In the distance, there were military helicopters on the tarmac. I was very conscious we were now outside of Canada. What would happen if I got caught photographing military vehicles? I was in a plane. I was sure no one would know. It was too late however as the plane braked past the military dark green hangars on our right. A round of applause clamoured over the noise of the engine. In a few short seconds, the plane slowed down to a leisure run down the runway and halted smoothly. We landed on uncle Fidel's territory. The game was on.
As I waited for the other passengers to get off the plane, something felt odd. Why was no one moving? They were standing in the aisle waiting for something, as I was waiting in my seat. I was not sure what it was until suddenly the rear door opened and the passengers in the back of the plane made their way out. Right, we are not at Pearson. Fidel prefers the stairs. I got quite excited at that moment. Wow, I do not remember ever having walked down those staircases before. I have seen them in movies but the modernization of air travel has changed everything at Pearson. Even in intense heat or cold weather, you walk in the luxury of the tunnel linking the terminal gate to the door of the craft. Fidel prefers the stairs. So do I.
As I started my way down the aisle, I swung my knapsack around and reached in for my D80. I was hesitating as to what I could shoot. I wanted to shoot everything and stayed on the tarmac for as long as I could. It was getting dark as the sun was closing its curtains. A sense of panic set in. Where was I supposed to go? At Pearson, everything is clear. You look up and there is a sign that say 'Customs' or 'Luggage'. At Santa Clara, I was not quite sure where to go so you followed the crowd. You hope the crowd knew where it was heading, but you also were aware that not everyone was going to the same destination. There are after all many resorts in Cuba. So, I took a couple of shots standing and a couple more crouching. The sky was beautiful I remembered. The craft was splendid. I am in awe at the design of airplanes. Today's designs may not be optimal but still they are impressive. One last look and I turned around and briskly joined the crowd through a set of doors down to the right. As I walked in, I saw a pool of water. Where it came from, I had no idea. Stepping around it, I came to a dozen of line-ups. I took one shot and buried the camera back into the knapsack.
There I waited, not quite sure what was going on. There was a series of about a dozen booths. There were some glass windows so you could see the people inside the booths. I did see some signs though so I felt I was in the right place. Either that or everyone was in the wrong place. I waited and waited. One fellow tourist was turned away. I wondered what happened. He walked back toward the door I came in through. Strange. Oh well I thought. Some lady and her kid were first before this one guy in front of me. It was their turn. I watched as they conversed with the customs personnel for a few minutes. What could they be asking, I wondered. Since I spoke no Spanish, I wonder how my conversation would unfold.
The lady and the kid finished with their interview. A dull buzz. They pushed the door in the far end to open and walk through it. So, they made it. The guy in front of me went in next. He removed his glasses, spoke for a minute or two. As I was watching him, I noticed there was a mirror behind and above him. I suppose they need to see what you are hiding behind your back. I wonder what they would think if they get to see the inside of my backpack. A minute later, him too, the door buzzed and he walked through it. Interesting. My turn. I had my passport and the tourist card filled out, along with the travel package ready in my hand. "Hi," I said with a smile. She asked me to remove my glasses. Of course, the picture in the passport does not have glasses. "How long you stayed in Canada," was the next question. I turned and tilted head a little and frowned. "How long I have lived in Canada, you mean? I have lived in Canada since 1979 so ... just about 30 years." She folded my passport and gave me back the tourist card, and welcomed me to Cuba. My vision was sharp again. All within about 45 seconds, I was in Fidel land. I twisted the knob as the buzzer rang and walked into another brightly lit space.
I walked slowly and pulled out my camera again. I walked slowly to observe the mix of tourists and local officials. I was not too interested at this point in taking more pictures. My mind was still rushing to figure out what next. It was the luggage area. Good, get my suitcase first. What colour was my suitcase?
In the middle of the room, there was a rolling belt with suitcases on. The suitcases would circle in and out through a set of doors with plastic curtains. My suitcase has not shown up yet. Darn it. Maybe my suitcase was one of the last to board the plane and hence one of the last to ride the belt. I walked over to one side waiting for my suitcase to turn up. I tried to search my memory for the colour of my suitcase. It was dark. It was blue or black or gray. Darn it. I remember the rough size of it but I drew a blank on the design. A moment of enlightment came to me. It would be easy to spot it! I had a yellow plastic bag tied to the handle. No other suitcases were like that. Great, and there it was, swimming in the pool of luggage surfing on the belt. Only five metres from my reach and, hey! Why did that guy take my suitcase off the belt! That is my suitcase. I looked at him for a brief second. He looked Cuban. He looked like he works at the airport or is part of some vacation company. Ok, he was sorting the luggage out. My suitcase was lumped in with the other luggages with the Hola Sun tag. I walked over, looked at the tag, my name is on it.
