Hotel La Union - Cienfuegos Cuba

Olga la chancletera

Caminando , caminando su chancletas va gastando.
Ella va mirando ,va mirando y no haya lo que busca.
Ella es joven y bonita aunque su rostro lo oculta.
detras de esas ojeras hay una mujer bella.

Ella biste pantalones, blusa roja y sus chancletas gastada
disen su historia entera. Ella es bella , piel canela ojos azules
como su mar. Es cienfueguera es candela Olga la chancletera.

Sus noches son largas sus dias tambien. Ella espera ,espera en
el reloj...? Para que ella piensa? , para que en su interior.
No comprende ella su suerte pues asi la decidio.
Gastada por trabajo, necesidad y corrupcion Olga nos dise su historia,
la de sus chancletas hoy.

Sufre , ama ,llora por su vida y los de ella. Ella espera con decesperacion.
Olga la chancletera no le queda mas que su dolor.
Solo quedan sus chancletas las que su historia vivio.
Unos la estudian ,unos la usan , otros la aman y otros la odian.
Ella ha marcado y la han marcado por ser suave en su historia.
Llamenle necesidad, gusto, pasion o fletera esta es la historia
de Olga la chancletera.

Ella pide, pide sin cesar. Con su carne paga presta y da. Ella aparenta
timidez pero es de lobo su mirar.
Suda , suda al caminar su pelo negro largo con esencia de aquel que paso.
Va mirando lo que dejan, va mirando lo que se llevo. Asi pasan sus dias y
Olga la chancletera enveceje en su interior.

Barlovento, Varadero, Cuba

Varadero

Dedicated to my friend who is going through a hard time in her life right now.

I know that you are a brave one.
I know my words are short and simple.
You are my sister , you are my friend.

Your pain and sorrow is my pain.
You are bless with your children, your
friends, parents and love ones.

You have more than what it takes to heal your soul.
To heal your self.
Above all you have the all mighty holding you
by your hand.

Do not fear , do not be scare.
All throughout he will be there.
He is your angel, he is your friend.
Trust in him above all things.

When your eyes you should awake.
All bad things will be gone and away.
You are brave. You have courage.
God will be there every step of the way.

I love you
i am your sister , your friend.
Lissette
Dedicated to my friend I .....

My own caramel flan.. so so delicious

This Caramel Flan will blow your mind away

Que Rico!!!!!!!!

3/4 cup of white sugar

1 can condense milk

1 can evaporated milk

5 eggs

1 teaspoon of vanilla extract

Making the carame;

pour some sugar in a baking pan

let it melt in the heat

stirring to golden

put it aside and let it rest

Take all of the flan ingredients put through the blender , one minute.

Pour the liquid into the caramel baking pan cover with a tin foil paper.

Secure the baking pan all around it with a rope or nylon to make a seal.

Take the pressure cooker insert the baking pan and pour water to the high of the baking pan.

Set the pressure cooker 30 minutes after pressure is on.

Take baking pan out let it cool .

When ready to serve take a flat plate and turn pan over on the plate .

Flan is ready to eat

Enjoy!!!!

by Lissette

A ese pobre lechoncito su buen dia le llego

A ese pobre lechoncito su buen dia le llego.

Mi suegra lo queria, Chachy,Pepe, Lola mi vecina

y para ser honesta hasta yo.

Lo llevaron para el fondo de el patio.

De una puñala murio. Pobrecito el

cochinito ya su dia le llego.

Lo metieron en un caldero, mas grande

que un fogon y entre leña, palo y cenizas

alli se cosino.

LLego Lucy la guajira con su cara rosagante.

La mesa nos bajo. Puso arroz, y chicharritas,

vino tinto , cerveza y ron.

Llegaron todos los primos, vecinos de por alli.

Los abuelos y los tios y hasta el guajiro mayor.

Hicieron de aquel puerquito masa fina y chicharron.

Que rico estuvo el puerquito! Dijo aquel y digo yo.

Comio mi suegra , Pepe, Niuris y comi yo. Caballeros!

yo les digo, que esto se repita . Con salsa de la rica.

Formemos otro fieston en casa de Teresita.

