Cuba calls

My last day in MeHico. With a belly still digesting the lobster flambe from last night, I gathered my things for the Cubana Airlines flight I still didn't know was going to be on time or cancelled altogether. Given their reputation, I'd safely assumed one of the two. Since I had no easy access to internet, and when I did try I couldn't seem to access my booking (even more worrying), I could only hope it was all going to be OK. 

I got the bus to the airport, with a spare seat next to me taken at the very last moment by a strung-out Canadian backpacker who started conversation with me as soon as she sat down. Only it wasn't normal conversation - her first piece of worldly information came in response to the fact I was Australian. "I had the most AMAZING sex with an Australian guy the other night!" Geez… thanks. 

And it continued… I learnt how many drugs she was still processing in her body from the however many days she'd been partying with random artesans, how she hadn't paid for a hostel room for a while and just crashed on people's floors (what a charmer), how she didn't know if she was going to get through customs because she was so fucked… I tried to close my eyes to indicate sleep was preferable, but she didn't seem to notice.

Then it all went quiet. She was passed out. Only problem was, she was on the aisle side of the seats. And I was busting for the loo. Eventually I had to cave and nudged her awake, asking if she minded if I went to the toilet. She just smiled and went back to sleep. Level of annoyance just reached fever pitch. I sat there, not really wanting her awake next to me, and just held on. At the airport, I grabbed my bag and ran to the bathroom. Ahh, sweet relief! And no one to tip. Double bonus.

First things first, how late was my flight running? Hmm… only 3 hours, OK then. Now for my Cuban visa - this was a point of contention, as my work gives advice to pre-purchase a visa for $120 but everywhere else on the internet said you could pick one up from Cancun airport for $50. I chose to risk it and was rewarded - 30 seconds and $25 later, I was a proud holder of a Cuban visa. I even took a photo to prove it.

The flight wasn't just delayed 3 hours, in the end it was about 6 hours, and so when I finally boarded I was sleepy from dozing on and off at the airport. I'd spent my time eating in Bubba Gump because it was showing Forrest Gump in English, although when Celine Dion's All By Myself cuts in, it really cuts in. Deep. Yep, I'm all by myself, thanks Celine. 

It took forever to board the plane, delay after delay, and we ended up landing at dark, a shame since I hadn't booked any accommodation and had planned to wander around in the afternoon getting my bearings before deciding where I wanted to stay. Now, with the darkness folding in around me, I had some anxiety about where exactly I should sleep tonight.

Execution decision made - I was to book somewhere close to the fancy start hotel of my tour. A lady found me a $30 cassia - half house, half hostel - and I found a couple of tourists to share a cab into town, since the only bus that serviced the airport only took non-convertible pesos and tourists were only supplied convertible pesos. The convenient way Cuba sorts the locals from the tourists.

In the cab (not a vintage car as expected, bit of a letdown) was myself, a New Zealander about to go on a tour with the same company as me (but a different tour) and an American, who I quizzed about his entry rules for Cuba (of which there is one - DO NOT ENTER). After waiting AN AGE in line, the passport controllers didn't even stamp my passport, a shame as I will never have evidence I was in Cuba, but good in case it caused any further immigration problems for me. As it is, my passport is almost full, must get a new one within the year.

I was the last to be dropped off, the others in the cab were more than generous so I paid just a few dollars (pesos) for the ride. My place, a far cry from their 5-star hotels of the others, was down a dark street with some locals wandering about outside, some piles of rubble and bricks outside the door which was just like the rest of the street - no actual sign that this was a hotel. Thankfully, the owner was waiting outside and helped me in.

The wife of the couple that owned the hostel showed me my room, speaking in decent English before I said I was trying to learn Spanish and then continued on in native tongue. She got to the part about the guys picking up foreign girls, taking them to bed then asking them for money - I thought I was misunderstanding her Spanish but then she repeated it in English. How odd, I thought. But it's just the way it is here, she explained, and therefore no one is allowed to be brought up to the room. Fine with me, sounds too bloody complicated anyway!

I freshened up and went for a walk to check out my new 'hood, having been told by "Emmie" that it was quite a safe city. Nonetheless, I took only the bare essentials and kept my wits about me. I put on my new pretty Mexican dress, it was a Friday night after all, and took to the streets. There wasn't a lot on in terms of bars, well maybe I just didn't know where to look, but I headed to Plaza Vieja (Old Plaza) at E's suggestion and found somewhere that was still cooking. 

