Küba: Seyahat rehberi, vizeler ve ücretsiz konaklama · 2026

ASAnastasia Sakharovawww.belka-vl · 31 Oca 2015Oku

Two and a half months, 5 states. But Florida, why are you so beautiful? We used to look at such pictures on the internet, save them to our phones, and set them as wallpapers, but now our own photos are more beautiful than those pictures. I would like to start by saying goodbye to North Carolina, the city of Durham. It was a busy day at work, lots of customers, tables, and mixed-up orders. We were all on edge, serving plates of sandwiches with that 'suitcase-ready' mood. I only remember everyone suddenly starting to clap and looking at us with smiles. Mary, Edward, the waiters, the dishwasher, the cooks—everyone was applauding. And then, a cake with 'we miss you all' written on it in Russian! Apparently, we did touch Mary and Edward's hearts with our Russian mentality when we sat in their kitchen until late at night, helping them look for housing in Sochi and telling them how to cook borscht. That’s when the emotions poured out. And the tears. I only remember a blur of black uniforms hugging each other. Mary hugged me, and then my work uniform was soaked in her tears. Two months ago, brick buildings didn't seem cozy enough to house a cafe, an office, or even an apartment. I remember when we first started looking for housing, we were offered a rental apartment with an exposed brick wall inside. We were horrified, and the realtor clicked her tongue at our ignorance. We couldn't recognize the trendiest decor element. Here, we have no unfinished business or unkept promises left. We handed out notebooks, keychains, and magnets to everyone, and wrote farewell notes. And the waiters, along with Mary and Edward, gave us a card with signatures and well-wishes. However, Russians sign farewell cards with more soul. We really do have more soul, friends. I love packing suitcases! A perfectionist syndrome wakes up in me: I need to take everything out of every drawer, shelf, and cosmetic bag, get rid of unnecessary things, clear out the fridge, and arrange everything so there's enough space in the suitcase. And the next day we got on the train, and the city lost us. I don't know if they miss us there. I know that after we left, everything went haywire. Some quit, others were fired. Our restaurant didn't have the best fate. But we had nothing to do with it. Goodbye, Cuban Revolution! Thank you for everything. A scorching, fiery city 30 km from our Sarasota. Bags cutting into our shoulders, feet blistered. But we arrived for a vacation, to the ocean! Somehow it doesn't matter anymore... Everything fades into the background when there is an ocean. We leave many, many bad memories in it. In Sarasota, Yulia helped us. If it weren't for her, we wouldn't have had such a wonderful trip. I hope we didn't cause her too much trouble. We head straight to our new home. Sleep deprivation, hypothermia from the air conditioning, then heatstroke from the 40-degree sun—it all crashes down on us, and we collapse onto the beds, exhausted. And in the evening, we went to scout the apartment and the house. There was a huge kitchen with a dining table, white leather sofas, and a TV. Besides that, the house had a pool, billiards, a reading room, a gym... On every door in the house, there were various funny welcome souvenirs hanging. Everything is just like in GTA Miami. (By the way, it's a 3-hour drive to Miami). Again, smooth lawns, even smoother than in Durham, clean paths where you can walk in white socks or even... lie down. You can't swim in the canal, so we look at the water, dreaming of tomorrow's meeting with the ocean. It never snows in Sarasota. Summer all year round. In my opinion, monotony is boring; you get used to it quickly. If you don't know how to appreciate it, then it's pointless. Then it's better to have 5 months of winter, like we do, and the long-awaited spring and summer. Earned by long frosts and short daylight hours. The average age here is 55. These are retired people with deep pockets; young people are rarer. The city is not criminal, it's

