PAINTINGS

I have a few talents.  In order to prevent the accusation of being a bragger, I must first analyze and explain the word to you.  According to Mr. Webster, talent is "a special natural ability."  He also describes the meaning of natural as "the inherent ability of a person in a certain area."  In other words, I was born with certain abilities to do something special.  I am going to expose today one of these talents of which I am very proud. 

I learned the first lessons in painting when I was a child from my father, who used to draw with pencils and was good at it.  But it was the Almighty who bestowed this talent on me, and for that I thank him every day.

My very first serious attempt at this art happened when I was about 18 years old.  I drew a charcoal portrait of my 92 year old grandfather, with all his deep wrinkles, and exposed it at the local annual Community Fair.  The following day, everybody in my small town was congratulating him for the fine piece of art and myself for the realistic composition.  When I learned to paint with oils, my favorite medium, I created the same portrait, this time in color.

It was in the year 1960, when I moved to Miami, that I started to experiment with oil.  One of my first jobs was in a dog trimming salon and a beautiful gray poodle was my first model.  I regret so much loosing that painting.

Then I moved to New Jersey and the first year there I visited the Greenwhich Village Art Show, in New York city, which attracted over 800 artists from all over the world to this important outdoor exhibit, which was opened for two weekends in the Spring and in the Fall.  I brought my first paintings the following year and, although I was designated to a far away corner, I managed to sell four paintings.

I noticed that eighty percent of the artists there concentrated on landscapes and still lifes, so I created a "different" style, sort of impressionistic-surrealistic type of paintings.  The next exhibit I almost sold out.  I realized that I had to do something so this wouldn't happen again.  I converted one of my rooms into a permanent studio and worked almost every night to be ready for the next show.  I worked hard and very long hours and, when the time came, I was ready.  I only created six or eight paintings...but about ten of each. The attractive, colorful paintings sold like hot potatoes.  It was really mass production and, you might say, the prostitution of the art for the sake of the pocket.  It wasn't really art, it was a business. But I was poor then and I needed the money. After nine years of doing it (and finally hating it) I moved to Texas and didn't paint for ten years.

I was wondering one day if I still had the ability, so I painted a close-up of a flower from one of my color slides.  "Now I can paint whatever I like," I thought, "and I don't care if it sells or not."  At last I wasn't so desperate for money.

I have created, in the last twenty years, dozens of art pieces based on the hundreds of transparencies that I have taken, and I'm very proud of my work.

 

MIAMI BEACH

Ah... Miami Beach! The principal destination of the tourists from the North who are looking for the pleasant climate of its golden beaches. It is safe to say that Miami Beach was created from nothing.  Before the 1900's, two thirds of what it is today a fascinating metropolis, were only mangroves and almost all the little islands disappeared with the tide.  Big canals were then made through intensive drainage and the sand from these canals were utilized to raise the level of the land.  Soon they started building houses, roads and bridges to the main land.  The fame about the place where "the sun shines 360 days a year" reached the rest of the nation and the immigration from the cold areas was fast and contagious.

In 1960, when I arrived at the Florida shores, Miami Beach was still a quiet, unimpressive town, full of old Jewish people.  You couldn't see anybody after ten o'clock at night.  Today, at three in the morning there are still cars full of young people arriving to enjoy the innumerable amount of restaurants and night clubs.
Working as a bus boy at the Deauville hotel, I finally could save enough money to buy my first small car, a 52' Ford that couldn't run faster than 50 miles an hour.
One day, returning from my job, I was driving through Collins Avenue and when I stopped at the red light I noticed that next to me was a brand-new red Cadillac convertible and I couldn't control my jaw drooping with envy.  When I looked at the driver, then my jaw hit the floor.  The Cadillac was driven by a gorgeous blonde with an angelic face; really the most beautiful woman I had seen in mny life.  I suspected, immediately, that it was probably a movie star or a famous singer that was staying at the Fontainebleau.
I noticed that the light had changed when the Cadillac sped from the corner and I stayed there static, watching the long dazzling blonde hair waving in the air like a magic flame.  I was in shock!
