Strip-searched in Tel Aviv

I want to clarify one thing before we start: I wasn't technically strip-searched. They allowed me to keep my boxer shorts on.

Trey and I wake up early at 4:15am for the our tour to Petra. (Petra is one of the wonders of the ancient world, outside of Amman Jordan. My highest goal on this trip is to see Petra). Our flight is at 6:30am and we're right by the airport, but we want to allow plenty of time for any unforeseen delays.

We get to the airport in plenty of time, only to realize the first setback, and our most serious one: We're at the wrong airport. It turns out that Tel Aviv has two airports, Ben Gurion airport and Sev Dot airport. The tour company didn't explain this to us, they just said that the flight departed from Tel Aviv airport. We think the other airport is nearby, though, so we rush outside and take a taxi.

We get to Sev Dot airport. We should still be able to make the flight, we think we have enough time. This airport is small, it looks more like a county airport in the US. It only serves domestic flights from Tel Aviv to Eliat, about once every 45 minutes. We encounter a delay of course at the security screening and X-ray scanner to get into the airport, but we get past that and head to the check-in counter. They tell Trey that everyone has to go through second level security screening before checking in. "Don't worry," the check-in person tells us, "you'll still be able to make your flight."

This is the point when things start going very wrong. Something about us makes them think that we're a terrorist threat. I'm do not know the cause, and they would not tell me later. Maybe it is because we are late, and because we tell the security person that we still have time to make the flight. Maybe it is because we are two foreign men traveling without any women. Maybe it is because I haven't shaved in 3 or 4 days and I look like a swarthy terrorist.

The security person tells us "No, you're not going to make your flight." Mind you, she doesn't yet know what flight we're on. She doesn't know what time our flight leaves. She doesn't know if they might hold the flight for us. But she is confident that whatever flights we're on, we're not going to make it.

I say "That's OK, we'll try and see if we make it. If we don't make our flight, maybe they have a later flight that we can get on." I'm not sure why, but she's discouraging us from having her evaluate us for security. She's discouraging us from waiting to see if we can make the flight. She tells me flatly, "You're not going to make this flight, and today is Sunday, a busy day. The other flights are probably fully booked. You're not going to get on any flight today. You should just go home."

I'm a little confused. I've never had a security person tell me before that they don't want to screen me, that I should just turn around and go home. The way she's saying it isn't even a suggestion, as if she were trying to be nice and save me hassle. Her tone of voice is more a command, as if she's afraid of me and just wants me to leave.

It takes me a few minutes to coax her into even giving us the security screening. "I realize it may take a while," I say, "and I realize we may not get on this flight or a later flight today. But I want to try. One way or another I want to try get to Petra."

And so the actual security screening begins. She separates Trey and me, telling Trey to sit far away out of listening range. She doesn't go through my belongings, she just asks me questions. "Where are you from? How long have you been in Israel? Where have you been?" She goes on with hundreds of questions, many of them repeated multiple times. She never actually looks through my bags, but she does make me show her pictures of where we've been in Israel; she wants to know where we stayed in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, who we talked to.

I need to admit at this point that my answers to this level of questions must have seemed suspicious. I answered her questions honestly, since I knew she will be double-checking the answers with Trey, but the honest answers are complicated. I don't have a printout of the itinerary, since it is e-ticket. We were traveling with two other guys, Josh and Jeff, but they aren't with us now because they didn't want to go to Petra. They are still at the hotel in Tel Aviv. Yes, we did meet someone else in Israel, the girl Jenna who went with us on an impromptu tour of Masada and the dead sea. No, Trey and I are not coming back together: He is returning to Tel Aviv later that day, I am going to continue on from Petra to Amman Jordan. No, I don't have an itinerary for that: I am planning to break off from the tour and take a taxi from Petra to Amman. "Why is your return flight from Tel Aviv if you are leaving them and going to Amman?" I will come back from Amman to Tel Aviv in a few days, and catch a flight from Tel Aviv to Athens, and then onto the US. "Where is your flight from Amman back to Tel Aviv?" I don't have a flight; I am planning to go overland and go through one of the border crossings.