ASAnastasia Sakharovawww.belka-vl · 31 Oca 2015Oku

Memories have a tendency to get tangled, to lose their distinct scents and tastes. They must be written down as they come, otherwise they become bland. They consist of thoughts, feelings, and fleeting sensations. When you speak memories aloud, thoughts are chased by hundreds of other tiny details that are sometimes so hard to catch. It is even harder to piece it all together. In childhood, many of us had a box for our best toys or found treasures. Collecting memories is very much like putting your treasures into a large jewelry box. At first, there are few memories, they barely cover the bottom of the box, but eventually, it fills to the brim, and you take a new one. I have a new box for this summer. And I am letting you take a peek inside. I think the memories of the restaurant and its owners will remain at the very top. The restaurant is called Cuban Revolution Restaurant & Bar. I wouldn't call it cozy. It's an old red-brick tobacco factory; there are thick iron pipes on the ceiling, and pop art featuring retro stars like Marilyn Monroe, John Lennon, Che Guevara, and John Kennedy hangs on the brick walls. Brick walls hold the least appeal for me, but it was explained to us that this is trendy among Americans; they pay huge money to have a brick wall in their home instead of regular walls. Like in a drug den, honestly. Modest wooden tables and chairs leave no doubt that this is a bar, not an elegant restaurant where waiters in white tailcoats serve fragrant food on round crystal trays. There is no room for elegance here; the waiters are dressed in strictly black. They dash through the kitchen and the restaurant like comets, dripping sauces and cream on themselves, spilling water and cocktails. White, unlike black, is quite demanding. the overall color scheme is black and red, but it is quite restrained, not flashy. At night, candles are lit on the tables. Cooks and waiters dance salsa in the kitchen to music, throw food, and splash sauce. There are almost no native Americans from the northern states here, mostly loud and temperamental residents of Spain or South America. I think they like us. They are surprised that we are from Russia and ask us to teach them Russian words. The cook and the bartender treat us to sandwiches; a guy named Luis keeps asking if we want to drink and pours us soda or water. Almost all Americans drink with ice or soda with various flavors. Also, residents of North Carolina prefer VERY sweet iced tea. You surely remember the disgusting school swill in the cafeteria that bore the proud name of "sweet tea." The water tastes like scale, and the sugar rises to half the glass. There are more people on Thursdays. A special salsa instructor offers to level up your dance skills. Many dance quite well; apparently, they come here every Thursday. The tables are pushed together to create a kind of enclosure, where a girl sits at the entrance and issues tickets for an extra fee. It is normal if you walk into a store and manage to get to know the cashier in two minutes, learning that his uncle won't come to his fortieth birthday celebration because a dog named Fluffy died of old age. I don't even know what is more human: the genuinely indifferent faces of Russians or the feigned friendly smiles of Americans that they give you without thinking. Try talking to a cashier at a newsstand or a vegetable kiosk in Russia; most likely, an indignant look will follow you to the door, and at home, you will brew a potion against the evil eye more than once. It was our first time doing an internship. I was assigned as an assistant to a guy named Kruz. He has a dark face, mongoloid features, and slanted eyes; he looks like a Tatar. He has an earring in each ear that looks like a large diamond. A pen is always sticking out from behind his ear. He writes everything down on colored sticky notes. He handles this pile of colorful papers quite skillfully, remembering which of the six visitors at the table ordered a Red Stripe beer and