Por Lissette

Que rica mi comida

Masitas

Mangos

Esto si es fruta rica de verdad!! Caballero estos mangos si estaban dulces de verdad...

Este joven es real, el vive un Cuba el ama , llora, rie, canta , baila hasta disfruta de los mejores placeres que la vida nos da. Pero algo dise que su mirada esta triste . El siente , el extraña el pide a gritos amor. El solo tiene 17 años. Es un hombre en su mirar, es un niño en su pensar y es un angel que dia a dia lucha por un manaña mejor. El tiene sueños, metas, ideas, ilusiones. El es como cualquier joven cubano que pide a gritos felicidad. El es orgulloso de su padre, ama a su hermana incondicional. Siente a su madre sin pensar y es el mejor nieto de sus abuelos. A el le gusta el perfume, los mesclillas , camisetas de letras brillantes, gorras, zapatillas y demas. El despierta cada dia a los rayos de el sol, la tierra es su mejor amiga los caballos su pacion. Pero su mirada es triste. Entre risas y risas se le escapa su dolor. El lucha en su interior por las cosas que no puede, el se pierde en brazos que duermen su corazon. El es un joven cubano de hoy.

Por Lissette

Dedicado a mi amigo D. que vive en Cuba... Sigue luchando tus sueños seran realidad

Los sillones de mi casa en Cuba

Los sillones de mi casa tienen su sabor;

Si te trae recuerdos , sentarte en un sillon cubano tomando un cafecito mientras alguien llega a tu puerta.

Donde tantas veces soñastes, llorastes, descansastes, te emanorastes dormistes y hasta cantastes.

Esos son los sillones de mi casa en Cuba. Que fresco entra por la puerta . Que alegria oir los gritos de aquel que a diario vende el pan.

Unos llegan , otros van. Ellos siempre fuertes . Con su olor a madera rustica de mis campos y con eco de voces que aman. Yo los cuido , Yo los amo . Los sillones de mi hogar.

Por Lissette

Dedicados a todos los cubanos que viven en cuba y tienen un sillon. Y a todos los que desde afuera añoramos uno.

La guajira Elvira

Tropicana Nightclub Havana Cuba exotic dancer floorshow

Atraves del tiempo nuestra musica no muere, nuestros bailarines son capases de enfrentar a un publico con orgullo, honor y arte . Ellos llevan muy a dentro su cubania ellos son nuestros heroes.

15 anos en el costa sur cienfuegos cuba

Unos quinces en Cienfuegos , Cuba .

Sentir Cubano

Marti dijo: "Las Palmas son Novias que esperan."

Mi tierra llora de dolor.

Mi pueblo espera.

Mientras mi patria pare

una esperanza, una

ilusion.

por Lissette

Jose Julian Marti

Martir de nuestra patria. gran poeta cubano

Cuba que hermosa eres

Bandera Cubana

Pajaro Nacional Escudo cubano

Cuba que hermosa eres, tu palma real,

tu Tocororo, tu escudo, tu belleza,

Tu mariposa blanca y tu bandera.

Cuba que hermosa eres, con tus llanos,

y tus bohios, tus lomas y tus rios.

Con tu musica y tu son.

Desde San Antonio a Maisi. Tu belleza

nos deslumbra. Con tus mares , tus arenas,

tus noches y sus estrellas.

Cuba que bella eres, la perla mas bella,

regalo de Dios. Dijo Marti y digo yo, que

tu belleza no muera.

por Lissette

Flor Nacional de Cuba Mariposa Blanca

Nuesta Isla de Cuba

El Mojito de mi grandfather..

The best mojito in town

1.25 oz of Rum

12 mint leaves

1 tbsp of sugar

0.5 oz of lime juice

2 oz of club soda

Place the mint leaves in bottom of glass, add crushed ice, rum,sugar and lime juice.......And Cha cha cha ...muddle. Add club soda and finally garnish with mint leaves.

A la perla de el Sur

Nunca pense que al volverte

yo a ver alegria en mi surgiera

que mi alma llenaras de viejos

recuerdos aquellos.

Tu olor, tu calor la risa de tu gente.

El llanto de aquel niño.

El grito de el imprudente.

El viejo que sonrie, la alegria

de mi gente.

Tus colores. tus flores, tu aroma

de cafe.

