The First of Many Cousins

When I'd been planning the trip to Havana from Canada, I assumed we'd stay in a casa particular, basically a Cuban bed and breakfast. Of course at that point, I did not yet know the size and national reach of Juan's family. Like some math-based nursery rhyme his great-grandpa had had 8 brothers who each had 8 sons who each had 8 sons and so on. It was a very male family line. But there were a few girls sprinkled in there. Two of them, with the matching names Odalys and Odalkys, had moved to Havana in their late teens about 15 years before and hadn't been back or seen Juan since. As soon as the travel plans had been set in motion Juan's mom had called ahead to the Os, arranging for us to stay with them and have them watch out for us in the big city. I had explained to her that I had traveled before, that Toronto was pretty big, that I'd lived in bigger cities. She was having none of it though, this was Havana and there was family to take care of us.

Living large in Vedado

We rolled up to their apartment around noon and a great flurry of hugging, rapid talking and hand gesturing began. They pinched and prodded and poked at Juan, and in simple words and gestures explained to me how they had babysat him all through his youth and how he had been soooo small and now he's all grown up. I smiled and nodded along with their excitement, honestly happy to be a part of this family reunion. As the cousins caught up on 15 years of news, I ended up deep in 'conversation' with Odalkys' four year old daughter Paola.

Paola had taken an instant interest in this this strange, pale creature in her midst who had a bag full of shiny jewelry, shoes and make-up but seemed unable to string together a sentence. She took pity on my odd inability to understand language and simply repeated her questions and statements over and over until I understood. Every day we would take some time to sit together on the bedroom floor, her rifling through my suitcase holding up each of my possessions asking '¿Que es eso?' until I found the name for it in my Spanish/English dictionary. She would then ask if it was mine. I'd answer 'Si' and she'd move on to the next item. What is this? It's sunscreen. Is it yours? Yes. What is this? It's a necklace. Is it yours? Yes. After each item was named she'd ponder it for awhile and then either place it on me or herself. For sharable items, lipgloss, nail polish, Canada flag stickers, we'd both get a turn, her using me as a walking, slowly-talking doll and then getting me to make her up in the same fashion.

I don't really know a lot of children and am never sure how to act around them. But with Paola I was comfortable and grateful. She was taking the time to try and understand me and to help me communicate. She was patient with me. When I couldn't get a point across she was happy to accept a goofy face or silly dance in its place. She would lead me around the apartment by hand pointing out and naming every detail. When I didn't understand, she'd start from the beginning until she saw a spark of understanding in my eyes. At meal times, she'd jump up on my lap and explain what I was eating and how I should eat it. When it was time to sleep, or to wake up, she'd appear at my side to let me know.

¿Que es eso? ¿Que es eso? ¿Que es eso? Spanish 101 with Paola

There wasn't much activity in our first couple days, the cousins were taking their guardian roles very seriously and seemed afraid that I would burst into flames if touched by sunlight, but I didn't mind. The Os, their boyfriends, Paola, Juan, me and the neighbours constantly popping in and out of the house was entertainment enough. We'd eat, we'd talk, we'd drink 1000 little coffees , we'd watch music videos that Odalys had danced in, rewinding and fast-forwarding to her parts again and again and again, Paola would direct all of us in her games and we'd obediently follow her directions. I would come up with excuses to buy water, bread, beer, anything just so I could throw the paper bag on a string out the 4th floor window and wait for the entrepreneurial boy on the street below to fill my order. They laughed at my excitement each time I got to lower and raise the delivery bag but it truly was the highlight of each day.

At night we'd walk over to La Rampa, drink a few beers and soak up the atmosphere. There was no rush to get anywhere and no rush to get home. There were just simple moments flowing together. It wasn't exciting and it didn't signify anything but for the first time in my life I didn't mind. The calm, insignificance of it all was soothing. There was no meaning to any of it, hidden or obvious, and I started to realize that I didn't need all this to mean anything. I just needed it.

