My SDHC 4GB Card

Back in February or January, I dissected the SHDC after it fails to write data. I opened the card to see the inside then glued it back together with superglue. It seems the card will need another dissection. Something is loose inside. What could possibly be loose though? There are a couple of chips on a logic board.

Well, this makes no sense at all. Windows could not see the SDHC card. I thought the SDHC was really broken now. I opened it up and something fell out. It was a piece of the SDHC plastic case. It could not have cause a short or something that could have prevented the SDHC from functioning. I re-assembed the SDHC card but could still feel something was loose. Well, the loose item is the whole logic board itself, but the interface pins look fine. Anyways, everything is superglued together again. The SDHC is working again now.

What's in a camera battery?

What's in a camera battery? After my Cuba trip, I decided it was time to dissect the third-party EN-EL3e that has been nothing but a nightmare.

So here I pried it open. I used a blade to cut along the glue line between the bottom and top covers. If you do this, be careful not to cut too deep. After cutting a slit, it was still hard to remove the top cover as it was glued to the batteries.

There are two blue cylindrical batteries inside. Each battery carries 4 volts. They are joined in serial fashion to give 8 volts. The photo shows two dark bands of sticky glue.

There electronic circuit board seen in these picture control the actual output and communicate battery information to the camera. It could cut out the current as well. These two blue batteries are perfectly fine. They do register 8 volts total but the output from the circuit board is nil. I had suspected that some logic board in the battery is faulty. It looks like my suspicion has been confirmed. Why though? No idea. Cheap, third party battery. In photography, you really get what you pay for.

The blue batteries stand the same height as normal AA batteries. However, these blue batteries are fatter as seen in the last photo below.

One thought came to mind. What if I remove the logic board? It could work but it could destroy my camera too, and how would I recharge the batteries? Would they need the logic board? The recharger knows when to stop recharging -- how? These questions will remain unanswered because I am not about to test it out. Removing the logic board could damage my camera. While the battery information is not too important, I think the board does regulate the voltage and current output. I am not sure and am not about to attempt it. :)

For now these blue batteries could serve as emergency batteries for flash lights or something like that. Their voltage output is rather high but usually the flash lights take 2 or 3 AA or AAA batteries. They amount to 3 to 4.5 volts, so these blue batteries could still be useful. When they go depleted though, I wonder how they can be recharged. I could stick them back into its original battery case with the logic board and charge them in the normal Nikon battery charger, I guess.

Electrical outlets in Cuba

I did not think Cuba would have support for the North American standard electrical outlets. Well, I was wrong. The Ancon resort I stayed at has these funky outlets. They have the three round holes for the Cuban standards but upon close inspection they also have holes that match the North American 110/220V electrical plug configuration. So if anyone travels to Cuba, just bring your battery charger.

I did not bring my charger along but I did bring three batteries for my camera. Two of them worked as I expected -- the original Nikon battery and the third-party vertical grip. They were good enough for over 1000 actuations. The third battery (i.e. the cheap EN-EL3 battery I have been complaining about) has now been dissected on my table. It contains two blue large batteries -- a bit wider than the AA batteries. Each blue battery carries 4 volts. They are serially connected to give 8 volts. There is an electronic circuit board that controls the output of the battery package. It would seem that the circuit board is faulty. While I can measure 8 volts from these two batteries, the + electrode connected to the circuit board measures 0 volt.

The Cuba Story, the final chapter

Scare tactics to keep us around so we would feed their piggy bank? If that was it, the lobster chef knew how to deliver it. We just paid about two months work of pesos for our dinner yesternight. Had we stayed, we would have contributed another 20 more pesos for breakfast. We left. They gave us three mangos to take with us, if we lived to eat it. He loaned us his machete. Never trust a Cuban.

Coming out of the shower as Wolverine again, I donned a new t-shirt to go for breakfast. I then met Susana and Carolina in the beach bar area for some sweet tropical mangos. Louis and Ken would later joined us. Cuba could export these mangos to Canada. They are much juicier than the Florida mangos.

Today was my rest day before my conquest of a new world on Thursday. Our rental Hyundai was not due until 3pm though. Carolina had wanted to trek the real jungle. It would seem my plan was about to change again. By 12pm we were on the road toward the peaks. The mountain ranges were clearly visible from Ancon. There were many peaks. We just did not know which is which but only one road would lead up to our destination it seemed. The turista office was at the top of the collinas. One of the collinas.

There were many trails but only one was doable today. It would be a trail that would lead to some cave, the turista guide had said. Only 30 minutes of a hike or so. No guide required. No 4x4 needed to get there. Not the same trail I booked myself in for Thursday. This trail would do for today. I would visit the mountain again on Thursday. The excursion I had planned would be the finale of my stay in Cuba. This trek today would be to fill in the time, to kill some time, to explore and shoot the flora and fauna of Cuba. It would be a simple and short trek, not much to expect, but good enough for today. I would be able to rest for the big one tomorrow. Only about 30 minutes. Simple.

The trail was ridiculously hard. It took us 45 minutes to hike. "La Batata," I had read on a sign, reminded me of The Chief in Squamish for some reason. It was not the same of course. Squamish has no mountain cows and bulls, but I wondered how tall this hill was. Maybe 500m? This Chief is 500m tall. Certainly, our trail could not be as long or as tall as The Chief but the mountain itself was tall. Probably taller than 500m. We started near the top, the Topes de Collantes, so it would not be a 500m tall hike. Forty-five minutes it took us. Einstein was right. It seemed like an eternity. I started to have flashbacks of The Chief. I was at the back of the troop then and here again, I found myself trailing the expedition. On The Chief, we laughed our hearts out I remembered and we had stopped mid-way to rest by a cascade. There would be none here. Bone dry up this mountain. The hills were covered in tall tropical vegetation but the trail was open. The sun was at its azimuth point. Some clouds moved in. Great. Some shade at least, but just when we reached the top of a climb over clay, rocks, gravel, and dirt, we found ourselves at the foot of another climb. When was it going to end? Was there an end? Was there? Whose idea was it to hike this darn trail again? Louis had noticed my slow ascent. He had offered to carry my backpack twice for a while. No, I had said. This was my training for the Ride for Heart.

Uncle Fidel probably enjoys knowing his turistas would suffer in his jungles. He would be disappointed however to know we finally found some shade, some place to rest. He would have enjoyed it nevertheless for any torture his hills could impart on us. The shade could not arrived at a better time. We were heat exhausted. We stopped by a running creek under some canopy. Had we pushed further without resting, we could have collapsed from overheating and dehydration. I dropped my backpack on the forest floor and took the water bottle from the resort out. My water bottle was shared with three hikers today. I do not normally share my water but it could have been a life-and-death situation. The water went around the group. We could have probably drunk the creek water though. It was clear and cool. It was running water. Probably safe to drink. We cool off with the running water. I dipped my tilley hat in the water and dabbed my face. We were refreshed and ready to proceed. Fifty yards upstream, we found ourselves at the mouth of an opening into the mountain.

There were three Australian turistas, resting on rocks at the mouth. They were from the Casa de Cafe. We saw them sipping caliente cafe at the Casa de Cafe near the start of the trail. They had left ten minutes earlier. That was them.

I approached. I stood there a few seconds to absorb the vista. A cave. An open cave. There were a lot of greens all around the sides of the cave. It could have been a closed cave at some point but there was now a crack in the middle so light rays would illuminate the water in front of us. The cave seemed to lead to an opening at the other end. Louis had jumped in the water first to explore. I wondered what awaited us on the other side. I could not wait, but my photography job had to be done first. I pulled my tripod out of the backpack to shoot while the girls attempted their crossing. It was a rather small little pond but Susana was not comfortable with water. Louis had to help. All four of us eventually swam across, including my D80.

Nothing could quite describe the beauty in front of our eyes. More caves, more water. Stalagtites and stalagmites were prominent. A crack in the rocks would lead us up higher. A preservation of nature in the middle of Cuba in Topes de Collantes. I suddenly forgot where we were. It would seem like I was home in the north. Refreshed and cooled to the bone. This water was so cold but also so refreshing after an arduous hike. I was so removed from the fact I was in Cuba, so removed from the pain of the hike.

There were three cascades and possibly more, each one pouring into a pool of fresh water below. There were pebbles and sand in the little ponds but I had water shoes on. For the first time in years, I feared no cold water. It was no more than 10 degrees I would guess, but my body would take it. I felt so refreshed in this cool artic ice water. Each pool would cascade into lower pools and so the water would stream down, out of the cave to our pit stop 50 yards down through the small clearing. It was peaceful. An oasis in the middle of a forsaken jungle. It was a hidden paradise few have travelled to, I hope. I swam and climbed the cave. There was no more need for another mountain excursion. I did not want to know how the Thursday excursion would be. I was happy. My camera was happy.

We soon had to leave this paradise. It was hard to leave. I did not want to leave. It was too bad. We had to. We were already one hour late to return the rental so off we went, quickly back to the car. Fidel's backyard was conquered but I left with a sense of both awe and humility.

As we were leaving something hit me. I screwed my camera settings, again. I had left my aperture closed too small because of previous shots I had made on the trail. It was too late. I could not return to recapture the moments. We had to leave. I would never return to this sacred place of paradise. I cursed myself for this rookie mistake, again. Was my conquest in vain? No, a feeling cannot be completely recorded on some CCD technology. It was in my memories. We returned to the resort.

My Thursday was uneventful. I had promised Susana I would do a photoshoot for her fashion belt in Trinidad. I had to keep my word. Even if I had wanted to go on the mountain excursion I had planned since the weekend, I would not go. It would not be right and I would not have the opportunity to shoot a Cuban girl modeling a fashion belt. The idea was exciting. I was in Cuba to explore. I had explored the mountains already so the idea of shooting a model in Cuba was more precious than a second excursion into the mountain. I did the shoot late in the day and had spent more time in the cobblestoned neighbourhoods. I returned to the resort early to rest to catch the 7am bus in the morning of Friday. My amigos stayed up until 3am soaking in the last few minutes of Cuban time.

The trip ended with one last drive through the country of Cuba. The country near Trinidad is scorched with poverty. Life seemed easier as we drove farther away from Trinidad however, just as we have seen in Cienfuegos. Trinidad was a beautiful city in ruins. Trinidad might be the capital of poverty in Cuba. Perhaps.

We arrived at the Santa Clara international airport at 10am. I had my 25 pesos saved from my first day. I had exchanged my Canadian currency for 88 pesos. I had put away the 25 pesos to be used for today. We all checked in and took flight CU185 back home. I took a picture of my new amigos on the tarmac. Except for Mark. He had forgotten his passport at the hotel. Louis and Ken worked out an arrangement with an airline representative for Mark. He would stay alone in Cuba for another night or another day and would fly out from either Havana or Varadero. I hope he is back in Canada.

I still have not sent the pictures to the Irish couple I met on the stairs of Casa de Musica. Simon was it? No, Tony. His e-mail has "TONY" in it. I should do that now.

The Cuba Story, part 6, Iguana Island

The big day came. I woke up early. The shower had not changed. I stepped in the shower as Astroboy and came out as Wolverine. Combing did help a little but the tilley hat was the final solution.

The thought had been floating in my mind the whole weekend. No advance reservation. Cary said to just show up and pay at 8:30am. I was well ahead of the game. I was up early and had my breakfast in the buffet hall. A hard boiled egg, some omelet egg and sausages and a couple of glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, one of the best I have ever tasted. I walked out feeling satisfied, not full, just the way I wanted it for an active day. I had made sure to make it to breakfast this morning. The breakfast buffet opened from 7am to 9:30am so you would have to get up early for it. If you had partied into the night until 3am, forget the breakfast. You might as well go straight to lunch. I had in fact already missed two breakfasts over the previous four days. Today was different. I woke up early. I had a mission: the island. What natural wonder would unfold before your eyes. Like a box of chocolate. You never know what you'd gonna get! The island would be my box of chocolate of the day. Maybe a Turtle kind box of chocolate. If there were a more exquisite box, it would be it also.

Cary was at her desk. Another couple was discussing things with her. New arrivals maybe? I had not seen them before. I did not pay attention perhaps. Maybe they were Canadians too. I waited, then 43 pesos later, Cary gave me directions to the marina. I was on my way to Iguana Island. The couple that just left would be leaving for the island too I was told. Sweet. Some company. There were two catamarans there at the marina she also said. Go to the right one. One would take you to Cayo Blanco, the other to Iguana Island. 8:30am. I did not want to be late. I knew exactly where it was as I was there just a day ago.

