mr. Post Man, Bring Me My Stuff; or, It's On the Barge. . . to Oman (15 Dec. 2012) What you can and can't get (specifically, food and mail).
The (Not) Love Letters; or, Going Postal in GTMO (12 June 2015) The mail, again. Do you see a pattern? This time with photographic evidence of what exactly to expect.

One of my favorite beaches, Chapman Beach

on tourist attractions and diversions: 

Merry Christmas Parade!, or, How I Survived a Drive-by Assault  (3 Dec. 2012) I still laugh when I read this one. 

Land of (the) Lost; or, Daytripping to Ft. Conde (2 Jan. 2015) A trip with photos to an abandoned fort hidden near a gorgeous beach.
Check, Check, Check; or, Make My GTMO in Miniature (10 April 2015): Rasta Hill, the Lighthouse Museum, my favorite banyan tree, and Goofy Golf
Big Beaches, big planes, big flags; or, Dance-off for World Peace (13 August 2013): Chapman Beach, Northeast Gate Tour
Beaches; or, My Sand is Bigger Than Your Sand (30 June 2015): a run-down of our favorite GTMO beaches

Postcard pretty! View from the top of Fort Conde

only in GTMO. . . 

Just Accept It; or, The Five Stage of GTMO (4 June 2014) This kind of went viral, with over 1000 hits. A year and a half later, it's still true. 

#GTMO Problems; or, Crotch tarantulas and toad-licking dogs (22 Feb 2014) A list of 24 problems unique to GTMO 

Sh*t My GTMO says; or, Happy 3 Year GTMO-versary! (20 Oct 2015) another list of bizarre things you hear (sometimes coming out of your own mouth) once you've been here a while

To the Lighthouse

Blustery Days of Our Lives; or, Sands Through an Hourglass

In the words of Pooh, it was a "rather blustery day." Make that two or three of them.

For a few days, we were at what's known as "COR III" for hurricane readiness. COR III this time around meant we were not in the direct line of the projected hurricane, but we got a tremendous amount of wind and rain. 

Watching hurricanes is always in the back of our minds since we got here; after all, Hurricane Sandy hit a few days after I arrived. 

According to Weather Underground, in September we got 0.41 inches of rain. August we got 0.8 inches, and July, 0.26". And on and on. You get the picture. For the last year, the forecast has been: arid, dusty, with a rather miserable amount of humidity. Two days before the storms hit, the heat index was 104º.

Then we got our first measurable rainfall in over a year. It was exciting. The kids at school literally jumped out of their seats and to the door before I could say anything. One student pointed and kept stammering, "Whhhhaaaat is thaaat?" I am serious. That stuff falling from the sky is rain, y'all! Everyone driving Jeeps, the unofficial vehicle of GTMO, realized that they were going to have a very wet ride home. Roads and sidewalks were temporarily flooded, the ceiling in my classroom started leaking, and sandbags were out. I'm happy about the change in temperature, but I can do without the howling wind and sideways rain.

Sirens go off and we get base-wide announcements on a PA system, or as most people here call it, "The Big Voice." The problem is you can't understand it. At neither work nor home can I actually hear it for the pouring rain. It's like Charlie Brown's teacher: Wuh Wah Wah wuh wuh wah.  Like so much here, you depend on word of mouth. People are very dependable about letting everyone know what's going on. 

Preparations included moving potted plants and anything else that can fly around the backyard onto the back porch and taking the bottles off of the bottle tree. My sweet little trees I transplanted from our Nob Hill house, including 2 that were from a cutting of the Truffula Tree, are now blown almost completely down. I'm going to wait until the rain passes to stake them back down again. 

Now for the aftermath---I'll put the bottles back out and stake up the tree when it's a little drier out.
The Commissary has been out of any edible produce for four days now. Supposedly we'll get some tomorrow. My son's SAT test this weekend has been put on indefinite hold; he couldn't take it Saturday because they couldn't unpack the barge container that housed the tests due to rain; Saturday they didn't unpack it due to wind, so he couldn't take it on Sunday, either. Now he is at the mercy of College Board as to if he can take it at all in October, or just scratch that and take it for November's test day (hopefully). Life is complicated when you are isolated and have freaky weather.

