My grandmothers, May Cox and Elizabeth Walker, loved to travel. They were both widows and, though quite different in personality, compatible travel companions. Every year after the Christmas holidays, they embarked on a train journey around the United States that impressed me, as a small child, because the excursion tickets were so long that they stretched across the room. A high point of the trip was a cruise from Miami to Havana, where they would spend a few days touring the island. Cuba, as they described it to the family in vivid detail, was a tropical paradise with great food and hospitable people who showed special kindness to senior citizens and children. I remember plotting to convince my parents that visiting Cuba with the Grandmas would be much more educational than school, but my dream trip never materialized.
