You don’t realize how much you depend on what we now consider basic services until you have to go without - or unless you realize that you can’t depend upon them.Going to Cuba, you are told not to expect cell phone service - and they are absolutely right.  But you don’t realize how much you miss it - even though, at one point in my life I swore I would never have a cell phone, now it becomes an extension of your life.  All of sudden, you realize that you will be missing updates from friends and family, social calls, work emergencies - all of a sudden it makes you realize how expendable you are.

The one thing that I was not expecting when going to Cuba is the electricity situation.  In the United States, we keep on hearing how old and out of date our electrical systems are.  In Cuba, I quickly learned which of my limited electrical outlets would throw sparks and which ones only a quick flash when plugging in my computer.

Then there was the surprise as I was walking through the lobby one day and saw it go dark - the employees proceeded unfazed and unsurprised until the emergency generator started about thirty seconds later.

At the Havana Fair, our company had ordered a refridgerator to use for storing food and beverages.  The day the fair started, it had not been wired in yet - wired in you ask?  Correct, wired it in.  The refridgerator did not have a plug in, just a cord.  The workers came in, dropped a live electrical wire over the back of the booth, stripped the ends of the wires from the refridgerator and then from the live wire.  There are two wires inside of each cord, so first the main electrician touched the wires from one side together and generated some blue sparks, he touched them together, twisted them with his fingers, and then tapped them together.  Then he touched the second too together - no spark, not enough voltage, no spark, so he sent away his helper - they were going to have to find another place to splice into the wiring system - as his assistant walked away, he touched them and got the desired blue spark - he let out a loud yell to his assistant to come back, twisted, tapped, and just like that, we had a working refridgorator.

The internet too was a shaky thing.  At the Havana Fair, we had good wireless internet - most of the time, but it was a fleeting thing, so our time on line was limited.  At the hotel, they had free wireless internet, but the speed that it worked made it all but impossible to use.  It made old dial up connections seem like a race horse.

In the end, looking at the state of the people, the state of the economy, and the overall health of the country, I can’t blame them in the least.  I would rather that the money and infrastructure get dedicated to making life better for the average Cuba.  Perhaps a decent transportation system, or investments in agriculture and other basis service and industries - not that that is taking place anyway…

But it did point out a fault that we have as humans, five years ago, I would not have considered cell phone service a basic service.  I would not have expected high speed wireless connection to be an irrevocable right, but you don’t realize how dependant you become on the gadgets and gizmos.

I’m just glad that I don’t have to splice them into the power grid to get them to work…

As I experienced the joys and surprises of Cuba this last week, I also met and interacted with many different people.  Government officials, cleaning ladies, beggars, taxi drivers, ladies of the night, students, waiters and waitresses - a whole menagerie of people from a huge range of educational backgrounds and understandings.  It was important to remember the lines from Paul’s letter - we are all temples of the living God.  We each are a house for the Lord, the foundation was laid down by Christ, and we build the rest with our actions, with our deeds.It would be easy to judge each one of those people that I came into contact with - living in a communist country, seemingly little faith, in some very dishonorable professions.  But where would that leave me?

In the end, I too am a temple of the Lord.  How do I fair in that department?  I am a sinner.  I’m overweight, don’t take care of myself like I should, and yet I too am a temple of the Lord.  Yet I am called - no I choose every time I go to receive the Eucharist, to be a temple, a residing place for our Lord Jesus Christ.  He abides with us and in us.

We are called to be that temple - to be that light on the hill shining for all to see.  To be a beacon of faith for all those that need it - to be a glimmer of hope in a dark world.

In the end, each of us are part of something much bigger.  Something much more powerful.  We are part of what Ezekiel prophesied about - about the temple that poured forth water and refreshed the land.  That watered the desert and made fruit trees grow.  We, each one of us believers in faith, are stones in this temple of light and hope.  In addition to being a Holy home, designed by our Father (but that we care for on this earth), we are also part of a larger body, a larger temple of faith that can move mountains, bring faith to the faithless, bring waters to dry lands - make the world anew.

Yet none of this possible or necessary without the ultimate Temple - that of the triumvirate God in our Lord Jesus Christ, who came to earth as man, but as God as well, and who sacrificed Himself for us upon the gibbet of the cross.  They destroyed His earthly temple, the residing place for God here on earth, and rebuilt it - raised it, raised Himself, from the grave three days later.

We have this mystical hierarchy of temples build by and for our Lord.  Confusing, revealing, profound - but what practical advice can we take from this?