We did go for a ride around base, and stopped at Ferry Landing. Here is is, April 2013:

The sidewalk above has at regular intervals three stairs that go to the sand.

Or at least it did have sand. Here is one of the staircases this morning:

And here is Ferry Landing. Lots of big rocks, but no beach whatsoever:

They will bring sand back in, just like they did with Hurricane Sandy, and all will be normal (or as "normal" as you can be in a place where the beach washes away).

Today marks 3 years that we announced to everyone that we were moving to Cuba. It's been a crazy, wild ride. I didn't dream I'd live somewhere where keeping a hurricane kit is normal, or running out of basic food items is normal. I didn't think I'd be chasing iguanas or tarantulas at work, or dodging huge rodents in the road at night. It's been in many ways a new life, one of frustrations and joys, disappointments and life-long friendships. The one thing it's never been is boring. 

Beaches; or, My sand is bigger than your sand

While we are waiting to go home on our RAT for summer, we are enjoying the perks of island life that elude us during the school year.

This past week, I went to the ocean more than I did in August through June. In fact, I only visited the beach once. Pitiful, I know. A combination of health issues in the fall and a crazy, crazy work schedule all year round had me staying in on weekends, instead of taking advantage of the beautiful, eternal summer that is GTMO.

One way to find much-needed balance in life is to get off my butt and get out of the house. What better way to relax than to smell the salt air, feel the ocean breeze, listen to the waves, and soak up the sun?  Everyone has his or her personal preference to the many beaches here. I've posted pictures from Chapman, Windmill, and Cable beaches, and each spot has its advantages and disadvantages. When it is just myself and my youngest, I don't like the isolation of Chapman beach (even though it is really gorgeous), and Cable has a great wading pool (and a smaller beach to the side I love called Pebble Beach), but not much in the way of sea glass and it's in the middle of a much-needed cabana renovation, so that's a no-go. Some people love Ferry Landing, but I can't deal with not being able to see my feet, and the water tends to be cloudier there than other spots. It does have nice sand and I've found some great sea glass there, but it is not my favorite swimming spot.

Instead, I love Girl Scout beach. It is a total pain in so many ways. For starters, there are the stairs. If you have lived here, you know what I'm talking 'bout---they are a bear. Going down isn't so bad, but after a couple of hours of swimming or SCUBA diving, they make you re-think how in shape you really are. Every time I think, "Dang, I thought I was in good shape" (and then wheeze like the 45 year-old asthmatic that I am). But it is so worth it, because it has everything that we like in a beach.

It has sand. I know this sounds crazy, but we don't have sand at all of our beaches. We have rocks. If you want to get technical, we have really, really, REALLY large sand, because what is sand other than tiny rocks, right? So we have XXXXL sand at most beaches, which requires shoes at all time. We also have urchins and rock fish and other things you really don't want to step on, so you should wear swim shoes here, regardless. I just bought some Chacos online and they work great for the XXXXL sand, too.  

In addition to sand, it has sea glass. Tons of it. I have found some other interesting things at Girl Scout, too. I've found: forks and spoons, old military buttons, gun shells, copper wiring, pieces of pottery and china, an old watch (broken), shells, sea fans, coral, and a grouchy iguana.

Some recent treasures: a plastic bottle top that says, "Séjourné Depuis 1915." I know enough to know that's French and I've got mad Google skills, so I found out that it's a soda top from Haiti. We unfortunately get lots of garbage from Haiti. It's not the first time I've found things written in French on the beach, and I'm sure it won't be the last. Sadly, our neighbor Haiti seems to be a country that puts lots of garbage in the ocean.

Image from (where else?) their facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/sejournehaiti

I also found a shard of china that says, "Buffalo China Mandalay." Google tells me that it's a pattern used in restaurants that was popular in the 1930s-50s. It's a nice pattern. I don't think I've ever found any pieces with the actual pattern on them, but I have found many other patterns of china in my beach combing.

