i'm fucking back and it sucks so much. i cannot describe the sinking feeling of stepping outside of terminal 3 and feeling the cold air hit my perfectly tanned and newly freckled face after a week in cuba.
it was amazing. even when it wasn't, it was beautiful. just as i had suspected varadero is a total tourist resort town and there is not much authentic cuban culture to be encountered there. nevertheless, it was magic. i did nothing. unlike i had planned, initially. my days consisted of cappuccinos, sunshine, tanning topless beside a perfectly blue ocean, drinking sangria (i got sick of rum pretty fast), eating massive amounts of good food (my jeans barely fit), swimming lazily, and dancing until the early mornings of dawn. we went night swimming almost every night.
the weather was perfect, the whole time. it did not rain once and the worst of it was a bit of wind. i am very glad we went with a 4 * hotel, because it was worth every penny. going out every night got to be tiring, but i didn't want to miss out. i didn't. i have a few crazy stories, but i think i'll save them for when they can be accompanying with pictures. i've uploaded some, but not all (there are 397) and it will take me a while to get back into the swing of things.
of course, i have bronchitis. that is self-diagnosis, but i'm almost entirely sure of it. no one i met in cuba was "lucky" enough to hear my beautiful voice. they all got some 'smoking old lady living with cats' version of it. today i feel like shit, and coming back was not enticing in the very least. i could easily have stayed another week. or at least the weekend.
the high-light of my trip was going to havana. la habana esta citadad muchos bonita. i don't know if i spelled or said that correctly in my head, but by the end of the week, i was having conversations in spanish and making myself understood somehow while my friends stared with open mouths. i am not really sure how i picked it up. another week and i'm fluent, i swear to you.
so havana... that city oozes sex. i can't even describe how seeing it made me feel. there is so much life there. and passion! it inspired me and affected me. have you ever read great expectations? you know the descriptions of miss havisham's mansion? how it's rotting but beautiful in this old-fashioned, rustic way? havana was that. it had so much soul. totally breathing and breeding. we did not go with the tour the hotel organized, but rather with a "husband" of a waitress from our hotel. we were picked up in this ancient green car under a bridge and driven speeding along the narrow highway with no indication of lanes. he would honk every time he wanted to pass someone. arturo had a wickedly intricate and huge ruby gold ring and two perfectly groomed coke nails. so money. he works 2 days a week, transporting tourists dumb enough to sit in his car to la habana.
our adventures in the capital are numerous and crazy. men make kissing sounds when they like the looks of the women they see. having gone with 3 beautiful blondes, they seldom passed without a word or a kiss noise. they engaged us in conversation almost every time, asking us where we are from, trying to sell us cigars or rum (even "funny cigarettes" once), or asking for money. actually, that is incorrect. no one wanted money; everyone wanted food, clothes, or "milk for their baby". at the grocery store, i bought myself rum (3.85 pesos) and baby formula for some guy (5.20 pesos). isn't that crazy? give the baby rum, i say. no. it's not funny. they are very poor, but they do try and milk you for what you got. and i'm easily milkable as i have no back-bone but clearly too much heart. ha.
we saw many interesting things, yet what sticks with me is that vibe the city has. i will post the pictures as soon as they're uploaded (i'm in guelph right now) but it cannot transfer. you need to see and feel it for yourself.
on the way back to varadero (a 2 h drive), our driver hit a goat. he was quite pissed off as his car was dented. we were sad because we had been making goat-noises all week (all the milk and cheese is made from goats we heard) and it seemed rather ironic. nevertheless, it has now become funny, especially to people we told our story to. we were in fact known as the "goat killers" of our resort from that point on. we felt sorry for arturo and tipped him well. not that he needed it.
overall, i loved it. what i would have liked more of is some alone time. i can be a loner and i didn't get to be alone much. socializing was nice, but i grew sick of seeing all the same people all the time. we made some great friends with people from holland, vancouver, spain, and england. oh and ottawa. can't forget ottawa. i met a very nice boy from there. interestingly, most people from toronto or the rest of ontario sucked and were not friendly in the very least. the girls were very catty and the boys were young and crazy. the only thing worse than getting horny looks from old men was the catty looks from the girls. they love to hate, those bitches. i tried to be friendly but i'm pretty sure they hated me just for the fact that i tanned with no top on. i did not miss their company much.
the locals? there are none, in varadero. they cannot afford to live there, nor can they afford to come into the bars and clubs we frequented (10 pesos, all you can drink). the luckiest work in the resorts. they are sweet and loved that i tried to learn espanol. most speak english very well, of course, but still. i guess effort counts for something. many of them grew quite fond of us and kissed us good-bye. there was a small black woman with a kerchief who sang while working the buffet every breakfast. you could hug her, she was so cute.
we met many many lovable older people, as i said before. they all have stories attached and the photos will be of use there.
here's a few i uploaded already. nothing special, yet. i don't even know if this will work.
what i saw the first morning, upon awakening. it was bright in the room; i thought sandra turned on a light. i opened the courtain and saw this.
every day <3
we often had flowers (in this case a hibiscus) in our hair.
see? told you. this is before going out one night. second night, i think. the night i made out with a half arab-half cuban boy from france. he was 21.
our hotel. well, a part of it.
this has been a very tiring and long entry to write. no doubt, it must have been tiring to read it also. kudos if you managed.