I believe we are called to do two simple things.

First - we must preserve, protect, and do the best we can with the temple that we are given, our bodies.  Like any building, we must do the maintenance that it requires.  Moderation in our lifestyles, leading a healthy life, keeping ourselves pure.

Second - we must work to build that temple of our Lord here on earth.  We are called to be active participants in building it here on earth.  In our churches, in our communities, in our daily lives, we must seek to draw all together into the home of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Simple, not easy, but things that are absolutely necessary to grow in our life in the Spirit.

The Havana Fair is where international suppliers make contact with the Cuban government buyers, but in addition, it always the people to come in and see the people that are supplying the food and goods that their government buys for them.  Normally, there were very few people milling about - who would want to be in an enclosed building when it is 80F outside and hotter inside?But with the few people that were present combined with free items (though tightly controlled - sometimes that leads to unintended results.

The booth directly across from ours at the Havana fair was a European poultry company that sells frozen chickens.  The average Cuban cannot afford meat (and someone even told me that if they are caught by the police with meat - not supplied by the government it would mean time in prison).  The meat company was supplying free bags - simple paper bags with handles on the top that had their logo across it.

The first batch that they put was probably thirty to forty bags.  They were snatched up in less then a minute.  Some people were taking three or four bags each.  The people working the booth put out another fifty to sixty bags…they were gone in about the same amount of time.  A third time, they put out a stack of paper bags - more then before, maybe one hundred - they were snatched away.

A crowd was growing.

The people in the booth decided that they needed a new approach.  They opened up a box and began handing them out, one at a time to each person to come to the booth.  The two poor people could not keep up with the outstreatched hands.  Many people would take a bag, leave the crowd, leave it with a waiting friend or relative and dive back into the mix - sometimes three or four trips.

Within minutes, the booth was out of bags again.  The people in the booth opened up a box and the people saw that the entire box was full of paper bags - pandemonium raged.

People were grabbing the bags out of the box even as the poor people in the booth were trying to carry the box to the counter.  The booth was almost overrun with people grabbing and fighting for these paper bags.

It in minutes, there were two or three uniformed police officers and four or five men in suits surrounding the crowd.  One of the men shouted a command in Spanish and the crowd melted away.

One of the men in suits came up to the booth and asked them not to hand out any more bags.  Then, the police men and the secret police melted away as well.

Within minutes people were back at the booth, begging and pleading - quietly and in small groups of one or two, please - just one more bag.

Someone in our group made the comment about why people would fight for a paper sack?

When you have nothing but the clothing on your back and a place to live, when you make seven dollars a month and struggling to make a better life - a paper bag can be used to barter, or to carry your children’s books to school, or to use as luggage, or countless other uses.

Material possessions perhaps, but also the first vestige of freedom.

As we were strolling the streets of Havana late one night, we noticed a nightclub that was advertising itself as a Jazz Club.  Old signage, in English, led me to believe that this was a very old club indeed - pre-revolution.Going down a staircase, we came into a club that charged a very expensive cover (10 pesos per person), but came with two free drinks.  What the heck, we took the risk.

As we were getting settled on our table, the band was carrying in their instruments - a wide range of people made up the group.  A fair skinned, almost Scandinavian looking bass player to a very dark trumpet player with dread-locks - it ranged the full range of skin tone.

The instruments too were fairly diverse.  Bass guitar, electric keyboard, a full set of drums, bongo drums, saxophone, two trumpets, and a flute - these people were ready for action.

They started to play right about eleven o’clock.  Right away, you could tell that this was no ordinary band.  They were people that loved their music and played with gusto.  It was a strange, eclectic mix of jazz, blues, and Latin music that blended together for a cheerful, raucous, melody.  Each song that they played was long, filled with spirit and excellently executed.

The bass guitarist (our of our view from our table) was on the far left hand side of the stage, strummed and plucked with soul.  The keyboardist set the tone of the group - throwing out little jaunts, and sidebars that mixed brilliantly with the rest of the instruments.  The drummer moved faster then any other drummer that I have seen and could mix and blend the percussion from the bass drum to the cowbell that he had mounted at his side.

The bongo player was next in line and he played with soul and would throw out smiles and frowns to his fellow band members as they played   The saxophone player was next - and I will readily admit that I have not traditionally been a fan of the saxophone - but that changed on that Tuesday night as we listened to this band played.  He played the full range of the instrument - and was good as a supporting character and as the lead at times.