Image found at www.replacements.com

What makes Girl Scout fun to us is the waves and on most days, opportunities for great snorkeling. Son 2 and I love diving and jumping in the waves.  There are strong currents, so you have to be a strong swimmer (and cognizant of all times as to how rough the waves are and how strong the undertow is). Son 2 sees the sign below and says, "If they are in danger, Mom, why are they making the 'hang loose' sign?" Good question, kid!!

The only downside to Girl Scout (other than the stairs that seem to double in size on the way back up) is the sand isn't tiny, dusty white sand like in Florida or the Mayan Riviera.

Therefore, you get lots of tiny rocks (or XL sand, depending on how you look at it) in your nose, ears, and mouth, depending on how graceful (or not, in my case) you are while rolling around in the tide.

This also means that kids (and adults) end up with lots of pieces XL sand in their swim suits.

I don't know how to delicately put this, but here's the thing: you end up with lots of XL sand all on your lady and manly bits.

It's as painful as it sounds.

The first trip to the beach, Son 2 gets into the shower and we hear the spilling of what seemed like 10 lbs of rocks (okay, XL sand) all over the bathroom floor. We were sweeping it up for weeks. Because of water restrictions, no beaches have water right now, but Girl Scout never had cabanas or showers, so that's a mute point, anyway. You haven't lived until you have rocks stuck in the creases and crevices of your swimsuit and your body (not a pleasant thought, I know), and then have them tumble everywhere when you take off your suit.

My poor shower trap, washing machine, and dryer all get lots of abuse after a trip to the beach.

The rock (XL sand) issues aside, the beaches here are worth the extra effort. So many conveniences of life we took for granted in the US, but the beauty of living here is the beauty of this place. Florida may have beautiful sand (XXS rocks) and crystal clear water, but show me a beach that has giant iguanas begging for food, strange artifacts that are decades old, or literally thousands of pieces of sea glass that glitter like jewels, all free for the taking (except that iguana---you definitely don't want to feed or touch him!).

Land of (the) Lost; or, Daytripping to Ft. Conde

Happy 2015!
I'm focusing on health and wealth this year.
Health is obvious (see previous blog); by wealth, I mean a wealth of experiences and adventures, not monetary wealth.

And speaking of adventures. . . I took a trip with friends and my youngest son over to the Leeway side and Conde Beach to investigate Fort Conde during the break.

My first trip to Ft. Conde was a fun adventure and I've been itching to get back---with a camera---for another look. Thankfully I brought a camera for this trip (even if the battery died after taking only a handful of pictures).

Fort Conde was built in 1907 and never finished because of budget issues. Eventually the fort was abandoned. There is a lot more info on this site that also goes into the long, long history of Fort Conde and the rest of Naval Station Guantánamo Bay (it was here way before there was ever a prison). It's now covered with hutia poo, graffiti, and some wild vegetation. Bats are everywhere and the unmistakable waft of guano is in the air.

I love it because, corny as this sounds, it reminds me a bit of the show Lost. I expected smoke monsters or the Dharma Initiative to show up.

But no. Just this.

And this.

"Insert token" here: 

Vintage graffiti (or is that Physical Graffiti?): 

Screen shot from Google Earth of Ft. Conde

And THIS view: 

We had to travel there via boat---it's a lot more trouble to get to than our regular beaches, such as Windmill, Cable, Glass, or Ferry Landing. It's even more trouble than Chapman on the Leeward side, which "only" requires a ferry ride and then a walk or bus ride. 

You can't see the fort once you get to Conde Beach on Leeward; instead, you just kind of have to know where it is. I remembered that it's close to a watch tower, which I guess was good since I was the only person my 2nd trip over who had actually been there. 

Then you hike up a steep hill and through some vegetation---thus the Lost comparison---and voila!---it sits on the top of a bluff with the magnificent view above. 

Did we ever figure out the Dharma Initiative, anyway?