I'd been warned the food was bland, and true it was much less flavoursome than Mexican food, but it was food. I'd not eaten much during the last 24 hours and a feed and locally brewed beer was more than welcome. There were cats and dogs everywhere - some dogs wearing a special tag around their necks. I later found out this meant they were dogs of the high-up officials in the city and were not to be touched. Honestly, they looked just as scabby as the rest of them.

I headed back to the hostel shortly after, but got myself lost and after getting thoroughly frustrated with myself and the bike taxi guys who wouldn't leave me alone, a policeman (not bad looking either) and his dog pointed me in the right direction. Or thereabouts. I eventually got back and was happy to have a good night's sleep ahead of me. 

Happy day, Happy Bay!

Happy would be a good theme word for today. My long-awaited day off, it also signalled the first time I actually got together with E, the lovely Canadian girl I'd met more than a month ago at Buccaneers the night I went out with the girls from one of my rides. She'd come over to meet the family she would nanny for, and having gotten along with them, been invited back as an employee.

She picked me up and from there we headed to Marigot, where we eventually found Fort Louis. Not the best signage in this island, but it being an island - and not an island in the Australia sense - it didn't take long to find the stairs. Actually, although I was puffing, it was an easy journey and there were no gates or entry fees so I was happy. It was quite a small fort so I guess it just formed part of the larger landscape of the quaint little French town.

Then it was time to check out this Happy Bay so many people had spoken to me about. I looked at the map and found Friars Bay was the closest to it, and knowing that I had to hike a small time there, I guessed there would be some kind of path. I was right. The kind (but suggestive) man at the bar at Friars stupidly told us there was a beer-buying opportunity at Happy Bar and that the path was "just over there." OK, thanks, cya later, no money for your business!

The walk to Happy Bar was sweet, super easy and very cute. The view was beautiful on my left, the sprawling coastline, and on my right, a crude kind of farmland with the odd cow pat and closable gate to indicate an effort of cultivation. Before we knew it, we were at Happy Bay and... happy.

Some of the first people I saw were naked and I thought at first we'd made all this effort for the wrong kind of beach, then I scanned across and realised it just seemed like an "anything goes" kinda place. I certainly didn't mind the old fatties getting their willies out, I only hope to be like that one day with A. I was more concerned about E, who has a naturally inoffensive side that I supposed wouldn't fair well with that kind of openness.

So I left my top on.

We sat in the sun, drinking beers, and wishing we'd brought the cooler she'd packed in the boot of the car (she'd been way overprepared then actually taken nothing when we set off for Happy). Nonetheless, we managed to down the beers soon enuf that they didn't too cold. We're committed, if nothing else.

Went for a couple of swims, the water being mildly chilly (maybe the wind) and a little rough (E gave up on her hair scarf after getting unceremoniously dumped), and then watched the clock for the time E had to collect the boy she nannied from school. We munched on fresh fruit - the best I'd had in a while since her boss owned the chain of Gourmet Mache fruit n veg shops on the island - even mango (!!), and then got to school to find the boy had been invited to another friend's house for playing, dinner and whatever else. It was a Friday night so no school the next day. She sighed, wishing they'd told us BEFORE we left the beach.

Not sure exactly what to do with the extra time, we went back to her house - nay, mansion - to chill out. It is right by the airport in Maho and on the water, I mean the back (or front?) yard is the sea. It's crazy. Pimpin' Penthouse pad if ever I saw one. Unfortunately, it had that all-too-familiar emptiness of a big house with no one to fill it, and the most comfortable part was the downstairs area E inhabited.

We tucked into a huge bottle of wine from the endless supply in the fridge, and hopped along to check out the beach by the backyard. We walked along, sipping from our classy Spongebob Squarepants novelty mugs and talking with the one random English guy about my age, fishing all day for snapper etc. What a trooper.

Then something really odd and disgusting happened. We were sitting by the rocks, just talking, not being provocative or suggestive, fully clothed... when this man appears by the exit to the street, and takes off - wait, not just his shorts but - urgh - really? - no way - that couldn't be what we think hanging down (and I mean hanging, if it was what we thought it was, this guy was STACKED downstairs).

Then we saw him sit down on the sand and put his hand between his legs, and that was it. We were more than suspicious by this stage. So we decided to get up and walk to the same exit, and judging by his reaction, we realised we were on the mark with our theory. He was out of there and speeding off in his car by the time we reached the street. Dirty fucker. I wish now I'd run over to him or at least caught him on the camera I had in my hand. I forget these people are cowards, not predators; freaks, not murderers.

We hung around, cooked the boy dinner before he went back to his friend's for the night, had some more wine and then ended up at the bars by the airport beach, Maho. We'd planned to go to the French side but then couldn't be bothered, so we stopped in at the small bar I know the manager at for a drink and bad cover songs, then ended up in Sunset Bar.