The questioning goes on for quite a while, I won't bore you with all the details. Finally she tells me to go sit down and Trey to come up for questioning, so she can ask him the same questions and see if his answers match.

Now begins the second phase of advanced security screening. In the first phase they ask you a barrage of questions: Who you are, where you've been, why you doing this. They purposefully ask you intrusive questions about your life, to see how you respond. In this second phase, though, they do the opposite. They don't ask you anything, and they don't do anything. They have me sit in one place, and Trey sit in another. They don't look through our bags, which are sitting over by the security area. They help other people; They chat with each other; They take care of other things. The purpose of this phase is to see how you react when you're just sitting and waiting. This let this phase take about 15 minutes. We are patient and we don't ask how long it will take, otherwise they might extend it even longer.

Thus begins phase three: The call us back up, then take us and our belongings, walk us outside, and take us to a different building. It's a small, non-descript building. They put two plastic chairs outside for Trey and me. They put our things inside and make us wait for a few minutes. The have a guard stand near us outside. He's not dressed in a uniform, he is one of the private commandos they use at the checkpoints near the airport. The guys in military garb are usually young, around 20, and are there to provide visible security, to deter. These guys, though, are about 30 or 35, and they look like they'd be a fair match for Matt Damon in the Bourne Identity.

The call me and Trey in separately, multiple times each. They have me take everything out of my pockets. They go through my things with me and ask me questions about them. They use a hand wand-type metal detector, then they do a very slow, careful, private pat-down, like a doctor doing an anatomy review. They have me pull my pants down so they can check again. As I said at the top, it wasn't technically a strip-search: They let me keep my boxer shorts on.

Trey got annoyed about having to take his pants down. He refuses at first and they call one of the supervisors back again. Trey says, "I'm done, I'm not pulling my pants down. I'm just going home." Her response is "You can't refuse now, we gave you the chance to go home before. Now you have to do it." Trey starts asking if they get many American terrorists here in Israel.

Despite all this, they are very nice and professional the whole time. When I took everything out of my pockets that includes money and all other personal items, and they already have my passport. In many countries I would have refuse to leave my money there while I went into a separate room, but I know it would be here when I return. And it is still there when I return. They also let Trey use his cell phone at one point to call the tour company and ask about the tour.

After about two hours they decide that we have passed, mostly. It is too late for Trey to make his flight so he goes back to the Tel Aviv hotel. There is one seat on a flight that is leaving very soon, so they suddenly tell me that they need to rush me through to get on that flight. They tell me to put the things back into my suitcase, with a few exceptions: My laptop will go in the backpack, but nothing else in there. My cell phone has to go in my suitcase, I cannot carry it. I cannot carry on the backpack, nor the suitcase which was carry-on size. They will both be checked luggage instead. They put the laptop battery for some reason into a large white padded envelope and then put that envelope in a separate small duffel bag, and the laptop charging cord they put in it's own white padded envelope and into it's own separate small duffel bag. I now had four pieces of checked luggage: My backpack and (formerly) carry-on suitcase, plus two small duffel bags. They take out a few other items, though, like my camera, Kindle, electric razor and charging cords for each of those and hold those items separate. Those items they still need to check further, but I will be going on this flight. Those items will be sent on the next flight, and I would need to wait in Eliat for an extra hour or longer until they got arrive.

And then they rush me back to the main airport building, past security, out onto the tarmac and onto the plane.

Nativity

Slept for 14 hours. We needed it.

We walk down towards the wailing wall again and try to get into the Dome of the Rock. It's Friday and only Muslims are allowed in. I try to convince them that I'm an American Muslim. He looks very annoyed and asks me for my passport. He starts reciting the Muslim call to prayers and tells me to continue. I can recognize that is is the Muslim call to prayers, but I'm unable to continue the cant. I fail the test. Luckily for me he returns my passport.

We walk down the hill to the church of Gethsemane. Gethsemane is the olive garden where Jesus was arrested by the Roman soldiers, where Peter cut off the soldier's ear. They have old olive trees here that supposedly date from 2000 years ago, and the church is nicely done.

