Cuba

Communism and Events: 48 hours in the life of Cuba

The boat leaves in 5 minutes. We are 10 minutes away. We whoolf down our scoops of the worlds cheapest ice cream in Coppelia and run to the harbour. Of course, today the boat leaves 2 hours later. There was an alternative bus, but crossing the Cienfuegos bay by water seemed the more romantic option. We killed time in the main square sweating last nights copious amounts of Havana Ron in the midday heat watching a local, carve little figures with cigars in their mouths. His equipment: a blunt knife and a branch from a nearby tree. He made a killing, as we bought them all off him. I was about to haggle him down to the point where the guy is still undecided wether he sold out too low, even till he falls asleep that night. But Gareth jumps in and restores dignity to the sale leaving himself and the local happy, and me thinking all the way till bedtime: "I should never have let Gareth take over the purchase".

Sorry, how rude of me. Allow me to introduce the cast:

Gareth: A London banker (or stockbroker or something), just quit his life in England for a 6 month tour of central america. Obviously a travelling rookie, Gareth, and by his own admission, is only handsome with a fully grown beard (and a snorkel)

Mark: Local Thanet boy, part time philospher, full time revolutionist, Mark squirms at physical contact with men. Or maybe its just me. Mark and Gareth met in University.

Peter:

Irishman, who didnt quite quit his job, in fact, being made redundant was the best thing that ever happened to him. It afforded him the chance to feauture in this tale, and in many other Latin American tales.

And of course: Me

We arrive on the other side of the bay in time to see all the colours change at sundown. The normally white fortress on the hill was a glowing orange.

Accidentaly we alighted on the wrong side of the bay, so we plead with the captain to take us back. Luckily he obliged at no extra cost.

The last few Km we had to walk on foot. Our plan of hitching failed as it got darker, with only a single car passing us.

Stopping in this village was necesary for the route we had taken to get to Trinidad. Arriving so late, the group dispatches, half check into the luxuries of a roof at a cost of 15US each, the other resign to sleeping on the beach. Guess who went where?

Peter woke up to find a swarm of mosquitoes around his face, the only flesh exposed, and to the disappearance of his shoes. Damned Cubans are always stealing shoes, it must be some kind of fettish like John Turturos in Adam Sandlers Mr Deeds.

Another reason we were here was to check out Rancho Relaxo. It was an all inclusive resort, and we figured that being toursits, we might be able to sneak in and use their facilities. First awake, me and Peter give it the first shot.

Being shoeless, we took the beach entrance, saying good morning in my best pure british accent to the security guard. The same voice I use when I go to a Hilton and ask for a map of the city.
We ease past him. On the way to the buffet area, Peter cleverly offs to the residential quarters and catches the number of a room he sees empty, as the claeaning ladies were inside. Very well. Room 249 would be our lucky number for the rest of our stay.

We were extremely nervous going in, Peter bare foot and all. We confidently declared our room number at the door. We were in. We ran a muck of this king of breakfast buffets, as if we hadnt eaten in days. That was partly true.

Oh no! One of the waiters was walking towards us. He didnt go to anyone elses table. He stands tall above us, pauses as if he knows our hearts are in our mouths. Can you please fill in this questionaire. It was because we were new faces. Still safe. We ticked exemplerary in the box asking about quality and value.

Feeling content, we head back to the beach where we had agreed to meet the boys. They were probably still asleep. Trying to justify their extortionate cost for a few hours kip.

Now that we were paying guests, Peter and I decide to charter one of their paddle boats and snorkel gear. Remember this resort is all inclusive. Once again all we have to leave is our room number.

Scouring the beach for the boys,we felt like the daring heroes and couldnt wait for them to see us triumphant in our boat and tell them all about our breakfast experience. All aboard we devise a system of one paddles as fast as he can, while the other three hang on to the boat, mask in the water, getting all the joys of snorkelling without expending any energy. The reef was quite impressive, and we were all officially for the first time in the Caribean. Cool.

Sunburnt and ready for a snack and a break, we head back to the beach side bar. We figure its best to head back in pairs. Peter and I return the boat, and head straight to the bar where they were serving lunch. Starving, the boys watch on from afar, their method of attack to sit on the beach for a while, slowly be seen, then carry their white skin to the bar and act the part.

Mark could probably hear us laughing over our chicken and was the first to break. He came in unanounced and ordered his food. Gareth followed suit. Me and Peter watched on in disgust over a game of ping pong at these free loaders.

We all began to settle in. Time to order some Mojitos. Soon enough we were ordering them as if it was water quenching our midday thirst. The cards came out. Then the chips. Then the cigars. A minute later we were engrossed in a marathon of Poker, Cigars and Mojitos on a Caribean beach resort. We were after all, in Cuba.

I dont know if it was the affect of the alcohol, but slowly we all started to get paranoid. Kind of a chain effect. Mark showed the first sings with such comments as: guys slow down the drinking or theyll know were not guests and just taking the piss. Peter retaliated that if we were guests, surely we would be drinking like Western Europeaners specifically English and Irish do. I wasnt sure which theory to belive. I ordered another Mojito. I think the waiter gave me a suspicious look. A few minutes later he was on the phone. I think he was talking about us. Sooner or later every sound and movement around us was testament to us being sussed. I started to feel like Mark. Peter maintained his : Guys come on, stop being pussies, we are gusets as far as they are concerned.

