Now that’s good people

I’m not really sure why it is that Bill and I hit it off so well. On the surface of things we’re worlds apart. He’s 51, got a grown daughter and semi-retired with what I gather is a fairly lucrative nest-egg after selling his business. I’m confused and 28.

I keep joking with him that when I grow up I want to be Bill Murphy and that never fails to get a chuckle out of him. I suppose it´s because of the stories he´s told me about his own confusion. The ex-wife, the ex-girlfriend, the ex-Colombian girlfriend and the current Cuban one. I guess he doesn´t really feel like a role-model.

But Bill and I do have this weird Father / Son vs. Old Buddies aspect to our relationship. Sometimes I find myself just listening to him as if he were the fountain of wisdom, and when he asks my advice on something I´m almost a little flattered. But other times its just two buddies smoking cigars and shooting the ####.

He´s given me lots of advice on learning spanish (which is great because no native spanish speaker can tell you the difference between the Preterite tense and the Imperfect), on women (some of which has been spot on, and some of which I realized I needed to take at my own risk) and business matters. We´ve talked politics and I´ve been able to teach him a thing or two about computers and India´s emergence as a world power.

No Bill doesn´t have it all figured out, but what I dig about him is he doesn´t have to pretend he does. Sure he´s got an opinion on everything under the sun, but he´ll check yours out too and give it thought.

Sometimes you meet people and just get a feeling that they´re worth keeping around. That you know they´d have your back if you needed and would stay true to their word. That´s what Bill is like. Bill is heading back to the US for a bit (I´m guessing not a very long bit) and I´m off to Panama. I invited Bill out to visit me in Buenos Aires in March, Bill invited me up to Charleston for marlin season. I´m sure our paths will cross again, it´ll be interesting to see where.

Finally, the beach!

Well it’s been about 6 weeks since I left Seattle. "What are you going to do in South America" everyone asked me beforehand. "Well I think I’m just going to lounge on the beach" was my standard reply. But a fate would have it I hadn’t made it to a damn beach yet, until just now.

Bill, Yanet and I decided it was time. The sea was calm, everyone was feeling ok, we had figured out where we wanted to go (when you’re on an island covered by beaches that’s not such an easy task) so off we were. Well almost, everything in Cuba functions on it’s own time. There were bags to pack or something, and then someone wanted to eat, then Junia was going with us and then she wasn’t. Finally we headed out about 3 in the afternoon, which actually worked out great, it gave us a good 3 hours or sunshine at the beach.

The water was beautiful and refreshing, the sun was hot, we found a perfect little secluded spot for all of us. There were no reefs nearby and the water was just a little choppy, so my snorkeling gear stayed in it’s bag. It continues to get dragged around from continent to continent without getting used, but I’m convinced it’s just a matter of time.

After we had our fill of fun in the sun we decided to let Yanet in on the bad news. We were going to take the "Wah-wah" back to town instead of the outrageously priced tourist taxis. The Wah-wah is the local bus Cubans use, where you’re packed like sardines and holding on for dear life, but it costs about $0.02 to get on as opposed to the $15 tourist cabs. I believe "what am I doing hanging out with these crazy gringos" were Yanet’s exact words.

And off we go

We started off our day trip to the mountains with a great start. Our wake-up call was about an hour late, and Bill refused to move. It could have had something to do with all the rum, cigars and dancing last night, but I’m not generally one to point fingers.

But finally we got a bit of breakfast in us and headed out to Michael’s farm, our guide we met yesterday. I asked Bill, "so, um…how are we going to get to that farm" which was about 5 km down the road? Bill answered "well we start walking, and stick our thumb out, and we jump on the first thing with wheels that stops for us." I love having a well made plan.

An ox cart rode right past us without even acknowledging our presence, as did two trucks, a tractor and even a couple cars. By the time we had make it half-way we decided to stop sticking our thumbs out, the Cubans didn’t seem in a particularly friendly mood today. But it was even ground, beautiful scenery and I was still happy to be in the fresh air, so we didn’t complain much.

We made it to Michael’s farm about an hour after our designated meeting time. This is Cuba so time is very relative, I’m pretty sure we didn’t put anyone out. But after being taking the obligatory cup of coffee we started on our path up the mountain side. Michael turned out to be an excellent guide, which I guess makes sense since he has spent his whole life living in a farm at the foot of these hills.

