Out of it bro!

2nd week in Trindad

sklaloua — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 06:16:00 GMT

So it's Monday and this week has gone very quickly. It's been a blur of Ron, early morning pizza, and new friends and experiences. That Tuesday evening, we met with a Swedish man by the name of Torsten that mike had befriended the night before. He's 48, single, unmarried, no kids and is traveling by himself. Al though he seems like alcoholic, he enjoys a good laugh, doesn't mind being the but of a joke and enjoys dancing when he's drunk. He's an unlikely (mis) match to our duo, but he doesnt seem to mind and neither do we. He eyes me up suspiciously when I say I'm not Cuban. After he sees my passport, he flashes a big smile and it's off to las Cueva. After a bottle of Ron and several beers the lights come on and it's time to head off to the Cuban equivalent of McDonalds/kebab shop, which goes by the name el Rapido. Here you can get any sandwich, pizza or mini sub as long as it queso y jamón (ham and cheese) and without any veggies. They also stock a large range of snacks, lollies, smokes, and beer. All your morning munchy needs under one roof. I chat a bit more with Torsten and he reveals that he travels often. Hell work for a year, then bugger off where he feels like. He's travelled parts of Asia, a lot of Europe and now Cuba. He enjoys to do the foxtrot. He said he has a group of friends yyyhyhythat travel to other towns during the weekends, and do the foxtrot with the locals. The next day is spent hungover and sweating in the ever present heat. We had agreed to meet b y hyhythat night again, but I planned to feign sleeping in. But at 10:30pm they both turn up at mi casa. So off we go again. The night is another blur of Ron, staring at women and dancing drunkenly. Somewhere in the malaise we agree to go to the beach the following day. With e Rapido in our sights we stumble through the dark streets of Trinidad, with David Guetta blaring from my iPad. I've been carrying it around every night this week. It's been very handy for providing a sound track to our post la Cueva escapades and also as a point of interest with the locals as we sit and munch on pizza.

I sleep in the next day. Both mike and I miss the 11am bus that Torsten apparently made. So we hop the 2pm bus and during the ride mike chats with a group of Italian tourists, two obviously gay men and a woman. Mike gives them a quick tip about catching the return bus as we part ways and the rest of the day with me swimming and reading (very touristy, I know) while mike plays basketball on my iPad. We search the beach halfheartedly for Torsten but no luck. On the return bus, the Italian tourists chat some more with mike and they agree to meet us at Casa la Musica later on.

As I make my way way through the crowd that evening I find Torsten, who doesn't seem the least bit angry that we missed the bus, so we pull up a table, mike arrives about 5mins later, then not long after him, the Italians. They look to be in their late 20s and traveling just as a threesome for 2 weeks around Cuba. One of the guys is named Dario and the women is Agnes (the Italian translation sounds far sexier). I miss the other guys name, but he speaks fluent Swedish, so he and Torsten happily chat away. Dario speaks fluent English and Agnes not so much but being able to communicate in English with them is a welcome relief. Can slowly see that Agnes and mike are getting on really well and when we hit la Cueva, mike starts to lay it on thick, whispering sweet Spanish nothing's in her ear and whipping her around the dance floor effortlessly. Torsten and his new friend have been contently chatting away the whole night, interspersed with the odd dance, while I've been happy to quietly observe mike, Dario and Agnes dancing, along with the usual posturing of the local crowd. It's a welcome distraction from my inner thoughts as I still struggle with everything that's going on. By the end of the night mike and Agnes are mouth to mouth, our Ron is empty and we are all starving. So we head to el Rapido with our new found friends in tow. Over pizza we decide to all go see the waterfall at Tropes de Collantes in the morning. During our feed one of the local police comes in and listens intently to the music coming from my ipad. I beckon him to sit down and i give him my headphones to listen with, his face lights up and he starts bobbing his head ever so slightly. I show him how to change the song and he listens for about 5mins then stands up. He goes to the counter and returns with two beers, one for home one for me. We cheers and he goes back to my iPad. I'm not sure if he was on duty but no one seemed to care. I've seen him around the town during the day and he always stops me and says hi. Anyway, with our pizza done, we all retire. Torsten just lives around the corner and the Italians are staying in the opposite direction so they head off. As mike and I walk, he's floating on air, smiling as his favourite David Guetta song 'I gotta feeling' plays on my iPad. He dances as we walk, singing in espanol, it makes me really happy to see my new friend like this.

Mike picks me up at 9:30am and we look for a taxi van to take us all to the mountain. Finding that most have probably gone to the beach, we find two taxis, and old 80's ford escort and a 70's Lada and pick up the rest of the troops. I have my little FM transmitter with me, so I can play my ipod or ipad music through any FM radio. We ask the driver to tune it in and his reaction is fantastic. He turns up his stereo as loud as he can, almost blowing the speakers. He seems proud to be playing music that isn't reggaeton or the usual pop that ever other cab is playing. So we cruise the streets, the driver smiling and us almost deaf. When we stop to get the others, I let the driver play with my iPad. He immediately asks to buy it. I laugh as I say not for sale and go and grab Torsten. With everyone assembled, we hit the road and wow, what a road!

It's kind of like driving up and down the last incline leading to Piha (west coast beach in Auckland for those who don't know) 5 or 6 times. But the road isnt well paved, there's pot holes everywhere and cattle roam the roadside. I don't find the drive that scary, the drivers have probably driven it 100s of times, and even though their cars seem to struggle with the hills I feel relatively safe. The drive takes about 30mins and we negotiate a time for them to return before they go back to town. The walk to the falls is 45mins, but as I did at Parque el Cubano, I turn up my iPod, tell my friends 'hasta pronto' and run ahead making the trip in about 25mins. I overtake surprised travelers , yelling gracias as I pass. The track is steep and would be vary dangerous if you werent sure footed. I find the fauna unremarkable, and ignore most of it as I focus on my goal, the waterfall. There's about 15 people there when I arrive, but most are sunbathing. I strip off and I'm in the water in the blink of an eye. It's cold, though not as cold as fresh water back home, and it's beautiful. After drinking bottled water and swimming in the ocean, this is heavenly. I'm in the water for a good 15mins before my friends arrive. They take their time and all but Torsten find the water almost unbearable. Mike has one dip and then stands in the sun for the next 15mins steeling himself for his next plunge, while the Italians prefer to dry off in the sun. I throw on my snorkle and explore the rock faces and very little nook and cranny. There's tadpoles everywhere as before, but to my surprise I see a small school of fish, about 15cm in length. I take a deep breath and dive down, and even at 10m the bottom is still out of sight. Torsten and I stay in the water for most of the time, enjoying the cleansing feeling of fresh water, the rest preferring to work on their tans. After about 30mins, we dry off and mike leads us to another part of the waterfall further up above the waterhole. We round a corner and the water flows down from about a height of 50m, cascading gently down a gentle slope. Despite the warning signs, I drop my bag and begin to climb up as far as I can. I make my way up nimbly to the bemused stares of my crew. Reaching the top I find a small pool below a drop of 10m from the top of the water fall. A private spa I think ,as my shoes are off once again and Im in the water. I splash around for 5mins then a whistle from mike brings me back down as we prepare for our ascent. Now on my decent I hadn't really noticed the terrain. As we begin, the incline is about 65 degrees, and I thought it won't stay like this for long. 1.5km later I'm sweating like a pig, not a word has been spoken for over 20mins as everyone struggles for breath, and the shade of the trees is scarce. Instead of water I'm soaked in sweat, which covers my entire body in a thick film. Agnes leads the way as Torsten brings up the rear, trailing about 100m behind. He huffs and puffs, and now and again he mutters something like 'fuck this' in Swedish, which I replay in kind in English. In total with the descent taking me about 20mins, the return walk was about an hour, and most of it was at a 45 degree incline or more. The times about 3:30pm when we make it back to the taxi, we're all spent, and I cancel my plans to play ball with mike, but we all agree to meet at our local again that evening. Tonight we have a huge group of people, there's more Italians that our friends invited, also some French tourists, more Cubans and one Belgian. Most of the group was forgettable but the Belgian woman, Claire, was lovely and wonderfully flamboyant. She was probably in her mid 50s and had been on the road for about 2 months. She'd covered most of central America from Mexico down. She related stories to me about her 6 years living in Africa, and how she loved to dance Afrikaans. We all headed off to las Cueva, and we danced and drank and had a great time with all our new friends. The Italians were leaving in the morning, so mike was feeling a bit sad, and when it came time, he shed a couple of tears for Agnes. We swapped emails, said our farewells and went back to the bar to help drown mikes sorrows. The rest of the night went like clockwork, closing time, iPod music and walk to el Rapido, then console mike as we plodded home. Saturday was spent hungover and then a half hearted game of ball as we're both still feeling the effects. This was to be Torstens last night in Trinidad, but he had an early bus to catch, so he said he wouldn't drink much. We left for las Cueva early as it would be busy. We had a bottle of ron in my bag to try and sneak in, which we d done every night previously, but they were checking bags tonight. As we approached the front of the line, I nervously tried to hide my bag. Mike whispered into the ear of one of the bouncers while the other searched. As he found the bottle he shook his head at the same time as the other bouncer said to go ahead, there was a split second stare off as their eyes met, then we were waved through. Before we headed down mike was called back to the bouncers. They asked for $2 tip as payment. Now Cuba has two currencies, the CUC and the Cuban peso. One CUC is worth 100 peso. The local population only really has pesos, and most services in town have two prices, one for tourists and one for locals. I'm not sure how the economics work as a whole, but as you can see 1 CUC can be worth a lot to the locals. So bottle in hand we were nice and early and secured a good table with a good view of the dance floor. Despite Torstens earlier statement, before long our bottle was finished and he was still there, further reinforcing my suspicion that he was an alcoholic. We managed to leave before closing time for his sake, and after pizza gave Torsten a farewell hug as he stumbled back to his Casa. We didn't see him again, so I guess he made it (his bus was at 7am btw lol ). Sometime during the night I'd asked mike for some salsa lessons.