I stepped on the gas pedal of my little Ford, who forgot his limitations, and sped in pursuit of the irresistible mirage.
When it reached the next light it had turned green and the Cadillac took advantage again; but my Ford had gathered momentum and soon reached the red colossus.  The blonde model turned instinctively toward me and I could have sworn that she had smiled a little.  We reached the next light side by side.
Now the most incredible thing happened.  The stunning model looked straight at me and gave me a coquettish smile and then said "My name is Jill, what's yours?"  In spite that my name is very short, I stuttered it in three syllables, which made her flash another wide, happy smile.
We kept driving slowly and close to each other and, before the next light, the Cadillac and the Ford seemed like old friends.  She stretched to the right side of her car and offered me a little card, which I promptly grabbed.  "Call me when you have time..." she told me.  She also gave me some instructions in that strange language that was so difficult for me at that time and I didn't understand a bit...but I answered "yes" to each question.
I called her early next morning and a very sleepy voice answered.  I was ready to hang up when she said "Eres tú, Jay?"  She spoke Spanish!  With just two words in my own tongue, the blonde monument was automatically elevated to a pedestal!
We agreed that I was going to pick her up at her house in Coral Gables at eight o'clock and then we would decide where to go.  That was a very long day for me and the waiting seem interminable, perhaps because of the intense heat of Miami.
I took a bath, shaved and put talc and perfume all over my body, just in case.  And, also just in case, I took with me a couple of Trojan parachutes.
I rang the bell and a humongous, ugly, hairy man, without a shirt, opened the door.  His voice sounded like a derailed thunder, and he used it to ask what the heck I wanted.  I didn't know if I should tell him that I had the wrong address or if I should start running.  Then I heard Jill's voice: "It's for me, daddy."
I started to breathe again and my face recuperated its normal color, which was red like a tomato.  What happened next make me blush again.  Luckily, the porch was dark and nobody could notice it.
Jill came out of her room and reached the door...sitting on a wheel chair!  Before I could mutter any silly expression, Thundervoice  shouted again: "If you're going to take my little girl out, I want her back before ten...And take very good care of her, because she's my only treasure."
What else could I do but to push the wheel chair to my car and put it in the trunk?  I helped Jill to the front seat.
I must confess that my sexual impetus suffered an abrupt slide and the illusion that I had been fomenting all day long was instantly torn apart.   But I was, at that time in my life, a decent boy and was not going to insult her with a snubbing rejection.  She had, after all, too many problems already.
She started to talk about her miserable life, because her mother had abandoned her after birth but, luckily, her father was like a saint to her.  She didn't mention, however, her physical condition.  Hypnotized by her very romantic smile I also gave that predicament little importance.
She asked me to take her to the beach, but not to Miami Beach but to a another secluded one called Matheson-Hammock.  When we arrived, the place was desolated.  Then she begged me to carry her to one of the trees there, that was a few feet inside the water.  With a lot of effort I could deposit her lovely body on top of a thick branch.  The sky was densely freckled with stars and the full moon was trying to peek behind a curtain of clouds, like a nosy gossiper.
Then Jill startled me with the biggest surprise: "I want you to make love to me now."  "Let's lay down on the sand," I suggested.  "No," she sort of ordered, "it has to be here."
When we finished, we sat down on my car and she lit a cigarette and, like an explanation, she made an impressive observation. "I have to do it where "normal" women won't."
We talked for a while about Cuba, Miami Beach and other inconsequential things.  About everything except her physical problem.  After all, that had not prevented her to act like a very passionate woman.  When she finished the third cigarette, she looked at her watch and exclaimed: "Oh, mother!  It´s eleven thirty!"
"¿Your mother?," I thought, "what I'm afraid of is your father!"
We returned to her house in silence, so not to awake the ogre.  But that was not my lucky day.  The gargantuan beast opened the door and stayed there staring at me, but didn't say a word.  Like waiting to hear my excuse before dropping his bulky hands on my head.
But I couldn't talk.  My mind was occupied revising all the events of my short life up to that moment.  His words put my feet back on the ground. "Thanks for bringing her back," he said in an inconceivable tender voice, "last time I had to go myself and lift her from the branch!"