The trumpet player was next in line - a jolly looking middle-aged bald fair skinned gentlemen that could really wail.  His range was fantastic, his pitch superb, and his stacco’s were stacco’s.  Half way through the first set he was joined by a second trumpeter, a tall, lanky youth, well dressed, but with reggae style dread locks on the top.  I didn’t think that the first trumpeter could be topped.  I was wrong.  This guy was good.  Very good.

The group was rounded out by a young, pretty woman that played the flute - an instrument that I’ve thought for suited for a major orchestra or some slow gentle concerto then a jazz/latin/blues/reggae group.  Wow, could she play.  For five minutes of one song I sat mesmerized as she performed with only limited accompaniment - and she rocked the place.  I feared for the glass that my mohito was in at one point as the notes she was hitting were so high; I thought I could feel the glass tremble in my hand.  How she got that sound, that clarity, that volume, that speed out of that flute still defies logic.  She was good.  She was very good.

Together, they played on through the Havana night, and though we left about two o’clock in the morning, their melodious music will ring on when ever I think of Havana.

My plane successfully landed back on US soil yesterday, Friday, November 7th.  No problems, no issues getting in or out.  Communication has been another matter - internet connections in Cuba are not what we know and love in the United States.  In any event, expect to see more updates and reflections on my trip over the next several days.

It was a fantastic experience, but it is good to be back in the United States of America.

The guidebook that I bought for my trip to Cuba said that it is best to get around on foot.  They cite the reason as being that the public transportation system makes frequent unplanned, unexpected, and unannounced stops.  I believe the second reason is the risk that is incurred should you get a Lada as the taxi.The Lada is a Soviet made car and the ones that I had the experience of riding in were all circa the 1960’s and 1970’s.  The height of auto making incompetence the world over, but the Lada appears to be in a class all by itself.

Roughly translated, Lada I believe means “toaster oven” in English. 

And the name toaster oven fits perfectly.  Made almost completely of tin, a stunning engine that sounded remarkably like a lawn mower (I actually thought that the car was run by a hamster until our cab driver got out of the car on the side of the road to pour a container of gasoline into the tank - at first I thought it might have been hamster feed, but thanks to the fantastic Lada ventilation system, I could clearly smell the gasoline fumes - then he popped the hood and hand pumped the gas to the engine so that he could start it - unless he was petting the hamsters….).  The car also rose to the temperature of a toaster oven.  The car was designed for Russian winters (though how warm it would actually get is another mystery that I’d rather not explore).  In the tropical heat (with four - yes four passengers plus the driver, made the heat interesting.  Luckily, in one of the Lada’s, the driver did offer to share the one hand crank - one hand crank for four windows - to let us roll down the windows.

The comfort level inside the Lada is also worthy of note - and a positive note - the Lada is surprisingly roomy and easy to get in and out of, especially compared to American and European cars (though the ease of getting out may simply be the relief that you feel when you reach your destination safely). The seats are another matter entirely.  On one trip, the springs were so bad - if their were springs - there were several times when I truly believed that my backside was riding the pavement.

In short, the devil has reserved a special place for the designer of the Lada. 

I know there are people in this world that would say that I’m a Lada hater and I need to give it a chance.  I know that I’m probably too closed minded and spoiled in my auto choices.  I know that the Lada probably has a huge following and a great fan base.

Of all of the wonderful sights and experiences that I had in Cuba - the one that I will long for the least is the Lada.

I have come to the conclusion that the United States could never successfully invade Cuba.  The casualties trying to make it through Havana traffic would be too great.  I have not traveled extensively, but I have been to Europe, most major US cities, and points in the Far East.  Nothing can quite compare to traffic in Havana.If I were to write the Cuban drivers manual, the lessons would be:

1. Traffic lanes are suggestions only.  The Cuban driver likes optionality - if there are two lanes of traffic, drive in both, center your car over the lane markings (unless there are no lane markers, then just center yourself on the cars in front of you) and chose which you like better based on the speed of the traffic in front of you and the seriousness of the honking behind you.
2. Slower traffic should use the outside lane should they feel like it.  Riding a bike?  A tractor?  A horse drawn cart? On foot?  Or slower yet - a Russian made Lada car?  There is no shame in taking the middle lane of traffic.
3. When driving on a two way street, make sure you are careful merging into oncoming traffic (driving to the airport coming home, the taxi took a small two lane road, at stop light, he merged into on coming traffic - repeat ON COMING TRAFFIC - and passed about thirty trucks, buses, cars, and my favorite - the ten motorcycles waiting at the front of the line by the red light - all the while on coming traffic was swerving into the foot traffic on the side of the road.  No one honked, no one waved either).
4. All turns should be made from the second lane in - example, with two lanes going one way, make sure you are in the left hand lane when turning right.  Optional - wave at the driver in the right hand lane as you swerve in front of them.
5. Watch out for parked traffic on the highways - going to a store or a factory?   No place to park?  No problem.  Parking lots are paved, so are roads - please park in the outside line.
6. If you car dies on the side of the road, please before you fix it in a timely manner - plus or minus week (A 1950’s Chevy was parked on the side of the road as we went too and from the Havana Fair - for three days, the car sat in the same right hand lane of traffic (don’t worry, they put a branch about five feet behind the car to slow down on coming traffic in case they missed it.  On the third day - they had taken off the right rear tire - meanwhile, all other traffic had to merge into the next lane - all this unfazed anyone).
7. If you are driving a car - which are in limited supply - it means that many other people have to walk.  Since 50% of the dead vehicles on the side of the road are part of the public transportation system, feel free to pick up any one of the thousands of people looking for rides too and from places on the side of the road.  If you don’t have room in your car, please watch out for these thousands of people as they mill on the side of the road.
8. If your car runs out of gas, feel free to stop where you are and fill it up.  At the side of the interstate with cars passing at fifty miles per hour?  No problem.  In the center turn lane in the middle of city?  Si.
9. Make sure when honking your horn, make your hand into a fist and pound the horn in quick succession.
10. Turn signals are wonderful to look at and help to distract the driver behind you to your true intentions.  Making a right from the left hand lane - make sure that you put on your left blinker, it will keep things more interesting for the drivers behind you.

Though many close calls (both in the car when they happened or seeing them from a neighboring vehicle) and spending almost two hours a day in taxis (more then spent actually sleeping) - did not once see an accident.

It’s all about the rules of the road.

 (Tom Jirik wrote columns in several newspapers in Iowa from the late 1980’s to the mid 1990’s.  This column originally appeared in the The Boone Today on November 4, 1987)

Elections are over.  Ho-hum, big-deal, whoop-dee-do.

Now the real business of government can resume.

Most people I know don’t take local officials very seriously.  They think of them as glory seekers and ax grinders.  “That so-and-so on the city council has mush for brains.  All they want to do is raise our taxes,” is often heard.

As for school boards, “They don’t care about our kids.  All they want to do is raise our taxes.”

No wonder people don’t want to run for government seats.

They certainly don’t do it for the huge salaries, although the Boone City Council recently doubled its pay.

As a member of the press, I attend more city council meetings and school board meetings than most people and get a chance to watch these people work up close up.

I think a small-town city administrator said it best when he told me,”It’s easy to get frustrated and criticize these people, but they are honest people who really do work hard to try to provide what is best for their town.”

I admit that I am one of the worst culprits when it comes to criticizing our local officials for holding long and boring meetings. But if long and boring is what it takes to provide what is best for our community and children, then long and boring if fine with me.

Today’s city officials are strapped by financial constraints and governmental regulations.  It is not their fault that they no longer wield as much political power as our city fathers once did.

So they do the best they can.  They sit through hours of hearings, meetings, all for the good of their cities.

They take the heat when they do something people don’t agree with, and they are seldom praised for a job well done.  When a city council or school board member tells you it’s a thankless job, you probably don’t know the half of it.

I’m not saying that our local elected officials are perfect, nor should they be immune to criticism.  Officials must rake responsibility for their actions.

What I am saying is that our elected officials are giving of their time in service to their communities, and we should give them a little more of what they really deserve… respect and thanks.

Moving into a town with established history and traditions like Boone is not all a bed of roses, especially for a news reporter.  People assume that I know things that I don’t know.  Consequently, I pretend to know most of what they assume I know so that people don’t correctly surmise that I am actually quite dense.

Assuming too much often leads to a display of y stupidity in print.  For example, just because I usually see Any Knudson behind the counter at the Pester Derby I assumed that she was a clerk.  Wrong.  She is the manager. 

Sorry Andy.

I also assumed that there had only been two children from Columbia adopted by Boone county parents.  Wrong again.  Eric Kline of Madrid has joined the ranks along with Kasi Rungee and Amy Platter, both of Boone.

