Cuba

We're off to Cuba! It was nice to have Celeste waving goodbye in front of the Museum of Art and History. It reminded us of the old cruise liner photos with passengers standing at the rails shouting at hundreds of people on the dock below. Where was the confetti?


Our first view of Cuba through the clouds. We're arriving at the start of the rainy season, but so far we've missed getting wet. Scattered thunderstorms are predicted in the evenings for the rest of the week.


Our plane arrived on time at the Holguin Airport where we spotted our first vintage car, a '52 Ford. The men in our group were very excited.


Our bus driver took us through downtown Holguin to see the May 1st celebrations ("Viva el 1st de Mayo!") The parade was earlier but there was still lots of activity including people being ferried in the famous Cuban bicycle taxis and horse-drawn carts.






Love this! Rocking chairs lined up on a front porch, probably to see the parade. They look lonely now.



It was lunchtime, and there were plenty of food booths and picnics.


Here's our first reminder that we are in a Socialist country where slogans, banners, statues and billboards of government leaders and heroes are abundant. For those of you who asked us to say "hello" to Fidel and Raul, we haven't had a chance yet. But this is just our first day here.



We've escaped the city and are heading for the open road towards Santiago de Cuba. Notice the sign in the right corner window - "Santa Cruz Chamber of Commerce."


Pausing for the drink that refreshes.


A slightly dated but modern tractor in the foreground, and an older model in the background.


We passed a sugar cane factory near the town where Fidel and Raul were born. Their father had worked in the sugar cane industry.


We had been slated to stop for a tour of their home, but it was closed due to the holiday. This picture of the billboard (with three men resting in its shade) was enough to satisfy us.


A lovely river and beautiful mountains whose names we have yet to learn.





Santiago de Cuba, described in our tour book as "long a hotbed of rebellion and sedition," was an early capital of Cuba and the area where the revolution began. Our hotel was built by the Russians in the '70s, and remnants of their stay is evident in other less imposing structures, like the eastern bloc style buildings below. Now new buildings can only be four or five stories tall, and in Havana three stories.





Ah, so nice to relax for a late lunch with some good Cuban beer, a cool breeze keeping insects away and a plate of spicy garlic pasta. Pasta?! What can we say? It sounded good. Jerry observed that it had been a little more than 24 hours since we left San Francisco.


Our tour guide took us for a pre-dinner walk downtown to observe the festivities for May Day. Loud music, dancing in the streets, food vendors, two rickety, tiny amusement rides for the children, a pig roasting on a spit, people watching the scene from their balconies --- it was crazy and wonderful.












One of the Fidel and Raul billboards (other heroic figures are on the buildings all around). The words on the sign translate to "Rebellion yesterday, hospitality today, heroism forever." Our guide, Osmin, gives us a street corner lecture on politics in Cuba. We have a lot more to learn.





One of the many formerly grand homes that has fallen into disrepair. Osmin noted that some are being restored. It will be a labor of love bringing these fallen ladies back into any semblance of suitability for living.


We had our picture taken in front of Jerry's favorite decrepit house. (There's a huge cactus in the yard next door. One arm was reaching out to embrace the palm tree.)


The fortress where the young Fidel and cohorts tried to steal weapons for their revolution. Note the bullet holes. Now it's a school.


And that's the end of our first day in Cuba.

Location:Santiago de Cuba

Ireland Rocks!

We've come to the final words and pictures. But the Pilgrimage to Ireland is far from over. As Fr. Michael suggested, it now begins to work in our hearts. The images, thoughts and prayers that arise for us are the work of the Pilgrim at Home.

I almost chose "Erin Go Bragh" (Ireland forever) as the title of this last post but decided that "Ireland Rocks" (which was on Maggie's t-shirt) defines the journey even better. It was all about rocks and stones and ancient foundations, prayer stones brought and left behind, stone walls, as well as people marking time and ritual, cooking their food and building their huts and churches with what the glaciers left behind.

Even the heather on the hill makes a statement as it creeps across the rocky outcroppings. Ireland is a place where songs keep popping up. In this case, of course, it's "The Heather on the Hill:"

The mornin' dew in blinkin' yonder. There's lazy music in the rill,

And all I want to do is wander through the heather on the hill.

Okay, so that's actually about Scotland (from the 1947 Broadway hit Brigadoon by Lerner and Loewe), but it fits.

We stopped at a beach on the south coast for a time of meditation. I left one of the extra stones I had carried and scattered at various places on our journey. (It's the small crystal stone near the heart-shaped rock.) Leaving something behind is a family tradition that began 25 years ago when we were in Italy with my Uncle Bennie. He had brought soil from the family ranch near San Jose, and together we sprinkled it onto the soil of a cousins' vineyard in Tricarico, Italy. Somehow it feels as if we're making bridges from one country to the next, leaving a bit of ourselves behind (and hopefully not any alien organisms).

This sign says it all. We're standing at the tip of Ireland's most south-westerly point. Gale winds made it even more fun.

The Dromberg Stone Circle

Henry Ford's father, William, was born in a small village in County Cork. This picture is for our friend Fred Deal who has one of these cars in his garage.