This is a translated article from my book PARA MATAR EL TIEMPO.  To inquire about my books, contact me at alvarcorp@msn.com. Thanks.

G R E E C E

GRECE is a small country located in the southern part of the Balkan Peninsula,  between the Ionian Sea in the West and the Aegean Sea in the east.  It borders with Albania, Yugoslavia and Bulgaria in the north and with Turkey in the northeast. 
Of the eleven million inhabitants, eight million live in Athens, the capital, which has seen an enormous growth in population since World War II when it was a small village of only 18,000 people. 
Textiles, food, processing (olive oil, wine, cheese) and chemicals are the major industries, although nowadays tourism seems to be the greatest source of income.  We visited only a portion of the tourist attractions and everywhere the sites were full to the maximum, and it was not the peak of the season yet.  Most of the foreign tourists travel in very modern buses (some double-decked) through well maintained roads.
Only one third of the land is arable; but in the Peloponnese Peninsula, for instance, where we traveled for five days, we saw vast lands cultivated with olive trees (they are counted by the millions in all of Greece) vineyards, corn, wheat, citrus, vegetables and even tobacco, to name just a few.  About one third of the oil is exported to Italy, who mixes it with its own production and sells it world-wide as "Italian" oil.
Drachma is the money used in Greece.  At the time of our trip, in June of 2007, the rate of exchange was a bout 396 Drachmas to the US Dollar.
Athens is a big, fascinating, sparkling city.  In spite of the hectic heavy traffic, there is not much air pollution due to the abundance of trees and a few colossal parks inside the city.
Men lived in these parts of the world at least 100,000 years ago, and perhaps long before that.  In the last 8,000 years, however, the pace of culture accelerated, and the remains of villages, sanctuaries and temples, often discovered one on top of the other, challenge both archaeologist and historian.
Ancient Greece produced the greatest body of literature in the world.  Few other literatures can produce one or two authors in the class of Homer, Sophocles, Euripides, Aristophanes, Plato and Aristotle.  They generated not only masterpieces, but provided the models for later ages to imitate in almost every type of composition, including poetry, tragedy, comedy, philosophical dialogues, oration, biography and prose romance.  Greek literature is, thus, the foundation of western culture.
Art in all forms was unsurpassed in ancient Greece, as you can testify by the enormous amount of paintings of vases and plates and the marble statues now kept in different museums throughout Greece.  Most notable of all was the work of Phidias, who sculpted the colossal marble and ivory statue of Zeus of Olympia and also the figures in the pediments of the Parthenon of the Acropolis in Athens as well as the statue of Athena there.
Here are some of the magical places that we visited:
EPIDAURUS. It is the largest and best preserved ancient theater in Greece.  It has a capacity of 12,000 seats and is renowned for its captivating architecture and perfect acoustics.  When there is total silence, you can drop a piece of paper in the center of the arena and it would be heard from any part of the amphitheater.  Epidaurus was also the sanctuary of Asclepius, the major Greek god of healing. People from all over came to this place to be treated for their illnesses.  The museum contains reconstructions of parts of the temple of Asclepius and of Hygeia, another god of healing.
OLYMPIA.  Ancient Olympia rests at the heart of a peaceful green valley. It is considered one of the most important archaeological sites, not only within Greece but world-wide, since the spirit of the Olympic Games was born here in 776 BC.  Nowadays, every four years, the flame of the Olympic Games is still lit here, starting its journey to he modern games site.  There are several building here: the temple of Hera (wife of Zeus) the Hippodrome, the Parliament, the Guess House, the semicircular pond that held the spring water for the inhabitants, the Palaestra, the Kripte (the arch entrance to the stadium) the Gymnasium, the stadium and the sculptor Phidias workshop.  And in the center of it all, the colossal temple of Seuz, one of the seven wonders of the world.  The temple was being built at the same time as Phidias was sculpting the statue of Seuz, out of marble and ivory and with gold trimmings.  When he finished, they had to put extensions to the columns to raise the roof to accommodate the statue, who showed the god sitting on his throne.  If he were to stand up, he would have destroyed the roof; such was the enormity of its size.  The statue, of course, is all gone now, and only scattered broken columns and the foundation of this incredible temple can be seen today.
DELPHI.  Legend tell us that the god Seuz sent two eagles flying, one towards east and the other one west, to find the center of the earth.  They met at Delphi.  That is why this place was considered the NAVEL OF THE EARTH -the omphalus, as they called it- the point where the earthly touches the divine.  A city was started there, which became one of the most important religious centers of ancient Greece.  Delphi is located on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, the site of the Seven Muses.  It was called an oracle because of the virgin priestess PHYTHIA, famous for her magical powers of foreseeing the future.  Kings and citizens from all over Greece came to see her on personal or community matters.  As she gave her oracles only three days a month, the wealthy who came with the best gold offerings had priority over the poor ones.  It is in doubt today if she had such supernatural powers; but it has been proven that the governor and priests of Delphi were very smart.  When the time for the oracles came, a priest would throw cold water into a goat; if the goat shook the water, it meant that it was healthy and the gates would open.  If it didn't, it meant that it was sick and this was considered a bad omen from the gods not to let anybody in.  The crowd outside had to decide then between going back to their cities and return next month or stay there.  Since the distances were far and the traveling slow, they usually decided to stay.  That's why there were plenty of hotels and restaurants outside the gates!  The priestess answers were always ambiguous and left the inquirers with more desire to come back.  For example: One king wanted to know if he would win a war against a powerful enemy.  The answer was: "After you cross the river in battle, a mighty army will fall."  She failed to explain which army was going to fall.  Another: a man wanted to know if his wife was going to have a boy or a girl.  The answer: "Boy not girl", leaving the comma at the option of the man.
METEORA.  It's very hard to describe this place (better take a look at the photographs).  It is truly a wonder of the world, a natural monument of incomparable beauty, with its rare formation of mighty rocks, bare, smooth, perpendicular, straight up to the sky. At the peaks of some of these rocks, the most significant state of Orthodoxy developed: monasteries that were built between 1100 and 1799 to escape religious persecution.  They are remarkable monuments of Byzantine architecture, housing rare manuscripts and relics of priceless archaeological and historical value.
THE ACROPOLIS. Several important buildings comprise this antique complex in Athens.  On the left side, the PROPYLAEA was the main entrance to the Acropolis.  It had six superb marble Doric columns on the façade of the central building and six Ionic columns on the side, three of them pointing towards the temple of ATHENA NIKE.  This temple was built during the Mycenaean period, and it was a fortified and sturdy tower from where the Athenians often repelled their enemies.  The Greeks worshipped a special goddess, NIKE, who had large wings and flew from one place to another and represented victory.  Here, however, it was Athena who was worshipped as the goddess of victory,  The ERECHTHEUM is another beautiful temple where some of the columns are in the shape of a woman.  An then is the PARTHENON.  Parthenon means virgin, so this is the temple of the virgin goddess Athena.   It is the symbol of the creative and artistic power that distinguished Athens in the fifth century BC.  It is an immortal work of the mature years of the Classical period.  Construction began in 447 BC, and it was completed nine years later.  The columns are 34 feet high; there are eight and and seventeen on the short and long sides, respectively.  All the lines and vertical surfaces are curved and the columns and walls are tilted inwards 7 cm.  The temple was further enhanced by outside sculptures.  There were 92 metopes or rectangular plaques around the top side of the building, depicting mythological scenes inspired by the victories of the gods, the battles against the Giants, the Centaurs, the Amazons and the Trojan War. The impressive compositions of figures on the east pediment portrayed the birth of Athena as she sprang from the head of Seuz, while those on the west showed the competition between Athena and Poseidon for the dominion over the city of Athens.  These 52 figures were, undoubtedly, the fruit of Phidias' genius.  Notwithstanding the changes and losses suffered through centuries, the Parthenon still fascinates and exerts a powerful effect.  It has maintained its musicality, artistic eloquence and esthetic harmony and it is now a sublime embodiment of the classical Greek spirit and ideals.
 

