Final thoughts on Cuba

It’s only a matter of time. This can’t possibly continue. I’m amazed it’s lasted 47 years. But these days you actually hear people openly criticizing Fidel and the government. Everyone says things are getting really bad, even the tourists have stopped coming. There’s nothing propping up this failed experiment anymore, and as soon as Castro can’t pay for food and electricity, that will be it. I just hope the Venezuelans or the Chinese don’t get a foothold.

Al Pacino is a brilliant actor. I never imagined that he actually nailed that Cuban speaking English accent so perfectly in Scarface. Everytime Yanet asked me "Wha ju tawkin abou?" I wanted to duck because I thought maybe she’d bitch slap me at the dinner table.

I still can’t dance worth a god-damn. I didn’t stick to the lessons like I should have, but I can keep the rhythm now and trust me that’s progress. I think one day I’m actually going to put for the time and effort it takes to do this right. It sure seemed like everyone was having a lot of fun out there, and I did too, given enough rum.

I have no idea what language they actually speak in Cuba, but it definitely isn’t Spanish. I’ve taken to calling it Cubano, and everyone universally seems to acknowledge it’s got it’s own distinct flavor. I guess that’s one of the things that happens when you are isolated on an island, especially one that was closed of to the world for about 40 years.

When the revolution finally comes, and it will come, perhaps sooner than we can all imagine, it would be a great time to buy a small coastal island. Stay away from the cities, that’s where all the big money will go, and there’s so much investment that needs to be done there you’d be better of starting with a pristine piece of land.

I really started to enjoy smoking cigars. I can even occasionally get a smoke ring. If I didn’t know better I would think they’re addictive or something. Bill explained it to me this way, "learning to smoke cigars in Cuba, is like learning to drink wine in France" Great guess I can see that new vice starting up, well the good news is I haven’t had a cigarette in about two weeks!

I'm not 21 anymore but god-damn if I can't still pull a rock-star couple of weeks every once in a while. For the 15 days I was in Cuba I know I didn't get to bed before 2 AM any single night. And there were more than a few 4 in the morning stumbles back to the household (sorry Nancy and Angel for waking you up when I got home every night!) Towards the end I felt like I was coming down with something but I think I found the perfect mix of tobacco and rum to kill whatever virus was in my system.

Why does this keep happening to me?

Damn, it seems like I just went through this a couple weeks ago but here I am again. It’s time to say my goodbyes. Actually I’m basically the last one of our little group left. Kay and Pavani headed back to Australia, I wonder if their friendship is still intact. Yorst is back in Amsterdamn showing off all the moves he learned no doubt. Bill is back in the US but I suspect that won’t last too long.

But the hardest one is left, saying goodbye to Yanet. I gave her that book of Pablo Neruda poems in the original Spanish I picked up last year in Buenos Aires. She had told me earlier how much she loves his poetry, and of course she lives in Cuba so it’s not like she can buy a copy anywhere. I packed my bags as Yanet translated verses for me. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect scene.

In two short weeks we got to know each other far better than most people I’ve met. I think that’s something that just happens with relationships on vacation. Everything is in fast-forward. There’s so much less time to play games and you’re almost forced to open yourself when you can’t hide behind the nuance and subtlety of a shared language.

She’s still convinced I’m insane and at this point I’m inclined to agree with her. Trying to explain what I was doing with my life actually forced me to start looking at it with a critical eye. "So explain to me again why you quit a well-paying job that was pretty good to you and what you’re going to do next?" "Um…I want to find myself"

But she told me if that I need help realizing that plan of mine to sell juice down at the beach drop her a line. I told her I’d be waiting for her breakthrough single to hit the charts. She even finally sang to me like I’d been asking. Somehow I managed to avoid proposing to her on the spot, I’m still not sure why.

When we walked to that big yellow taxi the next day she told me that she doesn’t like to say goodbye. I struggled with my Spanish and said, "neither do I, but sometimes…" and like she likes to do, she finished my thought "there’s nothing else to say"

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.