"Sticks! Sticks!"

I just came back from five days in Havana Cuba. I'd gone down with my kids with the idea that they could help me muddle through the city, push me in a wheelchair if needs be, do all that stuff.
They were immeasurably helpful, and I'm grateful they were with me, given the potent mix of fatigue, sun and rum that was coursing through my veins (with a few prescribed medications that were labelled firmly 'do not take with alcohol!') Suffice to say my liver is having a pleasant little detox right now.

One of the best things I did was bring my Nordik Poles with me. I used them for balance and to give me a little push at the end of the day when walking was too hard. Or in the middle of the day, ditto.
My bearded boys, one son's gorgeous red headed girlfriend, and little ol' grey-haired me with my sticks made quite an entourage as we walked through the old town. Handsome Cuban men called out to us - "Hey, Gringa! Sticks!" as I wandered by.
I think they thought I was on some sort of mad fitness regime, taking ski poles through Havana.
Still, they worked very well, and I recommend them highly.
The wheelchair less so - the cobblestone and damaged roads in Havana would likely have vibrated my fillings out as I went by, or put my spinal column into shock.
My sticks and I, though, we made it.

Then I came home and slept for a week. But at least I'd seen Havana.