THE TRIUMPH OF TRUTH OVER LIES

In the early 60's, when there were rumors of Fidel Casstro being a liar, he issued a postage stamp with his image and a portion of one of his speeches: "They married us to lies and forced us to live with them.  As if it wouldn't be better than the world collapsed than to live with lies."  And that, my friends, is the biggest lie he's ever told.
Some people, like me, discovered them soon.  It took a long time for others to realize the fraud.  On January of 1959, Castro had 99% of the population with him.  He stayed very popular for many years.  I bet you that today he cannot count on even 10% of the population.  But, sadly, most of the people that had changed lately have not done so for political reasons but for hunger.
Sooner or later, Castro's stympathizers started to desert his ranks, tired of his lies.  He had to suspend his annual interminable speeches at the Plaza de la Revolución because very few people were attending them.  Nobody does "voluntary" work anymore.  The more they believed and defended him, the more they hate him now.
When a person dies in Cuba, it has always been customary to erect a cross, the symbol of Christianity, at the head of the tomb.  Would you believe that when these communists are buried they still put that cross in their graves?  Are they really atheists?  No, they have never been true communists, but Fidelistas.  And when Castro dies, their unwavering devotion to the system will also die.
On August 15 of 1994, something incredible happened in Havana, but was unknown to the rest of the world.  Some Havana residents finally became fed up and started to assemble along the Avenida del Puerto, in the Habana Vieja district.  This was not organized by anybody or group.  It was an unpremeditated, unplanned outburst of people that were disgusted with the system.  In a few hours, thousands of protesters filled the streets and started to march along the Malecón, with yells of "Libertad! Libertad!"  As the mass of dissidents progressed along the wide boulevard, more and more  spectators joined them, all united in one sole purpose: to dispose of communism once and for all.  The policemen watching the huge horde didn't know what to do, afraid for their lives.
It was estimated that more than 100,000 people participated in the spontaneous march.  Finally, Fidel gave the order to disperse the march and the hated Brigadas de Respuesta Rápida (Brigades of Fast Response, which is nothing else but military men dressed as civilians) together with the police, attacked the unarmed and peaceful crowd and, in a few hours, it disintegrated.
The attempt for freedom failed for two reasons: First, it was not organized and didn't have a single, strong leader; secondly, since the radio and TV stations (all controlled by the government) did not relate the event at all, the rest of the city and the country did not find out about it until it was too late.
But it proved a point: that the Cuban people were tired of the system and were not afraid anymore.  They have completely lost their faith in Fidel and are now more open and daring.  They don't have anything else to lose and, therefore, don't even care about a jail sentence.  There wouldn't be room for so many dissidents anyway.
Too bad that there is nobody capable right now to organize a national strike.  It would probably cost some lives but, like the one in Romania, would finally succed in getting rid of the tyrant.
The Cuban nightmare has served, if nothing else, to prove the failure and obsolescence of the communist doctrine.  Castro's intransigent stance has cost not only an enormous loss of money, but also of human lives.
But I think that the most appalling and miserable effect of the Cuban revolution is the separation of the families.  The suffering and anguish that Castro's obstinate ego inflicted on the families defies explanation.  This is the crime for which he will never be able to pay, not even if we hang him from his genitals.
I suffered on my own flesh the consequences of exile from my country.  First, my wife had to wait eight months to join me. I had to wait nineteen long years to finally be allowed to go back and visit my family.  I saw my mother, on that occasion, for only a couple of days and my father for just two hous. Others had it much worse.  Innocent children that left their homeland never to see their parents again.  Men that drowned in the Gulf of Mexico leaving the rest of their families behind.  Whole families that have been shot down by Cuban patrol boats trying to escape.  Each case is a denouncing testimonial to my homeland's agony.
We Cubans, primarily the ones back home, have suffered through five decades of misery and grief.  At last, a brighter and happier future is on the horizon.  I just pray to God that I can see it before I die.

These are excerpts from my book "PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE. A personal reflection on the Island of Cuba."  E-mail me at alvarcorp@msn.com for details.

WILD WEST, USA

During this trip, in June of 2006, we visited six states: Colorado, South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho and Utah.  The scenery in every road, although it changes so much, never stopped amazing us.  From the dessert-like plains of Wyoming to the Black Hills of South Dakota, from the potato fields of Idaho to the canyons of Route 70 of Colorado.  We enjoyed ten different events, several picturesque little towns, high mountains, strange rock formations and grandiose huge monuments.  The highlight of the trip was, of course, the Yellowstone National Park, with its hundreds of geysers, steam vents, water falls, canyons and exotic animals.

First stop was in Colorado, where the airport is the largest in the nation, covering 53 square miles, large enough to hold Dallas and Chicago airports combined.

Manitou Springs got its name from the more than a dozen mineral water springs that permeate the area. Waters rising from the aquifers deep below the ground absorb minerals in high concentrations, including the carbonic acid, which gives its bubbles.  The naturally carbonated water was a perfect tonic for the digestive ailments of the Ute, Arapaho, Cheyenne and Kiowa Indians that visited this picturesque valley for centuries.

Many  famous personalities enjoyed the charm and curative effects of the place, like Presidents McKinley, Roosevelt and Grant.

By the 1870's, a bottling company began producing bottled mineral water for the public benefit. Two decades later, half a million estimated gallons of spring water were being bottled.

Besides being one of the most picturesque towns that we have visited, Manitou Springs is also the base of Pike's Peak, part of the Rocky Mountains that form the Continental Divide.  It takes about one hour to reach the summit by cog railway.  When we reached the end of the ascent, at an altitude of 14,210 feet, we felt in awe with the 360º view. It is at this point that Katharine Lee Bates found the inspiration to write "America the Beautiful" in 1893.

Other attractions very close to town are the Cliff Dwellings, an exact replica of an ancient Anasazi Indian town, and the Garden of the Gods, Colorado's oldest and largest park, full of strange red rock formations.

The Badlands National Park of South Dakota makes you feel that you are in a different planet. The multicolored canyons are sometimes deep beneath the road with a small river at the bottom and other times you are driving between these strange looking mountains.

In the morning, we drove to see our next destination. This is one of the most beautiful roads we have ever seen, with the deep-green small mountains that comprise the Black Hills of South Dakota.  When the clouds cover them they really look almost black.

In the middle of this lush scenery is Mount Rushmore.  At the very sight of it, we had to stop and wonder at the immensity of this monument .   It took sculptor Gutzon Borglum 14 years to carve these four head figures from the granite mountains.  It depicts the faces of Presidents George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln. The faces measure approximately 60 feet from the bottom of the chin to the top of the head; the eyes ere eleven feet across and the mouths are eighteen.  The full sculpture is 185 feet across and 150 feet high.  It was made at a cost of almost one million dollars.

About twenty miles from Mt. Rushmore is Crazy Horse Memorial, another monument, now in progress.  Crazy Horse was a great Lakota chief who suffered the mistreatment of the American Government.  He never signed a treaty or lived in a reservation. His left arm extending and pointing with his finger is the answer to the derisive question asked by a white man: "Where are your lands now?"  He replied: "My lands are where my dead are buried."

Deadwood, SD, claims to be the town where the West was born...and where it will never die.  It was the home of Wild  Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane, just two of the infamous characters that lived there.  Gamblers, gunslingers, prostitutes and bank robbers frequented the many saloons in the 1870's, making Deadwood a dangerous place to live.

Only twenty years ago, the entire town seemed about ready to be joining Hickok and Jane in the graveyard.  What was left of it looked more like a ghost town than the booming Black Hills capital it was one.  But Deadwood's people wouldn't have it.  They bonded together to bring gaming to the town and fuel life back into the city.  Historic hotels, saloons and landmarks were restored.  And Deadwood once again became the center of excitement of the Black Hills. 

