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.
