Trail Days hits the BigTime; The good, the bad...the muddy!

It was supposed to be hotter than the dickens this weekend but nooooo, as Bill, Becky and I approached Damascus for the annual Trail Days convention the sky just disappeared. Any lofty soft orange clouds that were left by day's end was enveloped by a black sheet of cotton so thick it turned dark within 3 minutes time.

And then it came. The rain, the cold front and the nippiest air....came
in to chill our bones as we huffed down Becky's delicious cheese ball and crackers next to the heater that was now on full blast at the Days Inn in Abingdon, VA.

Becky kept fidgeting to Bill about something. Little mini whispers and
prodding told me something was up. And just as i suspected, Becky was
urging him on to assist me to pass out the packets they stuffed the week before. But i said "no". They are too good to me but i could not let them get involved in a night of chaos. Not too mention get soaked to the bone in this chilly rain.

So i bid them farewell and off i went on my midnight ride into Damascus
to pepper the town and its estimated 600 hikers that descend on it each
year....info....on my talk for Trail Days, my new web site and
basically on myself.

Kamikaze marketing i call it. Others call it Gorilla marketing. Either
way, tonight would turn out to be a doozey of a journey much of which was very reminiscent of my Appalachian Trail (AT) hike in 2001.

Weeks before I had prepared a flyer promoting my world walk, AT book,
and website. I scoured the dollar stores for little goodies like candy,
Easter chocolate (hey it was at 50% off) and tea bags. I also had from my last professional organizing job, a crap load of soy chocolate milk packets.

So I had Becky and Bill stuff this all inside 400 zip lock bags so I could hand them out the night before my talk.

On my way over to Damascus that night I was worried that I had gone too
far. Maybe it was too many years back and my recollection was more tents than were really there. My ambitious side gets ahold of me sometimes and I go too far.

As I arrived in town I soon realized I was probably not only well prepared but under prepared. The power of Trail Days – that of the virtual black plague of hikers that descends on the town – has not died. It is alive and well. Just as a moth is attracted to light, hikers, hungry hikers in particular, are attracted to Damascus from parts near and far.

That’s not to say Trail Days hasn’t changed. In fact I’m sure since its inception in 1987 (begun by local resident Charles Trivett who wanted to honor the thru hikers) the changes have been night and day. But I’m more focused on just the last 6 years. My first trail days was 2000. That year, I must admit I saw trail Days thru a long lens and a bit far removed from the ground view of real AT hikers. I stayed at The Appletree Bed and Breakfast, then the ONLY B&B in Damascus….there are now about 4.

The tents were conglomerated that year along the river bank and in between the Baptist church and the Old mill restaurant. That’s all. Maybe 200 tents. The same was said for the following year and the year after, as I kept returning to give talks and see Trail Days grow.

Growth is a double edged sword. Sometimes and it is my opinion on this event a folksy, small town event like Trail days can grow too big for its britches, and so it was when I entered the now “designated” camping area, way outside of the town square. Now I’m sure the town has its good reasoning for moving the campground area so far away from where all the action is, but the original intent of this festival was to celebrate the oncoming rush and visit and invasion if you will of the very hikers that hike the AT.

Sure during the day there are shuttles that send hikers back and forth from the campground, and sure there are beautiful woods that they now can camp at….but they are no longer (with the exception of the hiker hostel known as “The Place”) an army of tents covering every open area of grass all over town. THE VERY ACT THAT GAVE TRAIL DAYS ITS CHARM!

Now, I cant help but see the hikers as second class citizens. Relegated behind a chain fenced in campground whose only entrance is a Gestapo-like check-point Charlie armed with local police presence night and day. Though the town has provided a trolley shuttle during the day. At night the hikers are left isolated and made to walk a long way to get to and from town. HELLO FOLKS, haven’t they already walked enough to get to this point!

I’ve probably gone too far in saying that but it is my fear that slowly over time events that were born of this folksy embryo grow too corporate, too rigid, too much of a town fundraiser (instead of a hiker homage) and loose the great flavor of a spontaneous fluid arrival of a pack of sweaty hikers taking off from Springer Mtn in Georgia.

Its almost like being in Nebraska or The Dry Tortugas at a certain time of year and waiting for the migratory waterfowl. All the birds will not arrive all at once! They seep in and out of one spot. They land where they want to land. They take over any field.