On the way to Wyoming, we had to make a small detour to visit Devil's Tower, a solid rock mountain that rises 867 feet from its base and 5,112 feet above sea level.  In 1906, President Theodore Roosevelt proclaimed Devil's Tower the first national monument.  Approximately 5,000 climbers come here every year from all over the world to climb on the massive columns.

Cody, Wyoming, was founded in 1895 by a very famous western man, Col. William F. Cody (February 26, 1846 - January 10, 1917) universally known as Buffalo Bill. He was a Pony Express rider, a stage coach driver and a buffalo hunter for the railroad company, a scout for the U.S. Calvary, an actor on the New York stage with his friend Wild Bill Hickok, a member of the Nebraska Legislature and many more accomplishments that made him one of the most respected Westerners of the American history.

But it was his "Wild Show" that put him on the pedestal of immortals.  The show traveled around the United States and foreign countries for 30 years!  At some time it had 1,200 performers, Chief Sitting Bull among them.

There was an Indian Powwow during that weekend and we enjoyed it very much.  It was the annual reunion were more than one hundred American Natives (most of them looked 100% pure race) from different tribes, dressed in their best attires, compete in dancing and singing. It is held  next to the Buffalo Bill Historical Museum, a compound of five buildings depicting the history of Buffalo Bill and his Wild Shows.

Early next morning, we drove the fifty miles to the East entrance of the Yellowstone National Park.  It took another hour after entering it to encounter the first amusing sight of the park.  The first display was four bison walking in the middle of the road, like saying "this is our park".  One of them felt so at home that he wanted to mate right there, in front of all the cars full of tourists.  Soon more buffalos came to sight, now in bigger numbers.  Whenever you see some cars parked on the side of the road, it is because there are some animals around.  We stopped at the first spot and saw a big black bear eating on a carcass while a wolf was waiting for him to retire to feed himself.  Later on there was a crowd of buffalos and later another black bear very close to the road (it is forbidden to stray away from your car) and a grizzly bear taking a mud bath.

The sulphur caldron and mud volcano made us believe, again, that we were in another planet.  Then we arrived at the awe inspiring vista of the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone.  The multicolored rocks, the river at the bottom, the pine trees and the high waterfalls here make this place a real paradise on earth. The Mammoth Hot Spring is a big rock with flowing scalding water coming down through several terraces.

After spending the whole day enjoying so many steam vents and geysers and wild animals, it was time to exit the park and go to our motel, which is in the town of West Yellowstone, Montana, just two blocks away from the West entrance. Right before the exit, there was a zone lined with red traffic cones and a sign prohibiting parking or stopping there, as it is a bald eagle's area.  I parked after the zone and walked back to it and took a photograph of a huge eagle's nest.  Then I noticed another sign prohibiting walking there, so I jumped to a wooded area where I saw a couple of people with binoculars and they informed me of two bald eagles posing at the other side of the river.

After entering the park the next morning, we saw about 100 bison roaming about 100 yards from the road.  Then we arrived at the highlight of the park, the "Old Faithful", the only geyser that is, more or less, punctual in its outbursts.  We sat down in the area around it which soon was crowded with about 2,000 people.  After about one hour waiting, the show started.  A strong burst of water is thrown up in the air like coming from a big fireman's hose.  The eruption lasts about 5 minutes, expels 3,700 gallons of boiling water and reaches a height of 105-184 feet.  It is an incredible sight, very hard to describe.  Suffice is to say that everybody stared in awe, including us, at this spectacular Nature's extravaganza.

We walked through a wooden path to see several other geysers, steam vents and ponds.  Some geysers erupt every hour, others once a year an others are constantly throwing boiling water but not too high.  There are several pools of scalding crystalline water, with hues of green, blue, orange and other colors.  Our favorite one is called "the Morning Glory".  The water is so clear that you can see the tube through which the water flows to the surface.

We had to cross the park again next day to drive south and I was lamenting that the only animal that we had not seen was a moose.  We saw again a bunch of cars stopped at a lookout and they informed us that a couple of moose cows had been right there in the open, but had entered the woods.  I couldn't miss the opportunity and went after them, even though it is prohibited.  I spotted them and went as close as I dared and took their photograph.  When I was returning, about a dozen people had followed my steps.  We then crossed the Continental Divide, marked by a sign proclaiming that it was at an elevation of 8,262 feet.

Jackson Hole, Wyoming, is a beautiful little town.  The four corners of the park have big arches formed by hundreds of antlers.

We drove a few miles back to the Gran Teton area, a mountain range whose tops are perennially covered with snow.

We arrived at Salt Lake City, Utah, at night and couldn't see much of the town. 

The next stop was at the Arches National Park, Utah.  The park is located 27 miles from the main road.  At the other side of the road is the Canyonlands Park, which is where the Gran Canyon of Colorado starts.

The strange red rock formations at this park look like huge sculptures, sometimes resembling elephants or teddy bears. Bruni baptized one of the sculptures "The Three Magi". The most spectacular views are, of course, the immense natural arches.  There are about two dozen of them, but we had time to see only three.

The road from here to Denver was, without any doubt, the most beautiful one of the whole trip with more than 300 miles of canyon-like mountains left and right.  The Colorado River runs along the road for many miles, making it more unusual.

We couldn't miss Vail, Colorado, which is one of the most famous ski resorts in United States.  Vail looks like a charming European little town.  Prices here are outrageous and they told us that in Winter was double.

We arrived late at night in Denver.  We had been on the road for 14 hours!  We drove for a total of 2,782 miles!  This was one of the most fascinating, historical and informative trips that we have ever taken and we felt very happy at our return home.

