Gulf Shore, Montreal, Maine -- Summer 2009

This was our last little trip before becoming parents, about a month and a half before Chloe was born. Since Kristen was too pregnant to fly, we made it a roadie in our new family hatchback, spending a few days in a cottage on the Gulf Shore, NS and a night in Quebec City.

When we bought the concert tickets, The Beastie Boys were set to headline Osheaga, the annual music festival in Montreal. They had to cancel their performance, but we still got to see The Roots, K'Naan and Coldplay. Dartmouth reps Bridget, Brian and Meghan met us at the concert. Aaron and Leigh met us in the city the next night. Luckhounds strike again.

In no real rush, we took the long way home through creepy Steven King moose-filled Maine, notably spending a night in a hunting cabin down a long dirt road in a town called Jackman. Well, not exactly Jackman...

Having detoured through Quebec and spent the WHOLE day at Ikea, it was dark when we crossed into Maine. What looked like a hop-skip on our map turn out to be quite a stretch. The border guard told us not to drive more than 20. Yikes, and he didn't mean metric. The road was newly paved, no lines painted on it, and it was peak moose mating season. Hitting one would be fatal. We drove at snail-pace, white knuckles, eyes peeled. With our headlights lighting a small path in front of us, we saw a huge owl fly over our car, a red fox cross in front of us and a moose lurking hornily on the side of the road. Around midnight, we rolled into Jackman, Maine, but Jackman's motels had no vacancies, completely booked by bear hunters, getting ready for the season.

Through his office cluttered with enormous stuffed beasts, the most American-looking person I can imagine (6'2, barrel-chest, "God Bless the USA" T-shirt) lent us a hand. He led us to his daughter's cabins in the woods, which frightened us. On the way he said, "When you see a moose's eyes, it's too late." We arrived safely and slept in pine bunks. Super-scary at night, gorgeous in the daytime.

We motored on, crossed in Calais/ St. Stephen and spent the night in St. John with the Taylors. We stayed up late, chatting away.

El Amor en Cuba

March 2009

We'd been back to work without major travel for almost two years when we set out for Cuba. The occasion -- Tim & Brandy's wedding. The settings -- a beautiful resort on the white sands of Varadero and an overnighter in Havana.

That Friday after work, we practically skipped home, knowing our bags were packed and waiting. A limo-bus pulled up in front of our house and we joined the party already in progress -- bridesmaids, groomsmen and friends, already sippin' in the light of day, headed to the airport.

We spent the first two days at the resort, relaxing on the beach and catching up with friends and family. On the third day we negotiated a cab ride to La Habana for a night, where we had booked a hostel.

Now we've stayed in some dodgy places, but when we got out of the cab... gulp. The old beige buildings along the dusty narrow street seemed to be crumbling before me. The locals hanging on the street were smirking. We rang the doorbell and a little lady stuck her head out of the window above and welcomed us enthusiastically. She ran down and let us into her place, through her living room and down a hall where she rented out four bedrooms. It was clean and full of character, definitely retro, like Havana itself. The mattress sagged, the sheets were pilly, the furniture didn't match, the ceiling fan was precariously low and very loud, and we loved it. We were back to our luckhounds roots.

The entire city of Havana is a UNESCO Heritage site. It is an anomaly. The city is occupied by people who never built it, and cannot maintain it. Multi-generational families occupy the inner labyrinths of the crumbling colonial buildings. A can of fresh paint would go longer here than anywhere.

Flying in from Mexico City, Armando was supposed to meet us at the hostel at 6 and in classic Armando fashion, he was late. Muy muy tarde, like hours. We didn't know what kind of trouble our amigo had gotten himself into. When he finally showed up, after 11 PM, he matter-of-factly explained that his flight's landing had been delayed because of another important arrival, that of Venezuelan presidente, socialist Hugo Chavez. Claro que si.

St. Patrick's Day, the wedding was romantic and picture-perfect. We rocked out, dancing late into the night.

A week in Paradise.

http://www.solmeliacuba.com/cuba-hotels/hotel-paradisus-varadero/