UUSAblogi · 5 Eki 2009Oku

...the airport was left far behind. In the shuttle, I meet two Cubans (or rather, they meet me...) ah, Cubans... more on that later..;) In broken English, they ask where I'm from, I say Belarus.. Belarus? Never heard of it.. The rest of the way they talk among themselves in Spanish, and one by one, first the driver and then other passengers on the "shuttle" join in.. soon the whole shuttle bus knows each other by name, everyone is laughing merrily, making jokes (judging by the glances, in my direction..) oh yes, in Spanish, of course! By the way, I came to the USA with a firm intention to improve my English, but instead, it seems I'll have to learn Spanish.. In Miami, 90% speak Spanish, it's all Latinos: Cuba (this is apparently that 90%=)), Honduras, Nicaragua, Dominican Republic, Mexico, Ecuador, Colombia, Portugal, Jamaica... but the Cubans! There are tons of Cubans! A wide selection, a rich assortment.. =) In short, you could say I wasn't in America, I was in Cuba=)) ...meanwhile, our little bus reaches Miami Beach, new acquaintances gradually get off, saying goodbye to those remaining in the "shuttle" as if they had known them their whole lives or had been best friends for an eternity! Extremely friendly people!! Here is my hostel, I pay the driver, get a few invitations to visit from the passengers as I leave, turn on my default "smile and wave" (it's amazing, but it works!! An extremely useful thing) and tired but happy, I trudge to the reception.. ..reception: hello, I would like.. no, I don't speak Spanish.. yes, my friend booked a spot for me in room #11.. no, I don't have luggage, it was lost.. I get a magnetic card, and here I am in the room... Nadya (that's my friend's name) is at work.. in the room, judging by the occupied beds, there is one more person besides us.. the setting doesn't match the $27 paid: two bunk beds, a small refrigerator without a leg, one closet for three, a shower.. air conditioner right above the bed, impossible without it, but with it - it blows.. just as I'm about to take a shower, the door opens and.. - here it is, the wonderful moment of reunion!! Nadya was let off early! We rejoice, exchange impressions.. I tell her about the lost luggage, we need to go shopping immediately.. Here we are at the store. By the way, stores in Miami Beach are divided into two types: very expensive branded ones and, no less expensive, souvenir ones, where you can buy wonderful panties with no less wonderful inscriptions ("FBI - fabulous booty inside" - the most decent of what was there), as well as t-shirts-bikes-caps-towels-shorts with screaming, no, YELLING declarations of love for Miami itself and for each of its parts individually! I love Miami! I love South Beach! I love Miami Beach! I buy shorts.. next, I need shoes.. AirFrance is paying! We go into the first shop.. And here we meet for the first time... a guy trying on stilettos.. he is keenly interested if they have the same ones, but in black.. he also likes the red ones very much, but he is more comfortable in black, it's not (!) as provocative.. yeah.. we go into a couple more shops, quickly buy everything necessary - and back to the hostel, I am terribly exhausted, the night at the airport and the time difference are taking their toll.. tomorrow we have a day off, the owner (from the restaurant) promised to take us around the shops

UUSAblogi · 5 Eki 2009Oku

My arrival in sunny Florida was preceded by two exhausting days of travel and flights. First, a train from Minsk to Kyiv (since, as it turned out, there are no direct flights to Miami from Minsk - well, not surprising, really..=)): just a backpack, three travel companions, an upper bunk, customs, fun... then 6-7 hours at the airport waiting for the flight: 1 dead player battery, two coffees, three random acquaintances, one used phone card, one piece of paper given away with my e-mail, n-number of nerve cells spent due to a delayed flight... flight from Kyiv to Paris: my first flight ever... window seat, a fat guy with a newspaper next to me.. "why is everyone so calm? have we taken off yet? why is it taking so long? stop driving.. take off already!! god, what if we fall now.. scary.. why did I watch 'Final Destination'?? what? already?? oh, cool.. we took off!! how did you not see?? we took off! we're flying! how can one be so calm! like a boa constrictor.. we're flying!!".. Paris, a night at the airport: funny, I always wanted to visit France... yeah, dreams come true in the most unusual ways.. me and two new acquaintances who missed their connection to New York... we scammed AirFrance for sandwiches and cola... they offered us to sleep right there, on the floor.. next to the Koreans.. no, thanks... a walk around the terminal... damn, we're in the holding area! life is buzzing upstairs, people are walking, there's internet and duty-free.. but there's no way up... huge empty corridors... no people... there are food vending machines, no metal euros or exchange offices... found a bathroom.. at least something.. =) we'll get upstairs tomorrow.. after check-in.. we spend the night on benches, every 5 minutes a loud signal sounds overhead and a woman says something in French... then the cleaners arrive.. whoever wants to sleep can sleep anywhere=) morning, 5 AM to be precise.. alarm clock.. where did the people come from??.. check-in... oh, damn! this is the wrong terminal! where is the right one? where-where??! run!.... so that's where the exit upstairs is! .. phew.. okay.. I say goodbye to my acquaintances, our paths diverge, they fly away, I stay to wait for the flight to Miami.. Duty-free.. internet... meditation zone.. leather sofas and armchairs with a view of the runway... a man, apparently from Japan, is playing a rather strange instrument.. looks like a guitar, but the sound is different, like a harp... very beautiful... I really want to sleep.. I'm in paradise... I watch the planes take off.. boarding is announced.. Paris-Miami... an African-American steward... I'm definitely no longer in Belarus...=) I sleep almost the whole way.. here we are approaching Miami, here we are almost there.. and then suddenly our plane turns sharply and starts flying towards Cuba... oops..?? did Cuban terrorists hijack our Boeing? what's the matter? I ask.. they say that due to weather conditions we cannot land yet.. this 'YET' turned out to be eight circles over Miami.. half an hour of stupid waiting... two people threw up.. clouds... the ocean!! how beautiful!)) finally we land... baggage claim... where is my backpack? haven't you seen my backpack?... my luggage is lost... I'm without things, at all... I'm in Miami.. cool start))