T R O L L S

One of the most fascinating legends in Norway is the TROLL.  A troll is a member of fearsome creatures from Norge mythology.  They had the form of a devious ogre characteristic of a

half man-half animal, which lived in underground grottos and caves.  Nordic literature, art and music from the romantic era and

onwards have adapted trolls in various manners - often in the form

of an aboriginal race, endowed with oversized ears and noses...and

a tail.  The legend also explains that when they were exposed to

sunlight, they turned into rocks; and many rocks in Norway that

resemble a human form is said to be a solidified ancient troll.  Trolls

have achieved international recognition.  In every single souvenir

shop, road stop and general store in all of Scandinavia, the amount

of these funny figures for sale is enormous.  They come in every

size, material and form, always a little expensive.

SUPERSTITIONS

Cubans are very superstitious, and my mother was one of the chief exponents of this weird practice. I was part of it since the day I was born. When my aunt Bella came to see the new baby, she presented me with an azabache, a tiny jet-black gem amulet that I was compelled to wear at all times to scare off evil spirits. The custom is this: if a person praises a baby's face, or eyes or whatever, the belief is that if the baby is not wearing an azabache, he would get mal de ojo and become sick. All babies get sick and I'm sure that I went through a few colds and stomach problems. I'm also sure that the azabache didn't avoid any of my baby maladies.
"No andes con los pies descalzos que te va a dar catarro" (Don't walk barefooted or you'll get a cold.) Don't go out while its raining or you'll get a cold. Don't take your shirt off if you're sweating or you'll get a cold. Don't let the barber shave your sideburns because the blade is cold...and you'll get a cold. And the best of them all: be sure when you come out of the movie theater to cover your nose with your handkerchief...or you'll get a cold. All these advices (my mother would swear that they were not superstitions) became obligated customs not only within my family but to most of the townspeople. It was similar in all small towns in my country. The poorer or uneducated the area, the worst the irrational beliefs.
I eventually grew out of most of them with the influence of the church and more educated relatives and friends. It may have looked very funny to an outsider to watch eighty people coming out of our theater, all with their handkerchiefs covering their noses! When I was about twenty and moved to Havana, the capital, the first time that I went to a movie house with my cousin and he noticed my hanky, he gave me a lecture that once and for all cured my stupid habit.
Women used to run to church and light many candles if they found out that there was going to be an eclipse during their pregnancy. Everybody in town knew (I even heard this one in United States, many years later) that a full moon would bring out the crazy people.
When it rained, every body would run to cover the mirrors with a towel at the sound of the first thunder...because mirrors attracted lighting! Kids were ordered to stay away from anything made of metal (knives, scissors, etc.) for the same reason. All the clocks in the house were caused to stop when the owner died, and not turned back on until he was buried.
And don't you dare to open an umbrella inside the house! That would ensure a long period of very bad luck. The same penalty for eating with your hat on, spilling milk or putting your shoes backwards. Nobody that I knew in my town would take a bath right after lunch or dinner for fear of a paralysis. Some women would not take baths during their whole menstruation periods!
My father, on the other side, didn't believe in any of these superstitions. He explained to me why he didn't when I was about five years old. He was born in the year 1910, the year of the Halley's Comet spectacular appearance over the sky.
My father's grandparents, Jose and Elena, had come from a tiny village in Asturias, Spain. Saying that Spaniards from tiny villages were superstitious is, of course, redundant. My grandmother, Blanca, had already given birth to six girls when she got pregnant again. Her mother became furious when she found out. "You have to get an abortion...everybody knows that you cannot have this baby," she scolded her daughter. "Just because you have been lucky so far," she added, "this doesn't give you the right to keep playing with Mother Nature."
My grandmother had married her first cousin Jose, and the danger of giving birth to children with birth defects had always been present. But their six daughters were all physically and mentally healthy and my grandmother was dreaming of a baby boy.
"How do you know it is going to be a boy, anyway?" my great grandmother asked with deep pessimism. "I know it in my heart," responded Blanca. "And no matter what you tell me, I'm still going to have my boy this year."
No smart woman, you see, would give birth in the same year of a comet, as this assured mental or physical defects to the child, and probably death to the mother.
But, in spite of all the bad omen and gloomy odds, baby Jesus was born a healthy and beautiful boy, weighing eight and a half pounds. In the year of Halley's Comet!
That's why my father didn't believe in any of this nonsense. But my mother had a strong influence in my life, as my father was seldom there, and some of these customs made and indelible impression on me, like tattoos on my skin, impossible to erase. To this date, I wear socks 24 hours a day. I take them off only to take a bath. Believe me, that's absolutely the only time that I take them off. I had some very romantic episodes abruptly broken by the laugh of the girl when she noticed my socks.
My other grandfather, don Pancho, who was born of Spanish parents in a ranch in the province of Pinar del Rio, the poorest and least educated of the Cuban provinces, also carried his own heirloom sack of superstitions.
Christmas eve was the big celebration in Cuba, when relatives and friends usually got together to enjoy a feast of roasted pig and other delicacies. My grandfather was always the last one to sit. He would count all the people at the table and he would sit only if he was going to be the pair number. If he was an odd number he would eat standing up. "I don't want to die this year," he would announce.
His bed couldn't be on the west wall of the room. "I can't sleep with my feet facing east," he would explain, "that's the way people are in the cemeteries." If anybody was sitting on a rocking chair, he made sure that the chair didn't keep moving after the person stood up. "Stop that rocking chair," he would shout, "you know it is very bad luck."
And so many others that I have forgotten or don't want to mention because anybody may think that I am exaggerating. But, I swear to you, that is the way things were. I lived twenty three year in the same house with the rest of my family until I moved to United States. Education and the contact with other people with different cultures, taught me how shallow these customs were and I rejected them little by little, although it wasn't always easy to distinguish between custom and superstition. My sister lived with them until they died and, to date, her naivete hasn't changed much.
Of all the superstitions that I can recall from my youth, the most ______________(after you read this paragraph, you can fill the adjective that you think most adequate -silly, ridiculous, stupid, crazy, asinine, idiotic, ignorant, illogical, immature, all of the above- or any other) is the one involving the devil. It goes like this: if you lose something (your wallet, your glasses, your keys, your spouse, whatever) and you have looked everywhere to no avail, you should take a piece of rope and make three tight knots, one of top of each other, This is called "amarrarle los huevos al Diablo", which literally means "tightening the devil's balls". It has to be three knots, not two. Go figure. And you don't loosen up this grip until the item reappears. If it doesn't, you tight the knots even harder and tell the devil that you are going to keep his balls this way until he releases the lost item. My beloved mother-in-law swears that this method has never failed her.
As you can see, black cats, walking under a ladder, the number thirteen or any other known prehistoric superstitions are simple frivolous notions compared with the ton of irrational, bizarre, eccentric routines that we practiced day in and day out in our desolate part of the world.
These are excerpts from my book MY TOWN. You can find information about it if you e-mail me ad alvarcorp@msn.com.