I arrived at the marina, showed my receipt to the tourist desk. "The right catamaran," he pointed lazily. I knew where it was. Four people were already on the dock, waiting. "Are you guys going to the Iguana Island?" I asked the first couple I saw. Maybe they were those I just saw at Cary's desk? I did not pay attention. They are from Toronto or Mississauga, I could not remember. The guy's name was Zaks. I had to ask a few times to get it right. Jack was it? No, "Zaks," he corrected me. Zaks sounded like some TV personality name, in Degrassi High? That got imprinted into my memory. The girl's name was an easy name to remember. Why do girls have easy names? It was too easy I did not try use image associations. Easy come easy go. Her name fell into a crack of my memories. They were a nice couple. All the couples I have met were nice so far and they were all young, around 30 years of age. I then listened on two a conversation to my left. These two Canadians seemed to be the only couple on the dock that spoke English. Maybe the other older couple to my left were locals. Maybe Spanish tourists. Who knows. I would not be talking to them on this trip. Oh well.

I came prepared for the eight hours in the sun. Not only did I have my SPF 45 sunscreen lotion in my backpack, I also brought a shirt with me. The Canadian girl had only her t-shirt on. She will get burned I thought. I was wearing a t-shirt this morning but planned to don a shirt over it later when the sun has climbed to its azimuth point. The t-shirt would have been fine but as I found out the hard way from my hike the previous day, it was useless if I sweated profusely. UV rays would burn right through my t-shirt where it clang tight to my body. I got whiplashed. A red band of sunburn had been painted across my upper chest, on my lower belly, on my upper back. I had gone to bed without a t-shirt on. I normally wear a t-shirt to bed. Sleeping half-naked seemed odd but not yesternight. Even with the A/C on, my body felt warm without a blanket. I had to save this couple. I gave them advice about sunburns. We shared some stories of our adventures, my adventures into Trinidad, my adventures around the resort.

8:55am. I checked my camera. Not that I needed to, but it felt good to hold it. It fits nicely in the palm of your hand. It felt powerful. Everyone would ask about it when they see it. They would readily assume you are a professional. "Professional" means I make money off my photos. Well, I do not. Photography is just a hobby. A hobby, they would ask? Yes, an expensive hobby. My heavy backpack had everything I needed for a day of photography. The island would meet the world and the world would meet the island after today. The iguanas would like me too. I had packed my Tokina 80-400mm lens again just in case iguanas did not like invading turistas too much. At 400mm they would not know I was even there. I also packed my macro lens apparatus. I was ready for every scenario.

Everyone seemed happy on the dock. Everyone had a smile. We would be on the water very soon. Another couple joined us on the dock. Great, more company. This would be fun indeed. Out of the corner of my left eye, I caught some movement. The captain of the catamaran turned up from the lower dock. I stood up and reached for my backpack. Made eye contact with the captain. Maybe he was not the captain. "Boat is broken," he declared in a Cuban accent. Huh? What boat? What broken boat? "Sorry?" I needed to hear that again. "Boat to iguana island is broken," he repeated. "We cannot go ...". In a matter of a minute, his simple English broke my excitement in half. My plan of the day was drowning in the water. "You can go on the other catamaran. To Cayo Blanco. Same price. 43 pesos," he offered. The other option was to return to the resort and get a refund. We stood on the dock, speechless. Unbelievable! Just my day. Just when I wanted to visit the island. Why today? Why me. I stood there on the dock, thinking. What to expect on "Blanco". Maybe it was not a bad option. Are there iguanas on Cayo Blanco? I can do snorkelling too? I had to enquire with the captain before making my decision. There would be some iguanas he assured. He had to concede however that the beach would not be as nice. Small beach in fact. A minute passed. I vocalized my thought processes. I made my decision. A long way back. The Canadian couple followed suit.

Cary would be in the lobby. She just returned from the marina herself she said. She must have a car I thought. Maybe they called her. How else did she know. I turned in the receipt for my 43 pesos refund. We were right not to go to Cayo Blanco she said. She was sorry about the mechanical failure. It was not her fault. At least, there was still the mountain excursion on Thursday. That lifted my spirit up. There was something else to look forward to. I would return to her desk on Wednesday to pay for the excursion. Done deal. I had a new plan.

Barely 9:30am. Today would be exploration in the jungle of Ancon. I had spoken with Cory and Helene about hiking the area, and about the theft along the beach. They had shown me the forest outside of the resort that they hiked. The little forest on the outskirt of the resort was not much of a forest but it does have palm and coconut trees. Tall grasses and a lot of vegetation. Some bugs. Tons of lizards. It would be my little jungle of Ancon.

Hopefully, something would happen in the jungle today as it will encounter my camera. I could spend hours here, exploring. I would conquer the jungle. At the entrance of the jungle was a deserted parking lot, behind the resort. Could there be another entrance in my jungle I wondered? I had done one survey in the area on my first day but maybe I had missed something. I walked around the perimeter of the parking lot again. It must be about 10,000 square meters. As luck would have it, I spotted my first subject of the day. A water fowl, I thought it was because of its relatively long legs, to wade in the water, although this parking lot is bone dry. There were evidence of water at one point though. I spent fifteen minutes chasing after this long legged waterfowl. For a small bird, probably twice the size of a golf ball, it was a Ben Johnson. I could not approach closer than couple of meters before it sensed danger and sprinted away. I stood still but the bird would not come my way. I followed it but it would keep its distance. It beat me at its game eventually. The heat was unbearable in the vast expansion of cracked dirt. It was a inhuman. I was being baked on a dry pan. I receded, leaving my footprints behind. The battle was decidedly lost but the war had yet to start. I pursued another goal, the jungle. I had paid a visit already to the jungle the previous day but did not enter far into it. The bandits were hiding in it I had imagined. Today I would venture deeper, much deeper. The bandits could not have been more than petty thieves. Some small kids. It was barely 10am. The sun was not as brutal as it could be. There were two tire tracks. I followed it. I raised my lens only once to catch a small yellow bird with greenish wings on a branch. Two hours later, I ended up near a beach. Cory and Helene were strolling down by the water. We talked some more. They left. Then I left. The jungle won.

I sweated my way back to the resort. The thought of hiking in this forsaken jungle was revolting. I just wanted to rest. "Kucola, please," I asked the bartender on this beachfront bar. He handed over an orange cola and a plastic cup. No kucola. I took it and walked to a beach table underneath a palm umbrella. I had to pay 75 cents for the cola. It was not part of the resort, I found out. What a ripoff. It seemed like a part of the resort but it was not. Deception. I don't trust Cubans. I gave them a peso. I sat there looking out into the sea. Then Louis, Susana, and Carolina came into view. Why did I keep on running into them I wondered. They were going kayaking. I did not want to join. I was too exhauted and dehydrated after two hours in the jungle.

As soon as they left, I returned to my room and napped. My lower legs were dangling off the bed. It was barely 11:30am. A few knocks on the door. The maids. Go away, I told her in my head. I got up and opened the door. "Please, come in..." She might as well finish her job now rather than doing second rounds. I was in the room. No peso today. I did not feel sorry. I had given her a second peso on Monday already. I wondered what she would think. I did not care. My eyes were closed. She finished her work in a hurry since I was laying dead on the bed.

Close to 12:30pm. I felt somewhat refreshed. I went to eat alone. Just as I was finishing up, some laughters caught my attention. The voices sounded familiar. There again, I ran into them. Mark, Louis, Susana and the daughter were having lunch next to me. Louis was cracking jokes. The two girls would need a tummy massage afterwards, I imagined. I was glad Carolina was having fun as I believed she had a fight with her mom just the previous day. I invited myself to their table and recommended the fish. It was fried just right today, however way they made it. It got Mark's approval. Mark took culinary lessons in high school.

As lunch came to an end, the mountains came into discussion. I had reviewed the details of the excursion. I had preached about going to the mountains for a couple of days. The group would like to visit the mountains too but exactly where would the excursion have taken us? I had no idea. Louis had no idea. No one did. Carolina was the boss. She wanted to go. She wanted to go right away. Louis would rent a car and we would just go. Just go. Go where exactly? Just go by ear, Louis would say. I would prefer a plan since the mountain sounded big to me but I had no problem with it as long as someone speaks Spanish. I had known Louis could speak some to get us out of trouble. Susana is from Ecuador but it might appear she had been away a little too long. I bought into the idea. We would hit the road and create our own adventure. Perfect. My day would be saved after all.

An hour later, we were in a rental car, a Huyndai, a stick shift. I never drove a stick shift before. No one had experience except for Louis so we knew who would have to drive. We set sail. The wind would take us where it blew. Freedom in Fidel's backyard.

Twenty minutes later, we were in Trinidad then jumped onto the road to Cienfuegos. The road would hang close to the Caribbean Sea, to its left, then it veered north-west toward the inland. We passed by a range of mountains on our right. Were those the mountains we wanted to explore? They already behind us. Were we going in the wrong direction? We had not map. We were going where no turista had gone before. Maybe Louis had an undisclosed plan. Maybe he wanted to surprise Susana and Carolina. Susana had said she wanted to see Cienfuegos. Why not, my iguanas were not going to happen. Cienfuegos was an hour plus away, but the ride felt shorter. I had wished we could stop for photo shooting but it would have taken us three hours then. The fly-by scenery was exotic. Farmers and bulls working the fields. Cowboys shaded under their hats. Homemade carriages with one horsepower. Homes of the countryside. A shrimp hatchery. Fields of corn. Fields of coconut trees. Fields, lots of fields. Hitch hikers. Bus stops. Industrial chimneys and thick black smoke, probably not as polluting as our own thousands of smoke stacks in North America. Some signs of communism. Not much of Fidel around here. Not a single poster of Fidel. Maybe Raul took them down? Nah. Fidel probably had no interest in promoting his image in the countryside.

6:20pm, we entered the border of Cienfuegos, a city of far cry wealth compared to Trinidad. An upscale Trinidad, Cienfuegos showed signs of progress. It was bustling with people and activities on the street. Cienfuegos showed off more prestige than Trinidad. I wondered how La Habana would be like. It must be an upscaled Cienfuegos.

We stopped inside a roundabout when Louis rolled down the windows and started enquiring for directions. "[something] por aqui?" he asked this Cuban on a bike. The fifteen minute conversation was all greek to me. Louis explained later the Cuban was trying to rent his casa for the night instead of answer our questions. He was very persistent but finally showed us the way. We cruised through the city along the north shore. Along the waters were some ships. Cienfuegos must be a major port of Cuba. A small port though. One end of the city to the other took no more than 10 minutes.

Then it was already dinner time. 6:50pm. It looked like we were not going to make our 7pm reservation back at Ancon and Cienfuegos looked exciting. There was no rush getting back and I wanted to stay for dinner. Lobster would be good. I had remembered to treat Louis to a lobster dinner. This would be it.

While Susana went into a hotel to obtain a turista brochure and I used the baño of the hotel, Louis and Mark were roaming the streets. A Cuban capitalist on his banana seat bike had offered a great deal, a lobster dinner for 10 pesos. 2000km from home, we were up for some experience with Cuban cuisine, so we agreed to follow him. The capitalist slithered down the street. We followed him in second gear, twenty metres behind when we decided to stop to take pictures of a blue house. We lost the capitalist. The capitalist lost us. We were too good of a catch to let go. He had made a turn somewhere. We were not sure. Seconds later, there he was, he had turned around looking for us on his banana seat bike.

We arrived at the restaurant. The capitalist would receive two pesos for the referral. I think he got the short end of the stick. Some of us walked in, walked out. I walked in, checked out the place. It was a home. The restaurant was in their 14'x14' kitchen. They had made some renovation it seemed. It looked like a fish house restaurant. A fishnet hung on one side of the kitchen with some collection of fishing paraphernalia. A bar on another side. It looked like a tight squeeze. It was already hot. This little square would feel like a furnace. We decided to stay and try out their lobster. The lady of the house turned the fan on for us. It helped a little.