I was awoken the next day by the unmistakable sounds of pigs getting slaughtered. At 2pm when mike picked me up i asked about it and he said that the butchers usually slaughter on sundays and to illustrate his point we passed a couple displaying their meat, from the rooter to the tooter. We headed back to his place, which I thought was close by. It turns out that he lives another 10mins walk from there in what you would call the Cuban suburbs. Now, Casa Yolanda that i spent my first night in was majestic with its high arches and antiques, while Consuelo and Jorge's Casa was humble in comparison. Now mikes real house was even more humble in comparison to consuelos and jorges and reminded me of the islands. Bare plastered walls, sparsely decorated with old photos, there was a manual sewing machine in one corner, in another was their little Santaria shrine and the furniture consisted of four rocking chairs. Their entertainment system was by far the most interesting thing for me. There was a 10 year old 20 inch tv connected to 5 year old DVD player connected to the oldest amplifier I think I've seen in working order. It looked at least as old as me and it didn't have buttons, just big dials and switches, which in turn was connected to what looked like the matching speakers because the leads going for the amp to the speakers were about as thick as jumper leads, but the sound that it put out was great, even if it was slightly distorted. I was the centre of attention as I walked in. They all gave me the same look that every Cuban I've met has given me, the 'if he's not Cuban, then I'm an alien' look. They talked loudly about me, I think, then all stop and stared and waited for a response. When none came they giggled and gave me the 'well holy shit, he's not Cuban) look. This carried on for a while as we waited for mikes female friend to come help with salsa. While we waited, I was offered a flat, cold beer. They called it cerveza agua, which roughly translates as water beer. I thought that this meant watered down beer, but it was pretty strong as I felt faintly tiddlely after about 3 glasses. The whole time we waited, mikes younger sisters were thrashing the same reggaeton hits that I'd endured everynight this week at las Cueva, at full volume. They just talked even louder, and even the elderly lady, who I think was mikes mum, seemed not to mind at all as she rocked away and sipped on her cerveza agua. Mikes friend arrived, the reggaeton was changed for salsa music and the lesson began. I always thought that I had decent rythm, but the salsa beat seems to evade my comprehension. There are some steps that I found easy while some that looked basic kept messing me up. I recoreded the lesson for posterity and will post it later. The lesson lasted about half an hour, after which I gave up due to embarrassment. We sat and drank, I let his little sisters listen to my iPad, and they even put on some of the latest top 40 hits that they had on DVD to make me feel comfortable. I wanted to tell them that I don't really like pop music but just sat and mouthed the words to songs from Beyonce, Jordin Sparks, Chris Brown and Pitbull, much to their amusement. I asked if I could get a photo, which they kindly obliged, then I said my goodbyes and headed home for an afternoon sleep. I met mike for one beer that night, but me body even protested to that, so I was back home and in bed by 11.

So here I sit in mi Casa, it's about 1pm, I had a late breakfast, and have been typing away for the last 3 hours. Cordelia's due tomorrow at 4pm and I'm not sure what to expect. We've both promised to be relaxed about the whole situation and see where the next few days leads with all the talking thats expected. Before I pick her up there's the second leg of the champions league football between Barcelona and AC Milan playing at the international hotel. Tomorrow will be a great day I've decided. First a huge game of football, then the arvo and evening chatting and showing my baby around my temporarily adopted home.

Just a few more observations from my people watching and interactions with locals and tourists. I've already touched on how locals think I'm Cuban. I've found that this is kind of double edged sword. It nice not to be bothered as I walk the streets, but when it comes to socializing, when I approach tourists and ask them if they speak English the usual reply is no. I've found it hard to find tourists from English speaking nations as most of the tour groups come from central or eastern Europe. So when I approach, they think 'oh no, not another bloody Cuban' and they either can't speak English or feign ignorance thinking that I'm another jinitero with a really good accent,because they never would have heard a kiwi accent before anyway. So I found that when I'm out I'm happy to play the quiet Cuban, even though I don't think one of those even exists. With everyone staying in such close quarters to their neighbours, it seems that personal space is almost non existent. Conversations are shouted across the street, and when face to face, they are just that, almost nose to nose. Everyone knows everyone's business, but no one cares. Front doors are always open, and you can see what your neighbours are doing, music is turned up loud so that the whole street knows what you're listening to. Ive found it

Firat week in Trinidad

sklaloua — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 06:15:00 GMT

On the day that I had my sulk, when I had gone to get lunch for me and Cordelia, I stopped and got a phone card and called the Casa particulars that appeared in the guide book. From the five that I liked , only two had vacancies. One was a a woman called Yolanda and I forget the other. So cut back to the me, alone, at the bus station, clutching a piece of paper containing promises of a room in Trinidad. My bus left fifteen minutes after Cordelia's. It followed the same route that we had taken to the beach on Saturday. As I stared out the window, the countryside fell away to the sounds of my iPod. Every now and again we would pass through populated areas varying from small villages to cities. Between one such village and city, I counted 5 abandoned schools in the space of about 2kms. These weren't small places, they were all identical. Two four storey high blocks, about 8 prefabs long. The two blocks faced each other with about a space of 40m between them. The space inbetween filled with smaller buildings, probably admin buildings. On the otherside of one of the big blocks were two basketball courts and what used to be a soccer field, though the land had long been reclaimed by the surrounding bush. I thought how sad it was that uthese places that had probably once taught thousands of children are now desolate. Inbetween each of the schools were small places that were inhabited utuuuubut couldn't be called a village. As the trip continued, I decided to take a video of each village/city we passed through. I'm gonna edit these in to a montage once I can download a decent video editor.

So six hours later, viola, we arrive in Trinidad. The streets are cobbled as all the guides have said, but besides this, the picture is an exact replicate of what I witnessed on my scooter trip. Corners have farmers, small fast food joints are run out of little doorways, the extravagant street hustlers openly flaunt their wealth on the corners of the main street, whistling and offering their wares to anyone who doesn't fit in. We pull into the bus station, a crowd of taxi drivers and jinitero part as they eye up their next prospective marks.

Exiting the bus we slowly collect our bags, the assembled crowd circle like sharks, pouncing on each traveller as they pass the line that holds them back.

I'm the last to pass, taking my time to put on my bag and survey the carnage, letting those ahead take the full brunt of the attack. But still, one step and I am besieged by photos, their lamented coverings flash like claws shoved in front of me, their voices like roars trying to be heard over the others. Many give up after about 2mins, but two jinitera hound me and hound me. I turn up my iPod, drowning out the mob as I get my bearings. Ha, I find a street name that I recognize and follow it, my unwanted entourage in tow to the first of my prospective lodgings, Casa de la Yolanda. My admirers follow right up to front door step. As I ascend, one walks over to the open doorway and says something close to what i think is ' you greedy bitch' then quickly turns and eyes up more fresh meat as another bus rolls in. Just a side note from what I wrote before about before on the jinitera. From what I can gather, these men or women offer their services to the local business owners. If they manage to attract new business, they get a commission, which isn't really a commision, but an extra cost that is added on top of the service provided by the business owner. So for example if I had followed one of those women from the bus, a room that could have cost $25 a night, would have been $30 a night, everynight, the jinitera taking $5 dollars a day for the duration of my stay. For this reason Yolanda said she would meet me inside her house. She said that she doesn't have any brothers, husbands, sisters or any kind of relative that would wait for me at the station. So I enter.....