In any case, my evening began round 8:30 and did not end till about midnight as I sloshed and dipped my feet into unknown mud holes, streams and washouts as I trudged thru the night from tent to tent delivering word of my talk and of my life. In each packet contained a business card, flyer and some trail magic (candy, tea, soy milk shake powder – whatever that is). One by one like Santa Clause I visited each tent and each clump of hikers gathered around several campfires that were lit to keep them warm and dry.

It is at these very gatherings that I would pop in and ask the most ridiculous of questions; “anybody want free chocolate?” That’s like asking a bull if he wants to tear up a red cape! Out came the outstretched hands and the thank you’s....instant friend making technique….not a hard thing to do in a friendly crowd like this, but chocolate makes it all the more easier.

And so I did so and met new friends, faceless friends at that – since it was hard to decipher just who was who in the dim light. As the rain came down in spurts I continued my trollop through the magical farie like woods, into camps named “Ewok Village” and “Miss Janet’s Pirate Park” even “Muddy Hollow”…appropriately named for the massive field of mud that surrounded the tents.

There were little tiki torches leading from one village to the next and small encampments with makeshift sails and seats forming tribal counsels of wize jedi-like hikers named “Coconutty” and “Hot Feet” and “Fashion Foray”.

I would load my bag up with lets say a hundred or more ziplock backs filled with goodies and spread the cheer. Run back to Bill and Becky’s Jeep and refill up the bag and head out into the wet night again. Once I found myself close to the car but in the woods. I decided to take a shortcut and found my newly bought and shiny white New Balance shoes slumped down in a muddy stream. Well previously “shiny white”, now baptized in trail days mud.

By 11:30 I was done and quite chilled. The temperature dipped down to 60 that night. It was a bit insane for such a late day in May. I however was lucky enough to head back to a dry and warm motel room at the Days Inn....further proof that I have indeed become soft, that I am no longer of this AT world….i’m a veteran hiker, aged and withered and not of the hard stock of the true journeymen and women who will be gawked at by nearly 10,000 visitors to the town over the weekend.

Oh well. What can I tell ya. The bed felt great. Rested and refreshed we ventured towards town by 8am and I was proud to show Bill and Becky the town of Damascus as we sped around the narrow streets of which I now know so well. It was my first viewing by day of a town I had first visited 6 years back when I was just a dreamer. Just a kid with a plan to walk 2000 miles. Even then I had the audacity to be part of the speakers series and give a talk on my 50 state road trip….never mind that it had nothing to do with hiking or the Appalachian trail.

I think I was so caught up in the excitement of hiking or of being on the precipice of such an epic journey I felt I wanted to be part of that group instantaneously. “Let me in!” and they did. I guess that once yu take on a journey of that magnitude there is instant respect. “Hey you understand us…here is a temporary membership. Welcome!”

I gave my talk that morning to 20 souls who got up at the (for hikers at trail days anyway) ungodly hour of 9:30 (normally hikers are known to be up before the crack of dawn). It was a great talk. Sold 4 books to very grateful new disciples of thorough hiking and fielded lots of questions and curiosities about a different way to hike.

I find that most folks are hungry for info on doing things a different way. Some of my guests were older and wanted to lessen their load. Others were young and just wanted to not kill themselves. It is very satisfying to help them all.

When my ex-wife and I hiked in 2001 we were looked at a little strange with our ultra light and tiny backpacks. People thought we were cheating. How dare we go light and not do mega miles. We reversed the trend and said, “how bout going light and doing LESS miles?”

Something stuck. Nowadays all the vendors are pushing ultra-ultra-light gear. Nearly every booth at trail days was pushing “light” and at “less cost”….unbelievable. We were way ahead of our times. A few hikers did hear of our term, now firmly adopted; “yeah thorough hiking, we have heard of that. Quite a bit” came the answer to a couple from Massachusetts. That felt good. You see we coined the thorough hiking phrase and have two veteran hikers (12 time AT hiker Warren Doyle and Nimblewill Nomad) to prove it.

