On a side trip to the small fishing village of Cojima I wandered off on my own for an hour. I saw teenagers on a broken down sea wall enjoying the crashing waves. I saw colorful homes and found the baseball field, but nothing was photographically appealing. I had a nice peaceful walk and was just turning around when an old Russian Lada pulled up. Inside was a Cuban family who obviously spotted me for a tourist. They wanted to talk, so we engaged each other with minimal language skills. They were fascinated with me being an American, especially when I showed them a photo of my house in New Hampshire covered with snow. I had gifts for the two small girls in the back seat and a gift for the mother. They were most appreciative. I tried to give the man something, but all he wanted was the picture of my snow-covered house. “Mucho frio” was all I could understand as we all laughed. He then offered me a ride back to where I left my group. How could I refuse?