I didn't see any polar bears from the Dharma Initiative, but I did see wild dog tracks. My first trip there, my friends and I actually saw a small pack of mangy wild dogs running down the beach. We have another pack that occasionally roams my neighborhood, including my favorite one---the feral wiener dog. 

It was totally worth it. In addition to the abandoned fort, there is the BEST thing about the trip: you haven't lived until you've held a live sand dollar in your hand and felt and watched it breathe. (We left them there---we never take shells or sea life from the beaches if they are alive). There were hundreds in the water on what, to me, is the nicest stretch of beach on base. I'm going back, if just to hold sand dollars again. 

Yo Viviré; or, Happy Anniversary!

Yesterday, the 19th, was my one year GTMOversary!

Time has flown.

Enjoy the video, and crank up your speakers for the Queen of Salsa.

(If you can't get the embedded video to open, click on the link underneath the video box).

Yo Viviré from LuLu Lock on Vimeo.

Big beaches, big planes, big flags; or, Dance-off for World Peace

Ahhh. Summer vacation. You know that old joke: "What are the three top reasons to become a teacher? June, July, and August." (or May, June, and July, depending on what part of the country you live in)

Never mind that you don't get paid for those three months, or that it's more like 2 months off work; it's still nice to be able to wind down, spend time with your kids, and do a little traveling before cramming an entire year's worth of work into 180+ contract days. 

I'm in that panicky "Oh no! Vacation's almost over! But I have so much to do!" mode that most teachers go through the week before going back to work. 

In my pursuit for activities that a)we haven't done before; b) don't require too much time in the sun/heat; and c)are preferably FREE lead me to some fun new adventures this week.

First, a friend had the brilliant idea of going to one of the beaches that just opened back up this week (Hurricane Sandy did a number on it). We took 3 of our kids over to the Leeward side of the base on the ferry. A trip to Ferry Landing means searching for sea glass while waiting for the boat, and we spotted a friendly blue heron during our wait. Something as small as a ferry ride across the Bay is a great way to break the summer monotony. I've never be on it in the middle of a weekday, and it was rather deserted. 

We ate lunch at the Galley there (another adventure---we do get tired of the same seven restaurants on this side) and then hiked a small distance to Chapman beach. 

Rounding the corner to the beach was exciting. You'd think we'd get bored of beaches, but no two here are the same. You still need swim shoes---all beaches here are rocky (and this one is full of sea urchins), but there is some sand for the kids to play with, much like Girl Scout Beach. It has a protected rock barrier, much like Cable and Windmill Beaches. It's wide like Windmill, too. 

This means nothing to any of you who haven't been here, so here's the bottom line: if you take some of the best features of our favorite beaches, it's at Chapman Beach.

The beach was COVERED in urchin shells. I took home probably 20, and over half made it. They are very delicate---some are pink/white, others grey and green, and others are every shade in-between. Some still had the spines on them. I don't know what I'm going to do with all of them, but they sure are pretty (and a much needed break from sea glass---it's taking over my house).

Did I mention we were the ONLY people there for most of our afternoon? It was awesome---like coming upon your own secret beach and not having to share it with everyone else. 

Also, as we are swimming/sunning, we hear a loud noise and look up just in time to see an airplane landing on the runway above the beach. You can see the planes from the water---and this was a C5 landing. If you haven't seen a C5 in real life, an 18-wheeler could easily fit in one. They are HUGE.

My favorite shot of the day:

After our Chapman Beach adventure Thursday, H and I went to the Northeast Gate Tour yesterday. It's something everyone who lives here needs to do once (and visitors, too, if you happen to be here the third Friday of the month). Because of that thing I have called a j-o-b, I can't go do fun stuff in the middle of a weekday, so I was excited to catch the last tour opportunity before vacation ends next week (*sniff sniff*).