In any case, Trail Days is a blast, please don’t get me wrong but something tells me that it may have gotten too big for its britches (so to speak) as witnessed at the local Italian Restaurant Sicily’s. As Bill, Becky and I were exiting, a local resident, who had just sat down to a meal and was asked by the waitress how was his day going, we heard him nastily express the flip side to “The Friendliest Town on the Trail”; “I’ll feel better once these damn hikers get out of here!”

Granted its one guys opinion. And this is a friendly town. And no that guy does not speak for all residents. But with one comment like that yu know there has to be more. We do tend to override the town. The word “Plague” is not too far fetched. It seems to me that probably the best way to celebrate Trail Days is not to bunch up all the activities in one weekend. I mean trail days is a week long but the core things take place on the festivals last Friday, sat and Sunday. So the hikers slow down and at times quicken….all to get to trail days and sit their and in a sense (some of them come with…) feel they should be waited on hand and foot.

Yes, the town is friendly. But the first trail days was celebrated…lets not forget…to honor the hikers that came thru there. That’s quite an honor if yu consider that Damascus is paying homage to burly, smelly, bearded and a genuinely motley crew of society. Its quite something. I just don’t see the hikers (other than with their money) giving back equally but then again that’s not their fault, the town brought this on as they built it up and tried to capitalize on it. I wonder seriously how much of a financial impact does Trail Days present in their annual take? It would be fascinating to know. I’m assuming quite a bit.

But I cant escape the notion that perhaps there should be a return to a more primitive time. A simpler era. In compressing it and attempting to harness Trail Days, has the event or the phenomenon of it all been eroded. Has it peaked? A good question particularly on the heals of a massive New York Times “Escapes” section front page article that really put Trail Days on the map. I wonder how that article was pitched. Hmmmm. I wonder….and better yet….maybe I’ll check.

Stay tuned.

101 things i love about IKEA and why i am a good candidate for Liars Annonymous

OK, so the flavor of the month now is the Georgia Aquarium, the new 200 million dollar concrete example that u can recreate nature just about anywhere, even a few hundred miles away from any ocean!

But a few months ago, Atlanta was abuzz about the new IKEA, a 60 million dollar venture to serve one of America's major metropolis'.

Everybody took their sides. One side (the yuppies and social-climbers) jumped for joy, the enviros and anti-Wall Mart crowd vowed never to set foot and signaled the beginning of the end!

I decided to give it a few months and let the noise die down before i would decide for myself - though, lets be realistic, the minimalist in me was aching to attack!

In the end i was torn. Is IKEA the beginning of the end? Can a store that sells cheap, pressboard shelving (and to be fair, a million other household products, some of them built to last) build a bridge in between two classes of society? Could i be asking too much, thinking too much, hoping too much of IKEA, to play a role in defining who we are?

Before I comment on that batch of sticky questions. Lets begin with a tour. Now normally yu’d start with the front door. But this is one of the world’s largest IKEAS and Ikea does nothing small. So before yu can step foot in the building yu must submit and be subjugated by the beast. Meaning yu must go subterranean. Like tectonic plates sliding over the weaker mass, Ikea is built upon its crowning achievements, an elaborate and ultra clean parking garage that exists under the entire massive blue and yellow structure.

And it is here where they begin working on yu. There are beautiful signs about what is in store for yu. There are posters and specials already blaring the goodies you couldn’t possibly resist getting even if you did not come there to buy in the first place. There are fancy escalators and elevators to whisk you inside. And another one whose main job it is to whisk you our effortlessly, cart in tow, (called the “travelator”) magically with all your goods floating downward – cart on the actual escalator, wheels locked in place and at an angle that wont tip anything off or have flying crts go whizzing down knocking others buyers into lawsuit heaven!

Forget something in the car? Well good luck getting back. The escalators all go up in one section of the building. Its almost impossible to go down, that is…unless you have gone through the entire store! There is a maze to ensure that you do get to see it all. Translation; buy it all or be tempted to buy it.

When you do approach the lobby of the entrance you will first smell the 75 cent a cup Danish fresh brewed coffee, piping hot next to the just baked 99 cent cinnamon buns! All of course as your dessert cuz for the main course you’ve got IKEAS famous Danish Meatballs and 50 cent hotdogs and 75 cent fountain drinks!