On The Road...Almost

With the coffee drank, the bags in the car, Juan hugged by his mom 1000 times, Juan having agreed he would call twice a day, both of us having promised we would be careful who we talked to and that we'd stick close to Juan's cousins whose house we would be staying at, we were off. We both waved at his mom through the back window until she was out of sight. It was the first time he'd ever gone to Havana and really the first time he'd gone anywhere, other than the army and university, without her. She had laughed when I told her that I'd make sure I returned him to her in one piece but the worry never left her eyes. Her baby boy was going on a road trip to the big city with a strange yuma...this was no laughing matter.

Five minutes into the drive, we were at our first stop - the gas station. As Javier filled the tank, Juan looked at me awkwardly and seemed to be working up the courage to say something. I knew what he was getting at and told him not to worry, I'd pay for the gas. We'd discussed money before I arrived, after I told him that I wanted to travel to Havana. He'd been honest and told me he couldn't afford to go. Though he worked at the resort most days it wasn't actually his real job. He worked for a national sports organization as a baseball coach and umpire and occasional soccer pro which paid about $25 a month. The resort filled up the rest of the time and paid nothing, except for the presents and tips he received from the guests which usually worked out to more than his real salary. All of this combined did not add up to much though. Most of the time he kept a little bit for himself and gave the rest to his mom. No matter which way you sliced it, he was poor. Yet I wanted to go to Havana and I wanted to go with him. I accepted that fact that I would have to pay for the trip and simply asked him to try and help me keep it as cheap as possible.

When we arrived at the Camaguey bus-stop an hour and a half later, a couple tough looking characters in brightly coloured La Puta Madre tanks tops and glittery belt buckles sidled over to our car and started talking to Juan and Javier. The four of them grimaced and glared as the conversation became increasingly louder and more intense. I started to get nervous, thinking something serious was about to go down. I tried to get Juan's attention as quietly and unobtrusively as possible to avoid upsetting the balance even further.

'What's wrong?', I whispered, 'What do they want?'
He looked confused, 'Nothing's wrong. They're just asking if we want a ride to Havana.'
Now it was my turn to be confused, 'Then why are you all so serious and angry?'
'Angry? What? Nobody's angry, we're just talking,' he said and re-joined the negotiations.

After about twenty minutes of this angry-looking non-fight about travel options it was settled...we'd be paying them 50CUC a person (just over $100 total) for a ride to Havana. Or rather I'd be paying. I knew the bus would be cheaper and I didn't want to immediately take up the role of sugar momma but I felt that the comfort of a car would be worth it. I didn't want to splash too much cash around with Juan but I also didn't want to suffer.

We went to grab a quick lunch before hitting the road once again. We also swung by Javier's girlfriend's house to see his baby daughter. I've never been much of a baby person but even ended up holding her for a couple minutes in an attempt to not look like some strange, cold, baby-hating foreigner in front of the extended family. Finally we were back at the bus stop, the tank-topped toughs sidled up to us again and another heated conversation ensued.

After another half hour of intense negotiations, Juan let me in on what was happening. While we'd been away a new group of travelers had arrived at the bus stop looking for an immediate ride to Havana. They, and our ride, were long gone. However, a bus was leaving in ten minutes just down the road and if we hurried, they could get us on the bus.

I wasn't sure why exactly why there needed to be so many people involved in getting us on a bus when we were already at a bus station, not to mention the long, drawn-out discussions about it, but I was eager to get moving and they'd dropped their fee to nearly half of their initial offer. I recognized that I really had no idea what was going on...but also recognized that I really didn't care. Juan and Javier and the two negotiators seemed to have it under control, I told Juan to agree to whatever it took to get us on the road to Havana.

Five minutes later we were waiting on a corner a few blocks down the street from the bus stop. An Astro bus belching out black smoke screeched to a halt beside us, the driver hurried me inside and then went back out to help Juan put our bags under the bus. The bus was almost full but we found two seats together near the back. As I looked around I noticed that I was the only non-Cuban on the bus and, more importantly to my small bladder, that there was no bathroom. This clearly was not a bus intended for foreign tourists. I started to worry that it was possibly illegal for me to be on this bus. But then decided if the folks overcharging me for tickets and the driver getting a cut of it didn't care, I didn't care either.

