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. 

Winter is Coming; or, Booms and Bowlers

It's been a cold snap of sorts here. It's been around 70 and for those of us used to living in a constant state of 90-105, it's rather chilly. As in, you have to dig in the back of the closet and find a sweatshirt cold. It's supposed to get down to 65 tonight, which is downright freezing.

Once you've lived in the Caribbean for a long time, you'd be surprised how resistant you are to heat and humidity (although I will never get used to the constant swarms of biting bugs) and how cold you get when it's what is considered a normal, or even pleasant, temperature in the real world. 

This morning I was sitting down, thinking about what I need to do today, when *BOOM* went an earthquake. We get them periodically and they are not anything like people on the west coast of the US experience, but it's still startling. Here has always been a second (or a few seconds) of a loud concussion, where the earth seems to explode. It's more of an acoustic wave than anything else, no rollers or shakers, at least so far. Since living in WA, my mind goes into earthquake mode. Get the kids, get under a table or a door jamb, etc. But I have never had to do those things because by the time my mind realizes what's happening, it's over. 

Here's what different than most places---living on base, we have unexploded ordinances that are set off, guns with loud booms, and other military goings-on that most people don't experience, so it's sort of normal to hear something so loud, it makes your windows shake. That's just the new normal. 

In other news, Rodney is sporting a new bowler hat for the New Year, thanks to a souvenir from a bottle of gin. Anyone know where I can get more miniature hats for him? Unfortunately, I tried to Google information, and there are currently no stores selling hats for taxidermied squirrels. Go figure.