This is what the industry calls a loss leader. Items that the store is just barely making a profit on or coming up even steven but they are there to both keep ya happy and (God forbid yu get hungry) keep ya inside the store. Better still is the fact that if the brood is along, the little whipper snappers can be fed for under 10 bucks. Even a family of 5!

Speakin of little ones. What do you do with the pesky fellers when yu are trying to shop, pay attention to that big purchase yu might be contemplating with the Missus? Why, check them in of course. IKEA has thought of that too. Yes folks, free day care, on the premises. And we’re not talking some crappy carpeted room with a few toys. NOOOOO, they went all out.

In other words, IKEA wanted not only for you to believe they would be safe with trained childcare folks at hand but calm in the notion that there was enough to keep yur little one entertained with. Enter the “berry-est” happiest place on earth. IKEA’s holding pen. OK the nake is fancier, but it’s a holding pen no less. Complete with a themed village that begins with the following themed story of a lush land in spring time somewhere in Sweden; “soon u will have stepped thru the berry basket. With your clogs you walk past
rounded stone fences and thru the the magic forest….”

Yes folks rubber like trees with the spongy carpet and lots of toys await your tiny tot for hours of enjoyment so that nothing, not even your screeming little ones comes between you and yur particle board purchases!

So Ok, belly full, kiddies in the pen its time to grab a cart. But you say, “hey, I don’t need a cart, I’m just browsing today!” HA! Not so fast, yee of little will power. IKEA has another thought for you and its emblazoned in 30 inch lettering, just above the cart rack area. I quote; “grab a shopping cart your about to get your hands full” as if you are no match for the powers of IKEA marketing……actually….come to think of it, they are right, this is the land of impulse purchasing. On more than one occasion that day I heard one person say to their friend, spouse, partner; “well, we could always use this” or “you know that other rug seems ratty, why don’t we get this” or “but its sooo cute”.

Ok, so yur in the store, kiddies sequestered (out of yur hair) cart in tow (cuz yu just cant resist)….so what is there to buy. Well our first station has a “wall mounted drop leaf table” designed by Ann Laarson (whoever she is – there is a photo so maybe this is the ultimate doyeene domain to know by face and name all of the designers who make household tchotchkies!) for 49.99.

A bit expensive for a two foot table? How bout a better bargain for 5.99. Lets say “tea light” holders, not the candles mind yu, just the holders. Now if yu know tea lights, they already come with an aluminum can like base that catches all the wax. Guess IKEA is figuring yu might tip this and need an extra holder….or maybe yu live on an earthquake fault and will be experiencing wax run off due to a 4.5 richter hic-up? So for 5.99, hey, yur covered!

Ok, I’m being hyper critical yu say. “Cesar, c’mon, every store in America has stuff yu really don’t need. Ahhh yes but do they have the “Toftan” storage unit that attaches to the “Stoleman” post for a mere 129 bucks! Ha! Gotcha. Yes folks this is a new level of absurdity. For 129 bucks yu can get a space-age pole that holds a few boxes (can yu say milk crates and a used PVC pipe – hell I’ll bundle that up for ya for like 20 bucks) to hold….get this, incredibly heavy stuff like Q-tips, tampons, shaving cream and maybe a few meds?

Exactly how far do we have to disguise (or put on a pedestal…a 129 dollar pedestal) the normal realities of our lives? Are we that far removed and jaded to say to the world, these things don’t exist here. This is a bathroom, I wouldn’t want you to see bathroom like stuff in a bathroom, I want it invisible! “toiletries BE GONE! Ahh, HA, HA, HA….Poof!”

Ok, I’m getting a bit passionate here. As you can tell. But I’m not loosing it. I still have my marbles intact which is much more than I can say for IKEA’s odd view of the world. By that I’m talking about a section of quotes on the wall just before you begin to see the mother of all show rooms.

Here are two that I wrote down; “what if penguins were experts in home furnishing” and

“what if a ball of yarn got tired of cats and cardigans” Huh? Hey IKEA, here’s one for ya What if ya spoke English and explained just what do penguins and cats and cardigans or cats wearing cardigans really means! I think its just some pseudo-intellectual subversive marketing bull shit just to give the place some quirky edge.

As you wind yur way through their main layout yu will see fully furnished rooms, furnished to the hilt! Now yu will see this in other furniture stores but usually the flower vase or window treatment doesn’t have a price tag and info sticker attached to them. BUT here at IKEA, its all for sale.