Back in March, I joined dozens and dozens of kids, colleagues, and parents in the Dr. Seuss Fun Run that takes place for a mile on the fenceline. We got a small version of the tour, but this time, we got the real deal. I can basically sum up the tour---and our entire relationship with Cuba---in a few sentences. First, the gate and fenceline are an archaic symbols of the Cold War of years gone by. Lots of craziness happened between our 2 countries here---including Cubans throwing rocks and shining spotlights on Marine barracks at the fenceline; Americans placing huge patriotic symbols in the way of the Cuban spotlights, causing the Cubans to give up the light idea; Cubans putting coathangers on the fence next to the barracks to make noise; Americans installing a huge flag; Cubans installing a bigger flag; Americans installing an even taller flag; Cubans installing a same size flag but on a higher hill; and Americans cutting a Cuban waterline to prove that Castro lied about the Americans taking his water. 

So that whole "A Few Good Men" speech about eating breakfast 300 yards from 4000 Cubans trained to kill is, well, kind of malarky. I'm sure there's been threats (and when the gate was open, American Marines were even held captive a few weeks in Cuba), but mostly we are all sitting around waiting for the Castros to leave (ie retire or die), and then HOPEFULLY someone will wake up and decide this entire embargo thing is also malarky and the gates will open. 

This was all my inference from the Marine tour guide, by the way. In no way or shape did he actually say these things. But he was very entertaining, and his stories of the war of wills between the Cuban guards and the U.S. Marines were worth the trip.

Our base leaders do a ceremony of sorts when they go to the line between the two countries for monthly meetings and when they work with the Cuban government in granting Cuban refugees asylum. Since we have been here, several Cuban refugees who escaped to our base have been granted asylum in the US and other countries, with the help of the Marines, Coast Guard, and Navy. The Cuban authorities are notified when asylum seekers come over---it's my understanding that it's part of the agreement of us being here---but they are allowed to stay until a decision is made about the reason they are here, the logistics of their leaving Cuba are set, etc. Our tour guide was an active duty Marine. I don't know if he had given the tour before, but he did a great job. I loved how his whole face lit up when he talked about his role in helping asylum seekers. I think that must be a rewarding job.

To give a little levity to the tour, he explained how the Marines are often amused at the antics of their Cuban counterparts.  There is one Cuban guard in particular who is a legend. A truck drives up to one of the Cuban towers and drops him off to report to duty, then he climbs into the tower (theirs are concrete and air conditioned; ours are wooden with no A/C), waits for the truck to get out of sight, and then starts his shift by turning on a radio. They know this because he then dances non-stop for his entire shift, until the truck comes back down the road to pick him up.

Personally, I think that instead of hoisting flags in each other's sight lines, the guards on each side should have a dance-off. Maybe a little Thriller, maybe a little Cuban mambo. Can world diplomacy be found through music and dance? Could we dance until the gate comes down? Who knows.

I don't think, however, our military or government leaders would go for that.  

See the white line? That's the boundary between Us and Them.
Maybe this could be the location for World Peace Dance-Off.

A few of my favorite things; or, the Doubloon Stomp

For the second time in the almost 4 months since we moved here, we've had a nice little market where anyone can sell homemade items. There are wooden cut out plaques of Cuba; there are really, really good nature photographs; there are tee shirts with snarky/funny sayings; there is even a beekeeper on Gitmo (seriously!) who sells local honey. And I know where you are thinking this is going. . . shell art, right?

This never gets old.

But I'm not here to talk to you about shell art. I'm not adverse to a little shell art; however, I am more impressed by sea glass, that somehow addictive and obsessive hobby of so many GTMO residents. People here take the naturally tumbled and glazed pieces of garbage glass and fashion them into pretty necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. Anything that can be bedazzled and festooned---stepping stones, keychains, barrettes---are decorated with sea glass and sold.

Combing beaches for the perfect piece of a rare color (yellow, purple, red, or cobalt blue) is something I can spend hours doing.