We're getting tired of walking, so we decide to take a taxi to the top of the hill, the mount of olives, and then walk and see the churches on the way down. The taxi driver, Adam, has a different suggestion.

We can never stick to a plan. But each time we divert from plan we have a great adventure.

Adam drives us to Bethlehem, which is inside a Palestinian zone. He gives us a tour of Bethlehem, then brings us to a guide named Nida. Nida takes us to lunch: great food, fresh squeezed lemonade with mint. Then he takes us for a walk around the main square in Bethlehem and to the Church of the Nativity. You know, where Jesus was born.

Before 2000 Bethlehem was bustling, Nida tells us: Tourism, hotels, restaurants. At the Church of the Nativity there used to be a 3 hour line to get in. Now there's no line for the church, and even for the sacred grotto underneath there's only a few minutes wait, and that's only because a group of German have stopped inside to sing songs. Right now they're singing "Holy Night", in German of course.

Down in the grotto there is a star where Jesus was born. Candles where Mary wrapped Jesus in clothes, and the area where the three kings gave him gifts, all within 15 feet of each other. The Church of the Nativity is Greek Orthodox, but the grotto underneath is shared. There's an Armenian orthodox church in the same building right along side, and a catholic church on a chapel a little further to the side. Below is St Jerome's cave where they say that St Jerome did the first main translation of the bible into Latin.

Priests have different habits: a tour group of 50 people squeezing into St Jerome's cave, while a priest inside from a different sect is trying to do a mass there. Nida is annoyed at their bad manners.

Nida and I talk as we leave the church. He has anger, honest anger about the situation in Palestine. "I don't care which flag flies above the building. I just want investment, I want freedom. I want a chance for a good life for my kids." Ten years ago, before the first Intifada, life was good for him. He could make $50 for each tour, and groups were lined up for him to guide them through. Now he rarely has work, and when he does he works for tips, usually 50 sheckles each, about $10.

Adam picks us back up and we head back towards Jerusalem. He drives us by one of the walls which separate Palestinian and Jewish west bank. It reminds me of the movie "Escape from New York". In the news and on maps they talk about the wall separating the west bank from Israel proper, but here on the ground the situation seems different. From what I can see the walls just wrap around the Palestinian towns. For the main area of the west bank it looks free for Jewish movement but not Palestinian. The maps from the rental car company seem to reinforce that fact: most areas of the west bank are fine, but some areas such as Bethlehem, Jericho, Nablus and a few others are marked in orange, and you're not allowed to take the rental car there.

On the way back towards Jerusalem we see a few cars that have armored steel mesh protecting the windshield and back window. It reminds me of the movie "Mad Max". Adam says they are cars of some of the settlers, Jewish people that live in the west bank. They do that to protect the cars from Palestinians who throw rocks at the cars.

Traffic isn't too bad because it's Friday, the Palestinian holy day. Adam says, "The Palestinian sabbath is Friday, Jewish is Saturday, and Christian is Sunday. It's a good thing we only have three religions here, otherwise we'd never leave home."

Jerusalem with Hallucinations

The first day I land in Athens I meet Trey and we go with his family to the Acropolis and to a restaurant nearby. Tourism has dropped off because of the economic turmoil Greece, and we see almost no other foreigners. We are the only people in the restaurant, and the waiter takes to feeding Trey's kids and wife by hand.

We have sandles made by "The Poet Sandelmaker of Athens". That evening we meet up with Josh, another guy visiting from the states, and go to an impromptu party at an apartment in Athens. Didn't get much sleep that night because of the jet lag.

Josh and I leave early the next day and rent a car for an adventurous day of driving around Greece, about 6 hours of driving time. Napflio has an ancient fortress on the top of a high hill. We could drive up, but we decide to hike up instead. In Corinth have trouble finding ancient Corinth so we stop in a coffee bar and ask "How do we get to ancient Corinth?" Hmm, the barista says: "Ancient Corinth? Oh, it's not easy." This, mind you, is the biggest tourist attraction in Corinth. "You have to go to the third road, then turn left. But I can't remember the name of the road. Then you should ask again, because you'll have trouble finding it."