Tu tabaco, tu ron, tus mares y tu son.

Tus hermosos monumentos

Tus estatuas y tus muros

Todos tus caminos, los anchos

los estrechos.

Tu amanecer, tu llanto y tu dolor

Como dejar de amarte

Si nunca te olvide.

En ti abri mis ojos

En ti los cerrare

Sazon cubano

One hundred fires into my heart

Dedicated to all of the people who had to make their homes away from home.Never forget who you really are. Only then your spirit will be free making you a stronger individual.

It is easy to

say that you

are not from here nor from there. Rather than to explain where

we are from or who we really are. I once belong to a place so

warm and beautiful, a place where flowers bloomed and the

smell of coffee penetrated in my inner most deep. A place call

home. The land of my ancestors. The land that welcome me

into this world. The most beautiful land that human eyes ever saw. This Island call home lived inside me, in my dreams,

and was very vivid each and every night when I closed my eyes to think of it. Blue waters, sand so white with all its

beautiful shells, skies so bright, the sun shining like pure gold. Mountains so green, valleys so deep, jungles so alive the

wind just right, the breeze of every night blowing my hair away. How unique and simple when nature rules and we can

be the center of our own desires. I lived here for the first eleven years of my life. I would have loved to continue the

legacy of my ancestors. I was never meant to disappear. I was robbed from my land. I was taken away. I was taken

against my will, when all I wanted was to be a child. I wanted to be saved, protected, I never wanted to forget. My story

begins here. The story of who I really am, where I come from and how we must never forget our roots, our past. After all

it feels really good to say this is my land. No matter where I am or who I am with. I will always be proud to say I am

from the most beautiful pearl in the Caribbean.

Nock nock, it was six in the morning on a summer day of May 1980. I was sleeping. I had prepare for a test the night

before. I was expected in school early that morning. I woke up to the loud sound of a man with a green uniformed who

said we had to leave the country now. I could not understand why I had to go now. How do you explained to a child that

there is no more school, that they will never see their friends again. That their dreams of becoming a Doctor will be gone

in a flash. But the sad part was to say good bye to my dear Grandmother who I would not see again until I was 21 years

old. We were taken to a place call The Mosquito one can judge by its name. It as a fearful place. A transitional place to

await our turn to embark into a journey that would change our lives forever. Suddenly, I found my self surrounded by

strange people aboard a dirty old shrimp boat The Captain A J. Many of the people there had scare faces and names

written all over their bodies with cheap blue ink. These men looked like pirates from hell, but there was no other

way to get across the deep blue ocean to our new home. We spent all night sea sick. My mother was moved several times

from one side of the shrimp boat to the next to try to even out the weight on the boat. Our journey was not an easy one. I

looked overboard and I could see bodies floating all around the our boat drifting away. Bodies of dead people many

children. This people were the less fortunate ones. Their boats had sank or their rafts did not hold against the rough and

hash currents of the Gulf of Mexico. There was nothing our captain could have done . Our boat was over weight and could

not have picked up any one from the water or we all would have drowned. All we could do was pray . Pray for the dead

ones and pray for our lives. All I could think at that moment was how thankful I was to be alive. Despite been ripped from

my land and sent to have died across the mad ocean I was still alive .

After a twelve hour journey through the angry waters of the Caribbean I could see lights. The lights of the new land. A

land of tomorrow. The land of the future. Little did we know that with the so call freedom came a price. A life of struggle,

hard work and prejudice. We arrived early in the morning. Giant soldiers dressed in camouflage clothes approached our

boat. This men were impressive, direct and very correct. One pulled me up the boat and enchanted me with a gift. It was

a small plastic bag with a big red cross, and it was full of gadgets. Tooth paste, toothbrush, soap, tissue, and a razor among

other things. In fact all the necessary things to clean our selves. Next was a tray with a ham and cheese sandwich a Coco

Cola and a big red apple. This was the first time I tasted a Coca Cola and a red apple. I almost felt like The little red riding

hood. We were processed next by immigration and after a day or two we were free to go with our family.