How did the glass get here? Like all stories associated with this place, especially since we are the U.S.'s oldest overseas base, the legend has a life of its own. Did it come from a bar that once sat above a cliff, where sailors would throw their beer and wine bottles into the ocean? Did it drift here from Jamaica and other parts of Cuba? (One day, I will get pictures of the huge hole in the coral shore of Coral Beach that is full of shoes---hundreds of single flip flops, dress shoes, slippers, you name it---that have supposedly floated in from other parts of Cuba and Jamaica). Or what about the less romantic (but probably more probable) explanation that the thousands of pieces of glass are a byproduct of lots of garbage dumped in the bay? Much of the glass is very old---you can find entire antique bottles if you know where to look, some with imprints of long-gone Cuban breweries from the early or pre-Castro days.

After Hurricane Sandy, some of the beaches were so strewn with pieces of glass, you had to carefully watch your step. Not that you can go barefoot on our beaches; thanks to the tiny rocks and pieces of coral, our beaches always require swim shoes. We aren't the sugar sand, white beaches of Destin, Florida or the Mayan Riviera. We are the rough and wild beaches of Cuba. And I never give up an opportunity to find sea glass while I'm there.

Step lightly---I mean literally, not metaphorically.

In addition to beach combing (and a little diving), we celebrated Mardi Gras this past weekend, Gitmo style.

And no, there was not a parade like Christmas. But there was a festival for kids and families and it was still entertaining. It had some authentic touches, too, here and there. My favorite part was the Cajun band that made my day, my February, and my 2013 thus far and caused me to pause---and then sing and dance like nobody's watchin'---when I heard this opening stanza:

Down in New Orleans
Where the blues was born
It takes a cool cat
To blow a horn
On LaSalle and Rampart Street
The combo's there with a mambo beat

Alright, my NOLA loving, Mardi Gras partying friends, I know you know the chorus to this one. I couldn't believe it---it looks like Cuba, the weather says it's Cuba, but there is a band from Louisiana (including an accordion player, mais oui) on stage singing "Mardi Gras Mambo." Oh, happy day!

The youngest asked me to stop singing and dancing because I was embarrassing him (really, what's the point of having kids if you can't embarrass them in public?), and then he had a great day, too, because he got his face painted. As we were walking up to the festival, he said, "This is going to be the day I've been waiting for my whole life----I get to get my face painted!"

I don't know where this child gets his flair for the dramatic. Really. Hmmmm.

Doubloons. Sea glass. These are a few of my favorite things.

Much earlier in the morning, before the festival, we went to the beach.  As I was trying my best not to be pushed down by some rather violent waves, I came to a realization about Mardi Gras and sea glass. I would see a coveted and rare color or a near-perfect, smooth and tumbled piece, and then a wave would take it away before I could get to it. I finally decided to use a technique I first learned as a child at Mardi Gras---the doubloon stomp.

If you only know of Mardi Gras with stupid, drunken guys screaming at stupid, flashing girls, or people puking in gutters, you unfortunately don't know my Mardi Gras. The Mardi Gras of my childhood had guys riding on horses---if you were pretty enough, they would stop and for a peck on the check, give you a single, long-stemmed rose. Does anyone else remember this? I don't think any parades do this anymore.

Cops had horses, too.  I have a vivid memory of two cops on horses, picking up an especially inebriated and sassy guy between them and riding him off to the drunk tank. His feet never touched the ground. Awesome.

My Mardi Gras had the mighty Indians in their one-of-a-kind costumes, and the Brass Bands with wailing horns ("Do Watcha' Wanna, Mardi Gras Morning," etc), and the NOLA area high school bands performing their renditions of R & B hits with dance line girls and majorettes that could shake what their mamas gave them. And some.

And the "throw me somethin', mister" and you learned real quick---if you want beads, you grab high. Better yet, you got you a ladder at Schwegmann's---that's where you used to go, before they all closed, to "make groceries"---with a box nailed to the top. You put your younguns in the box, and then you pimped your kids for beads. The guys and gals on the floats would just hand the beads gently to the babes in the boxes---no need to scream or grab.

I was never a bead girl. I was all about the doubloons. Cheap metal coins with parade names, logos, and pictures on them are what I collected. Today, I have a fancy crystal canister full of them. It just takes one time, and then you learn---if you don't want parade goers smooshing your phalanges, leaving them filthy and bleeding, you stomp first, and after the crowd disperses, you grab.