We drive to the southern tip of the Attica peninsula to go to the Temple of Poseidon. It's hard to see how there were enough people living here to be able to build such a large temple here, but I guess the importance of the sea to ancient Greeks made them eager to build a temple to appease the mighty Poseidon.

We drive from Poseidon's temple to the Athens airport for a 2am flight to Tel Aviv, Israel. Why is the flight at 2am? What crazy Greek bureaucrat decided to have a flight at 2am? You can't even say it's a red-eye flight, it's less than two hours long. And after it takes off, when you start to doze and think you may get an hour or so sleep, they turn the bright lights on, wake everyone up, and serve breakfast. At 2:45am. The breakfast is better than any meal I've gotten on a US-based airline in a decade, and it's on a two hour flight at 2:40am. Why did they wake me for this?

Ok, the meal was good. And I was hungry. Maybe I'll forgive them for this. Even the bread roll that accompanies the breakfast is better than any roll I've gotten in the US. The Greeks may have a contagiously moribund economy and surrealistic airline flight schedules, but they serve great food. Even on an airplane at 2am.

After the food the girl sitting in front of me taps on the seat to talk, so I climb over the seat in front of me to talk to her. (Forgive me for garishly climbing over the seat: I couldn't walk around because there was a large Greek man sleeping next to me.) Her name is Jenna and she's an Economic Development / Art major with a Spanish minor at THE Ohio State University and is an ENTJ on the Myers-Briggs personality test. You learn weird things about people when you're locked in an airplane together at 3am and neither one of your has slept in 40 hours.

We arrive in Tel Aviv around 4:30am. The hotels for Jenna and separately for Trey, Josh and me are in Jerusalem, so we share a taxi there. The rooms aren't ready at 5:30am, of course, so we drop our bags at Jenna's hotel. A sign in her hotel says "When Jesus said to love your enemies he probably meant don't kill them."

Why aren't the restaurants open at 5:45am? We walk further and accidentally find ourselves at the Western Wailing Wall of the destroyed second Jewish Temple. Jenna isn't allowed to go to the main western wall but I she writes a prayer on a piece of paper and I shove it into a crack in the wall for her, along with a prayer note for myself.

We continue walking around the Temple Mount, past a large number of graveyards, and through many of the sites that Jesus supposedly walked.

Another guy named Jeff meets us in Jerusalem at 9am. Several of us haven't slept in over 40 hours, we're starting to have slurred speech and minor hallucinations. We need sleep but don't desire it, so Trey negotiates with a taxi driver to take us to Masada and the dead sea. It would have been only 400 sheckles to the dead see, but to go to Masada too is 900 sheckles and will take about 5 hours round trip.

Masada isn't as impressive as I thought it would be. Maybe I'm less impressed because of lack of sleep? We do find the rampart that the Romans built 1800 years ago to lay the seige. The movie version didn't seem plausible that anyone could build such a large ramp, even the Romans. It makes much more sense, it's much more believable when you see the real thing.

The dead sea is pretty cool. Maybe I'm just wacky from lack of sleep. You really are floating largely above the water. It's hard to swim because you float so much. We coat ourselves with mud from the bottom, and Josh and Jenna get much massages from the attendant.

Josh's grandfather has a saying: "Everyone is strange except for me and you. And sometimes I worry about you."

The Police Released Us ...

We leave Trinidad in the morning and go to the nearby beach for an hour, then start the drive back to the capital. We know the way, and I'm frequently going the maximum speed that the vehicle will travel, so we make it in pretty good time. After leaving our things at the casa particular, we go for dinner to one of the nicer hotels on the main capital square, the NH hotel. The restaurant is Mediterranean, the decor is very Mediterranean, the food is passably so, and the two guys playing Spanish classical guitar play "Ragtime", then "Hello Dolly", then some Spanish classical guitar music, before settling into vaguely Italian-sounding restaurant music.