An aunt that I never knew I had took us in gave and gave us a home. She fed us , dressed us and walked us through the

exile process. She kept us in her house until we were able to move on independently. I was in school and my life started

to change. I adapted to the new school and the new environment. I made new friends. English was my my best friend and

country music was melody to my ears. I even learned to like apple pies . For many years I lived under the mask of

pretending. I was forgetting who I was. I was forgetting how my old house smell or how my coffee was . I was even

forgetting faces and voices of loved ones. I was loosing colors. I could not remember addresses or places. I hated not been

able to speak like my people. I was loosing a big part of me and I could not do anything about it. I knew I had to be

grateful to the country that took me one day. I thought I could pay back with gratitude, honesty, giving a good service

and been the best human being I could be. I tried to blend in. Acceptance was very important to me. I wanted to belong

here. A place that I was calling home needed a smart person. However there was something inside me that I could never

let down my people. For many years I lived a fake life. A life that did not belong to me . In a world that did not know my

patron or my history. How could I forget my roots when they screamed at me every night. My patron called me. I have

to be honest I can not even go to the ocean without offering seven cents to the patron of sea. I have deep respect for my

religion and where it came from. All this time I have secretly carried the burden of my land in the deepest of my heart.

Every day was a struggle with my inner self however, I needed to move on . I needed it to follow the American dream. I

could not speak my language in many places. I could not eat my foods. We had to celebrate Noche Buena quietly . I

learned to eat mash potatoes with gravy and learned to celebrate Thanks Giving. I learned to blend in . For the benefit of

my mental health I learned quickly how to make the best with what I had. When one practices this way of life day after

day , year after year, one can easily become used to it , and can forget our own way of being.

I grew up to be a professional a mother of two a good human and a wife. Things can get more complicated as we get older.

My children are now true native Americans. I want them to feel like I do , but it is ok if they don't. They each will have to

find their true passion and well being. I can only teach them not to forget where their parents are from.

Years went by, my life has had its ups and downs like everyone else but there has not been a moment that I didn't

think about who I was . Remembering my old house, trying to remember my best childhood memories. I kept thinking to

my self that maybe the thoughts of wanting to go back to my country was crazy. I thought this was only happening to me

because I needed to close a chapter in my life or maybe because I was emotionally disturbed. I was very scare of

confronting my fears. How can anyone could want to go back to see misery , to embrace poverty, to suffer from a heat

stroke or to end up in a cuban jail. Who in their right mind wants to go to a place that had stopped in time. Well I have to

be honest. Everything I was , everything I did had to do with my childhood education, my memories and the essence of

my soul. I felt a strong power , a magnetic field that always pulled me back to the center of my life.

I lived by the rules. I lived to work, routinely in a cold distant world. Between modern computers, cell phones, internet,

high efficiency appliances, iPods and Mp3s. All very virtual and materialistic. Money rules. The green is your best friend.

I was missing all of the little things that makes us human and happy. I always knew without a doubt that there was

something else out there that fitted the part of the puzzle that was missing in my life. I was a happy mother, a happy

daughter and a happy wife and still a part of me was missing. It wasn't until I entered a new phase in my life that I

mature and realized that life was too short not to live it the way we want. It took me a while to admit that it is ok not to

blend in or not to try to be perfect when we speak that it is ok not to have the perfect accent all of the time. I was who I

was . God had intended for me to survived many obstacles in my way . I decided that fear needed to be controlled , I

decided that it was time get courage and get on a plane to my beautiful land. After 30 years abroad a place so far and so

close at the same time I decided to go. I felt my nerves and a thousand ideas rushed through my head with just the

thought of returning home. After all this time who would remember me, how my house would look like or how my

neighboors would react to seeing me after so long. I was very happy to return to the true place call home . The only place

I belong . Where I don't have to fake anything . A place I can be me.

Finally the day came . I counted the days one by one until the day was finally there. I checked my luggage and checked in

the plane. An airline from Taca flew me there. I sat next to the window. My daughter was sitting next to me to my left

and my husband to the far left. It was the quickest 40 minutes of my life. Before I could get comfortable on my seat , it

was time to land. I looked out the window and I saw the most beautiful ocean on earth , the sun shinning right through

the ocean floor. The ocean so blue contrasting the brown under layers of land on the ocean floor. The crystal water so

transparent I could almost the colorful ocean reef. As the plane approached land I could see green palm trees so tall and

elegant like brides waiting to get marry. I have to say that at this point all of the dormid feelings I had in me came alive

and suddenly I woke up and it was all real. Our plane was touching Cuban soil "The land of the thousand fires" Cienfuegos

or "The Pearl of the South" as we all know it. Very impressive to see the plane land. All I could do was to clap of

happiness.