Eric’s mother, Linda, courteously informed me of my error.  Linda tells me Eric is getting along fine with dad Alan and sister Brenda and at 11 months is a very active resident of Boone county.

For the second United States Presidential election in a row, I have been out of the country.  I have voted, but have not been in the United States for the aftermath.As much as I miss the American tradition of celebrating success, licking the wounds, and uniting the nation together that takes place immediately after the election, it is interesting to see the reaction among the people overseas.

Four years ago I was in Malaysia, a predominantly Muslim country, though a democratic one, where, though they have religious police, they also believe in freedom of speech and of the press.  At that time, it was George Bush versus John Kerry and we were embroiled in nasty election year politics that was pitting the Muslin world versus the Christian world.  It was only a year after the terrorist bombing in Bali, Indonesia (one of Malaysia’s neighbors), and tensions were perceived to be high between the United States and the rest of the Muslim world.

One of my co-workers gave me good advice…”try to blend in.”  He didn’t tell me how a six foot one, two hundred and fifty pound American was suppose to blend into a population that we a) mainly of Chinese decent b) decidedly shorter then six foot one and c) Looked, acted, and spoke nothing like the Malaysian.

On my first day in Kuala Lumpur, I walked on their subway in rush hour, people packed in around me (about chest height) - and they were all dead quiet, looking at me.  The man whose chin was in my chest, looked up and said, “You American?”

I thought to myself, the day after the presidential election, one hundred Malaysians and me packed in a crowded subway car - what is the correct response to make sure that I make it out alive?

“Yes.” I said.

One of the most lively, spirited, and intellectual conversations then took place about American politics and the policies of George W. Bush and John Kerry including their voting records and policy suggestions.

These people knew their stuff.

This election, I had the distinct pleasure to be in Cuba - not a bastion of friendliness to the American government.  The election was on everyone’s mind and was being actively talked about.  Every cab driver, every waiter, and customer was discussing.  Three hours into my stay, I watched a man walk by at the convention we were at carrying a “Republicans for Obama” sign.  People were wearing stickers on them supporting candidates - most Obama, but a few McCain supporters as well.

It was a bit surreal.

But perhaps one of our cab drivers summed it up best.  “That McCain is one tough hombre, but Obama is more like me.”

You can’t argue with a Cuban taxi driver about the American election.

I have to say, I was warned about the cars.Havana, Cuba has the most eclectic mix of cars that I have set eyes upon.  Cars from every decade from 1940 forward…and in about equal proportions, roamed the highways and byways in and around Havana.

Chevy’s, Fords, Willy’s, Studebakers, Renaults, Buicks, Oldsmobile’s, Plymouths, Renaults, Audis, BMW’s, Volkswagons, Kia’s, Toyota’s, Fiats, Volvo’s, Peugots, Vada’s, Yugo’s, and a pluthera of other auto’s from around the world clog the streets of Havana - sharing the roads with motorcycles, motorcycles with sidecars, bicycles, horses, horse drawn carts, bicycles with small engines mounted on them, bicycle powered taxis, trucks and tractors - anything that can move people or things from one spot to another can be found on the roads and highways of the Cuban transportation system where the motto seems to be, “Our lanes of traffic are only suggestions.”

Beautiful old cars with fins and chrome mixed with tiny little cars from the far east and old army trucks converted into buses.  Buses that were made in the 50’s (and last cleaned in the 60’s) stop and let people off and on at every red light (even in the middle lane) belch black smoke out of their exhaust.

But the buses aren’t the only things belching black smoke…Cuba seems to have no mosquito problems because of the state of their automobiles.  Many cars leaving smoke screens behind them - big black clouds hanging on the highway - would leave any mosquito anxious to go to Miami.

It was a hodge-podge of cars and trucks the world over in varying degrees of depreciation - from the seemingly off the floor new car (but perhaps from 1940’s) to those that probably should have seen the scrap heap…about ten years ago.

But the old classics are beautiful.

A classic 1950’s Cadillac convertible, shinning like new.

A late 1950’s Chevy fins raised up like hackles on its back and sides painted seafoam green and white.

Perhaps most impressive of all for me, a light blue/gray 1950’s Willy Short box pickup that looked like it had just rolled off the assembly line - just like I imagined the old one of Grandpa’s.  In addition, a host of Willy’s - Jeeps, Jeepsters, Trucks.

If I could buy one, I’d like to take one home, like something out of the history books.  Driving it back to Minnesota might  be a problem, but a good Willy’s fan will tell you 90 miles of ocean is nothing for a Willy’s.