We decide to go to La Casa de Musica in Mirimar, since we have heard that it's better than the one in the old town. It's in a less touristy area, so maybe it will have more locals. On the way there, in our confusion trying to figure out where it is, we had an encounter. I was trying to turn left, but decided I needed to turn right and come around the block. As I turn right I notice a man in uniform walking towards me, pointing at me, and pointing for me to pull to the side of the street.

Now, I have several thoughts in those few seconds: He's on foot. If I just keep driving, what will he do? He can't catch me, and I can't see them putting out a call for my license plate number. But I do pull over and roll the window down.

I tell Tiina to pretend like she doesn't speak Spanish. It's to our advantage to be able to play dumb if we choose, and I might want to pretend like I can't understand him.

He asks in Spanish for my identification. It's then I realize: I decided to leave my passport in the hotel room. We are going dancing. I was tired of carrying around a money belt. I didn't want a money belt to interfere with my dancing. In the money belt was my passport and identification. I'm stopped by the police in this island, and I have no identification, no passport, no driver's license.

I apologize to him and explain that I forgot my ID at my hotel, and hand him the rental car agreement. He explains what I did wrong, and says something about 50 pesos (convertible) for making an illegal turn, plus 30 more for not having my identification. I'm pretty sure I only have about 40 or 50 convertible pesos on me, and it's too late to get any more this evening. I pretend like I don't understand, and apologize for forgetting my ID, and ask questions repeatedly. He says to wait a minute and then walks back away from the car so he can call someone on the radio without me hearing.

While we're sitting in car and he's not looking I take out the money we have. I keep 10 pesos and $60 US from the reserve stash, and I give the rest of the money discreetly to Tiina and tell her to hid it.

He's taking a while, and I'm not sure why. So I get out of the car and go back to talk to him. I ask if it's possible for me to pay the fine here and explain that I only have 10 pesos, plus some US currency. He says the fine is 50 pesos, but says I can't pay the fine now, explains my crimes to me again, and then tries to tell me something I can't figure out. I'm a little confused, because a few minutes ago the fine was 50 + 30 = 80, while now he's only saying 50, but I figure it's better not to ask. Then he tells me I need to wait longer. He doesn't seem particularly agressive or mean, but I can't quite figure out what he wants or what I should do.

After he tries to explain things several times that I still can't understand, I move back towards the car with him. I'm not faking it, I really can't understand what he's trying to explain. He asks if Tiina speaks Spanish, and she says "a little". He repeats himself again, Tiina asks one or two simple questions (so as not to seem like she speaks fluent Spanish), then we still play dumb. He tells us to wait a few more minutes then walks back behind the car again. I ask Tiina "What did he say?" He said that I had "illegally" moved from the left lane to the right lane to make a right turn, and that I didn't have my identification, and since I didn't have my identification they were going to have to take me to "the unit". "The unit?" The police station, as best we can guess.

Now, I know he just wants his money, but he keeps saying No to that. It doesn't appear that he's trying to get more money or any other issue, he just keeps saying "No", as in "That's not proper", you have to wait. Can I go back to my hotel to get my passport or to get more US currency? No, I have to wait.

We wait a few more minutes, and then a police car with three guys pulls up behind us. Two guys casually get out. No one is in a hurry here, no one is acting tough. Even this is done on island time, in an island way. One of the newly-arrived police men acts like he might be their boss, and he speaks a little English. He asks my my name and where I'm from. Between his limited English and my limited Spanish, he explains to me that because I don't have my identification they have to take me to "the unit", where they will put handcuffs on me, and I will have to stay the night there, and then in the morning they will make me leave the country on an airplane, and I will never be able to return. He stresses that last part, as if that is the most severe part of the punishment: I will never be able to return to the Island.

He's very calm and even nice about how he's explaining it. I'm pretty sure he's trying to threaten me or scare me, but there is nothing threatening about how he's talking or his manner. He had the same tone and manner as if I had walked up to him on the street and asked for his help.