Not knowing my true happiness was outside waiting vividly. I landed, and all I could see was as if I was washing a movie

in front of my eyes. Men in green uniform and ladies in short green skirts with black fish net stockings and lots of make

up. A loose dirty all cocker spaniel dog sniffing around people. I was very nervous , but I had not done anything wrong . I

had to remember I was in a communist country. And needed to follow the rules. Despite all national security it took only a

second to realized I belong there. As if I had never left. I felt the energy crawling through my body empowering me with

so much strenght and feeling of belonging. a magnetic force that I could no longer fight. A wonderful feeling as if my

departed grandparents were holding me by the hand. The ultimate experience one that only if you are from there could

experience. As I touched base with my roots every day was as if i lived there . I was able to understand manythings

about who I am. I made so many friends like me, people who struggle everyday for a better tomorrow. People who have

dreams, goals just like me only we are 90 miles apart. Many do not want to move away, they rather stay and keep their

sence of identity . I can not say that I blame them. Despite all poverty and special periods my people have learned to

survive with what little they could get . And still get up every morning with a smile. It made me realized how much we

take for granted in the land of the freedom. And how little do we really need to be happy. The more we have the more we

want , the more we become obssessed with wanting all the material things that we really don't need.

In the little time I spend there I, learned to look around to pause and smell the flowers. I learned to talk to people, to

walk on the street and not have fear, to enjoy a true conversation with my neighboor not about what I have , how much

do I have or who drives the newest cars, but about god and the simple things that makes us equal as humans.

Furthermore, I learned about my music, my foods, my churches, monuments and national patrimonies. I learned that my

ocean is the bluest, my pasture the greenest and my sky the brightest. I also learned that my Rum is the best with sweet

taste of our sugar cane and my cigars the most aromatic on earth. And yes I slept on a hard matress , a small pillow and

hot water wasn't always there . Food was limited and simple articles of necessities are difficult at times, but I was happy

there. Yes I took a few greens , I had to. I was not blind in any way. But despite all difficulties I had fun. I didn't need

much to laugh . Some playing domino by the corner while a young girl rushed home from school. A baby cried, and old

woman complaint , some laughed so loud you had to go see . I never had to worry about letting my daughter play safely

on the sidewalk because I knew all eyes were washing her as if she was a family member. I learned that the family

concept is important that good morals is necessary for surviving and that each an every Cuban is a proud person because

that is all they have.

After a few days it was harder to say good bye. It was almost like leaving the first tme around . Only this time I had to

depart knowing why. Sadly it wasn't a happy good bye. I felt as if a part of me was left behind. It is a hard feeling to

describe a feeling of happiness and sadness . A feeling that only one has to experience it to know. It was time to come

home to my children. I know that many Cubans living outside the Island want to do the samething that I did. Some

people can't, some won't some are scare and some have taken the easy way out. But to all of those people who feel like

one day I felt. I have one thing to tell you. The immense satisfaction your heart will get is not comparable to the

fulfillment your soul will experience your inner most you. Life is too short not to do what makes us happy and healthy.

For once I wish that any difference my country could have with anyone would be settle so that my people can live in a

better world. The experience is worth having. Open your mind to your land and yur people. I learned to overlook the

ugliness hat can be there the walls, the the skinny , the old man with the rags, the old cars, the broken sidewalks and

falling buildings. If we can bypass all of that and look further into peoples eyes and feelings and how they try to live day

by day. We can help by holding their hands , talk to themor even take then a small hope of dream. After my first trip I

returned several times and every time I fell in love more and more with my country. Despite all necessities there I feel

that I have a call . I wish I knew what it is , My God is giving to me one day at a time. All I know is that I am a proud

Cuban. Since then, I have written many poems and thoughts about my people and my land.

In memory of my father, grandfather and uncle who died in a strange land.