The interior is beautiful. She has antiques and lovely furniture that decorate every inch of the Casa. She's seated in a rocking chair, looking like a mob boss, with her helpers whispering in her ear. She speaks in espanol to me, i give my standard reply. We make introductions in broken inglese and espanol. She asks how long I want to stay. I tell her using a combination of sign language, espanol and my iPad, which has an app that can speak general Spanish phrases. Her eyes widen, then contract in distrust as she eyes my warily. Cinco de Mayo? She tries to make sure that she has understood. Once she's sure, 5th of May, she sighs loudly, grabs her diary and gestures loudly that she doesn't have a room available for that amount of time, but she knows someone, but they are not free tomorrow, so I can stay here for one night. She leds me to waiting area while she talks on the phone. It's obvious that the voice on the otherside doesn't believe me either. 'Si, cinco de mayo' I hear Yolanda repeat. I tune out as I look around a bit more. Her mansion is stunning. Again antique homeware and furniture line the walls of all the rooms. I take pictures as I wait patiently. After 20mins I am summoned back to see the Godmother. Seated next to her is a woman with blonde hair down to her shoulders. She eyes me up warily as Yolanda introduces her. Consuelo, her sister in law. Yolanda plays interperter as we haggle the price. For the length of time I'm staying, which is 47 days, I manage to get it down to $20 a night, which will include dinner and breakfast. Drinks will be extra. To make sure that we understand, Yolanda repeats everything three times to me. I pull out my iPad, remembering one of the phrases it can say. 'Lo entiendo' the two women look at each other and laugh, Yolanda smiles at me and says again. 'Lo entiendo' they have another giggle. This little game repeats it self about another four times before they get tired of the little speaking box. Consuelo smiles at me warmly before leaving. I'm then directed to my room for the night. I flop down, feeling very proud that I've managed to get this far by myself. Checking out the room, I take a few more pictures then decide to head to the Internet cafe. On my way out Yolanda lets me know that dinner will be at 7:30pm. Putting on my tourist hat, sunnies and iPod, I head out into the wilderness once again. As in Varadero, I receive unsure looks, as I'm dressed like a tourist but I look Cubano. Offers fly at me , left and right taxi to beach, dinner at a restaurant, cheap cigars, women and alcohol. I make it to the Internet cafe unscathed. I almost choke at $6 an hour, but I hand over my money and try to reach the world outside. I quickly type out emails to mum and dad, Cordelia and a quick FB status update. My hour is almost up, having mainly been spent on loading time. Returning to the Casa, I have a cold shower and a small snooze, while waiting for dinner. Dinner isn't what I expected. I thought that maybe all the guests would sit down and dine together, but each room has a small area set aside in the courtyard for her guests. And it's a huge meal, about 6 dishes, with prawns, chicken, soup, vegetable, Cuban style hash browns and little fried dough balls with cheese cake style dessert. I barely finish half the meal, when I grab the IPad, looking up the phrase for I am full. 'Estoy lleno' i tell Yolanda. She smiles and asked how it was, I remember Dora the explorer, 'muy biene' I retire to my room to digest. I come out later with one of my books and the left over rum from Varadero. I enjoy a quiet night sipping on my drink, a cigarette, and reading my book, with Todo the dog and a small snapping turtle for company.

I ready myself for breakfast at 7:30 pm, after which Yolanda's brother Jorge will pick me up to escort me to his Casa. Breakfast is another lavish affair that I can barely finish. I meet Jorge and grabbing my things, say my thanks and goodbye to Yolanda. One block around the corner is Jorge's Casa. It looks small and dark as you enter. There's nothing of the extravagance at Yolanda's. I follow him upstairs to a double room with ensuite. I don't think it's much until he opens a door and leads me out to my own terrace. It looks west out over the main entrance to the city, the beach clearly visible on the horizon. But that's not all. He leads me up a small ladder to a second unfenced terrace that has a 360 degree view of the city. It's jaw dropping. The view to the east is the mountains, Tropes de Collantes, and north and south the city stretches away in to the distance. Jorge leaves me to it and i stand and marvel at the view. I tear myself away and begin to unpack. It feels so nice not to have to rummage through my bag for clothing anymore. With everything in its place, I can finally relax fully, and man does it feel good! I go for a short stroll that arvo, and take in the atmosphere. I fell tension. Not a lot but it's there. There's tension from the tourist, constantly alert to the native population. The reverse is also true as the hustlers are constantly on the prowl.

Dinne that evening is at 7:30pm. It's beef, rice, salad, potatoes. Thoughout the week the dinners are basically the same, only the rice is sometimes flavored, the potatoes are replaced with green bananas, and the meat changes between fish, prawns and chicken. I have no complaints with the food, I haven't gotten sick, and it's filling and tasty, but maybe a bit salty. After dinner that night, I'm determined to deliver the presents of my Cubano friend in NZ. His father is a traditional Cuban guitar player. He play everynight at Casa de la Trova from about 9pm. I head there, and in my broken espanol I introduce myself and tell him that Osmany is my friend in NZ. A big smile crosses his face and we embrace. I give him the presents for his family for which he is very grateful. He leads me over to where he keeps is guitar, and gives me a private performance of three songs which I record. He then asked if I want a cd. At first I think it's free, but later on, when I leave he says its $10, I smile and think to myself that everyone here is a hustler, even the little old man that plays beautiful guitar and is the father of a friend half way across the world. I don't ahave the money on me, so I promise to return later. I return to mi Casa, spending another night reading, finishing my ron (rum) and sparking up a huge habano (cigar) known as a Churchill, so named as they were the brand that the great man preferred.

The next day was sad. I felt an immense weight on my shoulders. What was I gonna do for 46 days by myself in a place where the local populace think I'm one of them and so do the tourists. I don't leave the the house at all that day. I sit inside playing on my iPad, then I sit outside having a cigarette. I repeat this pattern for hours on end, feeling quite lonely and wanting to hope on a bus to Havana. Consuelo was a hairdresser, and I'd asked yesterday if she could shave my head, and true to her word she came up today, clippers in hand. During my shower I thought stuff it new city, new Kava, so I shaved my head entirely, even my facial hair. Later that night it's dinner then more of the same, lamenting on my life and sulking. The only good things that came out of this day was the promise to myself that won't do this two days in a row, and a new image. I got up nice and early, practiced some espanol, had breakfast then it was off to the scooter hire. Returning home I packed my bag and headed to Playa Ancon, the closet beach to Trinidad at about 15km. Just like in Varadero I really enjoyed my scooter ride. While trying to navigate my way out of town I found the local high school and their basketball courts. Making a mental note I headed off. I loved driving the open road, music blaring in my ear and the wind in my face. Reaching the beach I parked up, and was promptly charged a dollar for the pleasure. It was more of the same like Varadero, lots of burnt tourists lying on the sand, with large ugly resorts in the back ground. I found what I thought was a quiet corner and started to update my travel diary. No more than ten minutes had passed when a Cuban approached me and offered to get me a drink. I accepted so he would leave me alone. Upon returning with my drink he noticed my iPad. He asked about so I showed him some of the features and games just to be nice. Naturally being Cuban he tried to barter for it offering me 3 boxes of cigars. I said not for sale. He then noticed my helmet and asked if he could borrow my scooter to go over to the next hotel. I offered to take him instead, which he accepted, but then declined when it came time to go. So I left to his pleas to come back another day. I said maybe then sped off, headed to the mountain range. The guy at the scooter rental said that you couldn't get there by scooter, but I thought stuff him I'm sure you can. Along the way I got stopped by the police for riding without a shirt on, which was strange considering they seemed pretty lax on road safety in general. I began making my way to. Tropes del Collantes, then after about 5km I realized why you couldn't get there buy scooter. The hills and valleys that the road traversed were so steep that the poor scooter was struggling and the engine began to smell, so I turned around and headed to Parque el Cubano, a reserve about 1km out of town. Now here's another of the strange things I've noticed on my travels. No matter how remote a place in Cuba, if it's gonna attract tourists, then you can bet that will be a bar and restaurant. The road out to the reserve was in need of repair, there were pot holes everywhere. But lo and behold I arrive there and tropical looking beach huts stand just beyond the car park, one housing the bar and the other the restaurant. So I ordered a beer and continued my diary. I noticed an elderly gentleman sitting doing a sudoku puzzle. I approached and asked him where he was from and I could join him. His name was Gerry and he was from Victoria. I recounted my travels through Canada as he waited for his wife to return from the trek. When they did I asked how it was, they sad it was pretty hard and probably needed good footwear. So i shelved that idea and had some more beer as I continued my diary. I excitedly returned to Trinidad anticipating my basketball game with the locals. At about 5pm I begin to make my way there, I stopped and watched some of the locals playing dominoes. As they played the started gesturing at other players saying 'gay, he gay' then mimed putting fingers in their arse. I laughed, and they said Casa la Musica, then started miming blowjobs I laughed again, then asked in espanol, how much, which got everyone laughing loudly at the butt of their jokes. I said I'll see you tomorrow and continued to the basketball court. The turnout was poor, a handful of teens who were ok, and were again surprised at how well I played. I aske if they were playing again tomorrow, 'si, cinco hora' they replied. I returned to the Casa happy with the events of the day and feeling proud of myself again.

Friday morning I'm up early again and headed back to Parque el Cubano. I pull in and there's already three bus loads of people there. I change in to my runners, put on my running playlist, and I'm off. The signs say it'll take 1.5hrs, i Iaugh as I begin bounding up the track passing a bemused group of school kids. The track starts of dry and dusty, with straw like plants lining both sides. I don't take too much notice as I keep up my gentle jog. Eventually the straw is placed by trees and shrubs. There's not much in the way of flowers, only skink like lizards that scatter in a panic as I approach. I pass the first group of tourists after 10mins, Canadians I think. I couldn't think of anything worse than paying someone to lead me around like cattle. I smile as I pass 'permissio, permissio, gracias' leaving them in my wake. The track begins to rise and fall, large steps carved into the natural stone, wood and rope bridges span the waterway, making the track a bit more fun as I try to conquer these small obstacles quickly. Another 5mins, another group, Germans I think. 'permissio, gracias' I say as they fall away behind me. I pass 2 more groups, one French, the other maybe Mexicans as they were speaking espanol. The track ends at a picturesque waterfall that falls over a natural cave. There's a park ranger fixing some of the railing around the deep pool at the bottom of the falls. He explains to me that the pool gets to about 9m deep so diving is safe. By this time I'm sweating like a paedophile in a playground, i strip down to my togs and off the side of the bank into the cool refreshing water. There's a safety line strung across the water. I grab hold and pull myself along. It ends at the mouth of a cave half hidden under the water. I let go and paddle in to see large stalactites/mites (I forget which ones form on the ceiling) dropping down. In the upper reaches of this small cavern I spy 3 bats flapping around happily in the dim light. I wanted to explore a bit more but with my bag out of sight, I swam to place where I could sun bathe and keep an eye on it. I was there for a good half hour before the first of the groups arrived. As I sat with my feet in the water, I noticed heaps of tadpoles in the water. Amused,