And they mean this. One thing folks may or may not realize is that at the corner entry to each “suite” or fully furnished rooms or apartments (yes sometimes there are rooms yu enter that have a 2 bedroom apt style layout) yu will see a grand price if yu dare choose all and everything yu see in front of yu…..lock stock and flowery paper weight…barrel! The designers at IKEA have dolled up square foot vignettes of 237, 377, 592, and 753 square feet….so u can envision yur own unit of the same size looking just like theirs. Never mind that here at IKEA there are no door jams, plenty of track lighting and a roster of folks trampling thru yur faux home saying “ooohhh, ahhh, look at this.” Note to buyer; this is a wee bit of a tricky environment to buy furniture cuz yur thinking that the cooing people come with this stuff or “if I buy this stuff, lots of folks will want to come to my place and also oooohhh and ahhhh”

Sorry Charlie. They wont. You’ll be stuck with the bill and a hell of a lot of instruction and installation manuals to put all this crap together. Not too mention a shit load of Styrofoam, cardboard and cellophane bagies.

But there is so much here you ask, how can I possibly choose a style. I have a limited income and I’m here to show my sweetie that I’m open to graduating from milk crates and hand me down futons. IKEA has thought of that. Around the store there are stations with pencil paper and the following quote; “big or small its ur place and for any size home family or budhet u can find yur style with smart designs at very low prices from ikea. Come on in and explore this home (take our ideas - we want u to) and discover just how well u can live well within ur means”

HA!

I got to break this down folks. Sorry, just cant resist. Particularly this line;

“Come on in and explore this home (take our ideas - we want u to) and discover just how well u can live well within ur means”

This basically is telling the soon-to-be-IKEA junkie that there sense of style and imagination is shit. “You have no originality.” Says the dark voice behind the curtain. “We will teach yu proper design, we will tell yu what to buy!” Of course they want yu to take their ideas. Since before u got in the store, yu probably had one of each object that is in the store. What IKEA is really telling yu is that their stuff is cooler. Its time to replace that old ratty couch or coffee table with one of ours. See its translucent quality! Yeah, that is no match against that silly aux wood grain crap table yur momma gave yu all from the basement. “Chuck that thing! Time to grow up, use this stuff to show u’ve made it!”

Which is part of the problem I have with IKEA. We are made to believe that this high end designed but cheaply constructed furniture will make us look good. But don’t look to hard, or….don’t move the furniture too much. Or the fascade will crumble. Remember that though design is key to making yu buy it, the tipping point of the sale comes with the price. This is a devastation combinbation that makes yu overlook the fact that yu are indeed buying cheap crap. And anyone that knows furniture will agree. Hell even IKEA agrees. How bout this explanation on price vs. design;

“an idea without a price tag has no meaning that’s why at IKEA a low price is part of every design”

So they begin with design but soon there after say, how can we mimic this look while building it with the cheapest materials in the world? i.e. plastic screws, particle board, laminate fake wood grain surfaces etc….

They promote something called “Democratic Design” which they follow with the following quote, bathed under nice lighting; “Enjoy a beautiful life at home without giving up the rest of what makes life worth living, IKEA believes every one of us deserves that.”

I wish IKEA would answer their own question….”what exactly makes life worth living?” and what the hell is a “beautiful life?” and why should getting one ensue that we might have to be “giving up” something to get it in the first place. Seems to me, buying all this crap makes us reach for that brass ring while loosing our footing on the carousel of life. In other words, paying for all this stuff takes time away from enjoying life. Are we simply buying it to show others a ruse. That in effect I will have just enough time to swallow a Tylenol to suppress that blinding headache caused by the 60 hour week it takes to keep paying for stuff I see only at night or once a week when I invite my family or friends over for “the tour!”

You know “the tour”, that customary (whether u like it or not) tradition that all homeowners feel the need to inflict upon visitors so that can show off the new addition or new pile of crap they bought. Sometimes I want to add; “well that’s nice but in case yu got the wrong idea, I came here to see yu, not yur new shit!”

