Out of it bro!

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.