I watched as they approached my feet cautiously and began to nibble at the dead cells, slowly more and more came to feast. I also noticed small, transparent fresh water shrimp were digging in to this newly found feast. Their banquet was cut short by the clumsy fumblings of the Spanish tourists entering the water. I idly sat and listen to the wildlife, and watched as more of the tourists arrived to ruin my peace and quiet. Having had enough of the noise, I suited up and began what I thought was the return journey. There was a steep climb with steps carved into stone. I just assumed that this was another way out so I began climbing, at the top of the stone steps the track seemed ok, there seemed to be more debris but I thought nothing of it. After about 10mins of dodging under fallen trees and scraping through small nooks and crannies, I thought 'hmmm, maybe this isn't the right way?' so turning around I found my way back easily. I asked the ranger about it, he laughed and shook his head and pointed back the way I had come. I wended my way back through a different route passing more bemused tourists. The walk back always seems shorter and after less than 2 hrs I was back at the bar, sipping on a cold beer before my ride home. As I rode back, I had an epiphany. In the short time that I've traveling, there have been only three situations where I can say that I'm either content or happy, they are driving, playing basketball, or when I'm with Cordelia. That thought put me into a rut, and I spent the afternoon suckling once again.

5pm came and the basketball court beckoned. As before I drove past the guys playing dominoes, stopped and watched. Again they were gesturing about homosexuals and the kind when one of the new faces spoke up. His English was pretty good but heavily accented. He asked about my scooter and some other things, I forget, but he said he also played basketball, and that after dominoes he would meet me there. There were a few more people to play with that night and we had a decent game. The guy from dominoes was pretty good himself, and after our game we sat and chatted. His name was Michel (pronounced Michelle), he worked at resorts all around Cuba and sometimes at the local ceramics factory. I told him about myself and we seemed to get along pretty well. I asked him if he knew someone who could help me learn Spanish. He said that he would be willing as he was on holiday until April 10th. I said great, thanked him and asked if he would be here tomorrow. He asked what I was doing tonight, I said I might go see my Cubano friends dad at Casa de la Trova, but otherwise no really plans. He invited me to Casa la Musica, a bar that I heard about but had avoided so as it was full of tourists. I said sure what time, 930 he said, then asked if I could give him a ride home. I accepted cautiously, but it turned out to be fine, and I said 'hasta luego' as headed back for dinner. I heade to Casa de la Trova to take the money I owed to osmany's dad. As I left, I found Mike waiting outside for me. I thought that was a bit suspect, but ignored it and carried on. Casa la Musica was packed. The whole of the venue is massive, with four seperate stages, the largest was open air, where most of the crowd sat and watched the live band ply their trade. We stood at the bar and had a couple of beers, stared at girls, then headed up the back of the crowd and found a table. His friend Ariel joined us. As usual he thought mi Cubano, but he was pretty cool. He said he was a rowing coach at a university somewhere then we continued the ogling as they taught me Spanish phrases and tried to communicate across our language barrier. It was fun, a lot like hanging out withe boys at the local, talking shit and checking out women. At about 11pm they said to go some where else, so followed them, probably stupidly now that I think of it, through some of the dodgy back streets, where to my surprise there was a line of people and a taxis. They told me the club was called Las Cuevas. This translated as the cave. The charge was $3 and it included one drink. While paying our entry, I couldn't hear any noise, so I came suspicious. But as we descended stairs cut into the natural bed rock the music got louder and louder, then walking through an opening there it was, Las Cuevas. The whole club was built in to a naturally occurring cave. They had big screens, a huge dj box set up, a large dance floor, and two fully stocked bars. My suspicion fell away as I soaked in this remarkable site. It reminded me of any of the other meat market type clubs you'd find on aucklands water front, only the music was more Latino based, but there was international pop artists like Rihanna and Beyonce thrown in for the tourist. We found a table, ordered a whole bottle of Ron, and sat and relaxed and people watched. It seemed as though my new found friends were quite well known as both men and women approached gave them kisses on the cheek, had a quick conflab then disappeared into the crowd. About half way through the bottle I was feeling pretty good. One of mikes amigas came and sat down with us. She was a tall Afro Cuban girl with the darkest, soft skin. I was instantly memorized. In the state that I was in, I thought I'd give it a punt. She wasnt too keen to start with but after a few more broken Spanish complements she asked if I wanted to dance. The rest of the night was blur of drinking and dancing with, I forget her name, but next thing I realize we're in a taxi, with mike and another girl headed back to mi Casa. Now before I'd left I'd let Jorge know that I would be back late, he said no problem. So cut to 3am I'm knocking on the door. He opens the door and takes look at this girl and shakes his head. Then it hit me, jinitera. I grabbed mike and asked him, he said probably, not sure but you take here inside and talk about it. I told him that I don't pay for sex and apologized to the girl and Jorge before stumbling up to mi habatacion and collapsing on the bed.

Next day I had to return the scooter. I remember that I had told mike to meet me there at 11am, and there he was. M suspicion was back, so I asked him straight up, 'tu jinitero?' he said no, shaking his head and waving his hands. He sat me down and pointed to the street hustlers. They had nice clothing, jewlery nice shoes and sunglasses. I still wasnt sure, but I needed some hair of the dog, so we headed to the Internet cafe where we sat and drank a few beers and he taught me a little more Spanish. My head began to thump so I said that I would see him at basketball and went back and slept. At the appointed time I made my way and as before there they were on their rickety table. Mike had promised me that there would be ore people playing today being Saturday and that we would get a full court game going. He was right and we had another great game, but I injured my foot near the end. I hobbled home behind mike, and as we passed his street he asked same as last night? Si, so I replied. Id let him listen to my ipod on the walk home, and i let him hold on to it as a test of character. On the way I bought a bottle of ron because it was cheaper at the shop, and took it with me later. It seemed that byo is pretty relaxed in Cuba. You can show up with anything that you want to drink and they provide cups and ice, no problems. I waited for an hour by myself thinking that he wasn't coming and just when I was about leave he appeared iPod in hand. I still had a slight distrust but it was lessening. There wast much difference between that night and last night, except that we stayed there til it closed at 4am and walked (cominando) instead of taxied, and didn't pick up any jinitera. On the walk home mike suggested we go the beach when we woke up. I said yep as I stumbled off to mi Casa, where Jorge dutifully opened the door at what was probably 5am.

Mike came at about lunchtime and we headed to the Internet cafe for more hair of the dog (beers are only $1 btw) and waited for the bus at 2pm. The beach was packed. Again as we walked people stopped and shook mikes hand. By now my suspicion was almost nil as he had always returned my iPod, and he had kept his word, even when we were drunk. So we found a spot under a small palm tree and sat. He played on my iPad while I swam, then I listened to my iPod as the day passed us by. There wasn't much talk between us and we just relaxed ( relahade) til the bus came at 6pm. I got back to mi Casa and I could feel this underlying sadness returning, a feeling that something, someone was missing.

Next day, and I was back down in the dumps when I awoke. After breakfast (dysauno) I sat in mi habatacion again and reflected on the day on the beach.

And I found it. I knew what it was. Almost every tourist that I saw either had a friend or partner. They looked happy and they chatted openly in whatever language (idioma) they spoke and were able to share their thoughts clearly, not being held back by the language barrier that I had. Well, maybe it was also my fault for coming to Cuba with only a hand full of phrases under my belt but anyway, I digress. So I grabbed my iPad, and started to write and write and write. After about 3 hrs I'd managed to type out my experiences in Varadero, after which I thought I'd go and transfer them to my blog, but the Internet cafe was packed, so I sat there instead and started to type out my entry for my first week in Trinidad, with a beer of course. Again I typed for hours and hours and before I knew it, it was 530pm. I headed back and had a afternoon siesta, woke for dinner, shaved my head again, then sat back down to type. Reading back through I realized that as well as travel diary, this is doubling as a personal diary, so I guess I'll continue as such. I've found that its helping with loneliness that I've felt creeping up on me.

This morning I went back to the Internet cafe to try and upload my diary from my iPad, but their computers have old software so, there goes that idea. So I checked emails, and the only proper one was from Cordelia. Earlier emails from her had said that she was feeling scared and that she wanted to hop a bus to Trinidad. Today's email made me feel sad. She said she felt like the new Cordelia, the one that met me at the airport in Vancouver, wanted something new in life. Not necessarily in terms of a relationship but that experiencing the world and evolving as a person would be hard with someone that she associated with the old Cordelia. I feel that the time apart is not helping my cause. I'd told Cordelia earlier, that when she had picked me up in Vancouver, that I could tell that I had already lost her. I ignored the feeling, but as we talked and travelled the feeling never left. She wants to come visit me in Trinidad, then maybe travel on further together, but I don't think I can. That week in Varadero, was hard and if we were to travel on together, I couldn't do it as friends, I want all of her, not just part, and if we travel as friends, I think that it's going to ruin what we feel for each other. But I want her so badly, need her, I'm really struggling by myself at present, and I'm not sure that it's going to get easier. It might just turn into drinking every day with my friend mike until I go to Costa Rica. Like I said this time apart isn't working in my favour, and I've just about given up hope that we will be what we were in NZ........