We were finally on our way to Havana, that was all that mattered.

For the right price, I'm pretty sure we could have gotten a ride to Havana from one of these guys

Meeting The Family

The next morning I woke up without Juan beside me which already felt unnatural. He had gone home for the night to avoid being caught sneaking into my room by security. I hated the idea of being in Cuba and not with him, even for one night, but I understood the gravity of the situation. I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to ask him to defy authority and responsibility to be with me. But I also recognized that asking him to throw away everything for one night 4 hours of sleep with me was over the top, even for me.

He called around 6am to tell me his brother was on the way to pick me up to bring me back to their house. I hastily threw my messy piles of clothes and shoes and makeup into my suitcase and crawled around on the floor checking under the beds and tables to ensure I hadn't missed anything. As I left the room I encountered my first sunrise of the trip. The vibrant pinks and oranges and purples painted across the sky were like a beautiful omen telling me that things were going to get easier...or at least shinier and more colourful.

After the darkness comes the dawn...and after the resort comes the road trip!

Juan's brother, Javier, arrived in a rented car he'd borrowed from some tourists he was working for. Through Juan's and his work at the resort, he had acquired a network of male tourists who would hire him as a driver and local 'fixer' every time they came to Cuba. There was enough of them making repeat visits throughout the year to ensure he almost always had a car on hand to drive us around with. Especially during the day since his clients/friends rarely rose before dinner-time.

I knew that these guys were coming to Cuba to pay for sex. And Javier, despite just barely scraping 5'2" and 100 pounds, was always surrounded by drop-dead gorgeous women. I figured I knew what was what here. I had tried asking him and Juan, in both subtle and blunt ways, if he was a pimp but they assured me it wasn't like that, he was just a driver...and, despite his small stature, extremely popular with women. I wasn't convinced but decided to drop it for the time being. If my free rides were a result of a bit of pimping, who was I to complain?

Their house was only a five minute drive away from the resort, a real town but, by nature of its proximity, home to many of the employees of the four resorts in the area. I'd passed by it on the bus and with Juan several times before but had never actually been over yet. Javier walked me down the little dirt path and opened the gate for me, pushing away their pitbull Rambo who was trying his best to jump up, over and through my body to lick my face. Despite the two strikes of breed and name he had going against him, this leaping and licking did seem to be generally a friendly, un-menacing affair.

A woman who was hanging laundry beside their house seemed very happy to see me when I finally disentangled myself from Rambo. She told me, in English, that Juan was inside and to head in. She looked vaguely familiar to me, and definitely had a family resemblance to Juan and Javier, but I couldn't place her. I found Juan inside and asked him who she was. He looked surprised by the question.

'What do you mean who is she? She's my mom! Don't you recognize her from the resort?'

I stared at him in shock, my mind attempting to organize several thoughts at once. How old is she?!!!! She looks like she could be your sister!! What do you mean she works at the resort?!! Have I met her?!! What? She's a bartender?!!! Was she working during my first trip? She's been working there for 20 years?!! Does she remember me from December?!!! Oh no oh no oh no, has she seen me drunk?!!! Does she think I'm a stupid drunk slutty tourist?!! Does she think I'm nice?!!! Have I given her good tips?!!!!

I knew that Juan was a momma's boy, he'd already told me many stories about his mom and expressed his deep love and respect for her several times. I had been looking forward, albeit nervously, to meeting her and planned to be on my best behavior for that meeting. I was not happy to learn that that first impression had already come and gone several times over drink orders. I peeked my head out the door again to see if any memories of her would flood back now that I knew who she was. Nothing. She smiled another friendly smile at me though and asked if I wanted a coffee...which seemed positive.

Unless, of course, she was planning on poisoning the coffee before I could steal her baby away to Havana. I decided to take a chance. It was really early, I could possibly survive a poisoning but there was no way I could survive this morning without caffeine.