OK, relax Cesar, its gonna be all right. C’mon guy, reign back on the negative, there has to be some positive thing yu can say about IKEA. OK there is. And I’m not joking here. One great thing I see about IKEA’s design principals is that they do promote small space living. The fact that they have showroom apt of 277 square feet is testament to that. So they have a less is more approach but then they fuck it up by designing space saving pieces not necessarily to breathe more room into such a small space but…..here it comes…..but to make room for even more stuff. So Mc Mansion or not, you can have the same elements a big home has but in a Mini-me sorta way!

OK, I tried saying something positive. Really I did.

Rescuing Tanya; Perilous journey ends with a new beginning.

Fifteen dollars and ninety five cents was the final bill (tip included). I had an unsweetened tea with lemon, my guest had a Budweiser. The staff at The China Steak House in Hialeah Florida was persnickety about taking up table space (in their practically empty restaurant) without ordering food so I ordered a heaping plate of sweet and sour chicken to go. It came with that delicious duck sauce, some rice and two fortune cookies. All of which were familiar to me. Familiar to all of us really, except those that have only seen a fortune cookie opened up on a movie screen!

Introducing; Tanya Olga Rodriguez; dining guest, long lost cousin, Cuban escapee and newest immigrant to America.

The story really begins at another restaurant many miles away from The China Steak. I was checking my voice mail from a borrowed cell phone just before entering the Shoney’s All u can eat Buffet Restaurant in Chattanooga, Tennessee, when I got word from my mother that “Tanya had finally arrived.” Those words sent chills down my spine. For Tanya has been on my mind since I was a kid. Early on in one’s Cuban-American reality, you will hear of a visiting great-grandfather or aunt about to visit from Cuba. The excitement levels rise, parties are planned anticipation builds and everyone heads for Miami International Airport as if The Beetles were arriving!

Now I had known that a plan was in place to get her out of Cuba but I had no idea how dicey it would end up being. When I checked my voice mail the details were sketchy. Tanya had arrived in Texas, she then flew to Miami and was now in Hialeah Florida with her father! Huh? That just proved to open up a slough of questions….so I quickly called my mom.

“It took 5 days, there was a boat, rough seas, a holding house, several buses and small planes and a border crossing.”

It seemed surreal. Especially since I was inside this (above mentioned) all u can eat buffet. Where the only danger was the off chance that the place would run out of chocolate pudding. Well for maybe 5 minutes. Nothing runs out at the Golden Corral, a place that is a world and a reality away from the story I would hear when I’d finally meet my long lost and never seen before cousin.

My first recollection of having a cousin in Cuba was a faint photograph of this skinny wirey haired girl with a big smile wearing a yellow jumper like outfit. It is still in my mind. Mention of her was always followed with “you know she’s about your age” and so there was something I could relate to. However just about everything else in our lives were the extreme polar opposites. I knew that for years but until I would meet her, it would not dawn on me just HOW different our upbringings could be.

Much of that realization makes me think about the slight of fate that comes with history and moments in history that can change things forever.

But for years I would get to know Tanya a little bit by writing her letters and she in turn writing back. Now it wasn’t gobs of letters but now and then maybe once a year. Sending a letter to Cuba could in fact take a long time. Maybe a few months since all letters going in and all letters going out ARE ALL READ by censors who’s job it is to make sure nobody is planning anything….and maybe just to fuck with peoples minds a bit.

Control is a constant in Cuba. Control of freedom, food, speech even movement are all carefully watched. Thinking however is another story. Which is where Tanya’ tale comes in. As with my own train of thought, there are just some people who no matter how long they have been blasted and exposed by a particular way of life….just don’t conform. Just do not agree with the status quo. And in the end either lead dual lives or rebel wholeheartedly.

I’m a rebel and although I have come to find out that Tanya is too, her act of rebellion was years in the making. But where I had the opportunity to choose, Tanya had to lead a dual life. She tried, tried real hard to make it work. She studied, got her degree (architecture), rose up the ranks, kept her unhappy demeanor in check and lived on the best she could. But unhappiness and restlessness are not good partners to keep. And so it was that when her father was able to leave Cuba due to his age and retirement, he vowed to get her out as well.

That would of course be easier said than done.