Another bull's eye. The lobster was the size of my hand, nicely grilled, served with rice and some vegetables. It was delicious. We had a drink of mango juice as well, sweeter than any mango I had tasted thus far. No sugar. All natural. Cubans really have the best fruits, I thought. I am sure South-East Asia grows these sweet mangos as well. As we finished our dinner, the chef came out. I thought he was the chef. He looked like a chef, a burly one. Heavy booming voice. He looked like a nice and sincere Cuban. Very open it would appear. He also said I look like his father. Huh? Did I look that old? Maybe the tilley hat did not coif down my Wolverine hairdo. Ok, sure. I has some family or friend in Vancouver he also said. Sure, whatever. He could not tell me exactly where. I used to live in Vancouver. I did not tell him that. He spoke some English, that was good.

It was a great dinner. We spent almost an hour at his home. The lobster was so big most of us could not finish it. I never leave my dish unfinished, unless I cannot keep it down my esophagus. I finished mine. I was satisfied and full. We would then have a flan. It was super sweet, sweeter than the pile mango sugar we had ingested earlier. Dinner was fantastic. We paid. I paid for Louis. I would never forget that he saved my vacation. It was nearly 8pm. We were getting to head out and party then return to Trinidad. The sun was obviously setting as the street got darker, but it did not instill that dreadness of the Trinidad streets of my first day. We were ready to leave and then some more Spanish started to flow between Louis, Susana, Carolina and the burly chef. The mood suddenly changed. The air felt a little more intense. What was going on? I looked at Mark. He seemed to pick up some words. He knew a little more Spanish than I. Something to do with "crabs", "road", "Trinidad". Ok, so? Then, mugging and killing. What? I got bit and pieces from the translation. "Crabs" and "road" and "mugging"? What was he talking about? The chef would repeat in short bursts his cringing voice and gesture a couple of times with his thumb slicing across his neck. Over and over, he warned us not drive back to Trinidad at night. Millions of turistas had fallen to the hands of thugs on night roads. Some had even got killed over money, he explained. Thousands of crabs on the road from Cienfuegos to Trinidad would puncture your tire and that would be how these thugs would stop you on the road, then mug you. No, we must not take the road back tonight, too dangerous, he warned. We should stay overnight. He would have convinced one of us. It would be too risky he urged. If we were to leave now, that is, if we were to leave immediately, maybe we might make it back but even then, we would be testing our chances. Once we started our engine, there would be no stopping, no braking. We would have to drive all the way even with a flat tire. No stopping he said. All the way, until we find safe spot.

My brain was running a mile a second. His story sure scared some of us. Was he as sincere and truthful as he appeared? Appearance as we had learned in grade 9 can be deceiving. Louis had said he would not trust any Cubans either. These Cubans make 20 pesos a month. Cash was hard to come by. Can we trust this seemingly honest son of mine? I had my doubts but how could I relay this to my adventure companions without disrespecting my son? He spoke some English, yes? He might understand. Maybe not. I could only suggest that we verify these stories with the police. Some guy in beige uniform with a moustache and a cap behind some wooden counter would look into our eyes and say no. I knew somehow it would be relayed back to my son. He shook his head. The police was corrupted, cannot be trusted. Alright, I really just wanted to get out of there so we can discuss in private.

Mark wanted to leave immediately. Susana wanted to stay overnight. Carolina was just having a time of her life. She wanted to party in Cienfuegos. Louis was more seasoned. He had driven all over Cuba. He was neutral. Whatever decision the group made, he would go along. I considered our safety first.

We decided to leave, to get out of his home. His wife had offered their living room for the night, for free. "Free," the chef confirmed. That sounded tempting. I had no intention to sleep overnight in this restaurant. We decided to leave. The burly chef offered us a 3-foot machete for protection. Interesting, I thought. I could pass for a Bruce Lee if we in fact had to stop on the road to repair a flat tire. I know no karate but I have seen enough movies. Maybe that would scare off a Cuban punk. My brain was still running. I had a flashlight. I did not my pocket knife though. The flashlight would be useful if we had to repair a flat tire. I did not tell anyone I had a flashlight or anything else. What would the purpose be? It might just start to fuel some more imagination.

We could not stay even if we had wanted to. Louis said there might be some underground rentals. Without our passport, no Cubans could rent us a place for the night but the underground might, Louis explained. Not all of us carried our passport or a photocopy of. We thanked and took some pictures of the chef's family. He has a cute little boy, or what is a girl? I could not figure out. I did not want to ask. It might be rude. The kid had long hair. At their age, it looked like either. Louis checked the emergency tire. Yes, it was there. I thought about my camera bag. If we get mugged, they might not think about the trunk. I stowed the bag in there. We closed and locked the doors and off we went into the night.

The discussion continued in the car. If there were in fact thugs and thousands of crabs on the road, it would have been too late anyways, or would it simply get worse? It was already pitch dark. Thugs would hide in the dark. But there would always be cars traveling the route yes? We should just stay and party in town then. The scale tilted over. We decided to leave Cienfuegos. We would be home by 10pm, or thereabout. An hour an a half on the road. Maybe longer. It was dark. Would we see the road signs? Wait, there were virtually no road signs in Cuba. We had made one wrong turn already. It would be a long hour and a half as our eyes scanned the road, would not leave it. Susana was tense, I could feel a couple of feet away. I did not check but I knew she was up the whole trip back, buckled in her seat, hanging on to the door frame handle. She has a daughter to protect. Maybe that could play to our advantage if thugs came out. My eyes would be fixed on the road as well but I could not see much from the back seat. It would be up to Louis and Mark to spot the crabs. Mark would be the navigator. Louis was the captain. He would steer the boat off danger. The fun was over. Carolina fell asleep.

One crab. A second one. A third. A fourth. Maybe. Maybe they were crabs. Maybe they were our imagination. Maybe it would have been a good camping story if there were any truth in it. My son lost his machete.

We arrived at the resort around 10pm. We were exhausted. I had a small stomach ache. I hit the baño.

The day was over. It was a good lobster.

The Cuba Story, part 5, Waters

What was in this water? I used it for brushing my teeth so I hoped there was nothing funny in it. Squeaky. I would not drink it of course as we had bottled water in the room. They would bring a new water bottle every morning. Maybe the peso and the soap bar worked. Maybe they do this for every turista. My tip would not work on the tap water though. My hair was made famous by Wolverine of the X-Men. My tilley hat would coif it.

I counted my days. Only four days left. Maybe three and a half. Cary had reminded the group that our airport bus would leave at 7 am Friday morning. We would receive a courtesy wake up call at 5:45 am. As much as an adventurer I'd like to be, I was not about to get stuck in Cuba for sleeping in. So, Thursday, I would hit the sack early. There was not much time then. I had to plan out right. Tuesday was my snorkelling day. It would take a whole day. We would leave at 9am and return at 5pm. We would have lunch on the island. That would be sweet. That would be Tuesday. On Thursday would be my trip into the mountains. There would be waterfalls. That would be Thursday. The two excursions would cost me 83 pesos (43 for the island and 40 for the mountain). Wednesday would be a rest day. From my hiking up the Chief in Squamish, north of Vancouver, I knew I needed a lot of energy. I needed to rest my leg muscles. Wednesday was my rest day. Today, I would hike around and possibly bike too.

I set out to do some hiking outside the resort. I started out at the north-east end of the resort. I could follow the beach but I wanted to go into the forest area. There was a path in the bush on higher grounds. I was all ready. SPF 45 on my arms and legs. My tilley hat. Water in the backpack. My D80 swinging on my side. I had stored away the lens cover so the camera was on ready mode. A bird of tropics would not escape me. I can swing the camera forward and turn it on at the same time. It would be ready in 0.18 seconds. The backpack felt heavy as I had stowed the nearly 1kg Tokina lens in it in addition to at least a liter of water. Thirty meters into my hike, some Spanish local jumped in front of me. I stopped in my track. He said something. I frowned. What did he want? He said something else. I shook my head, "I don't understand, me no comprehende". What did I just say to him? Comprehende? I hoped it was Spanish but really had no idea. One of those expressions I should have learned before the trip. He tried some English. "Dangerous," pointing down the path. "Steal, camera, bag," as he was trying to explain. A mix of English and Spanish, he explained further some thieves stole something the other day on the beach. He felt my camera and touched my backpack. "Dangerous, no go, camera, steal," he repeated. Ok, I understood and nodded, "Ok, thank you." He ran back toward the beach. I turned around, 180, and walked back toward the resort. Maybe there was someone I could trust after all. He warned me of danger. Good samaritan?

Damn, danger outside the resort? Thugs here? How bad could it be? I had to rethink my strategy. There was a lot of sand. Would I manage an escape as knife point? I would not run very fast with my heavy gears. I was not going to go today. I walked around the resort this morning instead. I visited the marina. I walked a bit more. There was not much to see, a few interesting things to capture. I returned to the resort, exhausted from the hike. It was still a good hour of hiking around. I waited in the lobby for the lunch hall door to open at 12:30pm. I had two Kucola's in hand. The plastic cups they serve with are small, too small, so I started to order two of everything. Two Pina Colada, two Kucola, two Orange, two Water, two everything. Louis and Mark walked by. We had lunch together in the buffet restaurant.

My plan for the rest of the day was to bike around. Louis said I could find some bikes downstairs in the corridors. After lunch, we splitted. Mark and Louis went off one way. I went down to look for the bikes. No bikes anywhere. The heat was getting to me. I no longer felt like biking.

I dragged my feet to the 24/7 beach bar. I had wondered if it was really 24/7. Would there be a bartender working the bar at 5am in the morning? I would never know. I never saw the nocturnal bartender. Beach bar. Odd name I also thought. It was not facing the beach. You can hear the sound of the waves from the bar but it was forty meters from the first line of sand of the beach. In fact, there was grass, coconut trees, and a giant square hut between the bar and the beach. Why call it beach bar I wondered? It was confusing, but how else call it? It was closer to the beach than the other bar by the lobby. I guess that was what it was. You want a plastic cup of Piña Colada? You would trot over the hot sand onto the wooden planks or into the hut to get to the beach bar.

Mark was already there by himself this morning. He was in his calm self. Just sitting under the shade of the beach bar. I ordered myself a plastic cup of Piña Colada and picked a chair and faced the beach. I pulled out some camera gears from my AACRO backpack. Everything felt heavy, especially my Tokina 80-400mm lens. I taught Mark some facts in photography, about shutter speed, about aperture, about the difference between a compact camera vs. a digital SLR. I would later learned his brother Ken is an avid photographer himself. Great, another enthusiast I could share my photos with. Mark was glued onto my D80. He held it up, felt the grip, pierced through the viewfinder. He held it up again. Wanted to take some shots. He was sold. The D80 is a marvel of technology. He wanted one, maybe not the D80 but a DSLR. Where was Louis I wondered. I downed the Piña Colada slowly. It cooled me right down. I returned to the beach bar for two more Piña Coladas. I should have brought an extra large cup with me.

A woman strolled by us. Was that not Susana, Mark enquired with me. What did he ask me for? I drew a blank. I had no idea. Susana would be the woman with the daughter I first met the previous night. There was no introduction so I did not remember her face. It was dark. She had sunglasses on as well. Susana is from Toronto, in the fashion belt business. Was it Susana? She walked by our table. No head turn. No hi. No hand gesture. Just walked by. Maybe she did not see us. Maybe she did not recognize us. How long has Mark known Susana anyway, I thought? Mark was so sure it was Susana. Same sunglasses. Same hairdo. He was so sure. Where was the daughter if it was her? I could not be here then. What was the daughter's name again? I had no idea. I could not remember.

She passed by us and picked a table on the edge of the giant hut, by the sands. Mark suggested we walked by her down to the beach and if it was Susana, she would call us over. He was curious. I just wanted to rest. Fine, we walked by her and down to the beach. We picked our beach lounge chairs and sat down. It was not Susana. Mark was still intrigued. No, it was not Susana, I repeated to Mark. He was so sure though. But, he had called her name as we walked by. No answer. She looked exactly like Susana though. It was not Susana, I repeated once again to Mark. Mark decided to verify.

I sat alone on the beach lounge chair, feeling unnaturally hot in some parts of my body. My upper chest and lower abdomen felt hot. My upper back too. Hot. Whatever they were, I did not mind. I was relaxing on a lounge chair in Cuba. Moments later, Louis showed up with Mark. It was Susana, after all.

