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Cuba ….. Na Na Na Na Na Salsa

I know there are some old adage to do with the first half of your life you are cared for by his parents and the other you half your life, you watch your parents. Well I have been looking for my mother all my life, especially on occasions when my father is not around, and she goes in complete competency melt down. The first time my father went on a business trip abroad, she (and do not ask me how) to put her hand at the bottom of the mower while it was ongoing. I can still see, and will forever be etched in my brain the moment when she pushed his hand in a sink filled with water immediately turned a deep red color, just like in the movie "Jaws". Duggan women is not a strong stomached nature and my mother goes out, my sister ran out of room with a good intension to call a family friend from down the road for help, only to pass out on the road because of "the sight of blood." So you are left with nine-year-old Alice runs between relations with wet towels and sugar water, trying to revive both. Needless to say that I was rewarded on my father's return from Hong Kong with a big bag of Haribo to be 'Daddy's brave little girl,' and my mother was never allowed to mow lawn again.

So it gives you an idea of the mental condition of Mrs Duggan when embarking on a journey into the depths of the Caribbean with her daughter at least competent, without the only man in the world who can rescue any situation, no mater how dire. I would like to say that I was positive about this, but in honesty, if I see weakness in some I kinda a play on it? "You've got passport right?", "Flight from Gatwick not Heathrow right?" Etc.. Cruel indeed, but very funny. In any event will the joke was on me to arrive at Gatwick at 4:30 to find that our 07:55 flight to Havana with Cubana Airways was not anywhere to be seen on the board, and after half an hour of frantic running around to discover that the plan which we meant to fly (which should arrive in the UK at 6:20 from Havana) had not even left Cuba yet. A half hour later it was revealed that the aircraft was defective and another aircraft was sent in from Madrid and due to leave at 2:30. Marvelous. Someone got some great suggestions to how to spend 9 hours in Gatwick airport departures? No me. Reading, perhaps – well, I wisely packed all my nice easy going books in my main luggage and was carrying only Ernest Hemingway, for whom the bell tolls, to try to cover the whole Cuba thing is not the easiest to read to pass time, believe me. So give in, I bought a jigsaw puzzle, plugged my iPod in and saw the strange and wonderful existence of the airport's departure hall head (and it is no wonder they make so many TV shows about them!)

Well the plane did not go at 2.30, it went to 4.30, and you think maybe after the hell my now extended family Cubana Airways victims had been through, we would be treated as movie stars, pampered with drinks and nibbles, controlled by still available moment. Well, you would think wrong and should be warned of fact that the Communist control requirements of Cubans all work more or less the same salary, and is in no danger of losing the job … .. so where is the incentive to do their work well, especially when they are surrounded by hundreds of high maintenance tourists?! Anyways the plane had no entertainment, the seating was a free for all, the staff was rude to the point disbelief, there was a fucking annoying group of schoolchildren, including two blooming lovers sat in front of me who snogged the ENTIRE 11 hour trip, which I had banished any hope of a vegetarian meal, no food. Gosh I sound like my grandmother moaning. However, I console myself that the money spent on the flights went to the Cuban economy and not in pocket that pussy Branson.
Anyways with a lot of time on my hands I though it was about time I get Lonely Planet's guide "A brief history of Cuba." And so the occupation began … ..

Hands up, I knew very little about the Cuban culture / history, before I went ( "They are communists, right?") and generally have no interest in learning about the history of places. A few years ago I spent one month traveling in Japan with two of my bestest friends, one who lived out there for a couple of years. We had a fantastic time, but both story (ish) student, I can imagine "You've seen one temple you've seen them all, lets do karaoke again" mentality grated a bit. I figured I would be the same in Cuba … "Yes, yes very nice now let dance salsa and drink rum!" Sorry, I do not know if I get older, and this is what happens, but I am absolutely fascinated by the whole shebang.
So as I say everything I knew was they were communists, and that recently some guy named Castro were trampled. I was worried that this may lead to chaos and riots, but was assured by colleagues that the Caribbean (?) Is far to busy drinking rum and smoking cigars to get all worked up about things, and yanks away as long as there was no prospect of civil unrest (and I hope the yanks had f * cked up enough countries in the last few years to stay away, at least until I had a suntan).
Reading the instructions helped put up to me, so I jotted down a small summary of events I saw them:

-Native Cubans all lived happily
-Natives in another Caribbean island arrive, kill all the native Cubans and live happily
Spanish-turn up and fuck things up – killing loads and use the rest for slaves
-400 Years later, José Martí leading a revolution to get rid of the Spaniards and the U.S. step in last minute and steal the glory
-US REALLY fuck things up
-A group of rough boys (including Castro and Che Guavara) plot to over throw the Americans and some dick Batista, and stamped them liberate Cuban residents give them the 'ideal' existence
-You can piss the U.S., Russia keep Cuba afloat by buying lots of sugar and cigars
– Russia (or I should say USSR) fucks up (greedy bastards) and Cuba will be turned over and people are starving
– They start letting in lots of snappy happy tourists (like me) to take all their money so they can eat again.

So you can see why I gave up history at 1st available soon!
Anyways back to the long exhausting flight … .. we finally got that blasted craft around 1 Cuban time (5 English) because of a slightly enlarged drop in Holguin, and rushed through visa control and baggage trains us in arrivals around 2 ….
So the first thought is that our transfer will be there, we were supposed to arrive at 4? On first inspection, no, but after half an hour panic, we infer that our company we have booked with has two names – how fucking stupid of us! As we taxied out to Havana ask our hotel was 24hr reception. Sorry I can not get to see much of the city on the drive as planned to be 3, but at least we were on our way. Get closer the hotel, I began to get a sick feeling which is all too familiar with me now in a city at night, coming from an ugly incident at Barcelona a few years back (and yes the story becomes more comprehensive, whenever it is told – they had knives you know, I say knives? I thought guns). So I was not all best pleased when I found out our taxi could not drive down the street our hotel was on and intended to leave us at the end of it. A few pesos (I will explain the money later) asked him to wait while the ladies parent (completely unaffected by this) ran up the road to see it was open. Halle-fucking-lujah it was. Almost kissing taxi driver I popped in my backpack and run up the road to the lovely "Beltran de Santa Cruz" Hotel.

Then met with a smile as a receptionist, he then blurts out, "There is a bit of a problem with your room, have broken plumbing, and we have been forced to move to another hotel, it is just 5 minutes round the corner across the square "

What point you will snap? Honestly? I snapped here. "Listen pal, we have been up for 30 hours, 13 of them spent in fucking Gatwick airport, 13 on a fucking airplane fresh out of the bedrock and the rest in transit between these locations, we have not eaten, we have not changed out underwear, we have not cleaned our teeth and we smell like fucking dead rats and you try to tell me that you need to do 2 poor helpless women who lug luggage across a city unknown to them at 4 in the morning to go to a hotel because you have a fucking plumbing problem? "
At least that was what is said in my head … what I actually said, in a very weak and frail whimper "Please will you come with us, I'm afraid." And bless his cottons, he did.
Ultimately my head touched the pillow at a 5:30 time, Cuba (9:30 English) after treatment with the ultimate disaster last night to open my backpack, I found my suncream had exploded in my stuff. A perfect start to a holiday would not you agree? It could only get better.

I think maybe I'll actually tell you something about my trip instead of my script from "Holiday from hell".

This was my first and definitely not last trip to the Caribbean. I think I was about 8 when I bought "100% reggae" and decided that I would spend my honeymoon in Jamaica, so I hope I will again reach these shores, when I can find someone who will marry me. Plus there are so many other places to visit, St. Lucia, Barbados, Antigua, Bahamas, etc., etc. … Let us hope that this next man is rich! Cuba, however, seems to have something else to rest and go out into the sunny streets of Havana, the first morning confirmed this. The Cubana Airways Big Day Out suddenly seemed a distant memory. Magnificent architecture, ranging from the Spanish colonial style buildings in the Old Havana, (many completely neglected, but in a funky way!) The neo-classical in the Vedado district and Art Deco American influence in central Havana. Diversity, which I have never seen in any city, and with the added advantage that, unlike most cities, they have avoided pushing eyesore 1970s tower blocks in the dead center of some beautiful area. Anyone run down nasty buildings all add to the character.
It is not a cliche that there are bands playing at every restaurant on every street corner with people singing and danced around. Its true, I was there. The first pit stop was at Il Patio restaurant in Cathedral Square (possibly my favorite Mojito of the entire holiday, although there were many, and the 1. is bound to taste the best!). There was a small 3 piece band playing (guitar, sax and bass), while some nut case woman danced around (Mom said that she had been there 2 years ago when her and my sister was gone!). They were fantastic, I just could not get enough of it! So this guy from the crowd (Italian I think) just rolled up, asked for a walk on sax and a little dried floor with some improvisations put anything I ever succeeded, because I played in a remedial category. It would not happen anywhere else in the world and players went wild with it!