I say it's OK if they put handcuffs on, and it's OK if they make me leave tomorrow because I have a flight out tomorrow anyway. I would just need to get my passport and things from my hotel before I leave tomorrow. We really want to go salsa dancing tonight, so can we go dancing and then I'll go to "the unit"? He seems confused by my willingness to be arrested and to spend the night in jail, as long as I get to go dancing.

I explain that I only have 10 pesos convertible, because the money changer isn't open this late, but I have some US currency with me also, and I could convert more dollars to pesos tomorrow. They say No, I can't do that, but then ask me again how much I have on me in pesos. I answer again that I have only 10 pesos convertible, plus 40 or 50 US, plus some local national money. He says something about how he's going to try to help me, and writes the number "30" on his hand. I explain again that I only have 10 pesos, but ask if I can give him some US currency too. He says for me to walk over with him to their car, and he'll help me there. I say OK, I just want to tell mi amiga that I'm going to go over to their car. It's OK for her to wait in our car. He's fine with that, so I tell Tiina, then walk with them to their car.

I apologize again, and take out the 10 pesos and $40 US. He originally had asked for 80, then 50 pesos, and the value of what I offer him now is about 40 pesos. I'm pretty sure I could get them to accept just the 10 pesos and let me leave, but that may take a while and I want to get dancing. I offer him a wad of pesos national that I have in my pocket, that are probably worth maybe another $5 or $10 US. He looks at it and just waves his hand No, as if it's not worth his trouble. This confuses me still, about why specifically he didn't want local money. Maybe he can get all he reasonably needs of that by hussling locals, and he was only interested in convertible money? Or he just thinks it's beneath his dignity to accept local currency as part of a bribe?

He hands me back the registration for the car. I shake his hand and say thanks and Adios, then get back in the car and drive away. I thought about asking him to let me take a picture with him, but decide that would be rude.

We're on our way again but still don't know how to get there. We stop and ask a woman for directions. She trying to get to the same place, but she doesn't know the way. She's from a different part of the island. Would she like a ride? OK, she says.

On our way in I pay the cover for Tiina and myself. She asks if we can pay her cover, and she'll pay us back when she gets change later. Huh? I might be willing, but the cops took some of our cash, I don't have enough left. She says she meet us in there, but we don't see her again, other than in this picture.

An hour or more passes with bad music, not dance music. Tiina notices someone at a table near us and says "Is that Gerard Depardieu?" No, of course not. But then I look carefully: It might be. He certainly looks and moves like him.

Ten minutes later some people go up to talk to him. I can't hear the conversation over the bad music, but it's clear they're asking him for his autograph, and then they take a picture with him. Then someone else does. A few minutes later he leaves with his two friends.

That must suck. He's not even in the top list of actors, but he can't even go to watch unpleasant music in a low-tourism Caribbean island without being bothered.

Many girls are standing up in the club instead of sitting down that are dressed, well, like hookers. We trying to figure out the system, so I talk to a few of them. They haven't paid the cover, they're trying to get guys to buy them drinks, to pay their cover, and maybe "something else." They must have some agreement with the club, that they get in provisionally, but they can't take a seat at a table unless some guy pays their cover. Maybe that is what the girl that we gave a ride was trying for? But she is from out of town, so she isn't "known" at the club to get in without paying cover. She didn't look like a hooker, but maybe I'm wrong.

The Quest

Trinidad is a charming colonial town. We had arranged for a room in a casa particular, which was about 10 short blocks from the town square. We arrived there in time to find the casa before dinner, and after dinner we took a short nap. Then we walked back to the town square, which they called "Casa de Musica". At first they were playing vague salsa music from disc and people were dancing, and we did too. Later they had a live band playing salsa and we danced. When the band stopped they started playing salsa from disc again. Most people were tourists, about 2/3rds, but locals were dancing also, some with each other and some with tourists.

I saw one guy dressed in all white dancing with two girls at once, and doing it well. Later, after we were tired and most people were done dancing, I went up to him and asked "hay algo personas aqui que bailar rueda?" (Are there any people here who dance rueda?).

