Museo de Revolution
Tuesday- We slept late again, as we are on vacation and apparently haven’t adjusted to the three hour time difference, and have been staying up late.
So sweet boyfriend and I hopped a cab back to continue our rounds at the Museo de Revolution. He is so cool, my sweet southern boyfriend, we totally enjoy and appreciate doing the same things. It’s the most more than ever that I’ve had in common with someone and I totally love being with him. He has the best ever fun and interesting, and exciting personality. Not to mention that we have the same crazy ideas about things and do also maintain our own individuality and opinions while respecting the other one. (Or so I thought at the time. Looking back I was not so respectful.)
Even though I do (and still do-ask my husband) have my fault (just one fault!) about liking to always be in the know and in the right, but I am working to tone that one down and to be a better listener. (Well, some things take a lifetime!)
While in the Museo, I was talking with two young school boys dressed in the traditional maroon and white versus yellow and white uniforms. They had just asked boyfriend for money and didn’t know English, but seemed fascinated to follow us around.
After touring the Grama and army tank, old cat displays, mausoleum, we grabbed a cab up to the Forta Leya (or whatever) where sweet boyfriend wanted to visit. Walked all around the fortress, checking out the cannons, the beautiful view of Habana and the bay and sea, stopping along the cobbled way for “dos Mohitas” before meeting back up with our taxi driver. He agreed to take us for $25 to Ernest Hemingway’s house and then in to the small town where he (Hemingway) frequented a restaurant, and where Gregorio lived- the “Old Man and the Sea” man.
At the Hemingway House
At the gates to the Hemingway House, locked gates, mind you, we met the two guards of sentry. It was already 18:30 and closed more or less, he explained to us, lamentingly. Well, we insisted on how interested we were to see the house and that we only wished to see it quick and to take a few photos if possible. So it was possible.
Boyfriend and the guide told the taxi driver we would be right back. Apparently the driver was disappointed and somewhat appalled at us. He said the guy could lose his job, I guess. But who is talking, a taxi driver one of the richest occupations in the country.
So we hiked up the hill to Ernesto’s way cool killer home. Rooms filled with shelves of books, bullfighting posters on the wall, hardwood floors, spacious and open, really a great environment. Took photos in front of his boat, Pilar and through the windows.
Gave the guide a $10 tip (too much I’m sure) and then got semi-private silent treatment from our disgusted-with-us driver, as we continued on to…also a Hemingway frequented restaurant.
There were great black and white photographs of Castro and Hemingway on the wall. We sat overlooking the lake and overhearing the odd Germans next to us. After our meal, we scooted over to the bar, cooler than the eatery, to meet an older man who also knew- personally Ernesto. He was muy dificil zu verstehen and between boyfriend and I we pieced some together. He was apparently living in Puerto Rico but had a house in … this town, as did Hemingway too apparently.
Finally we caught a cab back to town and had them take us to “Dos Gatos” which bombed out- dark, dank, and glitzy downstairs, but where we refeasted da ober. We ordered (I ordered) a lot, but the ice cream parfait was best.
Then it’s when we walked over to Hotel National and ran into Rudy on the way with his Studebaker friend and, “Oh, girlfriend is girlfriend – why didn’t you say so.”
At the National we perused the photo shots if famous patrons in the hallways with well serviced Mojitos in our hands and also found the good fortune that Compay Segundo was playing that Friday night! We, or at least I, was under major stokage of events. What a great chance! Way awesome for us!
So we finally made our way back to the Hotel Riviera and to the swans 🦢 on the bed.