EExchangeexchangeiec · 29 May 2009Oku

Key West, Florida I'm writing this on September 13th, so... wait, it's already the 14th, didn't get to it on the 13th... So, I'll write down what I remember... even though it's bad that I'm not recording it right away, but what else can I do? Life here demands my attention every minute! Anyway. I naturally overslept for 9 AM—I was swimming and lounging in the sun. I left at noon; the road is stunning, not many people, my four seats and the cleanest window =). For the first time, I saw what it's like—blue water (and green in some places), and the islands themselves are like little swamps: sand, half a meter of water with bushes on top, and roots sticking out of the water like little sticks underneath. There must be tons of wildlife there, but how do you even get there? Had a snack on Islamorada island, at Burger King, my favorite. I bought a lot—I'm not saving money anymore =). I saw a herd of green lizards, monsters the size of my arm! Damn! I thought I'd see them again in Key West—turns out, no way, didn't run into them again... Arrived in Key West. 5:30 PM. The station is at the airport, 4 miles to the city, taxis can go to hell, and I'm walking. Although the road turned out not to be as interesting as I thought. The whole beach is covered in seaweed and smells terrible. So I walked through a palm grove. There are signs everywhere, including "no overnight camping"—I hate that rule =) (It doesn't exist on Miami Beach). I reached the southernmost point of the states in an hour and a half, with all the photos; and on the way, I stopped by a so-called "wildlife corner," which was actually a dump in a swamp (I was surprised that it's so dirty in the famous Key West: puddles, smelly seaweed, and trash everywhere). So, in that wildlife dump, it was wet and full of little holes in the ground—turns out crabs live there, from the size of a coin to the size of a huge grapefruit. They see you from several meters away and start scurrying off =) Eyes on stalks =). Also saw birds and a couple of lizards—nothing interesting... Then a local guy explained to me that the reason it's dirty right now is because of Key West after Hurricane Ike; two days ago, the very edge of it passed through here (the center went through Cuba and Haiti, hundreds of people died). Anyway, the edge was enough for Key West—the population was evacuated, and this guy just got back home and is walking around, horrified by how the hurricane messed up his city... All the hotels near the southernmost point monument are flooded, palm trees torn down. Well, I took some photos. At least the northern coast wasn't touched by the hurricane. On the way there, I stopped by the Hemingway House, but it's closed—too late. I first thought the small house was his, but it turned out to be the caretaker's house, and Hemingway's house is that big one. Cats roam around his garden =). I also went to the pier, it's in the south of the city. To get there, you have to sneak through a fancy neighborhood past a security booth. What's good about the pier, besides a docked warship and a US Navy barracks? The fact that there's no one there except for a couple of peaceful homeless guys! The pier itself is huge like a runway, paved with concrete. One homeless guy is fiddling with the settings of some device—I just asked, "What are you doing?" and in response, I listened for a good 10 minutes to a stunning monologue about how the Republicans (the ones with McCain) are jamming his favorite radio station—the Voice of Democracy =)). Another homeless guy, skinny and bearded like Leo Tolstoy, is practicing karate... while sitting... You can't imagine how pleasant, how sweet, how homey it was to watch this pier, bathed in moonlight, in silence, when all you can hear is the waves splashing and the "Voice of Democracy" mumbling something unintelligible =). It's been dark for a long time, but I want to find a wild beach on the northern (untouched by the hurricane, no seaweed) side to spend the night. Accordin