i will tell you stories. later.
it was amazing. even when it wasn't, it was beautiful. just as i had suspected varadero is a total tourist resort town and there is not much authentic cuban culture to be encountered there. nevertheless, it was magic. i did nothing. unlike i had planned, initially. my days consisted of cappuccinos, sunshine, tanning topless beside a perfectly blue ocean, drinking sangria (i got sick of rum pretty fast), eating massive amounts of good food (my jeans barely fit), swimming lazily, and dancing until the early mornings of dawn. we went night swimming almost every night.
the weather was perfect, the whole time. it did not rain once and the worst of it was a bit of wind. i am very glad we went with a 4 * hotel, because it was worth every penny. going out every night got to be tiring, but i didn't want to miss out. i didn't. i have a few crazy stories, but i think i'll save them for when they can be accompanying with pictures. i've uploaded some, but not all (there are 397) and it will take me a while to get back into the swing of things.
of course, i have bronchitis. that is self-diagnosis, but i'm almost entirely sure of it. no one i met in cuba was "lucky" enough to hear my beautiful voice. they all got some 'smoking old lady living with cats' version of it. today i feel like shit, and coming back was not enticing in the very least. i could easily have stayed another week. or at least the weekend.
the high-light of my trip was going to havana. la habana esta citadad muchos bonita. i don't know if i spelled or said that correctly in my head, but by the end of the week, i was having conversations in spanish and making myself understood somehow while my friends stared with open mouths. i am not really sure how i picked it up. another week and i'm fluent, i swear to you.
so havana... that city oozes sex. i can't even describe how seeing it made me feel. there is so much life there. and passion! it inspired me and affected me. have you ever read great expectations? you know the descriptions of miss havisham's mansion? how it's rotting but beautiful in this old-fashioned, rustic way? havana was that. it had so much soul. totally breathing and breeding. we did not go with the tour the hotel organized, but rather with a "husband" of a waitress from our hotel. we were picked up in this ancient green car under a bridge and driven speeding along the narrow highway with no indication of lanes. he would honk every time he wanted to pass someone. arturo had a wickedly intricate and huge ruby gold ring and two perfectly groomed coke nails. so money. he works 2 days a week, transporting tourists dumb enough to sit in his car to la habana.
our adventures in the capital are numerous and crazy. men make kissing sounds when they like the looks of the women they see. having gone with 3 beautiful blondes, they seldom passed without a word or a kiss noise. they engaged us in conversation almost every time, asking us where we are from, trying to sell us cigars or rum (even "funny cigarettes" once), or asking for money. actually, that is incorrect. no one wanted money; everyone wanted food, clothes, or "milk for their baby". at the grocery store, i bought myself rum (3.85 pesos) and baby formula for some guy (5.20 pesos). isn't that crazy? give the baby rum, i say. no. it's not funny. they are very poor, but they do try and milk you for what you got. and i'm easily milkable as i have no back-bone but clearly too much heart. ha.
we saw many interesting things, yet what sticks with me is that vibe the city has. i will post the pictures as soon as they're uploaded (i'm in guelph right now) but it cannot transfer. you need to see and feel it for yourself.
on the way back to varadero (a 2 h drive), our driver hit a goat. he was quite pissed off as his car was dented. we were sad because we had been making goat-noises all week (all the milk and cheese is made from goats we heard) and it seemed rather ironic. nevertheless, it has now become funny, especially to people we told our story to. we were in fact known as the "goat killers" of our resort from that point on. we felt sorry for arturo and tipped him well. not that he needed it.
overall, i loved it. what i would have liked more of is some alone time. i can be a loner and i didn't get to be alone much. socializing was nice, but i grew sick of seeing all the same people all the time. we made some great friends with people from holland, vancouver, spain, and england. oh and ottawa. can't forget ottawa. i met a very nice boy from there. interestingly, most people from toronto or the rest of ontario sucked and were not friendly in the very least. the girls were very catty and the boys were young and crazy. the only thing worse than getting horny looks from old men was the catty looks from the girls. they love to hate, those bitches. i tried to be friendly but i'm pretty sure they hated me just for the fact that i tanned with no top on. i did not miss their company much.
the locals? there are none, in varadero. they cannot afford to live there, nor can they afford to come into the bars and clubs we frequented (10 pesos, all you can drink). the luckiest work in the resorts. they are sweet and loved that i tried to learn espanol. most speak english very well, of course, but still. i guess effort counts for something. many of them grew quite fond of us and kissed us good-bye. there was a small black woman with a kerchief who sang while working the buffet every breakfast. you could hug her, she was so cute.
we met many many lovable older people, as i said before. they all have stories attached and the photos will be of use there.
here's a few i uploaded already. nothing special, yet. i don't even know if this will work.
what i saw the first morning, upon awakening. it was bright in the room; i thought sandra turned on a light. i opened the courtain and saw this.
every day <3
we often had flowers (in this case a hibiscus) in our hair.
see? told you. this is before going out one night. second night, i think. the night i made out with a half arab-half cuban boy from france. he was 21.
our hotel. well, a part of it.
this has been a very tiring and long entry to write. no doubt, it must have been tiring to read it also. kudos if you managed.
i will tell you stories. later.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
you are a doll.
i would love to play in toronto.
i just need money to get there.