This had been our major Quest for this trip. We had many minor quests: renting a moto (Yes), renting a motorcycle with sidecar (failed), eating the local food (Yes), talking with locals (Yes). But the major Quest for this trip was to find local salsa, and engage with locals in a salsa rueda.

To my query about rueda He said yes, but seemed a little confused by the question. The girl next to him said (I think) that I was asking if we could do a rueda. I said that my girlfriend and I liked to dance rueda, and he seemed surprised that we knew how. The girl got one other couple, and the six of us started dancing rueda. At first it was very simple, just dame and enchufa. Two other couples saw us dancing rueda and eagerly joined in, although one girl bowed out because she was tired.

Here is a video of the guy dancing with two girls at once. Try it: It's surprisingly hard!


(The rest of this journal entry is primarily only for people who dance salsa rueda. You probably won't understand what I'm saying unless you do. If you don't understand, then you need to learn to dance salsa rueda and then re-read this post.)

The guy in all white, who was from Trinidad I think, danced very well but had his own way to do all the moves. Or maybe those were the way they did it in Trinidad? One move was called vecino ("neighbor"?) which was patty-cake to the beat, alternating with the person on your right and the person on your left. He also called things repeatedly so you could hear better: "ahora-ahora-ahora! dame-dame-dame!". Also "uno con uno" (single dame with single clap), "dos con dos" (dame dos with two claps).

The Trinidaderos did pelota as a right-handed enchufa. They did setenta as a setenta miami with a enchufa-ronde-dame.

A couple from Vancouver that joined in danced things similar to us. (They are the tall couple on the right in the picture.)

A guy from Marseilles, France had joined, he wanted to dance everything on-two, which created difficulties. (He's the guy in red, on the back towards the left.) Tiina talked to him later. He said he's come to the Island many times for dancing, and Trinidad has the best salsa on the island.

A girl from Guadalupe island in the Caribbean joined too, she seemed to do it more our style. (She's the girl in the black shirt & jeans.)

There were relatively few moves that everyone knew, even the people from Trinidad. They didn't know Candado (people from Vancouver did), nor adios con su hermana.

The girl in the red dress was also from Trinidad. She was the one who gathered the six people to start the rueda, and was good at trying to get everyone from different backgrounds to work together.

On the Road to Trinidad

On Thursday we return the moto & rent a car and start driving towards Trinidad, a city about 6 hours away. We get on the autopista, the main highway, but after a few miles the road becomes more of a wide, paved road, without lane markings. Then it hits another similar looking road and ends. Then that road seems to peter out into a regular road, then we go through a few more towns, and pretty soon we are completely lost. There are no road signs on any of the roads or intersections, nor any real signs that tell you the names of the towns or anything. I'm pretty sure we took some wrong turn earlier on, but I'm not sure which was the turn where we made a mistake, nor how to get back to it. We stop in some town at a gas station and Tiina asks directions, with the map. The guy laughs and says, "A map? That won't help you." Well, we couldn't find any road signs. "Road Signs? They won't help you either. Just head down this road until you go under a bridge, and then the road splits stay left, and then about 20 kilometers later you'll hit another bridge and turn onto that road."

We hit a split in the road before we come to any bridge, so we stay left, but then we go more than 20 km without hitting any other bridge.

I've sometimes brought a compass along on trips, especially camping trips, but I've never found one actually useful. Here, though it would have useful. If we had a compass we could stay generally southward and eastward and head in the right direction. I take out my cell phone and turn on the GPS. It can't get a signal, and it can't show me any map of where we are, but it can, using GPS, function as a compass. I have a $400 cellular phone, which can't make or receive calls here, receiving signals from a network of satellites in space, all to function as a basic compass.

We saw guards by sentry towers and realized we were driving by a prison, so we double back and took some photos. The guards eye as warily and we make sure they can't see us taking pictures. This turnaround was convenient because we stopped at one of the few convenience store fronts, basically a house with a counter at the front, that sold few and varied wares and asked for directions. Turns out our bearings after taking several random turns were correct -- we were told to go back the same direction we were originally headed and that the small road would join the main highway in approximately 3 kilometers.