Having checked emails, I felt a bit lonely. So i headed towards mikes Casa, and 10m down the road, there he was on the way to mi Casa. He had my iPod, and I had a quick listen to the song and he was listening to one of my favourite songs. This cheered me up a bit, as it reminded me of some proverb or physics rule, 'like attracts like' or 'in life you attract people similar to yourself.' So I've finally accepted that mike isn't trying to take advantage of me, and that he's a bro. So we spent the rest of the day, where else, but at a bar sipping beer and us having a proper intercambio (exchange) of idioma (language) where he taught me phrases and I helped to correct his English and also taught him some NZ slang. Tonight it's back to Casa la Musica then most probably Las Cueva.

With some new phrases in hand, maybe there's esperamos for me yet. Also, during the short time that I've spent with mike, I find my understanding growing daily, I can pick words from conversations of passersby, people talking in the street. It's quite heartening to think that through all this emotional bullshit, I am doing this by myself, and that, from inside this tunnel that I find myself, there is some form of light ahead, although it might not be the type I hope for most.

And now just a small glimpse into daily life, without all the bullshit. I am usually woken by one of three things. Farmers with whistles trying to sell crops, fucking roosters, or the local gang of dogs having their version of fight club. I always feel bad when I hear their target whining like its been run over. I wake up at varying times, depending on the amount of Ron and cerveza I've had the night before. Desayuno consists of a plate of pineapple, diced rock melon and sliced orange, four or five bread rolls, a single fried egg and a piece of cake with a strange coconut filling. To drink, a jug of either rock melon juice or guava juice and, although I'm not much a coffee drinker, the coffee I get in the mornings is really good. It's fresh and strong with heaps of flavour to boot. I always drink the whole pot. When I leave mi Casa, the main street is lined with tricycles, their drivers offering their services. Opposite them are the taxi drivers doing the same. If I'm up early enough there's hundreds of school kids in uniform heading off. Also many locals own birds, from parrots to canaries. They all live in little bamboo cages and these are hung in windows where the little singers tweet away to their hears content. It even common place to see their owners taking them for walks, cages and all. It seems like birds are more prized than dogs, but there are dog owners too, but they dont seem to get the same care. The dogs that roam the streets seem really independent. They run around knowing exactly where there are going, they have amazing street sense when it comes to crossing the road, and the presence of people doesn't bother them one bit. When I ve been at Casa la Musica, there's one small spotted dog that wends his way through the busy crowd, past the band, up the steps and takes his place in the cool soil of a garden at the back of the bar, not giving a shit about all the noise and people. Anyway I digress, later in the morning the streets are populated with more farmers on bikes or horses and carts, and vehicle less vendors walking around with fold out tables and baked goods to sell on the busy street corners. The same corners are shared by the jinitero. I think that they all have their own corners, and that you need to pay rent if you want to stand on their corner. Women, men dogs and cats line the streets, sitting on their front door steps or boxes. Horse, dog and cat shit are scattered throughout along with some rubbish, although its not as messy as you'd think. The actual footpath Is always swept and tidy. I think that the residents of the main roads have a mandate from the local authority to keep it nice for the tourists, but sometimes the smell can be bad when it gets really hot. The busier streets are usually one way, and are used by bus, tuck, cars, horses and people alike. Considering the confusion there seems to be a lack of accidents. Overall the day looks like this, at least to me. There's a lot of sitting, standing, posturing, whistling and watching. The afternoon brings about the local domino games, there's at least one on every block. Also teens are out in the street practicing their football skills and kicking the ball off the walls. I've noticed another way that you can pick tourists. The locals always walk the streets on the side of the road where there's shade, tourists, at least the new ones to Cuba don't. Also the afternoon sun invites most of the older men to display their bellies, as many wander the streets topless. The cool late afternoon sun brings people out of their houses and they sit and chat with the neighbours in the street, and the animal population is noticeably more active. Dusk through to night doesn't bring much change. I usually observe this from my terrace as I type on my iPad. The sounds of barking from both animal and farmer continues late into the night, sometimes as late as 10pm, while t he dogs never stop. I have dinner usually at 8pm which is early for Cubans. I've already touched on what's served, but I did get surprised today with some lobster. Yum!

If I go out, older Cubans still sit on their stoops, while all the jinitero have moved to the clubs along with the jinitera who aren't as noticeable during the day. At every club or restaurant, the local population as absent in the crowd, only the performers and serving staff are Cuban. The crowds are made up of tour groups from Canada, Russia, Germany, France, Czech republic and England ( probably more as well). They are mainly middle aged or retiree aged couples, who populate the small, traditional type bars, while the younger ones go to Casa la Musica and las cuevas. Bedtime is always accompanied by dogs barking, fighting and whining, which has become quite comforting after a week. It lets me know that I'm where I was when I went to sleep and that I'm still alive.

A week in Varadero

sklaloua — Sun, 22 Apr 2012 06:11:00 GMT

The flight to Varadero was full of westie type Canadian families and couples on all inclusive package deals. They were really loud and arrogant and some of the children kept annoying the flight attendants. I wanted to shout at them and slap the, over the head. The flight was quick and surprisingly it was raining when we landed, but that only lasted 10mins. After getting off the plane I got held up in immigration for almost an hour. It felt like they didn't believe I was from NZ because I definitely looked Cuban from the ones I'd seen so far. I showed them all my IDs and my onward ticket to Costa Rica and I even had to drag Cordelia back through to prove it, so eventually they were satisfied. As I walked to get my bag I looked at all the women working in the airport and it seemed like the set from a bad porno. They all had tight fitting uniforms with short skirts, fishnet stockings and high heels, and overdone make up, it was kinda funny. As I approached the carousel to get my bag, I could only see one lying on the ground, and as I approached it the drug dog came running out and sat by the bag. I began to shit myself as I got closer thinking that maybe I'd forgotten to get rid of that weed, but then realized it wasn't my bag, and at that moment my bag appeared out from behind the carousel flap. Phew!!

So with feet finally on Cuban soil, we looked for a bus. The first guy we met asked us where we were going, we told him, he said $10 each. It sounded good to us so we paid him and got on board. On leaving Varadero later that week we saw that the price was $6 for the airport bus. So amazingly we'd only been in the country for 5mins and already been hustled!

The bus ride was uneventful but the contrasts between inland and sea were remarkable. Flat, arid dry land then suddenly, beautiful white sand beaches, boarded by the clearest water ive ever seen. That put a huge smile on. Y face after 12 days of cold and

Wet. We passed through a couple of small villages on the way, the housing and roads looked terribly poor, but to my surprise the people didn't really match their surroundings.their clothing looked equal to about a middle class family in NZ plus they looked relatively hey, which reminded me a lot of south Auckland, where conditions are kind of similar.

Hotel Herradura looked like it would have been banging in the fifties. It was situated on the beach, the courtyard only 19m from the water, our room wasnt special, but all our need were met, except for hot water, which meant cold showers all week, but considering the heat it wasn't so bad. The hotel bar was a called The Pony and open 24hrs. We sat out in the courtyard, ordered two Cristals, local beer, for $1 each and just sat and marveled at the view while 3 Russian women next to us got progressively drunker and louder.the rest of the day was low key, we went for a walk along the beach and then had dinner at the hotel restaurant. All dished were $5, but not everything was available, so I had Chen and Cordelia had prawns. Everything came with rice, salad and french fries, which turned out to be potato chips, so I'm not sure if they ran out or if they were just being cheeky. The next day was a dedicated beach day. The hotel had sun loungers and little palm leave mbrella huts set up on the beach, where the life guards where also the serving staff, who would take your drink orders and deliver them back to you. The outside bar was a giant orange, in which sat the bar man. They did fresh coconuts from the tree which you could drink from the shell and add rum if you wanted. So sporting out matching straw hats we'd bought the day before (if your skin color didn't say tourist, then wearing one of these hats definitely did) we took out place, books in hand and veged out for hours. This resulted in both of us getting impressive tans (lines) and burnt. Dinner that evening was at a tropical looking place, I forget the name. It was the bar where one of the Buena Vista Social Club guys used to play. It was a bout twice as expensive as the hotel, But the quality wasn't much better, but hey I'm in Cuba, I wasn't expecting much.

Thursday we tried to hire a scooter, but everyone was out. We tried several places, but walking around in the hot sun began to fray our skin and nerves, so another beach day it was. For some reason the wind began to annoy Cordelia so she retired back to the room and left me to it.

As I sat and contemplated life, I listen to some of my favorite NZ music, from Che fu and Nesian Mystic, to Concord Dawn and Shapeshifter. That stupid smile spread across my face again, along with the thought that 'holy shit, I'm drinking Cuban beer on a Cuban beach, smoking a Cuban cigar!' and it felt very surreal. While we had been searching for scooters, we had passed a little restaurant that was cooking something that smelt fantastic, so we'd decided to eat there. I ended up having lobster, which at $12 was pretty expensive as far as dinner goes and Cordelia had the chicken, which was amazing. The smell that we had experienced earlier was them slowing smoking the chicken in an old barrel. It was so good that Cordelia, not your biggest meat eater, didn't want to share! Also every night this week we'd run into this middle aged Russian couple at the same restaurants we had dinner at. The 1st night we didn't really notice, the second night was probably coincidence but come on three nits in a row! That was getting a bit ridiculous, and I'm sure they were giving us the evils that third night. After dinner we sat by the hotel bar and drank cubata's ( dark rum and cola) and smoked a cigar as I kicked Cordelia's ass at ucher. There was a large group of Russians seated on the other side of the courtyard, an a elderly cuban man with his guitar sat with them and he played beautiful Cuban music. After a while he came over to the bar, and mimed that the Russians were really drunk and he was getting sick of them. One of the girls came over and dragged him back, but he said he'd come and sing us a few songs later, which he did and he was even more amazing up close ( I'll post the video when I get the chance) after a couple of songs we bought him a drink, and found out his mane Luciano and he was from Mantanza. He came here every Thursday and played at the hotel and also performed on Fridays when the hotel had their special buffet dinner.