Mark brought down with him a wooden box. The box was designed to you can see the inside of it. It looked like a miniature crate. It was just big enough to fit a peso bill in it. He introduced me to the box. I lost three pesos. It costed him six pesos for the box and gained three back from me. Fine, it was a good trick. He could keep my three pesos. I still could not figure out the trick. My computer science mind told me the solution was to be simple and obvious, after you have found found the solution. Think outside the box, I told myself. There is no magic. Magic is an illusion. Magic is a trick. After an hour, I was puzzled. I was not thinking outside of the box, obviously. I did not want to play with money that way so it stopped there, but I liked the trick.

There were talks that Susana wanted to visit Cienfuegos. There were five people going but a friend had advised not to go to Cienfuegos. It would be a waste of a trip so it did not want to join. I had my excursion to the island already. I would not go to Cienfuegos but I would try to sell them that island idea. I thought the island would be a perfect trip. Clearer water. Iguanas I heard would be all around the island. Real coral reefs with possibly fish. A paradise to discover.

The afternoon sun was getting weaker as it descends lower in the sky. Louis marched down to the water, did some stretching the way Bruce Lee might, and let out a big yelp. He was ready to wade into the water. Mark joined him minutes later. I refused to go in the water until I have solved this magic box. After a while, Louis yelled over the roar of the waves. "Think diagonal". I see. Puzzle solved. I walked down into the water and stowed away my eyeglasses in the white plastic case, and the plastic case in the ClearNET phone case. I clipped it to my swimming trunk. I knew I had to place it inside the trunk, not outside. I would correct the mistake when I started to swim. I dove into the water.

The water was as warm as it was on Sunday. It was so soothing. I was floating like a fish. "We have to do something," I said, hinting at swimming somewhere. I saw a buoy in the far distance, maybe 50 meters from shore. I knew the slope was very steep. Ten meters out and the water level was already up to your neck, unlike the other beach I was at a day ago. We all swam out. Mark had no problem floating in the sea water I thought. Louis seemed like an expert swimmer. I needed exercise. It was fun. Louis freestyled to the buoy first. It was easy. I breast-stroked over, keeping my head out of the water. Mark followed suit. We hung around the buoy for a few minutes. Lifeguards looked a little agitated on shore. They started walking down the beach but soon returned to their post. I was hanging by the buoy when something hit me. I was constantly fighting against the current even when hanging on the buoy. I was getting really tired. The longer I stayed there the less energy I would have to return. I have not swam this long in ages. I better get back to shore immediately. The shore was 50 meters away. There was a pier only 20 meters away. Without hesitation, I made my way to the pier, and alerted Louis regarding my condition. He understood. "Are you ok, Do Anh?" He asked couple of times. I knew I was ok but my energy was very low. I tried to recoup by laying on my back. The waves would not let me rest though and I hate water splashing into my nostril and eyes. I decided to breast-stroke back. I knew the water would sting my eyes so I kept my head up. Energy very low. Gotta keep on going. Water is deep. In a brief second of eternity, I opened my mouth and accidentally gulped a mouthful. My goodness it was salty! How can it be this salty. Way more salty than the salt water I use for gurgling. A nasty salty after taste lingered in my mouth and throat. My gosh. It was salty! How can anyone drown in this salty water. Maybe I would be the first. Push, push, Do Anh. Forget that gulp of water. A few more strokes and you'd reach the pier. Another call from Louis to make sure I was alright. I raised my thumb as I reached the pier. My energy was too low to talk. So there I rested and regrouped.

"Hey Louis, I dropped my eyeglasses!" I called out to Louis. I felt my swimming trunk and confirmed it. I did drop my eyeglasses! I forgot to reposition the ClearNET phone case.

I lost my eyeglasses. That was the end of my vacation. How could this be? I was still only three days into my vacation and I lost my glasses! Stupid glasses. Why did I bring them into the water with me in the first place? I thought I might need them if I were not swimming. I was swimming through. I did not need them. I could not use them!

Louis swam back to shore looking for Ken. Ken had a pair of goggles but was not on the beach. I breast-stroked my way back to shore. I looked around, hoping my case would have been carried to the shore by the waves. No where here. No where there. I walked up the beach. Oh well, I told myself. Shit happens. I would have to make the most of my vacation somehow. I would figure a way out. It sucks, but I will figure something out. On a positive note, the Cuban customs would not have problems identifying me with my passport. No glasses. No problem.

Just when I was going to wrap up the day, Louis came over and said he would find my glasses if I could find a pair of goggles for him. Was he kidding? He explained he used to scuba dive. Searching for things at the bottom of the sea was nothing new to him just as long as the was daylight. The Cuban sun would not wait on me. It threatened to close its curtain every passing minute. I started scouring the beach for a pair of goggles. No, this couple was sunbathing. They had nothing around them. I walked further down. Some security guards stood talking among themselves. I came over and asked. No English. They pointed me towards the resort. Ok, thanks. Just meters down on the beach, I then ran into another couple sunbathing. I tried my luck. The guy had his eyes close but then looked up and re-iterated my question as if making sure he heard me right. Who would borrow someone else's goggles, he probably thought. He had an English accent. A little like Simon Cowell in fact. A little like Tony. Interesting. Maybe it was the Irish newlywed. Could they be?

I walked back and handed over the snorkelling gears to Louis. He hastily descended into the sea. I stood and walked around the lower depths searching for my white case. Back and forth, back and forth. Seven minutes later, Louis emerged from the lower depths. The snorkelling gears still on his face. My ClearNET case in his hand. My new best amigo. I did not know how to repay for his kind generosity to volunteer his help. We had talked about going into town for a lobster dinner on Tuesday earlier. That would be my thanks to Louis. I returned the snorkelling gears to the couple on the beach. "Mission complete," the fellow English/Irish said. He really sounded like Irish, just like Tony. I wondered if it were not those two newlyweds I just met yester night.

The day came to a close with a lobster dinner that Ken had arranged. Ken had connections. Louis had given my room number to Ken for reservation. There were supposed to be six of us at dinner. Only three showed up. Ken, Susana and her daughter, Carolina, were absent. Ken strolled in later but could not stay. Louis then left for Trinidad. Mark hung around. I went to check on the bikes again. No bikes of course, but there was ai information desk. The sitting staff was absent. Two Spanish-speaking guys were playing ping pong in front of the desk. Maybe they knew something. I asked the closest guy, in English. No comprehende. Probably a local Cuban working here? Odd. He referred me to his opponent. He spoke some English. "All bikes broken. Tomorrow, company come to fix. Warranty." That was clear. What a disapointment.

It was a rather short day. I visited the banco to exchange another $100CAD for 88 pesos. I was then about to retreat to my room when I ran into Susana. She wanted to know the name of the Iguana Island. I did not know myself. I just knew there were Iguanas on it. As some people were waiting on her to go somewhere, we hopped quickly to our tour rep's desk in the lobby and checked out her excursion binder. The island was called "Iguana Island". Duh. She left. Maybe she was sold on the idea. I retreated to my room.

Tuesday was going to be a heavy day, full of activities. I needed to hit the sack early. The A/C was on. It felt very relaxing. I used only half of the king size bed. I still needed the towel on the pillow. There was a funny smell about it. I did not know what it was. Everyday, I would place a new towel to sleep on.

The Cuba Story, part 4, Second Chance

Sunday, May 11. It took me a little while to get around the fact that it has been only one day. One day? How much more physical trauma can my body take, I thought. I was here to explore. I must push on. I felt a little tired. My feet did not hurt though thanks to my running shoes. No sunburn, thanks to spf 45 and my tilley hat. A little tense in some muscles but other than that, I was feeling upbeat when I woke up close to 9am. Thinking back, I enjoyed the cobblestones completely. I knew the streets now. I knew the people. I knew Trinidad. I was already king of the new world. One mission complete.

There was not much I could do with the shower still though. Squeaky. Squeakily clean. That water was strange. What was in it, I pondered. Chlorine? No. Must be something else. I had a hard time cleaning my eyeglasses. Back home, I would normally lather some soap between my middle fingertip and my thumb, run tap water over the glasses, rub the soap on the glass, then run the glass through a smooth stream of water. The glass would come out crystal clear, crystal clean. I could see the green anti-reflection coat clearly. No spot, no residue. No, the water in the hotel was different. It would leave a film of calcium residue or something like that on my glass. The more I tried to water clean it the worse it got. There was no use. I would use my warm breath to fog the glasses and used my cotton t-shirt to wipe it clean. It was not crystal clear but it would have to do. I was in Cuba. Live with it. Live like a Cuban. I was intrigued still. What was in that water. And, my hair felt coarse and sticky coming out of the shower. I had my tilley hat. It would shape my head.

Today, I decided to leave a peso and a scented bar of soap on the dresser for the cleaning service maid. I remembered they make about 15-20 pesos a month. One peso would be worth a day of work. Tip equals better service. Tip could also equal respect -- respect my property. I left the peso and the bar of soap on a note on the dresser. I scribbled "Gracias!" on it. She took the peso and the soap and left the note on the dresser -- I assume the maid that cleaned my room was a woman as I only saw female maids in the corridors of this hotel wing. The first trade had been made. An understanding was formed. A mutual respect was binding. I came back to the room later that day to find a new towel shaped into a swan with a rose. The maid appreciated the tip. Good. She will not steal my belongings, but I would still not trust any Cuban. In a way, maybe the respect was only one way. I do respect them as people but would not trust them. I cannot blame them for erring on the dark side of humanity. "Thou shall not steal" did not apply here. They have so little. One peso would mean a world to them. Would they be tempted to steal something from me? It would be risky. It would mean no more peso. Prevention and safety was my motto in Cuba. More like guidelines. Everything important went back to the safe and everything of some value went inside my locked suitcase. Extra cameras gears always went in the safe. Toys I bought from my Trinidad trip went in my suitcase. Keep them away from prying eyes, I reminded myself. Keep them away.

By the time I was ready to seek another adventure, it was too late for breakfast. The buffet restaurant would have closed by 9:30am to prepare for lunch at 12:30pm. I spent the morning walking about the resort again. Was I going to do this everyday, I thought. Wandering the halls like a ghost every morning? A ghost with a camera. I came upon some more lizards. A few shutter clicks. Then close to 12:30pm I needed some energy for the day.

28 hours earlier, I was sitting in the buffet restaurant for breakfast. I just walked in without asking anybody as that was the only buffet restaurant around and it was part of my all-inclusive. I had a few gulps of fresh orange juice. They make orange juice on the spot with an squeezer machine. I remembered the sweetness of it. I never had it this way in Canada. Well, I did but they were never this sweet, I thought. Wow, I was looking forward to another glass. Get some vitamin C in my body for lunch. Then I remembered. "No juice," the waitress had said. What? "No juice?" I enquired again. Ok, it was all pop for lunch. Kucola tasted like Coke. It was really good but I knew I would just get thirstier later. I ordered Kucola.

It was table-served. I was over at the bar and had asked for a drink. The bartender spoke little English but I understood him. Drinks were not to be self-served. Strange, why not, I thought. Lunch and dinner at the resort worked differently from the breakfast apparently. At breakfast, you get the fresh orange juice and you serve it yourself. I had absolutely no problem with that. It was buffet. You visit the buffet stations and pick and choose. At lunch and dinner, you order your drinks at your table. The hotel staff would wait tables. Ok, fine. "Coke," I asked. Kucola tasted exactly like Coke I must say again. The same addictive chemicals in Coke are in this soda. It was good. I would keep on ordering Coke. It was good.

I picked a table closer to the entrance doors, all by myself, eating buffet food. My taste buds did not complain much. It was alright. Heck, I paid for a three star hotel. What could one expect! Except for watching staff waiting tables and the occasional re-ordering of "Coke", my lunch was uneventful. I ate what they had. Some macaroni, some fried fish, some salad. Simple. My lunch had re-energized my body. I was ready to spend a few hours scouring the beach for corals. I hoped I would find some corals. I did not know exactly where. They were around, somewhere very close in the Ancon Peninsula.