It is not easy leaving Cuba legally, sometimes that proves to be even more dicey when yu begin planning elaborate ways to safely get off the island. Tanya’s father Luiz had been working on a plan for Tanya to marry an American. The plan was only part plan, the other half unfortunately was part business proposal. And it went sour….along with the $6,000 that her father worked so hard to make….he himself a recent newcomer.

So it was that a few months later, another plan was hatched to hire Mexican smugglers who traffic in human cargo. Yes there is a price for everything. And this one was to cost $12,000. Most of it for bribing folks and officers along the way.

THE JOURNEY;

It began innocently with a messenger who came to let Tanya know just where to be and when. 7pm outside of a park outside of Havana alongside a remote road. Getting there is another story. One which Tanya relied on a good friend who she said respected the fact that she could not tell him just what was happening. “All he knew was to have the car ready, with enough fuel, at a certain time and be ready to drive.”

“that ride was the longest two hours of my life. I knew then there was no turning back. I could not tell anybody, anything, not my mom (although Tanya feels that she must have known or had a feeling) nor my best friends. You just cant take that risk. Plus yu do not want to get anybody into any trouble or have them in an uncomfortable situation where they are hiding something. So its best to just go!”

At the park, she waited and waited, with a small bag (part of the directions she was given was to pack very lightly, with a few things to wear and eat) the size of a big purse, but nothing bigger. A car pulled up and opened its passenger door. The driver knew exactly who she was and she was whisked off into the night, to God knows where. When the car stopped she was joined by three dozen more souls and ordered to climb aboard a giant truck and crouch down low so that nobody would see them. The truck rolled and bounced along with the loose wooden boards that made up its structure as the wind chilled all 40 something souls that now resembled more cargo like qualities than that of human beings.

Four long hours went by as the truck road down even bumpier roads and as the air changed from chilly and cold to salty. They were near the ocean they could hear, but it was pitch dark and even the smokers were asked not to light up as were the chatter-bugs asked not even to whisper. One by one they were brought down off the truck and when Tanya’s feet hit the ground her equilibrium was off. For some reason she could not stand up straight. She thought it was from being crouched down on the long ride.

Soon there after as she began taking steps she realized it was not that after all. It was the fact that the ground was uneven, rocky and sharp. The smugglers called for everybody’s attention and began whispering orders to follow in a single file line slowly. “Slow was the key word.” explained Tanya “each and every step was just impossible, I felt like I was going to fall down, I could not see my hand in front of me, it was that dark….so I would crouch down almost and walk as if on all fours.”

Her hands and at times knees paid the price with scratches and bruise marks. That walk took four hours. But she thinks they barely went but 2 miles or so.

When the group reached an alcove they realized that this must be the place where the boat was to meet them. And sure as hell did a boat appear…only problem was that it looked as if it was a toy boat. “I laughed inside….yu got to in this situation, some folks freaked out and turned around and left. What was clear was that this had to be a joke right? There were 40 of us, this boat looked like it could hold 15….tops!”

But on they went. One by one. Some into the galley and in the hold, others on the deck or the fishing platform. Slowly, precariously…. the boat chugged away.

It took nearly 24 hours for the boat to reach Cancun, Mexico. And the seas were rough. Many was the moment where barf bags were distributed, filled with human queasiness and tossed over into the ocean until the process was begun again. Distribute. Barf. Toss. And Refill!

On a few occasions the Mexicans scrambled everybody below deck like a can of sardines. They’s pull out the fishing gear and act as if they were on some grand Sailfish tournament. Only it was 3am and the boats that approached them luckily were not from the law.

However something tells me that was more of a tactic to protect their profits than to protect their cargo. The less entanglements meant that they had less people to bribe. So the money was a just in case measurement more than it was money for gas and food or labor costs.

In Cancun they were met with more Mexican smugglers who greeted them with Cancun tourist t-shorts and resort wrist bands as they (in small groups of 4 or so) exited the boat to smiling guards, rifles in tow and onto waiting mini vans after sashaying thru oppulant swimming pools and hotel lobbies.

A few minutes later they were all back again, sardined into a few rooms of a home away from the core tourist area. It is there where they got a pretty decent meal and the cell phones were busy making calls to relatives in other parts of the world. It is also there where the Mexicans would then give orders on how to get the balance of the money (in cash) paid to their men on the street. “meet so and so at this time, 9,000 dollars in cash, then we will proceed” So it cost 3 grand to get them to Mexico and another 9 to get them across the border!

