Cuba, January 2026 — A Week of Doing Nothing
In January 2026 Mike got restless. He wanted a week somewhere warm doing absolutely nothing, which is harder to organize than it sounds. After some nudging, he picked Cuba.
It was the first time I’d thought of Cuba as somewhere I could go, not somewhere I’d have to declare. In the uniformed days a Cuban holiday counted as a security risk, the kind of trip you explained to somebody with a clipboard. Apparently I’ve aged out of being interesting.
It was an eye-opener, even if a lot of it was the same third-world picture I’ve seen elsewhere: kids begging, and tourists overcompensating with the guilt tips and the earnest photos. Then there’s what Cubans have managed to build, patch and keep running after 60-odd years of embargo. Say what you like about the politics, the ingenuity is the real story.
I also felt safer there than I do in some Toronto train stations. Make of that what you will.
And yes, I pissed in Ernest Hemingway’s toilet, at his old home, Finca Vigía, just outside Havana. It cost a buck, the best-value dollar I spent all week.