So the first day was mostly spent getting a feel for the place. Wandering around getting lost, stop for Mojito each day and again takes thousands of pictures on every new street in every conceivable angle. In the afternoon we did (on recommendation from some friends) a ferry ride over to the other side of the water to climb into a fortress (and a massive statue of Jesus). It was really fun actually, as this clearly was not the biggest tourist attraction and the ferry appeared to be literally the local bus to and from work. We stuck out like sore thumbs! Also on top of our little trek, we discovered not only spectacular views than Havana, but also a mini-museum of Che Guavara house where he lived postal revolution and before he runs out to help Bolivia, and get himself killed. Here I discovered that he had asthma, like me, there maps inspired me to go out and start a revolution, but I got over it quickly.
Food in Cuba is crap, I mean really crap. I not really understand how they can get it so wrong, but they do and especially as a vegetarian, we were screwed. You get eggs, lots of eggs, so many eggs that word still makes me feel physically sick. Mom, who has been here before knowing all this, so had packed a kettle and a big bag of cous cous to help us in unbearable conditions, but also had excellent work out whereabouts of the only Italian restaurant (possibly across Cuba), then in Havana, at least we managed to get half decent meals! So after munching our way through a great Margarita and a more rapid Mojito we scooted off to bed pretty early, still kinda fucked from the previous day atrocities.

The second day was a huge lecture on politics and history for me. While normally this concept would make me shudder with fear and despair, as I said before I am totally gripped of the fact that this Teeny little spec on the earth's surface has contributed so much to the history of the human race. We had a little fun first, even getting a taxi to the Plaza de la Revolucion in a classic, bright purple (my favorite!) 1950 Buick with a rather confused driver, made to make many a cheesy Snap! Plaza is kinda just unfortunately with only 2 things to see. Firstly, the Jose Marti memorial statue in front of the massive looking, as we went up to get some fantastic views over the city and see lots of scary turkey vultures circle around it. And secondly, my favorite bit – the big Che image on the side of the government building with "Hasta la Victoria Siempre '(Forever further towards the Victory), written along the side. I have a bit of a Che compulsion to be honest, it's weird to think he was hot? Anyways just as it was felt quite cool to be standing where so many political meetings and addresses from Castro and other revolutionaries have taken place.

After that we got a bug taxi (see pictures) the Hotel National (very nice!). It was so fun to see so many people turn up at the mercenaries and swish cars, and we meet up in a small yellow blob! Here we had a Mojito looks out over the water, where we had been on previous days, and then out on a journey to the sea, where we finally ended up at the Museum of the Revolution. Here contained everything you would need to know about Cuba from time immemorial. At one point it was rather bizarre, how many details they have added – "Here's the spoon Castro spent while hiding in Argentina "- no joke! But it was fascinating. I will not bother to say much about it (which I already gave you my brief history of Cuba), but one of the highlights was the "Wall of Cretin" thank various political idiots for their contribution in the cause / consolidation of the revolution. They really do not give a shit who the insult!

The next day we had a rather stressful bus journey (6 hours – 1 toilet stops) for a suspected beautiful, friendly colonial town although first impressions this does not seem to be the case. The bus drive showed some quite nasty, rundown areas, lacking in charm of Havana, and on arrival at the bus station crowds of people were literally being held back from bullying us. They were advertising "casas" – equivalent to Hostelling in Cuba is to stay in casas with a Cuban family who cook and provide for you, but it all seemed too intimidating for me. So we hopped in a taxi and went to our hotel 'Las Cuevas "(caves). Any doubt about the next few days this place was soon dissolved, when we saw where the lush, where we were staying was! We dumped our luggage and were equal to the pool sampling of local delicacies – Mojito, pina COLLADA, and rather bizarre red, orange and blue drinks called Colonial Trinidad, I took a liking for. We managed to friends with a group of local in no time was feeding us more and sipping rum and give us salsa lessons. I was pretty pro already after my set of classes, I went into my "I'm sad, lonely and desperate, and the need to learn salsa to meet more sad, lonely and desperate people "phase, but I learned a new step, which was nice. Plus got a chance to laugh at my mother completely uncoordinated. Then at about 5, within 3 minutes the sky was covered with thick black clouds and the heavens opened. I've never been to a tropical storm before and I just found absolutely hilarious – the whole area was flooded after 2 minutes of rain, but it's still bloody hot and people were still dancing and in the pool! I asked my new best friend Tiago how long these storms usually last one to which he replied "It is up to St. Peter" – can not argue with that!

