​2nd part of book

In Cuba you aren’t allowed to sell houses, at the time. You are allowed to exchange houses with other Cubans, but never for monetary value. On top of that absurdity, the structure itself is your own property, but the land is all the government’s property… they will throw you out at any instance. But the structural integrity of Cuban houses is not as good as you’d imagine in an island constantly hit by hurricanes. Most houses are either one or two stories. Add an extra story if you count the flat roofs brimming with white linens, hung on clothing lines barely supported with aluminum wire from the fences put on the perimeters to protect children who played while their mothers washed their dirty white school socks on rippled wash boards. Brick, concrete, clay, and masonry; that was the norm in Cuba’s beautiful landscape of fallen architecture.

Jorge and Marivi lived in a quaint 3-story townhome, the 3rd story was a separate apartment that conveniently laid on top of their humble home. That was under Joanna’s name. This family came from a humble backstory. Joanna’s maternal grandfather was wealthy in their small little hometown. Everyone knew everyone. Marivi escaped their rural lifestyle for a bit more glamour in Havana, although missing her four sisters and one brother. Not long after her move, her sisters followed one by one like a line of ants. Everyone loved Joanna, she was the golden daughter. People who barely knew her felt her celestial presence and awed. Distant family members were given her name at birth to symbolize what a good soul had blessed their family.

Ricardo was from a small rural town in Chile, just outside of Santiago. His mother fled the beginning of World War II from Poland after the raping and murdering of her grandmother by Nazi sympathizers. She travelled by boat with her mother and stepfather to the only country accepting Jewish refugees. Ricardo’s father was German-Jewish. His family fled Germany during World War II as well, only to come together with his wife in Chile. A total of three children, and Ricardo as the middle child felt a hunger for more. With the money he made from dismantling and re-building bikes and old cars, he took off. First was Peru, then Ecuador. He crossed the border to Colombia and travelled through to Panama. Venezuela was his favorite, he stayed there a while, before explore the tropics of Curaçao. Shortly falling into boredom and exhausting the American life, Spain was next in his journey. France and Italy followed shortly after, and Greece was an absolute dream. Going back to his roots, he decided to try his luck in Israel, where he was invited to be a member of a kibbutz. A kibbutz is a small community that traditionally focuses on blue collar work, farmers and masonry workers. Based on social principles, the inhabitants work collectively to share responsibilities. Anyone who contributes to their small society reap the benefits of their hard work. These Israeli colonies are probably the only successful specimen of what communism should look like. Unfortunately, the trip cut short. Ricardo noticed he didn’t admire the restriction of economic opportunities and lack of incentives.