I've put my childhood lessons to good use. I see sea glass I want, I dig my toes in and cover it with my foot (and hopefully remember my beach shoes or flip flops), and then grab it once the wave has dissolved. I still don't have as much success with sea glass as I did with doubloons---but some Mardi Gras muscle memory (stomp, then grab) has come in handy.

Bread is Overrated; or, Just Another Day at the Beach

Sitting and thinking about purging is a lot different than the real thing.

Today, shoes have caused me much pain. And I'm not talking about my old lady bunions.

I'm talking about the boxes that I've been bumping into for weeks now and decided to tackle. Remember what I said about you really only need 10 pairs of shoes?

Yeah, who was I kidding?!?

Box one---about 10 pairs of shoes, joined another 10 or so pairs from the express shipment. Found a shoe organizer nobody remembers purchasing (and nobody remembers ever seeing in our old house) and filled it. Felt good about my purging efforts, as I managed to get rid of 5 pairs or so.

Then box number 2. More shoes. Hmmm, maybe I don't really need these, I can double up and make room for these, definitely need these.

Then box number 3. More damn shoes!!!

Welcome to hoarders, shoe edition. I won't tell you how many pairs of shoes (boxes and boxes) I got rid of in Texas before The Big Move, and I won't tell you how many I just put in a big box for the thrift store.

I will tell you that I still have over 50 pairs of shoes. Oy vey! I am a shoe hoarder! Get me in a 12-step program. This is going to be a lot more difficult than I envisioned while I sat up in bed, sick as a dog, waxing philosophically about how I need to downsize and get rid of excess stuff in my life.

I'm blaming the codeine cough syrup for my delusions of purging.

Anywho, we may not have bread at the commissary going on four days now (seriously, folks, we have no loaves of bread), but we have the beach!

Today we decided to take the beautiful drive out to Cable Beach, which is at the farthest end of the island from the housing areas. Even if you don't plan on swimming, who could resist a drive that looks like this?

This is what Gitmo looks like. Mostly brown/dry. Mountains in the background. Amazing blue water. Usually all in one frame. I even get all three looking out my front door. But this view on the way to Cable Beach is the prettiest on the island. 

Before hitting the beach, we had to stop to see the progress at The Slot. It's a dive spot that was washed away by Hurricane Sandy, and with lightening speed, has been rebuilt with concrete steps leading to a dive platform. From there, I took an obligatory lighthouse shot. This is the picture everyone who has lived here has taken at least once. 

And finally, a day at the beach---our first in three weeks, thanks to a nasty case of the Gitmo Crud (this is what the doctor says I have, so it's an official diagnosis) that I am finally getting over. 

Since last unpacking update, found: 1 3/4 bedroom lamps, Pedro the Yard Chicken (pics to come), electric guitar. Still looking for: 1/4 bedroom lamp, mates to 5 shoes I really, really need, and glass shelves for china cabinet. 

Stay warm, my friends.  Tomorrow I'm hoping to join Pedro the Yard Chicken for a little quality yard work/amateur landscaping/poisonous toad relocation/bottle tree reconstruction  before returning to work/school on Monday. 

Back in Black; or, Hello, Nasty!

The buzzards are back!
Perched on the lamp post, right across from my house, sit the 2 buzzards I grew to like and miss and now see again every single morning. They stretch their wings, hang out, leave, and come back every day now.

I take it as a good sign that they don't follow me as I run around the 'hood. 

Stranger flying things include the scary animal that was flitting spastically around in my office. I seem to have many strange encounters with wildlife at work. Cute little curly tailed lizards love the tree outside the door. Then there was the fat hutia incident---and it was probably so fat because it eats the cute lizards. There is a HUGE iguana that lives on the grounds and is always near the parking lot. Then there was this thing. . . I opened my office door, and something large and black buzzed my head. Being from Texas, I'm thinking, "bat!"