I knew there were corals. I had run into the Canadian couple I first met on the bus and on Saturday again earlier in the day. I later learned their names were Cory and Helene, from Gatineau, QC. Gatineau. That is very far. They must have driven 9 hours to Toronto first. Helene used to live in Atibiti, QC, much further north in snow land of Quebec. We chit-chatted about snow. How we started that conversation, I cannot remember now. We were in Cuba. Cuba has no snow. We were talking about Snow. We talked about the ski hills of Mont Tremblant, how you need 10 to 15 minutes to get down. The biggest hill in Ontario is Blue Mountain. Maybe 5 minutes top to ski down. Cuba has no snow. A few days earlier, they had driven to Pearson to catch the same flight I was on. They had come down to Cuba for some fun in the sun. They were probably boyfriend and girlfriend, it would look like to me. No ring. I did not pay attention to it but I do not believe she was wearing a ring. Very nice couple, I thought. Interestingly enough, Cory is also in photography. Great, someone I could share some photographic experience. He has a 35mm film Minolta SLR from the 70's if I remembered correctly. Sweet, but it did not come attached to his body, as my D80 is. We spoke a little. They mentioned they snorkelled around the area and found a coral reef not too far from the resort. I showed my usual excitement at the thought of coral reefs and fish. "Sweet," I smiled. That formulated my first plan for the day. I would go snorkelling.

I was finishing my lunch when a familiar name echoed in the dining hall. "Do Anh", I heard. It sounded just right. I did not catch it the first time however. Another "Do Anh" boom in the air. The sound was close and yet far from me. I scanned the room in the direction of the voice. A familiar face. "Hey Louis!" I yelled in his direction. Louis was having lunch by himself, just a couple of tables to my front left. Someone I recognized, the seasoned Cuba traveller I wanted to chat about my Trinidad experience! Louis looked like a balded Bruce Willis from where I sat. I gathered my belongings and carried them over to his table.

I feverishly related some of my experience in Trinidad, how I walked the cobblestones, how I noticed the plight of its people, how the sound of music filled the hot air of yesternight. It was beautiful and unfortunately the taxi broke my fun. I also related how I had forgotten about my bag of goodies at the hotel. I was still kicking myself in the butt for being forgetful. If there was a way to give them away now, it would be spendid. A big weight would be taken off my shoulder. I needed to unload the goodies to make space for a couple of maracas I purchased in Trinidad on Saturday for my two nieces. I also did not want to carry the goodies back home. They were meant for the children of Cuba. Louis offered to take them to Trinidad and distribute them out for me.

I liked Louis already. He would take a huge burden off my shoulders. He is not Cuban. I can trust him. He would be going to see some friends in Trinidad and go down to the Casa de Musica for his salsa lesson. Sunday was Mother's Day in Cuba also. His Cuban friends were going to visit the cemetery and would invite Louis to dinner. They would later hang out together. Excellent. This was the one opportunity I could not miss. We made arrangements then for me to drop off the bag of goodies to Louis before he left for Trinidad. His room was just down the hall from mine I had found out. Sweet. Things were getting sweeter and sweeter. I would miss seeing the expression on kids' faces but that was absolutely fine to me. It was meant as an anonymous donation anyway. I was not about to return to Cuba and the kids will not remember my face anyways. Louis would do my deed. Excellent.

Out of the blue, "you are welcome to join me," Louis offered. Louis knew I wanted to explore and learn Cuba from a Cuban perspective. I had spoken about this on the bus a couple of nights earlier. It was an offer I could not refuse. I would meet real people and see how they live. In their home! Really? His Cuban friends would not mind that I come along? Did they know Louis would have a guest? They would not, apparently. Louis misplaced their phone number in his memory. They would not even know if Louis was coming down to visit them that day. They were supposed to meet at 6pm'ish or so but he was also supposed to have confirmed the time. He did not. He dialed a hundred numbers already. It was a four digit number, but one digit off is one digit off. Louis also explained that he helped hundreds of Cubans in the past, and has provided much for this friend family he was visiting. They would not mind my visit. I wanted to leave on a high note, so I charted out the plan and we agreed to meet at the beach bar at 5pm and hail for a taxi for Trinidad. I left to do some snorkelling.

I had 3 hours before we were to meet again at 5pm. My plan for the day was to find some coral reef. I had left Louis to finish his lunch alone. The truth was, I was not even sure if he had wanted my company at his table, as I invited myself to join him in a way. So, I left him alone with his lunch. I shared my plan of the day with Louis, that I was going to snorkel for a few hours. Louis was to meet with some Cuban friend on the beach soon. Good, we both had a plan.

My first visit was to the reception desk. I appreciated that the hotel hired some English speaking staff. To my disappointment however, they had no snorkelling equipment left today. I had to return the next day if I wanted some snorkelling. Fine. Noone would stop me from exploring the sea. In any event, I had also planned to go on an excursion to the Iguana Island and do snorkelling there on Tuesday.

At 2pm, I started my way to the beach. I had my running shoes on. I had my tilley hat on. It protected my neck and face. My hair was being shaped underneath it. It was hot. Cuba was harsh on its turistas.

As I strolled up the peninsula on the beach, I passed by a group of chubby women. One annoying one hollered, "Chinese? Thai? Filipino?" Who was she talking to? I was the only oriental looking guy on the beach. "Canadian," I hollered back and walked away. "Canadian," she muttered. Maybe she was Cuban. Maybe she was German. There are many Germans in Cuba apparently. Not as many as Canadians, but there were Germans on the beach by the Ancon hotel. I walked away. My target was these white caps about 1.5 km up the peninsula. White caps would usually mean coral reef. I had remembered Louis said to look for the dark areas in the sea. But, there were a lot of dark areas. He said some were sea weed but you would eventually see corals. Nice. I tried to gaze into the sea as I walked. I walked and walked. The farther I walked, the more sea weed there were on the beach. Maybe I needed to walk farther. Washed onto the beach, the sea weed formed a dry bed of grass I could walk on. It was easier to walk on grass than on sand. I tried walking on the wet sand but you had to avoid the surging waves rushing up the beach. Your shoe prints would disappear as the wave retreated to the sea. I jumped back on the sea weed and proceeded farther down the beach. I realized I was no longer in the protection of security guards of Ancon. I was at least a kilometer away from the resort now. A few Cuban locals here and there. I started to worry about my backpack and my waist pouch. Would someone steal my backpack and worse, my waist pouch, while my head in the water? I had money in the pouch and the smartcard -- the key to the safe, and I had left my DSLR equipment in the safe along with my passport before going snorkelling. I did however bring a Mini-DV camcorder. I would use this camcorder to take pictures and record my underwater exploration. This would be my first time in 30 years swimming in salty waters. The sea. The Caribbean Sea. Glorious. I was so excited. I could not wait.

About a few hundred meters from the white caps, I stopped. I knew white caps could be dangerous. I could have had a near death experience on an island about thirty years ago. I knew it would not be very safe to go that far. There I stopped, looked around. Some kids were playing on the beach a little further down. There was a family it looked like resting below a tree about fifty meters up and to my right on the beach. There was a slab of concrete nearby. Good, that would be my lighthouse. I knew I could not see too far without my eyeglasses but the shape of the concrete slab would clearly be visible.

The sun was almost directly over my head. SPF 45 all over my body. I hid my waist pouch inside the backpack. I slid into the water shoes I borrowed from my dad and walked down the beach. The water was shallow. The water was surpringly warm. It was very warm. It was have been 30 degrees or more. It certainly felt warmer than the air. It was a tinge of green, somewhat clear green. Green because of the sea weed around these waters. Ok, I was ready for my first dive into the water but my eyeglasses would not go in with me. I had brought a white plastic case. My eyeglasses would go in there and the case would go into the ClearNET phone case I had kept for ten years now. The ClearNET phone case has a belt clip. The clip did not seem very strong I then realized and I inserted the case inside my swimming trunks. That worked. It felt safe. It was not going anywhere. The water was warm, I thought again.

I found the corals. They were the dark patches in the turquoise water. They were covered mostly in sea weed. Without goggles however, it was completely blurry under the water. I tried opening my eyes but the sting was too much to bear. I jumped out of the water immediately. Ahhhh! It was stingy! I wiped the salty water off my face. I looked down. Lots of corals, lots of sea weed. I dove back in. Ahhh!! My eyes! I wiped the water off again. This sea salt was not going to deter my experience. I submerged one more time, opened my eyes in the water. Damn, it was stingy. Live like Cubans. They can do it. So can you. Do they do it though? I wondered. They must have googles yes? Maybe. My eyes were killing me under water. I kept them open nevertheless. With this much salt, how could anyone drown, I thought. Your body is so buoyant in it. As I roamed the sea for corals, a kid walked down from the beach. "Hola," I said to him. He returned the greeting. I wished I could speak Spanish then because I had wanted to ask him if there were any fish around here. What is "fish" in Spanish?? What is "fish" in Spanish. I should have asked Cesar. I could have asked Louis. He knew enough Spanish to get into trouble, he said. I used hand motion to describe a fish. I was not sure the kid understood. We roamed the sea together for thirty minutes or so. It was fun, trying to communicate with him. I understood he would not go very far out. His familia was up on the beach also. So we swam close to shore. I was tired of looking for fish. All I got were sea weed. I did feel the corals though. They felt just like rocks. Very rugged. The sea weed were spongy. After a while I decided to go in. The kid followed.

I rested on the beach for a bit but there was nothing else to do around there. My Spanish was a bland as fresh water with a tiny bit of salt. His English was non-existent. I learned his name was "Selma" or something like that, thirteen years old. His familia was that family I saw in the shade on the beach. Then the bag of goodies came to my mind again. Damn it! It was still in my locked suitcase in the hotel, too far away. I wanted to give Selma something from Canada. I already gave away my lighter. I had my emergency 6-in-1 whistle of my survival kit. The whistle has a compass, a magnifying glass, a mirror, a thermometer, and an LED flash light. I did not want to part with it but I had nothing else to give. A peso would not be appropriate. I gave him the whistle. As I was leaving, returning back to the Ancon Hotel 1.5 km back, Selma ran up to his familia. He was proud of his new gadget, showing it off to his sisters and brothers. He waved goodbye. I could hear the pitch of the whistle a couple of hundred meters to my back as I strolled back to the resort barefoot on wet sand.

The sun was still high in the sky. The sky was blue. Virtually no cloud in sight. It was a hot day. My stroll by the water was the best thing you could do in such heat. It was relaxing. It was a good foot massage. I got back to the resort and picked a beach lounge chair under a palm leaves umbrella.

It was past 4pm. I was to meet with Louis in an hour. I took my time. I would hit the shower in thirty minutes. As I was relaxing on the lounge chair, Louis happened to be passing by. I stood up. A hand wave and an exchange of Hey's. "This is Norlee," he introduced his Cuban friend. "You just got here today?" I enquired? No, he is Cuban, a local. His English is better than most Cubans, I learned. I had no idea how Louis got to know him. I guessed he must have met many Cubans on his many trips to Cuba. I sat back down and closed my eyes. A young girl just appeared out of nowhere sunbathing a metre or so in front and to the right of me. Huh? Where did she come from? She was suntanning her back. Because of her proximity, it would appear then she was part of the Cuban party friends of Louis'. Norlee was probably her dad or brother or something like that I thought. I closed my eyes and relaxed. A few minutes later, another character showed up. "Do Anh, this is Mark." I extended my hand to shake. "You just got here?" My usual question, assuming he was Canadian. No. He is not Cuban, for a change. Mark came down on the same flight as I was, so he has been here since Friday night as well. He had a dark complexion. He is Canadian from Oshawa, here with his brother Ken, somewhere at the resort.

4:30pm. It was time to leave. We left for our room and get ready to go to Trinidad. Mark was going to come with us. The three amigos. We were to meet at 4:45pm where the bus dropped us off on Friday, not at the beach bar. I looked at my watch. Ok, that works. It would take me only five minutes to shower and get into new clothes. I was downstairs at the meeting location at 4:45pm. Mark arrived a little later. We chit-chatted while waiting for Louis. Mark looked quite young. In fact, he was only 19 years old, taking a year off before pursuing some higher education or go to culinary school. 5pm. Where was Louis? He was nowhere to be found. The corridor leading to my wing of the building is fairly long. He was not strolling down the corridor. Mark and I decided to visit the beach bar and get ourselves a Piña Colada. It was good and refreshing. The most direct way of getting to the main building was by the swimming pool so Mark and I picked a shaded spot and waited for Louis. Louis was probably running on Cuban time. 5:10pm. He finally showed up in his black t-shirt and black pants. He is Cuban. A sports bag was hanging over his left shoulder. I guessed he planned to stay somewhere or maybe has clothing for his salsa lesson, or something like that. I was proud I remembered this time around to bring my bag of goodies. It was in my backpack.

