There is something intimate about being in Oslo. To me, it felt like the last hurrah: the moment you realize that your too old to stay out late for a party. The last apron strings of carelessness and hedonistic ways. Nights start at the local bar and end up at a house party with an attractive stranger. Quick friends are made over dancing . . .
One of the most beautiful sounds I had ever heard was a chime that brought silence to an entire city and what followed was the chant of,“Allahu Akbar”as devout followers of the Islamic faith turned to Mecca and began prayer. What preceded was the night sounds of people laughing, joking, and enjoying themselves as we eavesdropped . . .
Woke up on a pull out and immediately walked towards the window and onwards to the balcony. Spread out before me was a stretch of Route 1, with the beach along side it that hugged the Pacific as the sun hovered from behind.
It was our first night along the scenic route that runs from Los Angeles to San Francisco. A road trip between two . . .
That is La Plaza de Revolution and that is Jose Marti. As the cab driver gestured for me to look out of the window I found myself staring at a statue of his likeness followed by images of Che Guevara and Cinefuegos, whom I initially thought was Castro. After that moment, I finally realized that I was in Cuba.
As my . . .