We didn't plan it this way--we don't plan a whole lot of anything, really--but once a season, we go upstate to see Ramon.

Everywhere outside the city is "upstate."

Upstate is also, in certain circles, a euphemism for prison (as in "Oh, he went Upstate," like it's a vacation), referring to a collection...

[Scribbled in my notebook at random intervals as Francisco drove the Panoramic Route]

-What Francisco doesn't know: *If we run out of gas here in the middle of nowhere IT'S OKAY. Everyone who lives in the country keeps a gas can in their garage. We'll just knock on the door, offer $20, and ask for...

There were worse--much worse--places we could have blown a tire on the Ruta Panoramica.

Two miles after we'd driven through a fog so heavy it made the umbrella sized leaves of the yagruma droop low, dusting the top of the car, I turned down the radio, checked the map, and heard the noise.

"It's...

A few years ago--not the first time he came here, but later--Francisco developed a crazy, crazy love of church signs in the South.

Last July, he laughed himself to tears with "If you drink a third on the 4th, you might not live to see the 5th." Periodically, my mom sends him e-mails with new sayings....

I've been thinking about him a lot lately, for some reason.

Now and then, I'll Google him, but the results are always the same: nothing. No list of accomplishments or civic engagements. No successes, but no scandals either. No attachments. No entanglements.

And thankfully, no obituary.

A curmudgeon,...

"This is not the Havana I know."

It's a thought I've had a dozen times this week, as Canadian and American photographers returning from Cuba--where they've just seen Francisco's son's exhibit with American photographer, Melani Lust--send us links to their websites, their Flickr photostreams. "Maybe...

Ten years ago, I was a college senior in Atlanta.

Nights, I worked at a Jewish-owned dive, the American Roadhouse. Though it was always packed, I could never understand its draw. I knew how dirty the back of the house was and what people did in the kitchen.

I alternated between waiting tables...

The restaurant at the corner of 111th and 3rd was packed, with just enough room for the servers in their stereotyped get-ups to hip shake their way to the tables.

You'd have thought the bartender had slipped a CD into the player; every Buena Vista Social Club hit--"Chan Chan," "Dos Gardenias,"...

Brazil seems far away this morning.

It could be the six inches of snow on the ground.

Or maybe it's the fact I never really connected with anyone or anything there the way I always do when I travel.

But still, there are some things I can't get out of my head, some things that will only begin to make...

We were standing in what was described to us as the "press box," ready to capture and transmit Caetano Veloso's concert in real time, when Dilma showed up and the floor began to tremble. My colleague from Atlanta made another comment about the dais holding many more working revelers than the 250 person...

The first thought that occurs to me as I’m sitting in the backseat of a taxi, speeding through the streets of Recife, is that I could easily like a country where nine out of 10 people wear flip flops.

A strange first thought, and apropos of nothing, but I’ve been running through airports...

I hated the apartment the first time I saw it.

The ceilings were too low. The light fixtures were exposed. The linoleum on the bedroom floors was cracked, yellowed, and peeling. The walls were pastel blue. The electrical outlets sparked too often, warning of trouble behind the walls. The building...

The sad irony isn't lost upon me.

Yesterday marked the 50th anniversary of the revolution (though it's celebrated January 1 in Cuba), and all week I could feel tensions building between my Cuban American husband and his Cuban son. It was only a matter of time until they had a spectacular blowout....

A craving for a burrito called me to Benny's on Greenwich Ave. yesterday.

Eight years ago, I worked around the corner, on 13th and 8th. Back then, the Meat Market neighborhood was still really a meat market. The smell of beef and blood was on the air, and the streets west of 8th were dicey at night. Trannies...

Radio's on as I start the day's writing and editing. Folks are yammering about today's call in topic: "What's a real New Yorker?" I half listen to the guy who's so passionate about this topic that he's breathless, words rapid-firing urgently, the spit audible in his voice. You can only be "real" if you...

"For all we learned the sea...." -Dar Williams

*
Francisco is driving fast so we'll get to Fajardo in time to catch the ferry to Culebra. I fiddle with the knob on the radio and drink his share of coffee. We talk about all the reasons we could never live here again, a familiar conversation, and then...

"No other word will do. For that's what it was. Gravy.... [I]t was all gravy, every minute of it...."- Raymond Carver, "Gravy"

On Thursday, we bounded into the van with a German couple who became increasingly amorous during the day, a Spanish couple who was smart enough to bring binoculars, and Juan,...

There are a few reasons I should say "No" when the Chilean bloggers invite us to go out for drinks after our five hour dinner.

I don't like bars much.

I haven't slept in 36 hours.

I have 56 e-mails in my inbox.

We're getting up at 6 AM.

But as the plan develops for squeezing six people into a twin cab...

We wake up in our hotel bed to the sound of horns.

"Obama is President," I think to myself, repeating it over and over.

I replay last night a dozen times in my head. After blogging live from NPR for six straight hours until the election was called, we pack up our gear and head into the streets of...

It's only been two full days, but I'm on serious overload. I came here without knowing what stories to look for, but now I've got pages of notes, several hours of audio and video interviews, and several hundred photos...everything a story.
*
We're finishing breakfast when Dollar says, "We should take you...