That process took another 4 days where Tanya says she could barely sleep or eat. She was emaciated. But eventually the call came in. Her family had rounded up the cash. Tanya was ready to go home. A few bus rides a small plane ride and a van ride later, she was somewhere near the border. The van door opened and she was told to proceed toward the guards.

The very same guards that were holding rifles. Smiling. Only instead of standing between her and the border. They welcomed her and bid her a good trip into America. After crossing a bridge. She entered the United States and asked for political asylum (a privilege denied most other immigrants {i.e. Hatians} but thanks to the political and economic influence of the well connected Cuban community, folks like Tanya are welcomed with open arms).

In less than a few hours she had paperwork and was free to go. Only she had no idea where she was. And had little money left to her name. What hit her soon was the biggest hunger pains she had experienced. Maybe even bigger than back in Cuba. She had been such a nervous wreck, that hunger was the last thing on her mind. “In Cuba we would curb hunger by drinking a glass of water with sugar. But I was at any moment of this crossing fearing that we would be caught, I would be sent back and me and my family, punished. So I really forgot to eat. But when I was free, it hit me, and I bought, I think yu all call a hot dog, somehow it tasted like the best thing I had ever eaten!”

A friend that also made the crossing helped her dial up her family and soon arrangements were made to get her to a small airport where a plane would take her to Houston. The airport was so tiny it actually was closed by the tiome she got there and the flight would have to wait till the next morning. It was nippy outside and Tanya was not prepared for it. She could not see why the guard would not let her inside to get warm. So she sat on a bench shivering. Ironically, even though she was now free, she probably came very close to the effects of hypothermia – not a laughing matter. Luckily she managed to stay warm and in the morning flew into Houston.

It is there where her new surroundings began to hit her hard. The terminal at Houston was so grandiose and so filled with food, products and shiny things that it was dawning on her that “if this was the airport, I cant imagine what the regular cities would look like.” Coming from Cuba, yu are used to (as Tanya explained) a lot of nothingness. Whether it be bare shelves or empty stores to dull packaged products and raw materials. But here at the Houston airport, life looked like a dream sequence. Was this happening? Was this for real?

Another ticket had been purchased and soon Tanya was whisked off to Miami. Her family had booked her a first class ticket. But Tanya had never flown in first class. Come to think of it, Tanya had never flown a commercial airliner so she wouldn’t know what first class was if it fell on her lap. Which is exactly what happened. The hot towels. NEW for Tanya. Glasses of campaign. NEW for Tanya. (actually it took her a while to realize that she could ask for a glass, when she did, she asked for two) Fancy food delivered to yur seat at 30,000 feet. ALL NEW for Tanya!

The plane landed in Miami and after 6 long days her ordeal and journey was over. But there was a new one to start. One that I will follow up in the future. One that might even prove to dwarf the peril of her underground-railroad like crossing.

But for now, she is safe. She is with her father and her family. Some of her family. The other ( a mom a few relatives and her real stability – her friends) is across a 90 mile stretch of water that separates one world from a completely different reality.

See the above mentioned story was told to me at a restaurant whose (above mentioned) meal cost 15 dollars – the actual monthly salary of Tanya Olga and others who are professionals in Cuba – she being an architect. So there in lies the new challenge and mind screw that is the divide between Cuba and the US and for anybody making that transition. It is the rewiring and the path that Tanya will choose to find her own way and happiness, plus the balance of the two that is of great interest to me and to her. I’m picking on a money example so that yu can get a taste to relate to the divide, but it is far more complicated than that. We talked about it at length but I felt it was too early to comment about it here. It has been 3 months since our talk so I hope to wait a bit to see how she is doing before I tackle on. Until then, I am wishing Tanya all the luck and good opportunity that this country can offer and hope that the transition goes smoothly.

Cesar Becerra

Note on photo; Tanya Olga Rodriguez is pictured in the center being flanked by my sister Leslie on the left and brother Carlos on the right, and far right is Tanya’s father Luiz. Of course there is Leslies dog Kayla….and we don’t want to miss out on mentioning her.

I will post other photos of Tanya when I get them scanned, so stay tuned.