But upon further investigation, it was just a moth. A big, mutant, black moth, the size of a mouse pad.
Of course, my son had gotten someone to help catch the bat, and by the time the man had pulled the entire book case away from my office wall, we had an audience. I'm really hoping everyone has forgotten about it over the weekend. I don't want to get a ribbing over the bat that was a moth.

He just looks like your average 7 y/o playing with the neighbor's cat. . . 

H used to spend so much time in the bathtub as a toddler, prune skin was the norm around bedtime. He would splash, flip, put his head under the water, blow bubbles, splash, and flip over again.
"Son, WHAT are you doing?"
"I'm practicing my merman moves."
As you all know, if you have mermaids, you MUST have mermans.

We spent the weekend in the water. Saturday and Sunday afternoons were spent snorkeling and swimming at Girl Scout Beach. We saw trigger fish, damsels, butterfly fish, tangs, and other amazing reef fish. There are brain corals bigger than a car. Sea fans that are 4 feet across. This would be after a cat 2 hurricane. Amazing what has survived, and I can imagine it was even more spectacular before Sandy.

The oldest kid is out snorkeling like crazy. We take turns going out with him, and he's really good at pointing out fish (and knows what they are). He's becoming a stronger swimmer every day. I love hanging out with him while swimming, and he is definitely his happiest in the water.

The youngest is, quite simply, a merman.

He takes a deep breath, dives down 5 or 6 feet, stays until he gets the shell or piece of sea glass he wants, and pops up like a cork.

Craziest thing I've ever seen.

I'm happy those bathtub training sessions paid off. I'm checking every morning for a fin or at least webbed feet.

Cabin fever; or, If Idle Hands are the Devil's Workshop, We are Now in Hell

We heard this before we got here, and it's true: Gitmo is a great place to live, if you are an outdoors person.

One of our neighbors, now retired, told me an awesome saying from his days here with the Navy---at Guantanamo, you are either a chunk, a drunk, or a hunk. And believe me, you have every opportunity here to be a hunk, even if you are one or both of the first two when you arrive.

There are great roads for biking or jogging. Beaches for swimming and beachcombing. Water to kayak or sail. Trails to hike. Skate park. Basketball courts. Dozens of (shaded) playgrounds. A 5K almost every weekend. A golf course.

Which is all great. . . until you have a hurricane that messes everything up. Thanks to Sandy, the beaches have been closed to swimming and diving. The marina is closed for boat rentals. And since none of our things have gotten here yet, we don't have bikes (and I stupidly left my running shoes out of my suitcase, so they will be here in 6-8 weeks).

And it's been raining, so the (free!!!) outdoor movie has been a bust, as well.

Ladies and gentlemen, we officially have cabin fever.

It's one thing when it's just me, and I'm stuck indoors with a book. It's another with two kids who have been promised the beach since we started packing for the move, and a husband who has been cooped up with said kids for 3 weeks now.

We have been blessed with two kids who, at dinner time, have to have their names called out the front door so they'll come in to eat. Most afternoons, they are riding bikes, skateboarding, kicking or hitting a ball. I have been panicking since they landed because I knew they had very few options for activities due to the wacky weather.

We've been in the NEX 2-3 times a day since the kids got here. We ran into a colleague who is also dying of boredom. His two young kids, along with our youngest, entertained themselves for a while looking at birthday cards.

Yes, they were THAT bored.

Thank god for card games, even if I am a horrible loser.

THEN---the sun came out today, Cable beach opened for swimming, and we are no longer stir crazy.

Fighting the tide on coral and rocks is bloody business---I'm rather scraped up and I'll wear beach shoes from now on. But I got to swim in the ocean! And the kids have done that less than 10 times in their lives (less than 5 for the youngest), so I'm so happy that it was worth the wait. I am still limping from a nasty bump to my knee (bony knees + fast current + sharp coral = ouch!), but we finally got to go to the beach! And I now feel like we really live here.

Look at the farmer's tan on that skinny boy! 

And if you don't believe it was worth the wait. . . here are some pictures the hubby took today. :)