The Love Bus

The drive from Camaguey to Havana is around 7 to 8 hours. Later, when were neck-deep in paperwork and bureaucracy and running back and forth to Havana constantly, my brother-in-law, our personal driver, would cut the drive down to 6 hours at top-speed. But back then, on our first trip, on the bus, it was a 12 hour trip.

I've taken rickety bus trips through the terraced fields of Southern China fearing for my life at every turn, I've taken the Greyhound all over Canada, once barely surviving a 4-day bus marathon from Montreal to Vancouver Island, I've traveled across the world on planes and trains and ferries and boats and even ended up sitting on a trucker's lap once as he let me, the deeply-stoned hitchhiker, steer his 18-wheeler down the highway towards Calgary. Some of these adventures were terrifying, some boring, some awe-inspiring...none of them came close to the pure bliss I felt curled up against Juan for 12 hours as we traveled halfway across Cuba.

See ya later striped building in Camaguey!!!

The air conditioning was too cold. I didn't care. The music too loud. I didn't care. I was hungry. I didn't care. All I cared about was the man in the seat next to me. We would take shifts, him sitting up with his arms around me, trying to make the small space as warm and comfortable as possible for me so that I could sleep. After an hour or two, I'd sit up and let him rest in my lap, softly rubbing his arms and back, twisting his frizzy hair up into funny shapes and then patting it back down. I'd catalogue every bit of him - here a small scar on his forehead, here the curve of his forearm, here the way his mouth opens slightly to push out breath while he sleeps, here the way he purses his lips to the left when he wants to kiss me, here the way he scrunches up the space under his nose to say 'Que?' (I did not yet know this was a mannerism shared by 11 million other Cubans). I wanted to memorize every part of him, build a sense memory of him that could either help me get through another separation from him or let me keep him with me as I moved on completely.

Yes, even in the midst of these simple, beautiful moments, I was still looking for a way out. I still believed that there was no future for us, that at the end of this trip I'd say goodbye and mean it. Every sweet word he said, every soft touch, every tender moment was tinged with both sadness and intensity....little memento moris peeking up behind everything whispering 'This will end this will end this will end'. I tried to block out their voices, enjoy the moment, not worry about the future but in every pause I'd hear a door slowly creaking shut.

'Alas poor Juan I knew him well'...picture it with orange hair and a sunburn and you've got me 

Around 3am, we pulled into a road-stop with a few fast-food type restaurants selling pizzas, ham and cheese sandwiches, burgers, hot dogs. As it was intended for Cubans they charged in national money (CUP), not the convertible pesos used by tourists (CUC). Juan told me to put away my money and walked off confidently to buy us each a hot dog and a pop with a dancing lime on the side. I was so proud as he reappeared back at my side with the food he'd purchased me. So happy to have our busmates see him paying for this meal. I didn't care that it was just a hot dog and a lukewarm sugary soda, it was him taking care of me, that was what mattered. To this day, it remains the best meal I've ever eaten.

As we finished our food and drinks the driver called out to those of us still lingering around outside the bus. We all hurried back on and found our seats. I don't know what the driver had eaten at that road-stop but his mood was just as good as mine as we drove off. He cranked the reggaeton music as loud as it would go and got on the loud-speaker. Juan interpreted for me but even without knowing Spanish I understood the gist of what he was saying...

'Hey sleepyheads, why aren't you drinking? Why aren't you dancing? We're on the road to Havana...let's have fun!!!'

I decided that bus-driver was right. I pushed my worries down as far as they could go, hugged Juan close and told him that I loved him. Sure everything in the world has to end at some point...but not on that bus and not on that night.

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.

Forbidden Love

The next few days were...well...heavily scheduled. I knew that Juan would have to work for the first week of my holiday but I hadn't really thought through the implications of that. I had had so much fun the first trip with my co-worker and the other guests we'd become friends with that I didn't consider what it might be like when I was there on my own. Also not taken into consideration was the fact that I can get really awkward in uncertain conditions. I've always felt that I have a lot in common with a goldfish. In my usual waters, I'm a fearless, fast-swimming, leaping, wiggling, air-bubble-making fiend. But put me in a plastic bag and throw me in a new tank full of even newer fish and I will stay in the comfort zone of my bag as long as possible. There is actually a very good chance that I will never come out of that bag.

This is not what I actually look like, just a photo of an over-extended metaphor

As it turned out, the end of April was not exactly a hopping time for travel to Cuba. The resort was half-empty and the half-full part was not filled with very fun people. The tattooed Windsorites provided a little bit of companionship, until they both got food poisoning on the second day and retired indefinitely to their room. I settled for trailing Juan from activity to activity, feeling nothing like the exciting, vivacious woman he'd met in December.

From 9-12:30, I would participate half-heartedly in morning beach activities - stretching, bocce ball, aquacize, merengue...I would do it all, except for beach volleyball...there are some lines I just don't cross. From 12:30-3:00 we would leave the resort for lunch with a side of kissing and hand-holding at the Commercial Centre next door. 3:00-6:00 was pool-side darts, Spanish lessons, salsa, steppercize, ring toss, beer barrel balancing, throwing of balls through holes, throwing of suntanning people into the pool. From 6-6:30 the entertainment staff would have their daily meeting in front of the stage, I'd creep around the area, trying to act like I actually had some purpose in life besides counting the moments between Juan's breaks.

Through all of this Juan would try to throw me what scraps of attention he could - little surreptitious glances, a hand grazed across an arm, a wink, a foot against mine underwater, a quick pat on my head as he walked past my chair. But he was working and there were bosses everywhere. The entertainment boss, the restaurant boss, the head of security, the manager of the resort, they did not approve of inappropriate mingling between guests and entertainers and they were always watching. I tried to reason with Juan, we'd been flirting and touching up a storm on my first trip, why was he so scared to come near me now? He said it was different now, that he couldn't hide the fact that he had real feelings for me, that he couldn't act playful with me without it being obvious that it was not play.