For our first full day in Trinidad, we got up bright and early and put on our sexy gear and also go out into the mountains on a hike with another unfairly beautiful couple from the hotel, and our lovely little tour guide Jordan, who kinda sounded like Borat when he spoke, which was a tad put off, but you got used to it!
The first part went through the center of Trinidad, which was much nicer than it had seemed from the bus the day before – nice and colorful, with people from around yesterday about the current business or hanging around in there door ways, playing guitar or sell fresh fruit. The second bit took us over some areas in the national park in the thick jungle-like mountains. We hiked for about two hours ends Finally, at a gorgeous waterfall and water reserve, which Cuban children were jumping in and play. I abstained, as always when it comes to water, which may contain living things. Although I did dip my feet and noticed a big lobster as ugly things crawling around on the bottom, and concluded that I had made the right decision.
The trip back was not so fun. In the afternoon heat had really hit in Trinidad and the city is situated on top of a hill, and our hotel on top of a hill to hill and energy level were absolute low end. We still had an afternoon once the cocktails by the pool and salsa dancing, so can not complain! This evening after dinner (hotel buffet slop), we was treated in a traditional Caribbean show. 4 uber hot black dudes pranced around the stage doing crazy things like eating hot coal and picking up tables with their teeth. It was quite erotic and I may have left a little puddle on my seat.

The next day was our last day in Trinidad city, when we were on the road in the evening to Ancon Peninsula approximately 30 minutes south of Trinidad on the coast. Still we did most of the morning at the hotel. It was actually called Las Cuevas for a reason, and (as you probably guessed) is because it is located above a group of caves. One of which is open for tours during the day and very funkily becomes a nightclub at night (although we never came to this, unfortunately). So my little friend Tiago took us on a tour of what was just fantastic! Stalagmites and stalactites to your hearts content – could just imaging people around salsaing them! He he!
After that it was a little more pot, but that seemed to be the pattern here, pissed late afternoon St Peter upon us, so we decided that we might as well transfer to the new location, while the weather was crappy. Then we walked through town (which at that time resembled a river) and down the coast for a few days with sunbathing and chilling. Arriving at the place it was nice enough, but is an all-inclusive had a somewhat different clientele, namely idiotic, drunk, burned the British. Well I only seen one of these to be honest, a 50ish year old fat northern home was rude to a bar man, but it just really got me annoyed. I just do not understand these people who just want to go on vacation to not actually experience something of the country treat their employees like slaves and abusing the unlimited availability of alcohol. Anyways we checked in and had an explore and felt rather disappointed to find that "beach" does not actually exist in reality, and there was a patch of sand, but did not extend to the sea. Compared to our last place, it just seemed a little seedy well. The sun was not completely out again, so we camped at the pool bar and had a few drinks. My mother who felt that it was not absolutely perfect, and an overly sensitive nature decided to drink a few too many Pinas and start really getting on my tits by being more than enthusiastic about the place, "I'm really warming to this place Alice, I'm really warming to it. Yes, I'm quite warming to this place" … .. As stated she wanted to swim in the sea before dinner. Then in a dramatic mother / daughter roll reversal I was doing my best, at least patronizing way possible to explain that to embark on a little rock edge to go to sea when she was pissed as a fart was not the best idea. Needless to say, a combination that she is drunk and over emotional, and I am still a bit wound up and start to feel a bit sick culminated with us, our only argument for the holidays with lots of "I is just embarrassing for you "and" I've booked us a holiday nonsense I bet you wish you were with your friends "comment … … no fun. Especially not funny as I start to feel sick actually turned out to be food poisoning, and I spent the next 12 hours on the toilet while pissing out of my arsehole and vomiting. Not the highlight of my vacation.

