I promise I’m otherwise articulate and a little less rambling š
Casas ParticularesOne nation ā Two currencies (at time of posting): CUC (convertibles) for non-Cubans and Cuban pesos/Moneda Nacional(MN) ā for Cubans
*Pay close attention, both can be intermingled, but CUC has a higher monetary value.
MalecĆ³n de Havana (what I also wanted to share) ā Wikipedia describes it nicely.FĆ”brica de Arte - brilliant space for art (of all kinds), simultaneously a dance venue in Havana
Some Cuban stops:HavanaViƱales ā one of my favoritesTrinidadCienfuegosMayabequeĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā
Credits: Wikipedia and Lonely Planet for highlighting the references to fond recollections- š
At past and first glance, I thought about looking forward to what weekends are supposed to be and especially to those extended weekends and random PTO days, here and there. Then, I had a moment. Something different occurred to me, with the help of some hardworking YouTubers, writers and other creative people. Maybe Iād much rather capitalize on these times and power through, in an effort to have my future consist of what feels more like endless Saturdays, commencing and ending with volunteering, writing, translating, traveling, family, friends, discovery and soaking up forever suns and restful nights. Not a bad challenge that leads to that finish line.
Iām fortunate to have a birthday that ends in my favorite month, February. Reflecting on everything, every person Iāve met, knowledge of every ancestor paving the way and all my personal experiences, painful or dear – knowledge of what got me here is padding my steps.
Iāve worked hard before but for some different errant objectives. These were not regretful. Many were quite commendable, but rather for another time and another me not as ready as this one (probably even less developed for the me to come).
Being altogether better at meditating, resting up, working and chilling in betweenā¦ Iām curiously excited about what and who I get to meet and of course, revisit. More to be shared. More to be seen.
The pain in my leg was not letting up. Several days into what was otherwise the paradise of living and volunteering in Cochabamba, I could not continue to ignore it. Just coping and hoping for the best is never a good plan. I had thought I would eventually be okay with just one good stretch following the long bus trip from Sucre. My body was telling me; however, this was more than a serious cramp. I couldnāt ignore being unable to put a regular amount of pressure on my foot. I couldnāt walk at my typical speed, jog alongside my friends, speed up to cross streets or get from point A to point B as I would regularly expect myself to be doing.
There had to be a remedy or at least an explanation. Interestingly, a temporary day of relief came when we popped into a gym and completed our workout with a cardio strength class. We primarily had free styled in a cycling class, not intentionally, but only because the instructor was more so walking around instead of leading. The instructors for the strength-building cardio class, a fit male and female duo, were much more engaged and motivating. We were done being skeptical whether or not this place was a good fit.
Class was fast. I was still high from the workout. We were
in and out of activities, grabbing mats and steppers and various weights from
the back of class and continuously moving. The male instructor alluded to ānow
we know who has the best a$$ in classā when I remained in one position long
after we were instructed to shift to another. I was in the zoneā¦ kind ofš.
Juan, Margaret and I talked to the instructors about another visit. Friedrich had been doing strength training on his own. I was elated and told him there was no leg pain during the workout. He suggested it may be the blood flow from the exercise. It made sense ā it seemed to be something like a blot clot (of all my guesses). Back then, I didnāt realize the very real importance of standing, stretching and moving during long plane and bus trips. Having the ability to withstand a lot for long periods of times caused me to think this too wouldnāt be a big deal for me. The bag on my lap had not helped. I was on one of the less recommended bus lines, so I was more focused on maintaining my belongings. Still, this workout brought hope. I was energized in a number of ways.
The relief did not last. Stretching out carefully or quickly powering through movements was a no. Friedrich massaging the muscle was no kind of solution either. Something had to give. I couldnāt properly enjoy my joy.
Fact is funnier than fiction. The place Margaret and I
moved into was across from a health clinic. If I knew about The Secret
back then, I would have guessed I somehow manifested this medical building to
have doctors and staff inside just so I could meet with one doctor who would
carefully listen to my symptoms as I explained them in Spanish and instruct the
nurse to give me the quick curing hip injection ā the injection to end days of
not knowing exactly what the issue was and having to realize I wasnāt invincible.
I was ready to feel a little unstoppable againš
I recall afterwards, hanging out in the main area where Margaret and I lived. Her room was on the first floor and my room was up a level. We were now sharing with two cool roommates from England and Norway (They had replaced an unfortunately snobby couple who consistently appreciated Margaret way more than me. It was actually more so the girlfriend.) I was in sync again with the new girls and the four of us found ourselves hanging out and venturing out together, easily.
I digress. I recall this one evening, going up to my room to retrieve the bottle of medicine prescribed by the doctor for aftercare. Fredrich held it, taking in the red fluid and dropper. Knowing I felt better, he said a little cautiously, āI wouldnāt take that if I were youā. I couldnāt decide for a while until it cracked on the floor one day. It wasnāt necessary thenā¦ he was right?
Magic finally happened. I was better. I could get back to life as I knew it for then. No more worries about something I didnāt know how to fix and gratitude for being able to do and enjoy all my opportunities again. Strange and interesting experiences were waiting for me.
You simply needed to be a community volunteer to seek a home at the Sustainable Bolivia house in Cochabamba. As Margaret’s time, subleasing in the Brazilian couple’s home, was coming to an end, we would find ourselves there. Margaret was the sole volunteer of our group at that moment, before Juan had the inspired thought for us to likewise help out at her school. One visit there and he would also have quite the unchallenging time convincing me to join. š The school was how she came to live in the city.
Margaret and I were prepared to live in the Sustainable Bolivia house, though we would actually just end up being everyday visitors there. Juan would be the one we were visiting. He was with us on the initial day we were checking it out, but more so on the periphery. Funny it became the perfect find for him. There was just one spot open.
Margaret and I wanted to stay in the same house so when we were informed there was another smaller rental property around the corner, we opted to look there. Alternately, he would be our regular guest there. The added bonus: Visits from Friedrich. The four of us were able to rendezvous on the regular between his freelancing, our volunteering, various sight-seeing, clubbing and low key hanging out with people from Sustainable. Our routine was just a little different from Melrose Place.
Juanās new home had the PSF small-footprint vibe which calls to unique experiences. Out and about in some places in South America may not always be ideal (like anywhere) but rather than limitations, Iām impressed how creative the organizations, travelers and locals can prove to be. My daily was now assisting with Margaret’s day care class and Juan was helping with one of the primary levels. How easily everything had transformed into my ideal scenario. My only immediate issue was something I briefly introduced – what I was sure was a relentless leg cramp from the bus trip from Sucre. It had to be. I was loving life. I was doing more than okay only I wasnāt okay.