It took about 15 minutes to find a taxi. We hopped in it. Mark sat in the front. He was too big to sit in the back with us. There was someone else that shared our ride, a tour guide from Havana. The tour guide needed a ride into Trinidad to connect with a bus. He told the stories of Fidel and Cuba. Interesting.

We got to Trinidad, at a new location. All around us were rectangular buildings oriented randomly. They look all alike one another. The buildings sat in the middle of dirt. Almost no grass. Except for the streets, nothing was paved. It appeared like we walked through a construction site. Deep tire tracks can be seen in the mud. Water pools here and there. Some cow dung, I thought. It was their backyard, perhaps their playground. How far were we going? Not far, our destination was only the second building. I had asked Louis to help me distribute the goodies. He was more than willing to. He apparently does this act of kindness often.

We arrived. Louis' friends are on the ground floor. The staircase is on the outside of the building, leading up to maybe 10 floors. The first door was opened to greet us. I came in. A few exchanges of Cuban air kisses on the cheek. One cheek. Sometimes, both cheeks. Only the women. I shook hands with the men. My first impression was, they were happy. Very welcoming. They were delighted to see Louis. They also had the most perfect set of teeth. All white and straight. Something was off. It did not fit the picture of Cubans I had formulated in Trinidad.

There were two men in the apartment, two women and one young girl. There were two familia. One familia lives in this apartment. The other familia was visiting. The girl is in dance school. In Cuba, dancing is a profession. She was to leave soon for school for 21 days. The girl has an attraction for Louis. She likes him a lot, but they were on two different levels in many ways. I also thought the "attraction" was a mask for a different agenda. I still trusted no Cuban. She is an attractive girl. Why was she hanging on to Louis. She could find a good Cuban husband.

The apartment was decent. There was a TV with a cloth to cover it from dust. There was tape player or radio below it. On the wall hangs a clock. Decorative only as it was not working. I later asked if it needed new batteries since I had brought some AA batteries but no, it was purely decorative. It is dead. On one side of the room is the sofa I sat on. Beside it was a chair. Opposite from the sofa was a rocking chair, I think it was. The father of the girl sat there most of the time. The TV was next to him. Another chair beside the TV. Her mom would sit there most of the time. The other man and woman would be the girl's uncle and aunt. In the far wall was a dining table. A couple of door portals led to a bedroom and the kitchen. There was another bedroom around the corner through the kitchen. Not much in material but a lot in spirit and fun. They had placed a tape or CD into a player. Reggaetone was playing. Mark and the uncle was exchanging words in English and Spanish about music. I think the uncle was trying to find a Cuban girl for Mark. He left me alone, seeing I looked oriental and much older than Mark. I appreciated that.

We already missed the cemetery visit with the familia. It was close to 6pm. A pig was on a skewer. We needed to go pick it up. Excellent. A trip around town.

We left the apartment with the uncle and crossed the playground. After a few turns we made a quick visit to the uncle's sister and mother a few blocks from the apartment, then we arrived at the meat shop, a small home with gates in the front. We walked through the house to the backyard. An overhead flat plank of wood or aluminum made an open corner of the backyard into an outdoor kitchen. The burly man was roasting the pig on a big baking pan in a brick oven. The pig came out looking brownish. The pig was bigger than my tummy. It was not small, not too big. It would fill my tummy completely. It looked so delicious. My mouth was watering already. The smell filled the kitchen. I turned on the flash and took a few shots. We transported it back to the house on the pan. Louis and the uncle would carry it first. I took pictures. Part way, we switched. Louis did not want me to carry the pig a I was carrying a camera. I could not resist the temptation to live their lives for a brief few minutes, so I insisted. It was not much but I helped carry the pig back. There was no aluminum foil or cellophane to cover the pig. It was in the open. There were stray dogs all over Trinidad. If I were a smart dog, I would have taken advantage of this opportunity. There were dust all around as well. A dump truck turned a corner twenty metres from us. The truck looked dirty, not to mention the street itself. Nothing better than to spice roasted pork with a little Cuban dust flavour.

I had a piece of the skin. I was sure there was some dust in it. It reminded me of chips, crispy throughout but it was much harder. They gave me a piece with a chunk of fat on the bottom side. They must love the fat. I had to throw the fat away. Next, they served the pig. My goodness. I have never ever tasted pork this succulent and sweet. It was paradise. I wished the resort could roast pork this good. It was tasty, out of this world. I immediately asked if the pig was roasted in some sauce, or whether they added sauce afterwards. The uncle repeatedly said no. I kept on insisting there was something in it. As tender and juicy as it was, there was a spice I recognized but could not pinpoint. It was almost like paprika or Indian curry. I was right, there was some added spice after confirming with his sister, one of the two women, in the kitchen. The pork in itself was roasted right down to its fibers. The meat melted almost like butter under the teeth of the fork. Succulent and juicy. The spice raised the bar even higher. Chef Gordon Ramsay would appreciate the burly chef's skills.

It would seem that the only clock that works around here was my watch. No one seemed to wear a watch, even the turistas. I would remind Louis 8pm was approaching that we should be leaving soon if he were to make his salsa lession appointment. He said not worry. He is Cuban. We were running on Cuban time. Would his salsa instructor wait for him? I doubted it. Oh well, these are Louis' friends. He did not want to leave so soon, but he was going to return at night anyway. 8pm passed, and we had dinner, just the three of us. The familia sat around, chatting, watching us eat. There were only so many plates and forks to go around. We would eat first. Dinner was great. Ramsay would appreciate the pork.

Dinner was over. I arranged to take a few snapshots of a familia portrait. For a couple of shots, I had to jump into the picture. The photographer seldom gets in the picture but here I was with a Cuban familia. I had to.

We left the house. It was dark outside. I reached into my leather waist pouch for my LED flashlight. Mark followed behind me as we tried to catch up to Louis. He knew where he was going but Mark had problems keeping up the pace. I stayed with Mark with my flashlight. We strolled straight up a street and arrived at a house. An "OK" taxi was parked in front of it. A man hailed us from his balcony windows. He seemed to be the taxi driver. He probably had just returned home for dinner but got interrupted. Louis had arranged for a drive into the old city, only 3 or 4 kilometers away. At our pace, it would take an hour to get there. The taxi would take a few minutes. I paid the fare. We were at the bottom of Casa de Musica.

The 24-hour Rumba party had ended at 8pm. Beer cans and trash littered the cobblestone flats of Casa de Musica. We walked up the stairs. I was going pick a spot on the cobblestone stairs to watch the salsa party but as we were standing there talking, I saw a chair to my right. A couple of turistas were sitting a meter or two from me. I decided to do the same. Three chairs one the cobble stairs. I was a meter from the closest turista. It was a girl. Beside her was Simon Cowell. He looked like Simon Cowell. He could probably pretend to be Simon. The party has not started yet. Nothing was happening. There were now tables and chairs on the dance cobblestone platform. Mark and Louis took rest under the tent at the closest table from me. The floor was outside empty, littered with the previous party's by-products. No dancing. What was going on? Rumba just ended. No salsa now? What in the world were we doing there? I waited in my chair. It was not the most comfortable chair. It was all steel. Meshed. Heavy. I sat a meter from the girl. "Excuse me. Do you know what's going on here?" she asked. "Not sure," but I explained to her and Simon that a Rumba party just ended. I was expecting a salsa party to commence soon. Soon enough, an hour later, things started to move. Cubans with guitars arrived. Cuban time. We sat there watching the show. An elder Cuban kept on hovering around us. He must be 70 years old. He used to salsa a lot he said. He spoke a little English but pretended most of time to understand what we were chatting about. "I understand you," he would chuckled. He would ask for beer from time to time. As the party unfolded, I chatted with the girl and Simon. Simon works has a consulting firm working with Apple technology. The girl is a social worker. Nice. We exchanged names. Her name was easy to remember, I thought. It was clear. His name was what again? His heavy Irish accent was hard to understand but as he repeated his name, it got imprinted in my memory. By now, I had forgotten both their names but I offered to send them pictures if they wanted. Tony gave me his e-mail address. Part of his e-mail address is his first name. They were newlyweds from Ireland on a two-week honeymoon. They just arrived in Trinidad from Havana and were booked to Varadero on Tuesday. Very nice couple I thought. We bought each other some drinks. I had "Kucola". I started using the right brand name. I still have not sent them the pictures. I will do so very soon.

Louis was on the dance most of the time. I took a few shots of the party. He was dancing with some girl. I did not pay much attention who it was. Probably a Cuban local. He liked to make new friends it would seem.

Close to midnight, the Irish couple left. I moved over to where my new turista friends were, on the dance floor and watched the party. The dancing was great. Even 70 year-old men can dance. They seemed to pick out these blonde girls from the turista crowd to show them a good time. It was interesting to watch.

Louis had enough fun. He was going to return to his friends at the apartment. I had expressed my concern about taxi to Louis earlier at the resort. Louis reaffirmed it will be easy to find a taxi in Trinidad. Before he left the party, I asked Louis about the taxi again. He instructed me where to get a taxi. Soon, Mark, I and a woman and her daughter left the party. The daughter was the girl I saw on the beach. The woman and her daughter were also turistas it turned out, from Toronto. We walked down the cobblestone street to the gate of the old city. There we waited for a taxi. I could have managed to get my own taxi but it helped that someone knew Spanish. The woman was Ecuadorian.

The trip back to Ancon was uneventful. Mark sat in the front seat. I talked more about my camera with my new friends in the taxi. We stopped by the beach to capture the sky, but I must have pointed in the wrong direction as I got nothing interesting. We were looking for the milky way galaxy.

We headed to bed. It was past 1 am then.

The Cuba Story, part 3, Trinidad

First day. Bright and early, I woke up around 7am. I should have been in bed a little longer but perhaps the excitement of Cuba overwhelmed me. Perhaps it would die down over the following six days.

Just seven hours earlier, I had arrived at the resort in the middle of the night. It was a long ride to the hotel. After a near mishap with my eyeglasses, I hoped everything would go smoothly from then on. I had located my room on the third floor of the new extension to the hotel. It was a nice new building extension I must say but at night it was just another long corridor I had to drag my suitcase and carry that heavy backpack down. I was soaked in my own sweat. Cuba would not spare a moment to welcome you with a drier and cooler weather. Fine, I could take it. I had signed a contract for heat and humidity. A good hot shower would put me at ease immediately. First though, a quick test of the room key. It was a smartcard that operated on both the door lock and the safe. The safe was in the closet to the left of the door. Check. Check. Both worked. My first worries were gone. I knew where to store my passport and my camera equipments. Next, the air conditioner. I had read horror stories about it. Check. It worked. I turned on the A/C. It worked. I was happy. My body was still filthy and I could not wait to get out of my wet clothes. The shower.

The water felt hard as if there is was something squeaky in it. It was different. It did not feel soft and fresh as pure water but it was water alright. It cooled me down and rinsed the dirt off. I then looked around. I did not bring my shampoo, did I! As I had forgotten my shampoo at home, I tried to wash my hair with the bar of soap they provided. Needless to say, the water rendered my hair into a big ball of mess. It was hard to comb. My hair was all sticky. I could have brought back the hippy hairdo style with this water. What did I care anyway. I was in Cuba and could care less about my look. And, just a few days earlier, I had a haircut so my hair could fall into place without much combing and I had brought my tilley hat along -- it would shape my head for the next six days. After the shower, I felt as clean as the bar of soap itself. Squeaky and clean and cool.

The bed was not the softest bed I have slept in but it was king size. Now that was a treat. I was expecting something like a double or two singles. I had read some blogs expressing a displeasure about the hard mattresses. Yes, the mattress was a little hard. It did not bother me a bit however. There was a particular smell from the pillows however. I was not sure if that was detergent smell or something else. I did not want to find out. Unless it was the Hilton Hotel I was not about to rest my head on the pillows anyways. It did not bother me much. I covered it with a towel. My towel was fresh and clean.

An hour later, the room still felt a little humid. Odd. Was that 'check' a little premature? The A/C was not working? I hopped out of the bed and checked it again. Oh, I see. I had not used one of these A/C units in twenty years. They have a setting for 'Fan' and another setting for 'Cool'. No problem. Clockwise 40 degrees and the room started to cool down. Sweet. There was a TV with 20 odd channels and a remote. Even sweeter.