Met a random American guy visiting his ailing grandmother so basically alone on the island, and ended up getting a lift back to mine when I'd finished my drink. I had to curtail it or I'd have been up all night, and I just can't deal with hangovers with this job. E brought another bottle of white along for the ride, and most probably went back to the bar with the guy.

I, on the other hand, came back to "The Kneader" kneading attention from me, my neighbour's cat that is extremely cute and always needs something to knead into. I entertained myself with her while my pasta cooked (needed something to soak up the grog!) and ate chocolate. What was that I said about a good diet in 2012?? I'm so shit.

Dinner at the Yacht Club

I did not expect today to end up a bit drunk, at the Simpson Bay Yacht Club... but of course my boy would have. He knows what I am capable of, and indeed so do I but at the same time days still astound me as to how they turn out sometimes.

I'd been asked to come in for one ride, a private ride (1.5 hours) which under the new circumstances meant it was only walking since one half of the couple was a first-time rider. I explained to them the policy of not going fast with beginners, and they understood, although the experienced girl of the couple I know wished it was different. Even said, "It's OK, he doesn't mind falling off." Yes, but I do!! I'm sorry but after last time......

The ride went smoothly enuf, me not budging past a walk the whole time. They were Canadian - AGAIN - and I thought for a moment they weren't gonna tip me, when I came back down with my bag to head home, they pressed $25 into my hand. A decent tip, especially for Canadians. But seriously, what's with all the Canadians... eh???

I gave them some tips on the good beaches to go, and I think they ended up choosing Mullet Bay, while I myself was pondering where to go. N was too busy again to catch up, and promised later but I didn't hold my breath, and ended up getting a lift from the boss wife to Cupecoy. She, in her Dutch English, mentioned it was a "no clothes" beach but I assumed it was just a topless beach. No no, I looked down and was confronted with full-on, old-person top-to-toe nudity. My main problem with that, not getting nude but expecting me to look at everyone else in that state. When they're all at least twice my age. All good when I'm that age but now.... don't think so.

I walked through a little bush track to the next beach - and by beach I mean small stretch of sand that occasionally got thrashed by breaking waves. I positioned myself a fair way away.... but clearly not far enuf... about the point I realised there was a naked black man about 3m to my left (I deftly moved my topless body face down), a huge wave came and swallowed almost my whole body alive - thankfully my cat-like reflexes caught my bag in time and all was well inside that personal capsule of life.

That about did my time at Cupecoy. The beach was practically non-existant, the hotels seemed formidable in their welcoming and Mullet Bay all too close. I originally went there for a gentle beer by the sunset, but it turned out a little bit more.

Walking down the sidewalk - at times non-exsitant - I built up a hefty thirst for a beer, and when Mullet Bay came I happily walked the beach to get a cold one. Parking myself somewhat in the thick of it, I soon happened upon some (hidoeous) Aussie accents and talked a little with the group, who ended up being from the super yachts. Gone in a few days, thank fuck. Haha... what a bitch I am.

Then an American started talking to me, interesting in some advice on his soon-to-be trip to Oz. I grabbed another beer (ran into some old man I'd met at Buccaneers before and his cold-as-ice wife - I assume - who made some snide remarks about her being in Canada while he must have been "flirtatious" with me. I condescendingly patted her arm while explaining he could be my father, stupid cow) and we kept talking.

The guy was super sweet, overweight and not all that attractive and travelling alone. I felt for him, as he told me how pretentious and horrible the girls could be in Washington, where he was from. He had a stammer and was a little reserved, but I perked him up, surprised him when I said I would come to Sunset Bar to watch the sun (umm) set, and have another drink. That's what happens when I get a couple into me on the beach...

We enjoyed a beautiful sunset, I had some random, drunk American come over with a shot of Jagermeister proclaiming, "You must be Australian with that accent! Drink this!" OK, if I must. Then bought me and my new friend another drink. Ahh, the drunk. So free with their money.

Afterwards, we got talking about dinner and I said I was hungry, but would head home to cook something as I was a bit short on cash. He waved it off, saying we should go somewhere nice for a bite. It is not often I get shouted dinner so I agreed, he being a gentleman and also on his own. I guess he wouldn't mind the company.

Dinner was nice, although my mahi-mahi fish was so seasoned I wasn't quite sure where the fish started and my sauce ended. Regardless, a couple of drinks later and I was definitely more than tipsy. Straight home afterwards, after another successfully random outing. N bailed on my again due to tiredness, no matter I had my hands full, and promised to do something the next night. We'll see, we'll see...