"Seeing the way the Cubans are here and seeing the way they live in poverty but also the way they live in pride, in their experiences, how they express themselves in music and dance, it's really incredible. I think that there's certainly hope here, and you can see it in the Cuban population, and especially in the Jewish population."

Leave it to a medical mission to begin their day with a visit to the doctor's. In our case, the doctor in question was one of Cuba's "family doctors," who serves the mostly rural town of Guajimico. But seeing how scant his supplies, equipment, and facilities were, we got a real sense of the dire conditions Cuba's countryside lives under.

While numerous villagers (and at least one ox) gathered not to beg, but merely to ogle this strange busful of foreigners, we crowded into the doctor's dim, dusty, three-room clinic and asked him, another doctor and a nurse about their medical situation and what we could do to help. As it happens, there was one thing we - or at least Steve - could do to immediately raise the quality of health care in Guajimico: improve the eyesight of the doctor. It turns out he was suffering from a form of redeye. With an assist from Jeanney, Steve located the appropriate medication and dispensed it to a very grateful man.

Following our unplanned "house call," we arrived in the enchanting seaside city of Trinidad for what was to be our "day off." Arnaldo dropped us at the old city for a scheduled walking tour, but before Manuel could even utter his first "On your left…" most of us had already wandered off. Seems there was a veteran cigar-roller at work, inside a shop just around the corner. We marveled at his fluidity with a rounded chopping blade, and his speed at wrapping and stacking. Cameras emerged from some of our bags, lighters from others'.

After Manuel managed to gather us back up, he took us on a brief but informative excursion through pastel-pretty Old Trinidad. We saw the Plaza Mayor, the Romantic Museum, countless boys playing soccer, dogs real and sculpted, and finally, the Casa de la Trova - a government institution found in several cities, designed to preserve the area's rich Afro-Cuban musical heritage.

Here, even at midday, a local band was hard at work entertaining the patrons, so we ducked in to take a listen. The band's singer pulled some of us out onto the dance floor, and we did not leave until Shaindle had gotten her groove back, and Jack was reliving his days as a "professional dance partner" in the Catskills - only this time as the dancee. Several of us made plans to come back for more music that evening

On our way out of the old city, I was surprised to hear someone from another tour group call out my name. In yet further proof of the smallness of the Jewish world, the caller turned out to be Eric Gordon, Director of the Los Angeles Workmen's Circle/ Arbeiter-ring center where the minyan Sheryl and I belong to meets every Shabbat. Eric was in Cuba with a "cultural tourism" group from New York's 92nd Street Y. They, too, had spent the previous day in Cienfuegos, and in fact, had visited Rebecca Langus just moments after we had. That woman should put a turnstile with a Magen David by her door.

The rest of the day was devoted to, well, rest. Not to mention recreation. We checked in to the luxurious, all-inclusive Las Brisas resort and enjoyed a buffet lunch (though in retrospect, the idea of an "all-you-can-eat" buffet in Cuba strikes me a little sour). Since it was apparent that almost none of the other diners would know the words to "Bendigamos," we finished up without ceremony and went our separate ways.

Some snorkeled, some shluffed, and everyone enjoyed the sun, sand, downtime, and open bar (though not necessarily in that order).