The next morning we got up nice and early to make sure we got a scooter, which after waiting for almost an hour we did. We made the drive all the way up to the end of the peninsular where it looked like there were several new resorts in various stages of construction. On the way back we stopped at the regional park where there were caves, but at $12 each to enter, we decided against it. So back to the hotel, where Cordelia said she wasn't too keen on the scooter so she might stay on the beach. Feeling a bit annoyed, I decided to go for a drive. I explored the highway back towards the mainland and then just decided to keep going. I passed a school and then gas station, then there was almost nothing. The land was so barren, and only a house every 1 or 2 Kim's let you know that we're actually people trying to live off this wasteland. After about 6kms I passed a small oilfield then back to wasteland. I eventually hit a fork in the road and passed a cemetery that was full of huge memorials. Carrying on I realized I was entering a village, which turned out to be the town of Cardenas. This Cuba that I'd discovered was another world completely. The tiny streets were shared by bus, car, horse, bike and people alike. There were poor looking farmers on every corner selling what little crops they had grown. There were dogs everywhere. They roamed in packs and looked relatively happy, they weren't aggressive and they totally ignored people, preferring to do their own thing. Also most of the dogs where the little sausage dogs, about a foot high and about three feet long. There was horse and dog shit everywhere. There were other street venders on there bikes or horses. They were equipped with whistles and loud voices as they roamed slowly about the streets making as much noise as possible to attract attention. There were old men huddled around a rickety old table, talking loudly and gesturing widely with their hands as they played dominoes. The 1950s taxi prowled the streets, honking their horns at prospective fares and pretty girls. Here was there real Cuba. And I wanted to stay and people watch and just study this amazing new landscape before me, but as soon as I stopped, I was immediately targeted by a street hustler, known as jinitero. The term seems to apply to anyone who makes a living from hustling tourists, whether it be for cheap cigars, bus tickets, accommodation, food to sex. The women are knower as jinitera, and although they are generally thought of as prostitutes, their services also vary. And the way you can pick them is from the clothes they are wearing. As a general rule, they wear better clothing, speak better English and are very friendly, i learnt this from my newly aquired friend in trindad who you hear all about next entry.The one that approached me said he even had a friend in NZ. First he offered me cheap women, then alcohol, then boxes of cigars. When that failed, he asked if I could buy him a beer, to which I said no, then drive off. As I continued exploring I came across the beautiful church that Cordelia has posted pictures of on Facebook. By now I was a bit lost, so I asked the next horse and cart driver how to get back, and I was away. That night we had dinner at the hotel. The menu was supposed to be steak, which we found out was pork steak and that they had run out. So chicken it was. The restaurant was pretty full, but Luciano recognized us and came and sang a few songs next to our table. Oh shit that's right. On Thursday I tried to go back at night to see if there any scooters then, which there wasn't, but I did find a group of guys going to play basketball. I asked in broken Spanish if could play, they said si yes, then with some difficulty told me where and when. I ran back to the hotel and told Cordelia. She came and watched, and I had a great time. I think I turned some heads as I showed them my stuff. They said that i should come back tomorrow, which i did after the ride on the scooter. After my game on Friday, one of the guys invited me to a club called Casa de la Musica, house of music. I said maybe and left. So back to dinner, I told Cordelia of my day and asked if she wanted to go to his club. Dinner hadnt gone down too well for her,so she stayed at the hotel.

The place was just around the corner and and looked pretty busy. $10 and ID at the door got me in. The atmosphere seemed to be quite happy. There wasnt any sign of extreme drunkeness, everyone was well behaved. There was a live band and the crowd were loving them. I'm not sure if they were just doing covers, but every song had both men and women belting out the lyrics, weather they were sitting down or on the dance floor. The style of music ranged from 80's sounding soft rock, to country to straight out love ballads. You could even request a song. People just wrote it down and walked up on stage and gave it to the band. I only stayed for about an hour as I couldnt find he guys from basketball.

The following day was a trip to the Bay Of pigs for some snorkeling. The Bay of Pigs is where Castro landed when he came ashore from Mexico. We were picked up from our hotel at 10:15. We were told by our guide that there would be a two hour drive from here to the beach. About 4 hours later, we arrived. What a perfect example of Cuban island time. It didn't bother Cordelia and me at all, but some of the Canadians were starting to bitch and moan, and that started to annoy us. On the bus ride we passed a protected reserve where they keep cubas native alligators, but most interesting for me was that we drove through the area where the actual war was fought. Where the resistance took the USA by surprise, and was also the birth place of modern guerilla warfare. As we drove I imagined small groups of Cubano soldiers slipping quietly through the trees, creating small pockets of havoc as they hit enemy positions quickly causing confusion. Closer to the beach, there was a crab migration in progress. Thousands of crabs were crawling through the forest and about the road, their destination known only to them. Unfortunately those on the road were getting squished. You could tell the tourists drivers by the way they tred to avoid them, while the bus and local drivers just kept on trucking, with mass crab genocide the order of the day.

The actual beach was tourist hell. People were moaning about almost everything, and I couldn't wait to get in the water. Cordelia and I had a great time. We didn't need life jackets, and we both a had a quiet chuckle as we swam circles around the others who seemed to just bob there. The amount of different coral was amazing. Their was large orange cones, to what looked like empty turtle shells, and thin, purple stuff that looked like the skeletal remain of a leaf. And so many fish. My favourite was a light green fish, whose fins flashed blue and purple as it swam and displayed the most vibrant hues of yellow, red and orange on its tail fin. I followed one around for ages,just marvelling at it. Every now and again it would swim in to a big cluster of coral only to be chased out by a small black fish that was only a fifth of its size. Cordelia and I did our own thing, staying as far away from the main group as possible. I had so much fun just being silly with her. We swam around each other, brushing up against each other bodies, that familiarity felt great comforting even though it was only 2 days until we woud part ways. There was a quick break before our guides woud take us out to a ship wreak. Most of our group where moaning they were cold so they went for a walk insted. The wreak was about 200m from shore,and about 20m deep. I guessit was a military ship, but it as really small and there wasn't much of it left, just the main hull. Our guides began showing off by diving down to the wreak, which was pretty impressive since they were these two beer bellied smokers. Just beyond the wreak was the end of the reef. The ocean floor just dropped away and all that coud be seen was blue. Blue so deep it swallowed up everything, like some kind of inpenetrable nothingness. I hung there in the water and just stared at it, totally ignoring the rest of the group, like I had become of part of it and the tourist were but a minor annoyance that would leave us alone soon. Cordelia snapped me out of my day dream as the group headed back in. As we were drying off, we noticed a lone crab slowly crossing the road. The sound of a bus echoed nearby. We said our goodbyes to the crab as his path was intersecting with where the buses wheels woud pass. The bus appeared, and in the last second the crab threw up his claws like 'OMG!' and scuttled across and to safety like a 100m sprinter. We laughed loudly, together, that closeness that we've been missing returning briefly. The return trip stopped at a restaurant that looked totally out of place. It was shaped like an island hut, and was clean and beautiful, almost in the middle of nowwhere. Two or three tiny shacks bordered its perimeter, their rundown appearance contrasting sharply with the flash air conditioned restaurant filled with well dressed tourists who had just arrived on their air conditioned buses. The meal was a buffet lunch. And by far was the best we'd experienced so far. There was fish, pork, chicken, heaps of salads, vege and fruit, potatoes, and he usual array of rice and beans. It may not sound like much but this was a feast fit for a king considering what we'd had so far. We went for a small walk on the grounds after and found a small group of teenage boys swimming in a small lake near the entrance. As we walked, they whistled and shout out spanish phrases at Cordelia. She turned and gave them a small wave, which was received with more shouting and laughter. Boarding the bus, we sat next to these three Canadians who had been drinking a lot over lunch. They began talking about Cuban people and how hey don't know how to use their money and that why they are so poor, and some other issues that sounded borderline racist. At this point the AC stopped working on our bus. Or guide said that we could go on th other bus if we wanted, which was he perfect excuse or us to leave as the Canadians were starting to piss Cordelia off. We finally got back to our hotel at 6:30pm. after showers we decided yuca and drinks by the bar again was the order of the night. Again those bloody Russians were there. There was one guy who kept wanting to play his crap cd filled with disco and Beatles and other 80's type tunes. Now it wasn't the music that annoyed us, it was his arrogance, like he owned the place. This was the second night he'd done it. After a couple hours of me kicking her ass again, we spent the rest of the night watching Amerian Beauty on the laptop. The closeness that we had felt earlier that day was a little bit muted because I had wanted to go out again, but not by myself. Cordelia's stomach was still out of sorts, so we ended up staying in.