I remembered I still spoke no conversational Spanish except for a few words, like "Hola!". I had brought along a printout of an e-mail Cesar had sent me with a few Spanish phrases. It was meant to be absorbed on the flight down but I was immersed in a Life Insurance book so I had totally forgotten about the printout. I pulled it out of my leather waist pouch and started to learn the few phrases. "Ayuda" (or something like that) was simple. If I needed emergency help, I would remember to yell that out loud. "Doctor" was simple enough, except perhaps the way you would pronounce it. One of the phrases was to ask someone if I could take a photo of him/her. It sounded easy. I looked at the paper then put it away in my leather waist pouch, near the front so I could easily access it later that day.

After a movie, I fell asleep at 2 am.

I did wake up at 7 am. I could have woken up earlier had the sun rays permeated my room at dawn. Lucky as I thought I was, my room was facing the Caribbean Sea. Was it facing south then? Was I really lucky? I had tried to imagine how it would feel to hear the roar of the waves crashing into the beach at night as you sleep. As it turned out, it was too hot at night and I feared mosquitoes would sniff out my blood. My sliding door was shut tight at night and A/C was on at 60%. I slept well. It was a good king size bed.

First day arrived. I hit the shower again. Squeaky. Clean.

It was still barely 8am. I pulled out the registration card and filled it out then put it back into my leather waist pouch. My suitcase was now laying on a bench by the TV. My backpack was on top of the suitcase. My passport was still in my leather waist pouch. It was not 10am yet so I decided I would survey the surroundings of the resort. First however, I needed to sort out my documents. My passport would stay in the safe. I have a photocopy of it in my pouch. I also put away $200CAD along with my cell phone, Canadian coins, and some of the camera gears I know I do not need that day. I then stuffed $100CAD in the back compartment of my waist pouch. I would exchange for about 100 pesos. I decided I needed some pesos if I were to head into town later that day. I needed some pesos to tip the resort workers as well.

The morning went well. I took a few shots from my third floor balcony. I was facing the sea. The morning beach was deserted. Two resort guards were standing at the end of the boardwalk leading to the beach. There were coconut trees a few metres from my balcony but too far away to reach. There were a lot of greens down below. I returned to the room and watched some TV to kill some morning time until 10am. Truly I had no idea where things were and what I can do at the resort. 10am was when the tour representative would return to the resort to speak to us about the resort and give out information about the area and how to get around and so on.

9:50am. I walked downstairs to the lobby with my camera hanging off my left shoulder and a knapsack on my back. Strange. Where is everyone? Were we not supposed to meet here at 10am? Where else? It was getting hot already so I went to the bar and asked for water and Coke. They have no Coke but they do have "Kucola". I swear it tasted exactly like Coke! I wonder what Coca Cola would do if they start exporting Kucola. 10am. Still nobody. Ok, I did notice there was a stage down by the resort extension where the beach bar was. I walked down the hall to see. Nobody. I walked back to the lobby. Nobody. I asked the reception desk. They said the tour rep has not arrived yet and perhaps she was late. I should wait in the lobby they said. Fine, but I seriously thought they had little idea what they were saying. How would they know what I was talking about? There were more than one tour company operating at the resort. I did not want to explain further. I waited. I waited for 15 minutes. Still nobody. Alright, here I am in Cuba with no tour rep. I was ready to explore the area but I needed information to get around. No tour rep.

Perhaps she was late I told myself. I decided to take the time to get some CUC (the Cuban Convertible Pesos). I went back to the reception desk. The banco is downstairs. I roamed around the hotel and found the banco on the basement floor. Great, so far so good. I walked in the banco. A lady was putting on make-up in one booth. Alright, I could wait a bit but I wished they have placed someone with some English behind the counter because I truly had no idea what the lady said. She pointed to something on the right. After a couple of incomprehensible exchange of words, I realized she meant for me to check the exchange rate. Well, I thought that was what she meant the first time but she confused me when she uttered some more Spanish. Ok, fine. I handed over $100CAD and got 88 pesos back. Heck, they make really good money on the exchange. I then asked than they break down my 20 peso bill. She thought I meant to give me one peso for a 20 peso bill. Huh? No, break it down into 20 peso coins. She uttered to herself a minute of constant Spanish with that sarcastic expression. I felt she was bad-mouthing me. I might have given her a tip if I was in an extremely good mood but I was far from it. Definitely, no tip for her.

The tour rep has still not arrived. Now I was getting ticked off. Was she going to waste my day now? I could not wait forever but I needed information from her and I needed to submit this registration card. Where could she be?

I walked around a bit looking for a potential meeting place. Maybe I had missed it altogether. It was already 10:30am or so. Why did it feel like I was the only person in the hotel? Where were all those tourists that boarded my bus? Did they know something I didn't know?

As I waited on a ledge where the bus dropped us off, two familiar Canadian faces passed by me. Yes, I remembered them. They were on the bus sitting just in front of me. They looked like a nice couple coming to have some good fun in Cuba. The guy swung around his chair as we approached Ancon to ask something about coral reefs. Yes. They were just about to stroll past me when I engaged eye contact. I had a watch. They asked for the time. I asked about the meeting. They said 11:30am. What?? Did I fall asleep when the tour rep said 11:30am on the bus the previous night, or maybe her accent was so heavy I could not understand her? I asked them again. 11:30am. Damn it.

I walked around the resort. The morning was getting hotter already. It was only morning and I was sweating. Well, I had to adapt and survive. I had sunblocks on -- a lot of it, spf 45. Strong stuff against the sun.

There was not much around the resort. Just a lot of coconut trees. Lots of grass. Lots of plants and flowers. Lots of sand and lots of shade. The resort was contained within a short wall of concrete. It would not have prevented someone from climbing over. Maybe it was just a territorial marking, just like how you would mark your territory with body liquid. As I surveyd the area, I came across a lizard. Wow, one lizard. As soon as I saw it, I lost while preparing my camera for the shot. As I walked a few meters down the wall, I saw it again or perhaps it was another lizard, I thought. I took a few shots. The lizard was not very stunning looking. In fact, it was a Darwinian lizard. The skin was a dirty light gray that blended well into its background.

11:30am came. I was back in the lobby. It was still hot. I ordered more "Coke". The bartender gave me Kucola in a glass with ice cubes. I tipped him a peso.

I saw the tour rep. Aha! She was talking to the couple I ran into earlier in the morning, the couple I saw on the bus. I remembered they asked me about the coral reef one the bus.

I sat down on the couch and opened a binder of excursions to read over while they were chatting. Soon, they would be finished chatting and we would start out information session. Good. She saw me. I then saw them walking away. The reception desk said to wait in the lobby. So I was sure they knew what they were talking about. The tour rep must have gone off to the washroom or something and would return very soon.

Fifteen minutes passed. Ok, where is that tour rep now? Did she organize the information session somewhere else? Damn it! How could I have lost her! Damn it. I briskly walked over the the beach bar where there were many tables and chairs. No, she was not there. I walked about the lobby. Definitely not there. I could not believe it. She was just there. I had her in sight. I was furious. I kept my cool. I was in Cuba. Live like a Cuban. It was utterly ridiculous I thought though. Her briefcase was still on her desk so I knew she would be back. I would catch her then. I took a seat. A few minutes later, a couple of Canadian girls passed by me. I remembered seeing them at the airport in Toronto. They were chit-chatting behind me as we were waiting to be boarded. Girl talk, I thought, but I did swing my head back to see who they were. I remembered them. They were puzzled as to where the tour rep was. I offered my assistance and explained that the tour rep was just there 15 minutes earlier but that she had gone off somewhere. The two girls waited around in the lobby area, then I started walking around. I peaked over an overpass and I could not believe my eyes, there she was with her back to me. A combination of her voice and her back drew me over. Sure enough, she was holding the information session in the lower section of the hall near the lobby. There were maybe ten people. What a relief. I knew everything would be fine from then on. All I needed was some local information.

I directed the two girls waiting in the lobby down to see the tour rep. I saw her name tag. "Cary" or something like that. I made a mental note. Ok, our tour rep has a name. Good. I could make references to her name next time I ask any question.

After fifteen minutes of consultation, there was enough information to plan my days. I had a good sense of how to get around the area and how the hotel operates. I mentioned to Cary about the salsa party in Trinidad. The two Canadian girls got interested in the idea and would participate in the excursion if there were one. She was going to check into an excursion into town that night and that we should check back with her before 1pm. The day would restart on a better note after all.

Tired from the heat of the day and the walking, I retreated to my room for some cool air. It was nice. Soon enough, it was close to 1pm. As I walked back to the lobby, Cary was just leaving. What?? Was she not going to wait till I get there before leaving to tell me the news??

There was to be no night excursion that Saturday, she said. I was a little disappointed but it was not her fault. There was no excursion in the first place and she was nice enough to try to put something together for us. I could not let it damper my spirit however. My fun in Trinidad would happen that day one way or another. Now, where were those two girls again? They were no where in sight. I should have asked for their room number or something. I thought it would be fun to hang out with them, having some people to talk to in English. They probably went back to their room. Oh well.

It was already past 1pm. I was determined to go into town so I walked up to the reception desk. They had not had enough with me. That was good because I needed a taxi and information about the taxi. I was also relieved that the two receptionists spoke okay English so I could explain what I wanted to do. One of them made a call to the "OK" taxi company to have someone pick me up at the hotel, drive me to Trinidad, and pick me up at night. Perfect. So far so good. I needed a map. Cary had told me where I could obtain a map so I went to visit the little gift shop. They sold this 2004 map of Trinidad and surrounding area for 3 pesos. It was truly exorbitant but my first thought also was, they need money so I did not mind paying the 3 pesos. I don't think the map I bought was worth more than 50 cents. That was fine. I handed the girl a 20 peso bill. They returned a 5 peso bill and two peso coins. I waited a few seconds for the 10 peso bill. It did not come forward. "I gave you a twenty," I immediately corrected her. A moment of hesitation later, she gave me a sorry look. She knew my Spanish was as bland as water but math is a universal language. I know they need money but do not try to cheat your customers. Definitely no tip for her even if she rendered good service, and I already paid 3 pesos for a simple map. First lesson learned -- never trust a Cuban.

I must like the hobby a lot because I waited some more in the lobby. The taxi would not arrive for another 30 minutes or so. While I waited the two Canadian girls walked up the stairs. Joy filled the air for a brief moment. I immediately called them over but after the sad news, they decided to plan their day around the resort. Oh well, that was too bad I thought. The taxi would cost me 8 peso for a one way trip, and another 8 for the return. We could split the cost of the taxi. They might come into town later that day they said. I seriously doubt they would. A quick chit chat later, they asked to keep on asking them if I were go into Trinidad again. Sure, why not. They went on their way to book a reservation for dinner in the international food restaurant, I overheard.

Around 2pm, the taxi driver walked into the lobby. He walked up the stairs once, looked around and went back down. I had no idea who it was. He eventually stopped to ask the reception desk. I saw them pointing their finger at me. Ok, that usually meant something bad, but that was a good sign this time around. "You, taxi?" I asked the fellow as he approached me. I followed him out to his car. It was a Hyundai with a stick shift, and apparently there are a lot of them in Cuba these days. This fellow taxi driver seemed to drive with passion, a bit like an Indy driver. He drove with a certain attitude. An occasional honks of the horn as we passed by some locals. A hand wave suggested they were friends. A few more honks as we drove into the centre of Trinidad. Here, I learned that "fuegos" means city. "Centre fuegos" would be downtown. It was rather easy to remember since in French, that would be "centreville". All I needed to remember was really, "fuegos", and I remember it from 'Cienfuegos'. My first few lessons from a Cuban driving a taxi. This Cuba taxi driver spoke very little English. Even then, he was interesting to chat with. Some body language can get your point across almost as well as my Spanish.

We were approaching the border of Trinidad when all of a sudden I remembered I forgot something important. My bag of goodies to give away! They are back in the hotel locked in my suitcase. I had locked the bag in my suitcase in the morning only because I knew the maid would come around in the morning and perchance might steal something from the bag. All this because there were stories I read prior to the trip. Take precautions -- hide it away from prying eyes and they will be safe. What a disaster! This was probably my only time going into Trinidad! God damn it! I swore to myself. I kicked myself in the butt. Fully enraged by such a stupid mistake. How could I have forgotten my bag of goodies! The taxi ride would cost me 16 pesos. Another return to Trinidad would cost me another 16 pesos. By Toronto's standard, it was not all that bad, but still. 16 pesos. I was disappointed. Will I ever return to Trinidad after this day? I was not happy.