Every once in a while we’d follow a trail and Michael would stop and look around, and then just back-track. But we were pretty content to follow him without asking too many questions and he didn’t even really mind posing for pictures with the shirtless gringo. Bill stepped on a snake at one point and you should have seen that country boy take off after it!

Every half hour or so Michael would walk us to one of the neighbor’s houses in the hills. We’d sit and chat for a while and of course they’d offer us coffee or juice or whatever else they had. Some of the nicest folks you ever did meet, and none of them really seemed too bothered that two US citizens were sitting on their porch enjoying their views and drinking their coffee. We even had one pull a coconut off a palm tree for us and break it out. Indeed, life could be much worse.

After about 5 hours we had our share of walking up the hills and taking pictures. We headed back and dropped Michael off at his farm again and said our goodbyes to the family. After the hike I was in no mood to walk another 5 km back to town, but Bill told me he had a sure fire trick to make sure we’d get a ride. "Show a little leg" I asked? No, wave a little cash.

Well the first ox cart passed us by even with us waving 20 peso notes in the air, but the rusted-out truck spewing diesel fumes stopped. I jumped in the back with the rest of the hitchhikers before they could debate a price. As we passed the ox cart that gave us no love on the road Bill shouted, "Ay muchachos, gracias por nada!" Within 10 minutes we were back at town and you can get we slept well that night.

Have at it!

I heard some of you were having problems posting comments on my blog. But that should be fixed now. If not, let me know. I was wondering why I didn't have any comments, but I just figured it was because no one was actually reading this thing! So if you are reading, you can post a comment now if you'd like, and if you're not reading, you can't.

Vinales!

Havana is a toilet. A dirty, smelly, barely-functioning toilet at that. So when Bill was finally feeling better we decided to get out of town for a couple of days and make that trip to Vinales that we’d been putting off. Vinales is a little two-horse town about 3 hours outside of Havana. Its claim to fame is the dramatic mountains that jut out towards the sky. And we didn’t have much planned except going hiking up in those peaks.

Our original plan was for Bill to take Junia and me to take Yanet and make a couple days out of it. Unfortunately the local communist party of Vinales decided a couple months back that it didn’t want the foreigners mixing with the good Cuban folk. No it was now illegal for a Cuban to stay with a foreigner in Vinales. And if any house was found violating this law they were closed down immediately and blacklisted, which basically meant their livelihood was gone. No there is no appeal process in Cuba, there is no jury of your peers, welcome to Cuba.

So we decided to leave the girls at home and just head out by ourselves. Traveling with Bill is like nothing else. We got of the bus and Vinales and were accosted by a sea of would-be capitalists offering rooms for rent. We avoided the hecklers when one of them stepped in front of Bill and said (in Spanish) “you don’t remember me?” Turns out this was Maria, half of Casa de Jesus and Maria where Bill had stayed last two times he was in Vinales. Bill had told me stories of how great there house was, I just didn’t expect to be recognized and offered room and board within seconds of stepping off the bus.

We struck a deal quickly and walked over to the house. Within a few minutes I knew I was going to like Vinales. The streets were clean, the air was fresh, the views spectacular. If this was what communism (drat I keep doing that, I mean socialism) had to offer I guess I could live with that. No we were not in Havana any longer.

After settling in for a bit we decided to go exploring. We rented some scooters and started venturing out. First we went and checked out the Cuban excuse for a National Park. The famous caves of Vinales which have a river running through them was our destination. Sure enough, look up and you see a stalactite. Look down and you see a stalagmite. Or is that the other way around? Whatever we got out of there fast and went on our own way.

As we rode towards the mountain range Bill spotted a small tobacco farm. Have I mentioned Bill is kind of a cigar nut? We stopped in their front yard and the locals looked at us like we were Martians. Two gringo’s pulling up on scooters and the most complicated machinery they owned was a bicycle. But we made friends fast. They offered us coffee (you can’t go anywhere in Cuba without being offered coffee) and rolled us a half-dozen cigars. Watching Cubans roll cigars is like watching Picasso paint, or so I would imagine if I’d ever seen Picasso paint. My mind immediately turned to more nefarious thoughts.

Michael one of the farm hands agreed to guide us through a hike early the next morning. We had been debating going up by ourselves, but after we heard about the Germans who were stranded for 3 days in those hills a month back, we decided a guide was in order. I mean, sure they were only Germans, but why chance it.