Sunday was weird. There had been unspoken tension building the whole week, and it began to affect me. I didn't want to do anything Cordelia suggested, my answer to everything was 'i don't know' spoken a bit stroppily. I'm not sure how much this had been affecting Cordelia, but during the week it seemed like Cordelia didn't want to do the things that i wanted to, the scooter ride or going out. If it had been affecting her, now was my turn. She left me and in the room, and I poured my self a drink, lit a cigar and sat out on our little balcony for hours. I'd had about 4 drinks, when I just snapped out of it. This was he last day that I'm gonna see her for a few weeks, do I want to spend it apart and sulking in my room? No, so I had a shower, went and found her on the beach, gave a her a big passionate kiss and said sorry. She also said said sorry and admitted she was feeling a bit pathetic this week, and that it was affecting her too. So we made a quick promise that we'd make the most of night, and then I went and got us some lunch and a pad for keeping a diary for my time in Trinidad ( which was stupid, because I can keep it all only iPad) We were looking to go to a Caberet show that night, so Cordelia had looked up a few places, and we headed out on foot. We were trying to decide on dinner, when we came across a small park we had visited early that week on the scooter. The restaurant was Italian and had good reviews, so why the hell not. We were not disappointed, althought we were both a little cheesed out after the meal. We had wine, the pasta and pizza were fantastic, and we chatted and shared the evening just like we had promised, and we felt almost whole again, which was great but bittersweet, considering what was gonna happen tomorrow. We walked back to the hotel, having missed the show because we were having too muh fun at dinner. Hand in hand we strolled through the the streets, content and smiling. Back at the hotel we packed our bags, and chatted softly before we feel asleep.

We were up by 7am, we had to be at the bus station by 8. We smiled and touched and laughed that morning as we got ready. I stopped to get some money out from the ATM on the way, and the bloddy machine didn't give me my money, bloody shit, but the bank didn't open until 9, so I've kept the receipt in the hope I get my money back. At the bus station, our bags were loaded on our seperate buses. We hugged and kissed, and whispered our little promises in each others ears. No tears were shed as her bus left first. As the tail end disappeared out the gate, I thought to myself 'what the fuck am I doing?'

Just going back to the street hustlers, or jinitero, I think that my appearance has saved us a lot of the hassle that most tourists attract. I noticed that the hustlers on the corner would ignore us and jump on the couple behind us. Also, the whole week I'd been getting looks from almost every Cuban I've come across. They openly stare at me as I've walked around with Cordelia. Everyone that's approached me has come straight up to me and started speaking Spanish, to which I reply with the obligatory 'no habla espanol.' I think the funniest instance was when we visited a store called Panamericana, that sells a whole bucn of stuff that your average Cuban could afford, as we left the security guard looked me straight in the eye and said something that sounded half dirty and gestured towards Cordelia. I don't think it was malicious, probably something 'picking on the tourists again, you old dog' or something to that degree. He was totally taken aback when I told him where we were from.

This whole time in Varadero I guess was always gonna be bitter sweet, but I think in the end we both made the most of it and left feeling, well atleast I know that I did, that we are not beyond repair, and that a future is still a possibility.

Stay tuned for my solo adventures in Trinidad de Cuba

Return from Vancouver Island.

sklaloua — Wed, 21 Mar 2012 06:54:00 GMT

Wow, it´s only been 20 days since i left home and what an up and down experience Ive had. The excitemant and fun of exploring new lands mixed with the emotional rollercoater that has been my relationship with Cordelia over the past few weeks.

So after Vancouver Island we returned to the main land for 4 nights staying at a youth hostel in the middle of the city. It was overcast, and about 6 degrees for most of the time, with peroids of rain and a smattering of sunshine. The 4 days are a bit of a blur, where we managed to sample a lot of fast food (bufflo wings, pizza, tacos, burritos) and putine, which is supposed to be a traditional Canadian dish, but really its just fries soaked in gravy and cheese and damn it was good.

Also, one day as we were walking, almost everywhere you could smell weed. Everyone who smoked did so openly in the street. So i approached one group of stoners and asked them if they knew where to get some (sorry Mum and Dad) They gave me direstions to a street further dwon town, and a shop that had a bulldog as its logo. I went back to my room and googled the address. The results came back with a website that was dedicated to growing, selling and obtaining weed in Vancouver. Surprisingly the instructions given to me in the street where repeated over and over in comments on the site. So, after grabbing some cash, I headed out on what was about a 10 block trip. I found the store easily, so I entered and asked. The place was a cafe where you could smoke but not buy. The girls behind the desk ummd and ahhd when i asked, probably cos they didnt trust me, and said that I should be able to find some just by walking around. As i exited I saw an ATM and remembered a comment on the website. If I stood at the machine with cash in hand, someone would approach me, So i did. Five seconds later the blck tinted door right next to the machine opens up and a head pops out ¨Yo, you after some thing?¨ ¨Yea, some buds¨ i replied. ¨Come in¨ I slipped ion quietly getting a closer look at the door man. He had wild eyes, pale, pock marked skin, gaunt features and missing 3 of his top front teeth. He directed me to the first door on the right. Entering, there was a middle aged man sitting next to what looked like 3 pounds of buds and a small electronic scale. He asked how much? I said fifty. He reaches in to one bag and starts piling it on til his scale reads fifty. I grabs a snap lock bag, pours in the contents of the scale, seals it, hands it over, I give him cash and he says have a nice day with a very sincere smile. As i walk out i walk past the doorman whos quoting Dave Chappelle ¨I Rick James bitch¨ to which I reply ¨Ill stamp my feet on yo couch¨ which rouses a gap toothed smile as I exit. And it was that easy, and I got the equivalent of what you´d get for $100 in NZ. So i happily marched back to the hostel, stopping to buy some flowers for Cordelia along the way. I tell her the whole story and she is gob smacked, and very impressed with my ability to search out contraband. It´s from this point that the rest of our time here gets a bit blurry, the reason obvious.

That night we go on a pub crawl organised by the hostel. For some reason they´ve got a deal going with a place called The Bourbon Bar. It´s a country and western bar, whose patrons wear checkered shirts, cowboy hats and boots even though theres not a horse, ranch or rodeo with in miles of the city. But they did have a mechanical bull. So after a session and a few pints I gotr the balls up to have a go. The machine goes up to level 5, and increases in halves, starting at level 2. The easy levels feel like a gentle lope, it´s pretty easy up until Lv 4. By this time Ive got the crowd behind me, cheering loudly as the bull begins to buck. I´m caught up in he atmosphere, Im riding like a pro, I start slapping the fake bull on the arse. Lv 4.5, same again, Im unstoppable, , the crowd getting louder and ooooing as I almost come off, but I survive. Last level and half the bar is crowded around the ring as I take grip of the saddle and give the man the signal. Im doing great, 1 sec 2 sec 3 sec, still going strong, 4 sec 5 sec 6 sec, then the bull seems to go in four diretions at the same time, 7 secs, I´m in mid air, landing on my head on the soft mats. I get up and throw my hands up to the loud applause of the gathered crowd. Cordelia gives me a big kiss as I exit the ring waling tall and Proud. We are about to move on to the next bar (theres only 2 bars on this pub crawl. LAME!) and as I walk out of the bar, I keel over and almost fall. My hips, pelvis and crotch are aching and its hard to walk. Its like the bull was riding me I try to sit down but that sore too, so I try too walk it off. I find that walking like a cowboy hurts less, so now i know why they are bow legged. A few more pints at the second bar mutes the pain. The next bar is more my style. Theres 2 rooms, one house, one hiphop. and it´s really fun. Cordelia and I had a great time dancing and people watching. From the black crowd in the hiphop room to the white crowd in the house room, all the posturing and and interations are the same as in NZ. The black guys are all blinged out with gold chains and huge meddalions, while the blcok women wear low cut tops and apple bottom jeans. The white crowd is a little more subdued with everyone doing what passes for dancing with the exception of a few. Overall a fun night which ened with me and Cordelia going to Mega Pizza and eating bufflo wings with ranch dressing and pepperoni pizza. YUM

In the moring, I felt like Id had a baby. I could hardly walk to the toilet and groaned with every movement. The day was a right off for me. Cordelia managed to go to the gym and visit her ex flatmate, and also grab some sorely neede fresh veges. The grocer was right next door to her old flat, and the owner had developed a cruch on her while shed been livng there. Whan she came back she said that the owner had already sized me up from the one night I satyed there when I arrived.He even gave her his card, which said that his title was ´President´ of his non existant union. That evening after yummy fresh sald, I managed to hobble out fora short walk and session, but thats about it. The next night we went and had dinner at a great taco place, everything was really fresh. Did you know that traditional tacos are soft? I didnt, and now you do. Afterwards we went to a standup comedy show. There were four acts, · guys one girl. I was a bit high so I dont remember much of the show, but there was one joke. It was about weed being a ateway drug and 99 percent of heroine addicts stared using weed before they used heroine. But what if they aligned heroine use with something else like....eating cheese. You could safelt say that 99 persnt of heroine addicts probably ate cheese before they started using heroine, so therefore cheese must be a gateway drug. Overall a lot of the jokes were aimed at Canadians, so I didnt understyand, and my injuries were making it really hard to sit still and on top of that I was boiling because I´d worn thermals for the cold weather outside, but it was super warm inside. I know. I was being a bit pathetic.

