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Out of all my travels around the world, I found Cuba to be one of the most fascinating and inspiring places. In a land where doctors and the common farmer are all making less than $100 a year---that's a year---it's hard to imagine from the Western perspective, that the people would have any joy at all. This image is only reinforced by a media that only shows Cubans when they are braving the waters of the Gulf, risking their lives with the mere hope that they will make land.

So as I entered the country, I expected to encounter a culture that was mentally depressed by living under the rule of communism. While I did encounter widespread discontent with the government, I was truly surprised and touched to discover people that seemed genuinely happy with life. No, not happy because of a new car, house, Xbox, iPod, or latest material fad, but simply because they had friends and family. It all seems so over simplified, yet as I walked along the Malecón, a walkway and seawall that hugs the coast of Havana, I will always remember the smiles and laughter that emanated from the groups of friends that gathered at dusk along the water. If they were lucky, one person would have a guitar, and they would sing, dance, laugh and enjoy.

On the downside, I was also shocked at the dilapidated state of the infrastructure, and how poorly the people lived. From the second I walked out of the airport, the smell of exhaust and diesel was a rude welcome to the land. Everywhere you looked, you'd see black or brown smoke just billowing from the tailpipes of the 50 year old vintage cars that all seemed to have fallen from a junkyard's time machine. As I walked the street, you'd see buildings from the Spanish era that had a beautiful structure and architecture to them, but that were so extremely run down, you wondered if anyone lived in them. Just then you'd see a woman or child walk out on one of the balconies, maybe to read the paper or hang a piece of laundry, and you almost wanted to warn them of a danger that seemed apparent, but then you'd realize–this is how everyone lives here, and then you move on.

I smoked cigars with a few locals at the jazz club Zorra y el Cuervo, and hitchhiked for the first time in my life when I couldn't find a Coco taxi. The guy's who pulled over to pick up my friend and I looked a bit scary, and we both hesitated for a moment whether we were going to get in the car or not, but we quickly relaxed as the two "tough guys" sang along to an American version of Marc Anthony's romantic ballad "I need you". They ended up being friendly, harmless, and actually quite good singers! I'm sure if I would have tried this hitchhiking stunt in Los Angeles, I would have been in far greater peril.

In the midst of extreme poverty, crumbling living conditions, poor air, and an oppressive communist government, I found the Cuban people to be inwardly rich. They unknowingly reminded me of the wiles of wealth and that the true roots of happiness are not in your status or living conditions, but are rooted in friends, family and love.