PUERTO RICO PHOTOS by J.Alvarez

PUERTO RICO PHOTOS by J.Alvarez

PUERTO RICO (La Isla del Encanto)

Puerto Rico, the easternmost island of the Greater Antilles, was discovered by Christopher Columbus during his second voyage, on November 19, 1493. The island was inhabited by a group of Arawak Indians known as Tainos, who called the island Boriken.
The Tainos were forced into slavery. Within a few decades much of the native population had been decimated by decease, violence and a high occurrence of suicide. African slaves were introduced to replace them. Puerto Rico soon became an important stronghold and port of the Spanish Empire. Various forts and walls, such as La Fortaleza, El Castillo de San Felipe and El Castillo de San Cristobal, were built to protect the port of San Juan from European enemies.
Puerto Rico is located in the northeastern Caribbean, east of the Dominican Republic and west of the Virgin Islands. Roughly rectangular in shape, Puerto Rico extends about 100 miles from east to west and 35 miles from north to south. With the adjacent islands and keys, it has a total of 3,435 square miles. It has a population of about four million people, 1,500,00 of which live in San Juan, the capital, and its surrounding areas.
Puerto Rico is today a major hub of Caribbean commerce, finance, tourism and communications. San Juan is one of the world's busiest cruise ship ports, and its standard of living continues to be among the highest in the Western Hemisphere.
My wife and I spent an unforgettable vacation during the first week of August, 2008, accompanied by our grandson Nicolas and many members of my daughter-in-law Aixa, most of whom were born in the island.
The main tourist attractions are, of course, El Viejo San Juan, the old city, with its colonial buildings and cobblestone streets, all kept in immaculate condition; and El Yunque, the only tropical rain forest in the US National Forest System. El Yunque is a paradise for all nature lovers. Visitors from all over the world come to sample this renowned eco-tourism venue.
We toured the whole island, visiting the birthplaces of some of our companions and also many beautiful beaches and interesting places.
Please click on PUERTO RICO PHOTOS to enjoy the vistas.

SELF EPITAPH

When I was only fourteen years old, I wrote this poem with the ultimate desire of having it engraved -at the proper time- on my tombstone. Later in life, I could not understand why a person would think about death at such an early age. But that is the way I was, although most of the times I behaved like the clown of the group. I could jump from pessimistic to optimistic, sad to cheerful, at the blink of an eye. I was -and always have been- a man of many talents and many faces.
I was an incurable dreamer then, with visions of far away lands that I suspected I would never visit, unfeasible feats that I wished to accomplish and material things that, I was sure, I would never possess. How could a poor country boy from such a tiny town ever reach those impossible goals. But I could dream, couldn't I?
Under that dreary and tenebrous cloud I found inspiration for this gloomy poem.
I originally wrote in Spanish, of course, and translated recently to English.

SELF EPITAPH

When my lifeless anatomy reaches the final nest;

when in the eternal sleep my body is laid to rest;

when dust returns to dust -the matter that was me-

place a wreath of dry flowers over my cold pine crate

composed of wilted dahlias, or gardenias all dried

and roses that have died;

they'll symbolized my visions and my illusive fate,

an exact and clear mirror of my doomed destiny,

of my world of crushed dreams -fantasizing in vain-

of all the things I craved but could never obtain,

what I wished to become but could not ever be.

Excerpts from my book MY LIFE/MI VIDA. See details at alvarcorp@msn.com.

ROSE'S CHEST

Ah...Rose's chest! This could be an article about a female pirate's hidden treasure trunk or a pin-colored cabinet or, maybe, about somebody's bosom. I chose that title to attract the attention of some perverted minds that may detect some explicit explanation of a ladies' anatomy.
Since I have excited your curiosity now, you might as well keep traveling through the tunnel of reading and may be when you reach the end of that tunnel you could be illuminated with the real topic of this essay. This will not, I confess, make you more intellectual; it will just help you kill some time which, you will agree, the way you waste it sometimes, it may be worth more dead than alive.
Rose was the name of my first girl friend. And what the heck is the importance of that, you may ask. None whatsoever. She could have been named Petronila or Heliodora and it would have made no difference. But we are now in the middle of the story and I don't want you to lose the tiniest detail. I promise you that it will get interesting.
Okay, one languid afternoon, one of those when the sun refuses to go to sleep afraid of the darkness (let's start this paragraph again; it's coming out very romantic). Okay, one languid afternoon, one of those when the sun refuses to go to sleep afraid of the darkness, I was visiting my girlfriend's house who you will remember, as I previously introduced her to you, was named Rose. My future mother-in-law, who didn't believe in silly traditions and was very friendly with me, just as I was sitting down served me a glass of ice tea (which resembled my girlfriend's attitude) and a small plate of hot popcorn (contrary to her disposition).
I, being so stubborn, did things backwards and first drank the tea and then ate some popcorn that got stuck, as usual, between my teeth. I was a little bore then (as you may be now) so I tried to take advantage of the opportunity, making some advances toward Rose (I promised that this would get better, didn't I?) But Rose adamantly refused to kiss me, complaining about the pieces of popcorn in my mouth. I think that it was probably because of the chilly drink. The problem is that, with the struggle, the popcorn plate fell down on my feet and spread all over the floor. Rose rose (this is not a redundancy) very upset and went looking for a broom and started to sweep them silently, so not to wake up her mother that was dozing in front of the TV, dreaming, I'm sure, about her charming future son-in-law.
And here is the secret of the title. Rose looked like an opera singer. No, she couldn't keep a tune, but she had a formidable chest. The spectacle of Rose, leaning in front of me picking up the popcorn, was a temptation that my anxious hands could not resist and advanced, like hungry stray cats, over those mouthwatering appetizers.
Rose suffered an instant of incertitude and stayed inert for a moment, not knowing if she should sigh, scream or faint. And opted for the most logical thing for her. She raised the broom and struck me with it in the middle of my forehead.
Her mother awoke in a flash and grabbed the deadly weapon from her, saving my life. And before Rose could have another bellicose tantrum, I did what was obvious of a rejected boy friend: I broke up with her!
Next day, the whole town knew about Rose's outburst. And I was proudly showing my big bump, happily explaining: This bump was caused by some mouthwatering...popcorn!