Sometimes he could sneak off with me from 6:30 until 9, which is when the evening show began. Unless during that time he had door-opening duty at the main restaurant, in which case I would eat alone...or sometimes with a table of seniors who felt sorry for me. After the kids' show, and before the cabaret, there was social dancing, Juan's first dance of the night, every night, was with me. Of course the next dance was with a 13 year old girl going through an awkward phase, next up a cougar divorcee wearing her teenaged daughter's clothing, after that an extremely sunburnt woman on her honeymooon...but the first was always mine!

When the show was over and Juan had changed from his actorly clothes into some bedazzled evening wear, we'd sit around by the DJ booth with the other entertainers, all of them speaking rapid, slang-filled Spanish. I suspected even if I hadn't have dropped out of Spanish class after the 5th class, I still would have understood nothing. As it was, I would simply paste a fake smile on my face and try not to look as out of place as I felt.

Finally, just as I would be hitting a wall of exhaustion, the group would all stand up at once and start walking to the resort gates, heading to the one decent club in town. My heart would race in anticipation as we neared the exit, knowing as soon as we turned the corner past the last security guard, Juan would pull me towards him and hug me tight and kiss me and touch my face sweetly and tell me that it wouldn't always be like this between us, that someday it would actually be real.

Making Love and Killing Flowers

When I got back to the lobby, it was chaos. More buses full of tourists were pulling up and cranky, tired guests and their bulging suitcases were everywhere. Trays of Rum Punch were being distributed throughout the crowd to try and keep people happy and Guantanamera was being played over and over by a 3 piece band set up in the corner.

I didn't want to join the disorganized line-up at check-in quite yet knowing that the 2 bored workers behind the desk would need some time to deal with 200 new guests. Instead I chatted with the other entertainers as I stood shyly next to Juan, feeling energy sparks flying between our almost-touching arms. Some of them knew through him that I was coming back, others were happily surprised to see me. I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. Juan was working and I didn't want to be jumping all over him, drawing attention to the fact that I was there because of him. But I also wanted him to know that I was, in fact, there because of him. That he wasn't just the cherry-on-top of another vacation...he was the reason I'd returned.

When there was finally a break in the line I darted to the desk to get my room assignment and resort bracelet. Juan made some hand motions that seemed to indicate I should meet him at the Cafe Bar once I had everything sorted. As soon as I got my room key, I turned into a speed demon. Ran to find my room, threw my suitcases into the closet, showered/brushed teeth/got dressed/did hair and makeup almost simultaneously. About a minute and a half after entering my room, I was on my way back out to find Juan.

He was sitting close to the Cafe Bar with some of the other entertainers. They were deciding whether or not to go out to the club. He asked me if I wanted to go out or just go to sleep. I said I was tired...but then regretted it, unsure if he knew that I wanted him to join me in my room. He also looked nervous, asked me if I wanted to be alone or? I told him I definitely didn't want to be alone and he jumped into action, said goodbye to everyone else and led me towards a dark path that meandered just outside of the main resort thoroughfares. He whispered his plan, I would head back to my room, he would take some back routes and meet me there in five minutes, then he looked around to ensure no bosses or security guards were in sight and kissed me quickly.

Back in the room I'd just recently left, I sat nervously on the edge of the bed, trying to massage out the pain that still gripped my head and neck. There was a subtle knock, I answered and found Juan smiling and holding out his arms. I dragged him in for a hug, no longer shy, no longer worried about who was watching us and what they were thinking. We just stood there hugging and hugging, not really saying anything, not really needing to. And then...

Well, you can fill in the blanks on what happened next. Suffice it to say I did end up marrying this guy (we'll get to that eventually!)

Later we lay in bed talking. My head on his chest, his arm around me with his hand in my hair, our feet intertwined (this would come to be our favourite way of being together, the natural way our bodies just fit). He asked me where the flower was.

'What flower?'
'The one I gave you in the lobby.
'Mmmm, don't remember any flower.'
'The one I picked for you...with my own hands! I gave it to you when you got off the bus, before you ran away to the bathroom.'
'Uuuuuuhhhh...'

I started to vaguely remember a flower. I tore myself away from him and we both began looking around the room. In the bathroom amongst my toiletries already laying about on the counter, in the pile of dirty airplane clothes I'd left on the floor, amongst the wet towels I'd flung down the hallway. The flower was nowhere to be found, until Juan lifted up the suitcase perched precariously half-in and half-out of the closet and found his Hibiscus, flattened and squished into the corner.

He held up the bruised and battered flower accusingly, 'So this is what you like to do to flowers? Is this your Canadian way?! I gave my mom a flower like this 3 weeks ago and she put it in water and it's still alive. That was a symbol of my feelings for you and you just dropped a suitcase on it!! I will have to remember not to give you any more flowers, EVER!!!'

I was surprised and felt a little guilty but mostly was trying not to laugh. I told him I saw these flowers everywhere in Cuba, that the housekeepers left about 10 of them strewn around my room every day, that they were kind of flat and dead-looking to begin with, I had no idea I was supposed to hold onto them.

He muttered 'Flower Killer' a few more times but finally decided that my willingness to fly back to visit him for 2 weeks was a show of faith that my evil, flower-killing ways could be overcome. He hugged me again and we fell back into bed, knowing that with two weeks of discovery ahead of us...we needed our rest.

I was on flower probation for about a year but I'm happy to say I finally have been forgiven