Sunday was spent visiting a used book store for things to read while lounging on a hot Cuban beach while drinking mojitos and smoking a cigar. I ended up with a couple of books on tai chi and kung fu, plus 2 sci fi novels to satisfy my inner nerd. The local ´drug´ store provide all the 1st world comforts we knew would be lacking in Cuba, from soap, shampoo, bug spray, sun screen and some basic first aid. I cant remeber how I spent that arvo, cos I got high, but that night after dinner it suddenly hit me that I had this big bag of weed and I was leaving the next day. So after dinner, on the walk back, i slipped it to a guy busking on his guitar. Wow, guys, you are amazing was the reply I think. My good deed for the day waas done.

Packed and ready we headed to Toronto for a 1 night night stop over on the way to Varadero, Cuba. We satyed with Cordelia´s mum´s friends Dina and Aviva, who are a lovely jewish lesbian couple. Aviva is a rabbi and professor at the local university, and Dina is heavily involved in work with the community. These two where abosolutly lovely, they made me feel right at home in their beautiful place with their rascally little dog Rufus. Dinner was fantastic, with fish, chicken and heaps of veges, which was wellcome after all the crap wed been eating. And get this. This is how lovely they were. After dinner, at about 1030pm, Dina took us to Wallmart to buy snorkelling gear for Cuba!! Then at the crack off dawn we were up and and packed ready to head to Cuba, mojitos, cigars and glorious sunshine.

Thats all for now everyone. Sorry for any spelling mistakes and bad punctuation, Cuban computers are setup wah differently. Obviously through all this, there were lots of talking, tears, and hugs and more tears as we tried to sort out whats happened between Cordelia and I. We´ve alreay spent 6 days in Varadero, which I will update you with later, but at the moment Im in Trindad de Cuba, and Cordelia is in Havana. We´re spending this time apart with the intention that we will meet in Havana at the start of May and see how we feel. Fingers crossed. Sorry again Mum and Dad about the weed, it´s been a hard time, and Happy birthday for the 14th and 16th. And also thanks everyone for the words of love and encouragement. Both Cordelia and I appreciate it all and return it ten fold

Til next time

Kava

Chur

A story by Cordelia on our travels around Vancouver

sklaloua — Tue, 13 Mar 2012 14:23:00 GMT

Hey you guys, here’s some of the latest photos from Kava and my adventures around Vancouver and Vancouver Island! We went to a hockey game- Giants vs the Medicine Hat Tigers. It was strange- everyone was super quiet and into the game until the ref sent off one of the Giants for a 5min penalty. And then wow- the abuse the crowd hurled at the ref was shocking and hilarious. We were 2 seats back from the rink, and the ref came to stand on the other side of the plexi-glass and one guy sitting behind us yelled, so loudly, “Kirk! Hey KIRK! You’re a horrible person!” and no-one around us batted an eye!

There’s only so much watchng men with sticks that we could take, and so after the 2 period (there are three in total), we left. But we ate White Spot burgers, dranks Molson’s Canadian Ale and had a pretzel each, so I feel like we fulfilled our canadian reponsibilities.

We’ve just spent 5 days on Vancouver Island. We spent 2 nights with Hannah and Tony, one of which was stranded out in the Juan de Fuca straight! Tony was dead keen to take Kava fishing, so we headed out and anchored in a bay. They went fishing in the freezing rain, caught nothing, but stayed impressively upbeat. Then, we were ready to head back to harbour around 6pm, and the engine wouldn’t start! And we were slowly losing power on the electrics! So, wind started picking up and it was getting pretty choppy, and raining hard. They debated calling the coastguard, but eventually called their mechanic who could come out the next morning and get us started. Beacuse of the wind we were in danger of the anchor coming loose and drifting onto the rocks, so we had a sleepless night, getting up at 2hour intervals checking our position. Exciting stuff. In the morning I was getting sick of being on a cold, rocking boat, but thankfully we were rescued and back in the harbour by lunch. Oh and to make things more exciting, in the morning we were in the middle of a joint US Canadian naval and airforce practice! They were in the straight and decided to use the bay we were in as the place to bring in two helicopters for the navy to jump out of! Just metres from our boat!

It was great spending that time with Hannah and Tony too- they’re so much fun, and so easy going, we had lots of laughs.

We hired a rental car, drove right out West and spent three nights in Ucluelet, which is a beautiful sleepy town on the far west of Vancouver Island.We had an incredible time there. 3 days of sun, and long walks and beautiful views. Both Ucluelet and Tofino were deserted, tourist season is still a month off, and it was just like wandering around quiet sleepy towns north of Whangarei. We even picked up some first nation hitchhikers and dropped them off at the local reserve (“The res”). It was very thought-provoking, and just from the 20mins we spent with them, we could draw a lot of comparisons between them in Ucluelet and say, Maori in Dargaville. High unemployment, fishing is the main industry but not a lot of work, tight communities living in fairly run down housing. But they talked about cougar attacks, wolves annoying their dogs and chasing bears from the reserve, which I guess is a bit of a different situation.

We’re back in Vancouver now, and off to Cuba on...Monday! God that’s so soon. We’ve also had a pretty emotionally rough week and I’ve made the very difficult decision that I’d like to travel independently, and that this is a priority for me at this stage in my life. As you can probably imagine, this throws up lots of questions and decisions, and we’re still being very lovely to each other and communicating fantastically and working through things step by step. At the moment we’re travelling to Cuba together, but perhaps saying goodbye on the Island. Kava is still going to Costa Rica, and I’m unsure what my next move is. I’m thinking about buying an open-ended ticket with Air Cubana and making up my mind when my tourist visa expires. I’ll write more on this later, I’m still processing all of it at the moment and kind of swinging between have-I-just-made-the-worst-decision-of-my-life to feeling like this is what I really want, and feeling totally strong and awesome and independent.

Just a side note from Kava, the decision was really hard for Cordelia to make and I was really broken up, but I could definitely see that it was something that she felt strongly about, so what am I gonna do? Treat her like shit? Kidnap her and force her to be with me and possibly be miserable? The answer could be yes, but that would make me an asshole, so instead I've decided to make the last few weeks a celebration of us and our relationship, then we'll see where the currents of world travel will take us.......

This is strange sharing something so personal with everyone (at least those who bother to read my blog) but it helps with the emotional ups and downs, so please comment, some different POV would be welcome

Chur

Kava and Cordelia

Finally

sklaloua — Wed, 7 Mar 2012 16:35:00 GMT

So, it's been a week since i sold up most of my earthly possessions and made the move to Canada to be with my beautiful partner Cordelia. Being the lovely person that she is, Cordelia shouted me an upgrade on my flight to premium economy. To be honest I didnt think much of this 'upgrade'. A lot of the differences were in the type of food and service, but add to that a few little extras like bubbles before take off and priority baggage pick up and i guess the little things make a fourteen hour flight that much more bearable. The seating was still a little cramped, and my entertainment system didnt even work, but the lovely gentleman seated next to me gave his up so that it wouldnt ruin the experience. But having said that, i had to change seats with him, which in the end kinda backfired because i got stuck in a window seat and had to negotiate past two people who seemed to like to star-fish in their seats when they slept, so getting to the toilet was a mission.

The first half of the flight was almost like a dream, much like the day leading up to my departure. I was so impatient to go, and keeping my excitement levels up was tiring, so I kind of went into auto pilot for that last day, which regretfully made my farewells at the airport forgettable and rushed, although I still love all my friends and family for coming to see me off. But this sort of trance that i was in continued in to well over half the flight. I distinctly remember waking up and looking at the flight path, and we were directly above Honalulu, and the 'snap' i was out of this haze, and my mind began to race with all the possibilities that this year might bring, and it almost made me cry. I took several deep breaths and at the end as i let the last one out, a huge smile spread over my face and it stayed there for at least an hour. The rest of the flight passed with out incident and every so often the smile would return for a few moments. If anyone saw me, i imagine that i would have looked like a goofy stoner smiling a dopey smile out a window that was pitch black on the other side, almost like a 'mirror mirror on the wall' moment.

The approach over Vancouver Island was almost otherworldly. The snow capped mountains and trees side by side with these crystal clear lakes immediately reinforced that this was not NZ anymore. The splendor and beauty of such a foreign landscape made me pause and think why hadnt i done this a lot earlier in my life, why did i wait until now to do this. As we made our approach to land, the city of Vancouver hove in to view, and it was crap. It was raining, overcast and the temperature was 3 degrees, and that was the days high! Immigration went without a hitch, but the wait was like 40mins because 3 other flights came in at the same time, and that sucked, but i did see a celebrity. Couldn't remember her name, but she was probably just some B grade actor because she was waiting in the same line as me. (shame) Then i breezed through baggage with my priority pick up, but then weirdly i got pulled into customs. I didnt have anything to declare and I didnt think i looked like a terrorist. So i got there and the officer was a wondering why i'd been directed here as well. So as he went off to check with his supervisor i surveyed the customs area and all around all i could see were people, who to the suspicious eye, looked like terrorists, but to the normal eye they looked like Indians, Latinos, everything but your stereotypical terrorist. So the guy comes back and it's obvious that they think i looked like a flight risk, that i would get in to the country and disappear. Come on really, me an overstayer? I think I learnt that lesson back n the 80's when me aunty was caught under the bed at home. But seriously, he kept drilling me on all my details about where i'm staying and where i'm going after. He talked in circles for about half an hour until he was finally satisfied that i was gonna run into the wilderness as soon as i was past the door. So after a grand total of an hour and a half from landing to customs, i was finally in Canada!!