We found the main highway, still unmarked, but noticeably bigger and somewhat better paved than the other roads! And the GPS device confirms that we are now traveling in the right direction - southeast. Not long afterwards, we pass the first actual dot on the map, another sign
Trinidad is only 340 km away, and even find a small fast food eating place called a palmar. We have grilled ham and cheese sandwiches and freshly made potato chips. The service is and friendly, and clearly everyone is driving through, and not a local to that part of town, except maybe a few guys who came to use the phone there.

We pass through several small towns. There are as many horse-drawn carriages here as there are cars.

At one intersection about an hour from Trinidad we stop to pick up two hitchhikers, a mother and daughter. The daughter is in high school, about 18, and the mother has a job in the same town where the daughter goes to school. With them in the car we're able to avoid several wrong turns and save some time. We get to their house, about 30 minutes from Trinidad, and give the a ride about a mile off the main road to their house. The mother invites us in to meet her parents who live in the house with them, and for coffee. They have an all white cat with one green eye and one blue. There is no reference to the father of the daughter and no picture of him. From the way the mother refers to the older man & woman, Tiina thinks the man is her step-father, not her father. We notice this with several people we meet, a lack of reference to fathers or the "standard" nuclear families.

The Capital

We take the taxi to the casa particular. Here, a "particular house" means a house that has rooms for rent, similar to a bed-and-breakfast in the states. They are authorized by the government, and are usually in older colonial-style houses.

The first few days we see the usual tourist stuff: nice architecture, churches, plazas where people congregate. It is nice to be able to walk around a city. America has almost no cities where you can walk around, and the few that we have (New York, San Francisco) have a very different feel than walking areas in Europe, Asia or other parts of the Americas.

After a few days we rent a motor scooter (here called a moto) and ride that around the city. Much more fun! A moto is the best way to get around this city if you have a nice girlfriend. At night we try to find salsa dancing. We go to several places that have music, shows & dancing, but they are rather disappointing.

One day on the moto we purposefully eat from a street vendor, where locals would eat. Tiina writes:
"During lunch I talked to some locals who appeared to be interested in conversation. I asked what tended to be the preferred pets in Cuba, this after he showed us two live rabbits sitting docilely in a bag and which he indicated would soon be someone's dinner once he sold them. He replied that most pets in Havana are dogs and cats, but that his favorite was a pig because they are smart and cute, and that best of all, once it was fat enough you could eat it!

Eat it, I replied, you can't eat your pets. Sure you can he said. Not a long time ago we would eat dogs if we had to. The street dog begging for scraps near us smiled at him."

During the tip a question came up: What is the best known brand name in the world? Is it "The United States"? I used to say Coca Cola, but certainly anywhere where someone has had a coke, they would have heard of the United States. For if they had never had a Coke before, and they had one for the first time, they would ask "Where does this magical drink come from?", and the person would say "The United States" (or "America", or some other functional synonym).

I do mean this as an honest question: Can anyone suggest any brand name that is better known than The United States (frequently known as America)? I won't accept something like "god" or "food", since that is a concept not controlled or defined by any one person or group.

Is there any human in the world today, over the age of 15 who is not retarded or deaf, who has not heard of the United States? It's almost impossible for us to answer, for any researcher who could answer that question is most likely from the US or western Europe. In the most remote tribe in the Amazon, or New Guinea, or Africa, if they've made contact with the outside world, would they not ask about the rest of the world, and would they not be told about this magical place called "America"?

Are there any tribes left in the world that don't have communication with the outside world? There was one set of uncontacted tribes in the New Guinea highlands discovered about 20 years ago (I think this was discussed in "Guns, Germs & Steel", or one of Jared Diamond's other books). Where would a non-communicative tribe be in the world today, if they did exist? Amazon? Possibly, although several recent "undiscovered tribes" have been revealed as fakes. Africa? They may be a few levels removed from direct contact with "the outside world", but my guess is that they do have contact with the other tribes who have contact with the outside world. New Guinea? It's been pretty directly explored for a while now.

(For more information on this topic, including some where my guesses are a little wrong, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncontacted_peoples)