We arrived in Trinidad. I had heard about the cobblestone from Louis. He was not kidding. They were cobblestone alright. If you had to hold in, you would be in for a big shock. The drive through the streets of Trinidad would certainly sooner or later kill your car struts or suspension coils. He drove all the way in past the gate of the old city. The taxi stopped in front of Plaza Mayor. I handed over 8 pesos and indicated I want him to return to pick me up at nine, "nine, nueve". He nodded. He understood.

I climbed out of the taxi. I drew out my map. As I was studying the map, a lady came from behind and pointed me to a restaurant. I immediately shook my head. "Not hungry, thank you, later ..." She okayed and walked away. My first encounter with a Cuban local in Trinidad. I knew she was trying to take me to a restaurant just down the street. I just had lunch at the resort however. Perhaps later. Perhaps. During my first encounter with a solicitation, I felt safe at all time as I saw a Cuban official at the corner of the street. I knew they keep the area safe for tourists. I was and felt safe. I went back to study the map as my skin was getting baked in the tropical sun.

My sense of orientation in Toronto is rather good. In Cuba, I might as well be in the North Pole with a compass. The map I paid 3 pesos for a piece of junk! I could not possibly understand how you would read the darn map! It might help me if I also knew if the sun was actual north or south of Cuba, a fact no one could tell me before the trip. So, there I was scratching my head. After enquiring with another pedestrian tourist who seemed to know where she was, I was still a little confused. It was the map. The drawing do not seem to match with the proportions and angles of buildings and streets. That girl will not ever get tips from me. That was certain.

I put away the map in my shirt pocket and started my exploration of the cobblestoned streets of Trinidad. In one word, Trinidad is truly amazing! It is a beautiful city that preserved the colonial Spanish artistry, engineering, and architecture. The building walls were of vibrant colours of yellow, blue, pink, red, white, orange. Doors were cracked and old but the beauty was still preserved. Window bars were as they were since the 18th century. The characteristics of Spanish influence were in my face. The old was really hot. I had a camera dangling from my left shoulder. The shutter flickered hundreds of times. In bright daylight, I knew the pictures would only be ok, not extraordinary. I was too excited to wait till sunset to capture the moments, to capture the lives of the people.

I came upon many places. One of which was a restaurant. They had an interesting structure inside. The chef asked me to come in to take pictures. Odd I thought. Why would he ask me to take pictures? I soon later found out why. I did not want to buy his clay vases. Even if I wanted to, I had no space in my suitcase to fly it back home with me. Before I left, I decided to try one of Cesar's phrases. Well, needless to say, it did not come out right. He had no idea what I was asking. I even showed him the paper. He had no idea. I went back to the common denominator. Body language. Some hand pointing would indicate I want to take a picture of him. A raised question mark tone in English would terminate the body language with the question, "can I take a picture of you?". He nodded. A couple of actuations. For the work he was trying to sell me and for the picture I wanted to take, I gave him one peso. I was out of there.

My watch would have been part of my survival kit in the north, but as I still had no clear idea about orientation, it would be useless as a compass. It would just serve as a time keeper. 4pm. I had walked up and down the streets. I was tired. Closer to 5pm, I settled in the shade in a square by the museum of history, I think it was, just a block from the Mayor Plaza. I listened to this old man playing the guitar while a little boy approached me for a peso. He kept on asking a peso for something about "caramel". Alright, I have no candies, and sorry kid, no peso for you. The bag of goodies came back to haunt me then again. I should have brought it. I would have given this kid some pencil and some school materials and maybe some games. For his persistence, I really wanted to give this kid something. My survival kit contained a brand new lighter. I thought he might make good use of it, or maybe work at selling it for a peso. That would do him good. The kid took the lighter. A few seconds later, more "caramel". I shook my head. He went to sit by the old man for a moment, then left. I stayed in the square a bit longer, and waved goodbye to the guitarist as I left. The guitarist raised his right arm, his hand clenched in a fist, and gestured victoriously to say "so long, compatriot", or so I interpreted. I returned the gesture.

It was close to 6pm. Where is this street salsa dance Louis spoke of? He did say Trinidad did he not? Yes, I was positive about it. Did those two girls actually made it down to Trinidad? If so, where are they? My mind then turned to hunger. I was starting to feel hungry. I had drunk a lot of water already but there was little in my stomach. Seeing how my Spanish was practically nil, I did not want to venture into a restaurant alone and getting ripped off by the locals or worse yet getting mugged. I decided to walk over to the Casa de Musica. They have Coke (Kucola) there. That would fend off my hunger for a while as it has some sugar in it. I started to wonder if I had made the wrong choice to come down to Trinidad this way. Where was the salsa party? Maybe it was not to be held here at the Casa de Musica. Maybe it is further down some streets. I made another quick tour around the area and the only logical place would be here, the House of Music. Louis did not say when it would start. It was already 6pm though. If not 6pm, when will it start? I did not know why I did not bother asking the locals. I was not thinking straight I knew. The heat was rather overwhelming. I started to think about the taxi. Three more hours. I should have asked the taxi to pick me up at 7pm. Why did I ask for nueve! "Nine, nueve," I repeated to the driver and pointed to my watch and the street. "Nueve," he confirmed and took off. I wished it came earlier. What if it did not return at all? What if he went home, had dinner and forgot about me? I even forgot to ask for his name. If anything, it would have been a comforting element, to know someone's name and instill a sense of friendship with them. They might remember you better that way. 9pm was three hours away. I could go into a restaurant and sit there for a while. I could explore more of the area. I could also sit in one place and wait out.

I decided to walk about some more. There was so much to see, so much to absorb. Cubans seemed like very poor people. A peso would be equivalent to a day's worth of work, as the average person makes only 20 pesos a month, I read somewhere. They would try to milk money out of you if possible. They would lie or deceive you to make a peso. Would they try to mug you? Highly unlikely, but utterly possible.

As I roamed about some more, I passed by a new area I had not explored earlier in the day. There was then a sharp contrast. I came across a family. They waved and talked to me through body language. I knew what they meant. "You take a picture of us?" "Sure," I responded. I got the whole family at the front door. After a few more shots, I decided I took enough shots. As I started to leave, one of them pregnant women asked to see the pictures. There was no harm in it I thought. It would please them to see the photo I took. This is where the mental trick trickled in. The next question from the woman was a peso for the picture, for the "familia", for "caramel". That "caramel" word again. I think I meant milk or something. In any case, I would feel guilty if I did not give her a peso, but when she asked for another peso for her mother standing a few metres in front of me, that was pushing it. I walked away. No more pesos for you.

This trend would repeat itself over and over as the sun started to set. You did not have to ask them to take a picture anymore. It would have been an invitation to take a picture of them. Then, a peso. Over and over. I decided I would do this a couple more times but that would be it. No more pesos for any familia. It would be considered 'cheating'. If they had worked for the peso, I would not mind donating it, but to make someone feel guilty after taking a picture would be plain deception. I learn to walk away from these people. I would rather ask someone if I could take a picture of them and if I feel good about it, I would donate a peso.

Still a lot of time until nueve. I decided to return to the square where I found that guitarist. I wondered if he was still around. The museum of history was just there. I did not visit it the first time around so I thought I would kill some time now. Entrance fee was one peso. Fair enough, I thought. There were a few other tourists inside but it would appear they breezed through it in a hurry. I spent a good 45 minutes it seemed trying to learn. I visited every showcase. The museum detailed the time and story of uncle Fidel and his compatriots in the revolutionary war. It was interesting to see the military outfit, the guns and artillery used in those times. I was done and proceeded to walk out but I got curious about a structure of the building. The museum had a belfry. I asked the attendant if I could go upstairs, with a hand gesture. He signaled another person over to answer my question. I guess the 'attendant' was just a bystander, a Cuban local. He had a rogue face of sort. I could not quite remember it but he did not have the cleanest shave or cleanest shirt on. "Ok," I said then climbed the stairs. Halfway up there was a fridge with some pops inside on a small floor. Strange. It was locked. As I went up further, I had an eerie feeling. There I was stepping through these metal bar gates, I started to hear footsteps behind me. Ahem. Someone was following me. My ears and eyes were on yellow alert. I got up to a terrace but the circular stairwell up the belfry was blocked. It would have been nice if I could have walked up the belfry but the terrace was fine. It was higher than most other buildings. Less than a minute later, the 'attendant' I asked was on the terrace, moving to one corner. I wondered what he was doing up there. Trying to ignore him but all the while zoning my ears onto him, I walked the walls of the terrace and took shots of the city on the three faces of the terrace I had access to. This 'attendant' was still around. Was he going to rob me? Was he going give me another 'caramel' story? It was getting late and there was no one else up here. Safety first. I left the terrace and descended the stairs. I kept my ears out. He followed me. Ok, this was not funny anymore. I reached the main floor and walked outside. I was again safe, as safe as the little daylight that remained felt like.

It was close to 7:20pm. Good, less than two hours to go before that taxi cab would pick me up at the bottom of the Plaza Mayor. Here now I was sitting on a bench in Plaza Mayor. The streets were getting deserted. The sun has not set yet. Where is everyone? As I started to walk around yet some more, I noticed that some of the Cuban officers were either taking a break or just congregated in the Plaza to chit-chat before heading home. Oh oh. My line of safety was being cut. What happens if there were no officers around? My first day in Cuba, and I was already in lions' territory. Feeling a little anxious, I walked around the Plaza and sat down. I got up then sat back down, and walked around some more, around the Plaza. A photo here and there, as the sun sets. It was beautiful. I was tired. The Cuban officers left. The streets became a potential danger zone now. All my senses were on full alert. The first thing in these situations would be to find a safe place to stay. The Plaza was not all too bad, as I soon realized. Some guitarists started to arrive. Some more tourists occasionally swarmed the streets. There was some traffic around the area.

8pm. It was getting fairly dark in the Plaza, so I decided to sit on the patio of Casa de Musica. Casa de Musica is at the top of a flight of some 50 steps of stairs. Part way up, there is a terrace of cobblestone where I could imagine some dance could be happening. Up higher was another terrace where there were tables and chairs. I would spend the next hour sipping on a Kucola and relax in the now cooler air. Thirty minutes passed. The taxi should be arriving soon, good. Something was happening on the middle cobblestone terrace. Microphones were being tested. Speakers were brought in. People started to arrive. There it was in front of me was the Holy Grail of my mission to Trinidad. At 8:45pm the first rumba music blasted the air. Rumba? Louis said salsa. I hoped the girls did not come down or they might be disappointed if they were looking for salsa. Rumba it was. I jumped to capture the excitement of the moment. A few shots here and there. Almost 9pm. Damn it. Why does the taxi have to pick me up now! Nueve, stupid nueve!

I wondered if the taxi driver actually forgot, so I could stay a little longer. I was not sure how I would get back to the resort but I was sure I would find another taxi somewhere. However, it would be disrespectful not to take the taxi back if it came to pick you up. I had to check. 8:58pm. I started my way down to Plaza Mayor. Sure enough, nueve. He was at the bottom of the Plaza waiting for me. I asked if he wanted to stay for the music. He was not too interested in it. I could not ask him to pick me up later or to leave. That would be too rude.

We rushed back to the resort. Beyond the border of Trinidad, we were in complete darkness. A few light posts would shine a cone of light onto the street. The Ancon Peninsula was otherwise completely dark. Mario Andrade here zoomed through the peninsula. He could have driven blind folded I thought. I could barely see the road as we passed by oncoming headlights. I tried to engage some conversation but it did not go smooth. His English was slightly better than my Spanish. We shared a laugh or two, somehow.

9:20pm we arrived at the resort. I gave Mario a peso as tip for remembering to return to pick me up seven hours after dropping me off at Plaza Mayor. I was hungry. The buffet dinner was still on. They were closing the doors at 9:30pm. I slipped in right on time to satisfy my hunger.

I returned to my room. The A/C was still running. It felt so good. A warm then cool shower cleansed my body of all the tiredness of the day.

One full day gone. Another to start in a few more hours.