But a new day dawned. Feeling rather weakened from my night in the Shitter I did breakfast (if I saw a plate of eggs at me not what would have happened), but around me suddenly out what a reaction to the previous day had been. The place was fantastic. There were no drunk English people at all – just that one that was just kicking off, because they refused to serve him (and rightly so – the pussy) and even better than we have found the right beach! A beautiful little almost deserted beach with a small bar behind him and a semi-circle of stone around 100m out of which, according to the mother, was the best collection of tropical fish she had ever seen. It was perfect for me to slam my iPod on, treat yourself to an excellent book (not Hemingway!) and recuperate from my traumatic night while my overly excitable mom swam, and became friends with every body that came within 10 meters from us. Much better!
The next day we took advantage of the hotel's complimentary bicycles and train on a bike ride down through the peninsula. I have not been on a bike ride when I was around 10, and after that I just do not know why?! It was such fun! Although a bicycle surrounded by sea on both pages on a road lined with palm trees is much more appealing than cycling down the A413, but it really should be done more often! We stopped off at the tip of the peninsula, where was a hotel and mum jetted off on a boat trip to do some snorkeling on the reef (I obviously do not – I'm not going to go into my fear of the sea here – will you could only mock me) and I had a chance to improve my 'getting stupid now' tan (apparently the last 2 years working in Suncare has not really changed my mind about skin cancer).

We had one more morning on the beach after this before our transfer back to Havana, I was actually ready for this item. Anyone who knows me knows how obsessed I am with being tanned sun, but this whole "culture" malarkey was really came to me and I was itching to get back to Havana and to learn more! At the end of the day I could get a suntan in Lanzagrotty if I wished for one tenth of the price (with the added advantage that pick up a couple of sexually transmitted diseases), and my tan was pretty perfect for the time anyway (if I do not mind being incredibly arrogant!)
The bus journey back was even more of a fucking nightmare than the way there. 2 hours longer than it should have been over booked (so people stood), road closures, etc etc. Plus, when we arrived in Havana we were so late that there were no taxis at the bus station to take us to a hotel and it was bloody raining again! After virtually every other person on the bus had managed to hail a cab (we need to be more urgent!) We finally got back to the lovely Beltran and had a gourmet meal with cous cous prepared a suite and settled in bed ready to get the most out of our last days.

The next morning Havana suddenly was 100 times more amazing than it was when I was 9 days before (and it was a pretty amazing back then). Just mooching around I suddenly had the horrible "At 5 this evening, it will all be in" feeling. And I was not ready for it. Trying not to let it weakens we walked through the beautiful streets in Old Havana, through Cathedral Square, where we had the first life-changing Mojito, and proceed to sea where we decided it was time to tackle the hustle and bustle of the markets and buy some pressure filtered and tacky souvenirs, a Che beret Guavara is the most important, of course. Then we went to find the first of a new discovery, which was one street, which appeared in all the paintings of Havana, which was for sale on the market. It was a street with a sign hanging down to say "La Bodeguito del Medio" which proved to be a small bar where Hemingway used to hang out, and it seemed to many other celebs were there when the wall was covered in pictures and signatures. It took us nicely to our next planned point in the call. The Ambos Mundos Hotel, where Hemingway lived when he was visiting. They kept her room exactly how he felt when he stayed, and you can see around it. Also taken of this hotel has a bar, so we went up there and whiled away the rest of our afternoon with a few drinks there, soaking up the sunshine city with fantastic views and great company.

On our trip back to the hotel to catch our download something occurred to me. These were the streets of a capital city, and there were people sitting inside doorways night ring, people who play guitar and dance and sing around, kids playing baseball, women hanging their washing out there windows. This will not happen anywhere else, ever. Can you imagine going through London chatting to people dance with them, children playing? I bet 99% of people in London do not even know the neighbor's names! And this was communism – all equal everyone working as a team, no greed, no corruption, a real community. And I thought 'I could do that' – I could live in a " ideal "world I might prefer the countryside – where the houses each have a chicken and a piece of land to grow vegetables. But I could really live like that. I have always been against people earn more money than it is conceivable that makes satanic job effectively only making money by screwing other people over – bankers, lawyers, etc. And I've been against the situation you are born in order to reflect how far you can make it in life (I know it is not meant to be such, but it is). And I love the ideal. All receive the same if they work, what they do and as a favor to receive a perfect education system, perfect the National Health Service, a perfect all government run, and a complete sense of patriotism. Real patriotism – not just beat up other country's football fans patriotism.
I started thinking about England and wondering why I wanted to stay living here. A country where our so-called "left wing" the prime minister (who apparently is now Gordon Brown not Tony Blair anymore) spends £ 2000 of British taxpayers money a year on cleaning products for his stupid amount of houses also paid by the State. And when white trash Vicky Pollard with 10 babies leak money out of the welfare state, while moaning about 'bloody Asians and poles – they come over here taking our jobs and tax money. " They fucking pay taxes, so why should they have no right to it? I'd rather they got it, than the fat ass Keith Miller of the world. It is really disgusting and I do not want to be part of it.