This is an excerpt (translated frrom Spanish) of my book "PARA MATAR EL TIEMPO". See details about this and other books at alvarcorp@msn.com.

HISTORY OF CUBA

I always wanted to write a book about Cuban history. The only ones that I knew were written exclusively for the use of public schools. But I have good sources to learn about our peculiar past. My grandfather, don Pancho, was an encyclopedia of stories, specially about the Cuban revolution against Spain. His father had come from Asturias as a Spanish soldier to combat the "mambises", the epithet reserved for the Cuban rebels fighting for their liberation from the Spanish crown. When my grandfather was 14 he was forced by his father to join the Spanish army although his heart was with his countrymen and eventually became a Cuban patriot. I asked him one time: "How could you be fighting against your own father?" And he proudly responded: "Every person should fight for his own country."
My father also told me several stories about corrupt politicians, country bandits and other events that I filed in the shelves of my brain for future use.
History was never my favorite subject in school. In fact, I hated it. It was difficult, complicated, extensive...and boring. So, I had a curious way of studying it: I memorized only names and dates and read a little of the general facts, just enough to pass the tests, with a little help of my imagination.
If I could re-write the history books, I always thought, I would make them, at least, more interesting, To achieve this I probably would need to create fantasies, exaggerations, distortions, speculations and simple fables; little props that a joker like me always had within easy reach.
You might say "but historians always tell the truth." Historians are just people, my friend. Who can trust them with something as sublime as the truth? They are simple human beings with their own prejudices, animosity, antipathy, partiality, inclinations and prejudgments. Not to mention racism, sexism and fanaticism. The role of a historian should be to educate...as long as it does not affect his own interest.
I suspect than some legitimate historians stick solely to the principle of truth and never deviate from it. Those are the ones that I found boring as a student.
Sometimes there are several books written on the same subject, neither one of them coinciding. Which one is accurate and which one is deceitful? Take, for instance, "The Da Vinci Code". As soon as this book came to light, many others have tried to contradict its story. Who really tell who is right? Mr. Brown or his detractors? Only an eye witness to that era could certify the authenticity of the events, and we all know that this is impossible. Meanwhile, the author -sincere or a hypocrite- continues his very happy daily trips to the bank.
I finally finished my book and called it "HISTORY OF CUBA - From my twisted point of view".  By the way, if you turn the book around the whole thing is in Spanish. Smart, right?
The history chapters that I have written are all based in authentic and verifiable incidents. In order to make them more entertaining and easy to remember, I have just added some spice between the lines. If I offend someone with my innuendos or fabrications, I sincerely apologize. I assure you that my intention was not only to instruct you but also to make you smile a little.
And I firmly believe that smiling is always preferable and less painful than knowing the crude facts.

For more details about the book, please email me at alvarcorp@msn.com.

MY PHOTOGRAPHS. Click on these links to see pertinent photographs. You can see them as a slide show, full screen or one by one by clicking on the screen. Enjoy. THANKS FOR WATCHING.

SCANDINAVIA by J.Alvarez

SCANDINAVIA by J.Alvarez

CUBA BC & AC by J.Alvarez

CUBA BC & AC by J.Alvarez

TORTUGUERO by J.Alvarez

TORTUGUERO by J.Alvarez

TORTUGUERO NT'L. PARK - COSTA RICA.
This fantastic natural paradise is located on the Caribbean side of Costa Rica. To arrive there we had to abandon our bus and take a boat at the mouth of the Parismina River for the one and a half hour ride. The Tortuguero National Park is a 47,000 acre site crisscrossed with many rivers and canals. This place received its name from the hundreds of turtles that arrive there in the late spring to lay their eggs at the beach. Our hotel, the Laguna Lodge, is located in the middle of a very long but narrow stretch of land, next to the river and no more than a hundred feet from the beach.
The Caribbean Sea here is extremely rough and swimming is not recommended. The sand is dark orange-gray due to the volcano activity a long time ago.
In spite of the high humidity and darkness of the place at night, we never noticed any mosquito or any other insect bugging us.
We took a couple of rides into the canals that look like a labyrinth where only the locals can navigate without getting lost. The water at the Cano Palma canal is so calm and dark that reflects everything like a huge mirror. The fauna and flora of this place is incredibly beautiful.
We saw herons, egrets, toucans, snakes, turtles, iguanas, crocodiles, otters, lizards, monkeys and many other birds and exotic animals, all from the boat. As soon as the pilot or the guide spotted some animals, the boat would get close to them and we had an exciting time watching and photographing them.
After lunch, we walked along the beach for about one mile to the Green Turtle Research Station, where we learned about their efforts to protect the turtle's nesting habitat, eggs and young hatch lings.
The food at the lodge was excellent and the rustic cabins comfortable. To finalize our delightful little adventure, we enjoyed a serene sunset from the lodge dock.
LOOK AT MY PHOTOS - CLICK ON "TORTUGUERO"