Mark couldnt take the pressure anymore, so him and Gareth took the beach exit. He urged us to get out with him. We had taken enough already. Nonsense. Peter persuaded me to sneak a final visit to the buffet. It was dinner time.

Again bare foot, only this time half inebriated from the afternoons endless amounts of Rum, we ease past the doorman slurring our lucky number.

We pile our plates like there wouldnt be a second visit. I finish first and proceed to the cake selection. Just as the last piece of chocolate goes down me, and the last fork of beef down Peter, the head waiter comes to our table. This time without a questionaire.

Can you please confirm your room number. 249 Peter reassirts. Im sorry, but rooms 240-249 are the the ones reserved for Cuban nationals only. Peter takes control. You must be mistaken he says in the typical british empire fashion. Can we see your key then. Its at reception, says Peter.

And so we were escorted out of the dining area (other diners looking on in astonishment at this kind of behaviour in their private resort), and along the corridor to reception. Just by the exit I say, no no the key is outside I will go and get it. I thought Peter would bale with me, I didnt get a chance to turn around, my instincts said get the hell out.

When i got to the bushes I did a 100m sprint in under 10 seconds towards the beach and to the rendezvous with the others.

Out of breath I tell them : Theyve got Peter, theyve got him. Mark only half concealed his : I told you so!

Nightfall was approaching and the plan was to hitch the remaining 120 km to Trinidad in daylight. The boys couldnt afford to wait any longer so we made a rendezvous spot for one of the bars in Trinidad. They were going on ahead. Four couldnt hitch together anyway.

It seemed an eternity that passed, as the stars came out of there hiding place. All the worst case scenarios were flying around my head. He was arrested. They were going to extradite him. They were sending a search party out for me. This village was puny. Surely they would find me.

Just when the topic of death tickled my imagination, I saw the silhouette of a known friend walking along the beach, as casually as if he were taking the dog for a stroll.

In a stroke of genius, my exit from the hotel prompted Peter to explain: no no no you have it all wrong. Im not staying here, my friend is. The guy that was just here told me when I met him on the beach today that he could invite me in for the buffet. Wait a second, wait a second. Is that not true. Well just wait till I get my hands on him.

So a few minutes later there is a frenzy going on. The hotel now on Peters side, were working out ways to track me down. Of course the would be flaw in Peters plan, would be if they actually caught me, Peter would have to hit me or something to remain in character.

So consequently a search party was sent out for me, lucky for me Im a world class sprinter. They almost appeared apologetic to trouble Peter with the 10 Convertible dolar tag to his buffet. Being backward Cuba, they had the olde fashioned swipe machine for Visa transactions. Dutifully Peter whips out an invalid out of date credit card. What the hell do they know.

He almost had the cheeck to demand to go back and finish his meal. He took a fancying to some of the desert that Id had.

Better to get out though, before the bar tab comes along. Pleasantries are exchanged in the farewell, Peter looking back: If I catch that guy!!!

We didnt know how the hell we were going to get to Trinidad now that it was dark and there were virtually no cars in the road. So we started to walk. Other than the faint moonlight which was on the horizon behind the sugar cane fields, we were using the stars for light. So pitch black in other words.

A few kilometers down the road I step in some huge piles of cow pat. Being a few meters ahead of Peter and knowing that he was bare foot, I thought it only fair to warn him. But then I think no. He will be fine. He will see it. Wait, hold on a second. I didnt see it. Before I could process these complicated equations: AHHHHHHHHHHH, WHATS THIS COLD AND SQUISHY STUFF.

I am still laughing even now.

Without any repellant for mosquitoes or sleeping bags or tents, the thought of sleeping rough by the road was highly undesirable. Just as we had walked as far as we could muster, we come across a family of four going in the other direction.

It is said that in Cuba a gift as simple as a bar of soap can get you a long way. Come On. Its the 21st century. Please. But it just so happens that in No Products Cuba, these little gifts can get you very far.

With this notion in mind Peters girlfriend Mireya, stocked him up with some old perfumes. Said they might come in handy. I had bought a four pack of soap for the selfsame reason.

Destitute and ready to lay down and die in the road right there, we chance to ask the mother and father, please gives us a roof, we bear gifts of frankinsense and mir. After a couple seconds of deliberating, they immediately change course and took the kids and us back to their and I dont say this lightly: Shed. As humble as you like, Peter and were about to experience real Cuba.

They owned nothing except a chick and a pig. We doubled the wordly possesions of the 12 and 14 year old girls with a bottle of perfume each. What little food and drink they had was ours. I played them a few songs and then went to bed in the girls shared bed. They all retired to the one mattress.

For one sick second, both Peter and I werent sure if the girls were included or not. Maybe a tad too young............One was really cute.

The next day after breakfast we had a long session of goodbyes to our favourite family in the whole world.

We secured a ride to Trinidad in no time. Believe it or not we got there before the boys. They were stuck over night back in Rancho Relaxo.