#starting off with resident Just Some Guy tomás!

[hearttohaato]

OC Showcase: Tomás Herrera

Name: Tomás Herrera (He/Him)

Age: 20 (DOB August 17)

Skill/Gift: Wood Carver

Notable Family: Mateo Herrera (Brother), Horacio & Lucía Herrera (Parents)

Tomás Herrera is a quiet, mild-mannered young man who befriends Camilo during the rebuilding of Casita. His succinct and reserved nature masks an observant and introspective mind, and while he doesn't say much he has plenty of thoughts and feelings inside.

Tomás lives in his childhood home with his father and brother, while his mother passed from tuberculosis when Tomás was 9. Though the men of his family make their living in masonry and construction work, Tomás has pursued woodworking can often be found in his private wood shop. The framework of most furniture is left to the carpenters of the village, but Tomás carves the intricate patterns and details into the grain, adding that flair that pulls a piece together. Another creative endeavor is poetry, but he'd rather eat his notebook than let anyone see it.

Initially the friendship between Tomás and Camilo is a very casual one. But as their bond strengthens, their opposites-attract personalities result in them growing very close with one another. Camilo is the energetic mischief-maker while Tomás is his level-headed foil, and it's a combination some people are surprised to see works as well as it does.

For much of his adolescence he harbors a crush on Camilo's cousin Luisa, admiring her for her dependability and selflessness (plus a lifetime of rescues here and there). He's reluctant to reveal these feelings, believing himself unworthy of her attention, but Camilo thinks he should suck it up and be honest before someone else does it first. In certain future scenarios he succeeds and courts her, eventually marrying her and siring one daughter named Lilia.

Art by HeartToHaato, malewifebruno, blookyb92, & LintuShadow.Art

[michaelberry-blog]

Viñales day 3: Gran caverna de Santo Tomás y back to Havana

Those damn roosters... It's not an incessant crowing that you can filter out, but more like an every-twenty-second outburst that jolts you out of the sleep you were just about to fall back into. The father of the casa shuttled me to the same cave I had attempted yesterday and we struggled and groaned down the road in his car, taking care to avoid potholes - one impact and the thing would surely fall apart. We rounded a corner and came face to face with an oncoming bus, which lazily angled back toward the proper side of the road. My driver simply dipped the right wheels off into the dirt and blasted by, never slowing. Overhanging branches crashed into the already taped up windshield and I now understood why it was cracked in the first place. I expected to be taken to the visitor center I had seen yesterday, but instead he dropped me at the house of a guide he knew. At first I was hesitant, expecting a scam, but Mikey ended up showing me the cave in a way I would probably never have seen otherwise. We cut through fields and forests and descended into the mountain through a lesser-known entrance. No helmets, no rules. We scrambled all over ten thousand year old stalagmites and climbed hand over hand up pockmarked granite walls like true spelunkers. He pointed out bats and subterranean eyeless crawdads that lived in the clear pools and countless colorful mineral deposits. I slipped and fell on my ass in the mud and banged my head trying to keep up with him. Eventually we reached a cavern where the bones of a pig resided and turned off our headlamps. We sat for a minute in the darkness listening to the water drop. It was black unlike anything I had ever seen; it didn't matter if my eyes were open or closed, it was all the same. I realized that without a light there was a 101% chance I would never, ever make it out of there. With that chilling thought we flicked the lamps back on and started the return to the land of the living. Back in the jungle, he pointed out a tocororo, the Cuban national bird. It wore the state flag's red, white, and blue proudly across its plumage. As we walked, he explained that in one month I make as much as he earns in 15 years. I knew this already, and the thought saddened me, but for some reason him telling me to my face made me bristle. The recent influx of wealthy tourists, often from cultures that encourage generous tipping, has actually caused a lot of problems. Nobody wants to become a doctor or an engineer in Cuba when they can earn 30x more as a tour guide. Imagine going from $70k annually and suddenly making $2 million. You get the picture. And remember that communism, despite its (many) flaws, is designed to remove the need for money in the first place. I'm not sure how I feel about the whole thing, but I can say I feel grateful to live in the United States in a way I never have before. I rapped on the cars roof and woke my driver up, and we returned to the casa. I ended up paying $100 for 2 nights + taxi ride + 2 breakfasts and 1 dinner. It seemed overpriced, but everyone I spoke to had similar stories. Cuba can get expensive if you're not careful. It's a weird dichotomy: you can get a meal for $5 in one place, and then 50 cents in another. Waiting for the bus back to Havana I met a English chap named Ed and we compared travel tattoos. He wound up being the coolest dude I meet on this trip and we got to talking. His hostel was in the same building as mine so we split a cab once the bus arrived back in sweaty, colonial Havana. I knocked on my old friend Teresa's door at Hostal Nilda's and she welcomed me back, saying she was happy to see me again and was only charging me half price for the night's stay. 3 Venezuelan guys were in the room this time, and we had some fun attempting to communicate. Who knew tattoos would be such a great way to meet people? They were here to work in the markets selling clothes, which explained why one had a whole suitcase full of women's shoes. But since they were here for the expressed purpose of making money, I held my cards close. Maybe I'm stereotyping. Ed and I went back to Aqui's: everyone's favorite restaurant in both Cuba and the USA. We shared more of our stories, and I wished I had more time to travel with him. We would have made a good team. But I had a plane to catch.