Holy Cross Church (our sister church perhaps?) houses a relic of the true cross (the small piece of wood in the center of the cross). We spent some time here meditating, reflecting and writing in our journals.

DUBLIN, the City of Literature.

If there are any doubts that Dublin deserves this title, then let us ask: what other city in the world names its bridges after its writers and covers its pubs with quotations from their best-known works? We went to the Writers' Museum where we saw original versions of some of the famous plays I had studied in college and, my favorite piece of furniture, James Joyce's piano.

But of course, Dublin isn't all about art and literature. Crowds of people from Kerry gathered in Dublin for the Irish Football championship game. Dublin won by one point.

The National History Museum housed a fantastic collection of treasures including the Ardagh Chalice which was found in the 19th century by a young man digging for potatoes.

Our last day included a visit to Newgrange, for many in our group a highlight of the trip. It is a megalithic passage tomb built in 3200 BCE which makes it almost 500 years older than the pyramids. Maria and friend are standing in front of the opening. Above the door is a window box which allows light to enter during the winter solstice and light the inner chamber for 17 minutes. We were lucky to be allowed inside.

We gathered together for our last night in the chapel at Emmaus Retreat House where Amber and Michael gave each of us a shell, a symbol (borrowed from Santiago de Compostela) that our pilgrimage had been completed.

Teresita and Lucia with Stephen and Rose Gordy plus many of the others that shared the time in Ireland --- Pat and Tom, Maggie and Molly, Donna, Charlie, Kim, Mary and Carol, Remy, Nancy, Karen, Mary, Amara, Pat, Kathy, Maria, Danielle, Juli, Andrea, Savarna, Billie, Patrick and Penelope, Robin. Erin go bragh!

If anyone would like to hear Martin say "get off the bus," click on this link:

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=HvQB9Ip6Nyk&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Pilgrims and People

The joy of a Pilgrimage is not only in the places you visit but the people you meet, both inside and outside the bus. We were privileged to travel with people from both northern and southern California, Minnesota and Washington, D.C. Many are writers and poets, most have some connection with the New Camaldolese Hermitage in Big Sur, all are pilgrims seeking the truth and beauty of God in their lives -- and specifically in Irish spirituality and the landscape and history of Ireland. We are all blessed.

Here is Robin Somers, last seen sharing carrots on the bus. Robin teaches Writing at UCSC and is on the board of UCSC Farm and Garden. The horse seemed happy to pose with her. He was probably sniffing carrots in her pocket.

Lucia (full of light) Van Ruitan poses by the statue of the first Irish immigrant to be registered at Ellis Island, Annie Moore, with her two younger brothers. They set sail from Cobh, formerly Queenstown, and arrived at Ellis Island on January 1, 1892. Annie was given a ten dollar gold coin to commemorate the event. She also celebrated her 15th birthday that day. Lucia felt a connection to Annie because of her own family history which involved immigrating to the US from Holland. (The large ship in the background is the Queen Mary II.)

Teresita Venegas. friend of Lucia's and fellow member of the Immaculate Heart of Mary Community, developed close ties with Jerry after he removed stitches from her head placed there by a kindly country doctor after she had fallen in Galway a week earlier. She's feeling much better at Glenstal Abbey in County Limerick.

We met Brother Emmaus, a former Camaldolese who is now a member of the Benedictines, the Black Robe Friars of Glenstal. This was a highlight of the trip for many of us. Glenstal is steeped in beauty on its 500 or so acres filled with steams, lakes and woodland paths. The Norman style main building was originally an estate owned by the Barringtons and became an Abbey in 1929. Abbot Mark Patrick Hederman has written books about the role of the artist in the church, and his vision becomes a reality at every step - from the reception room where we were given tea and delicious mini-scones to the underground vault housing priceless icons to the church with its boldly painted ceilings in primary colors. Emmaus brought us to the library where we saw his latest paintings. They have found a perfect home.

Emmaus' painting on four panels,Resurrection. Stunning.

We heard their chanting before we actually saw the monks enter the sanctuary. The simplicity and dignity of the Mass was moving.

The people of Ireland lit our hearts, and here are two good examples. Mary is a guide at the Rock of Cashel, also known as the Cashel of the Kings and St. Patrick's Rock. It's in County Tipperary. (Couldn't help singing "It's a Long Way to Tipperary.") We loved Mary's lilt, humor and beauty (and why, at age 48, is she not married? "Because she chose not to," one of our fellow pilgrims wisely pointed out.) Mary brought history to life, and we could understand every word. It was another rainy, sunny day when rainbows are expected so we didn't mind the few showers. There's a rainbow in the distance in this photo.

Dare was our other favorite guide. Martin (remember, our bus driver?) was grousing that we liked Dare better because he had curly locks. Well, yes. Also, he was cuter. Dare's accent was a bit harder to follow, but it just made us listen harder. He guided us around tombstones and the ancient ruins of Glendalough in the beautiful Wicklow Mountains.

Glendalough, which means "Glen of Two Lakes" was founded in the sixth century by St. Kevin, a hermit priest. His sanctity attracted so many followers that a large settlement arose around his monastery. It's hard for a hermit to find time alone. We suspect that St. Kevin might have looked a lot like Dare.