But of course Cuba is not as ideal. The dream is there and I think it probably worked before the eastern bloc dissolved, but then again if they do not really maintain themselves as a single unit, as Communism did not win it.
Personally, I think one of the major problems, why things are not as good as they should come from tourism. Although rescued the country from hunger, but it has caused no end of questions and apparent split people into two personality types. Write a is mainly the older generation, are still very pro-Castro. These remember and understand that they lived well after the revolution, before the special period (between the fall of the eastern block and the start of tourism) and also understand that tourists saved their arses when things were looking pretty bleak. These people thus treat tourists with gratitude, respect and kindness. The second type what I call "next" generation of Cubans, seems to be far more cynical and unsure of what they get is really "fair". These people are quite resentful of tourists, often to the point they are just rude (turning back, shooing away etc.). I think the problem is because they are ignorant of what life was like before. All they see is these rich idiots, with their fancy clothes, flash digital cameras and disposable cash to throw about, traveling around to see all the different cultures and locations. Everything they can not have, and what they might have if things were different. I suppose it would piss me off.

Another massive problem with letting tourists are difference in what people earn, depending on whether they work in the tourism industry or not. Money is a bit complicated, but Cuba's two currencies – local pesos and convertible pesos. Tourists are only eligible to use convertible pesos and convertible pesos each is actually worth 10 Cuban pesos. So effectively, if I were to go into a store and buy a bottle of water – it would cost I say 1cp (about 50p) and a Cuban-1p (ie about 5p). So effectively they are charging tourists ten times for all that there is still always seems reasonable to us (2 Mojito tend to be around 5cp – £ 2.50 – not bad!). This means when you tip a person in a bar, says 1cp – they get around £ 5.00 value out of it yet, it only costs 50p. I think it is absolutely genius and I can not see why other countries have not caught on. In Thailand, why not charge £ 5.00 for a meal instead of 50p?! Tourists will still pay £ 5.00! But people in the tourism industry, with their tips, get much more available cash than any other, which creates inequality in the population – a total of communism not. Take for example the scenario of the hike we did in the mountains in Trinidad. The cost of this was 7cp every so 14cp in total, and watch as our guide stayed with us from 9 to 2 in blistering heat enthusiastically talking all the time, we had a 20cp note and told him to keep the change. So he got 6cP kr – 3 us worth £ 30 This makes you feel great as a tourist. Giving a tip is not so much value to you makes a big different to local life. Indeed, their salary is 300p, so we actually rolled him a 5th of what he would earn in a month. Crazy really. But you think of all the doctors and teachers, etc. who slave their arses off and can not see anything of the sort comes their way. Where is the incentive to work then? This is not fair and is when the system really breaks down. You can certainly feel some unrest and I count especially now that Castro has resigned, great changes are afoot. I think if you thought to go I would recommend going asap. (Listen to me to do political predictions, when 2 weeks ago I did not even know what communism really meant!)

Anyways enough politics and back to reality. Damn I wish I could, but I am hooked! Six months ago, to spend all my time to google Che Guavara and 'communism for dummies' or writing ridiculously long blogs that no will read (except maybe Sam – and even he will probably be bored now), would have been fine, so I had nout better else to do. But right now I do who review these bastard exam, and this new found obsession is greatly reduces the productivity stakes!

Overall, the holiday (which is what it was in late of days) was a great success. I would love to go back and see and do more of it, and like so many places I've been I say that I one day. But I know that go back to a place I've already been mean to sacrifice somewhere new as I can get a moment filled until the next place … .. etc. etc.

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