241 Steps (or so)

Back (awhile ago now) from the third trip to glorious La Habana.  The rides on the 400 and P-11 and joy of actually surviving the Bacuranao trailer park.  The bici-taxis, the salsa lessons, the tower of beer, conversations with the locals, decent food, magnificent Daiquiris, and the sublime and spectacular rooftop cigars and sunsets courtesy of the Parque Central Hotel.  That place delivers everytime, and ranks as one of the all-time great escape retreats.  It will be awhile before the eventual return, and the circumstances will no doubt be different with the opening of the borders, but as long as that place stands it will be special.

Another week away, another conversation upon the return.  Not sure whether things will end up any differently, and ...   to be continued it was.  But the healthy habits of 28 days on the wagon and taking the stairs and walking the treadmill and devotion to the 7 minute made for a glorious many more steps across merry England and the Hadrian's epic wall.  That was a solo trip worth taking, increasing the appetite for more, if ways to do it on the cheap can be found.  It passed ever so quickly, and has left me vacant and open-eyed on my return, solitary with A off on a meditative retreat and so time to think and plan, and deal with ever-increasing annoyances at the office.  Ay me.  Why is the urge to run always the first to enter the mind?