I scanned the room, still not exactly sure where I am supposed to go next. Where is the welcome party? Should there be someone with a sign in their hand or something? I saw a wide gate with two Cuban officials. I could not remember what I said but I was going to show them my passport as if they had wanted to see it. They seemed like they wanted to see the passport, for some reason I thought. Well, he gestured toward the sliding doors. Ok, I know where I was going then but a sense of trepidation came over me. It was clearly dark outside and I can see Cubans or people standing outside the terminal doors. What to expect when I walked through the sliding doors??
My first step outside and I saw a throng of people. Many looked like local Cubans. Some looked like tourists. Two women stood a few metres in front of me. One had a sign -- it did not look familiar, clearly another vacation company. The second woman had something in her hand but she was not holding it up. I approached them with a curious face. Eyebrows slightly tilted inwards, eyes piercing for that clue that I was going in the right direction, and like a robotic bob-head, turned my head left and right, scanning, looking like an apparent tourist. I was moving toward the two women, peering into their eyes for some ideas, hoping as if demanding they would say or do something. The second woman raised her sign, finally! Ah, Hola Sun! Something English and Spanish! I walked up to her and said hi. A couple of exchanges and I was on my way to a bus standing about 50 metres from the terminal in a corner of the parking lot. She said "4707" and "tell the driver your hotel name, Ancon". Ok, I felt safe. I knew I have traversed a milestone. The bus would take me to the hotel and I will be on a bed very soon.
As I walked to the bus, I turned around and took a couple of shots of the arrival gate. It was dark outside so I had to be very still with my camera. I lugged my suitcase down to the standing bus. The driver was there, loading some couple's luggage into the under-carriage luggage compartment. Then I saw a tip. "Gracias," I heard. Right, I remember from my readings they really appreciate tips. Bigger tips, better service. Even if I had wanted to tip the driver (which I was not about to) I would not be able to. I had no pesos. I had read somewhere the arrival terminal has no currency exchange office. Shoot. I forgot to even check. What if I were to run back to the terminal to check? I think it was a one-way street. So I handed over my suitcase to the driver and said "Club Ancon?". "Ancon," he nodded. Great. I found the bus and hesitated to board it. If it felt like a sauna outside how would it feel like sitting in a bus with crammed space! I did not know whether I was late or early to the bus so I decided to climb the stairs. One couple. So I was really early. I beat all the other passengers to the bus, and to my amazement, it was rather cool inside the bus. They have air conditioner on. Sweet but it was still a little humid as the door was wide ajar. I picked the fourth seat from the front and sat down with my backpack on my lap and the camera on top of it. It felt heavy. It was close to 8:30pm. Thirty minutes later, the bus filled up with passengers. Destination: Ancon.
A fellow tourist boarded the bus. He walked down the aisle and stopped by my seat. Darn, he was going to choose to sit here wasn't he! I enjoyed the luxury of having a whole bench for myself on the plane so I thought I would be able to enjoy the ride on a big double seat bench on the bus. Alas, there he was, asking if anyone were sitting next to me. With a smile, "no, no ..." (inviting "no" that is). One of the first things he said was, it would take three hours to Ancon. I did not quite believe him.
Close to 9pm, the tour representative woman then stepped on the bus and greeted us all. She said it will take three hours to reach Ancon. What??
The bus started on its way and I was all excited. I had my camera out just in case I saw something exciting to shoot. It was totally dark outside. It was a dead weight I had to balance on my backpack on my lap.
For the next one hour, I talked to "Louis" my new neighbour. Louis is from Kitchener, is in real estate, and teaches Salsa. He comes down to Cuba quite often he said, and this time, he was there to pick up some salsa lesson. He spoke a little of Trinidad with cobblestone streets. He spoke of salsa party that was supposed to start on Saturday. Salsa he said? On cobblestone? I gotta see it! So there formed my first target destination. I had to go see this party in Trinidad -- just how ... taxi? Biking? I had no idea.
We spoke for about an hour. I talked a lot about photography as he was interested to hear about and learn it. Louis fell asleep after the hour. I was awake for most of the trip. Our bus almost ran into a cow. Yeah, a cow. We have deers and moose. They have cows. Besides the cow, the ride was uneventful.
As we approached our resort, the tour representative came on the speakers again. I could barely understand her I must say. Either she was still wielding a heavy Spanish accent or my ears were not in tune with Spanish yet. I heard something about the package she gave us on arrival, that we were to wear this blue "Ancon" bracelet all the time, preferably before we arrive at Ancon -- that is our security and food pass -- and to fill out a registration form. We were supposed to meet at 10am the next morning to hand the registration form in to her. About the same time, Louis woke up. We chit-chatted a bit more. It was apparent Louis has been here before as he knew we were very close to the resort. I was getting a bit cramped up in my seat and really needed to stretch out. Ten more minutes he said as the bus veered right. "Trinidad is back there." Where? It was totally dark outside. There seems to be some water body on our left and far in the distance are some lights. Ancon. Yes, we were only minutes from Ancon. Then I banged my eyeglasses on the window. The right side of my nose bridge felt a little cold. The plastic nose piece of my glasses fell off, exposing the metal of the frame.
Damn it!! Not now! Not at the beginning of my trip! I removed my glasses to verify. Yes, it was gone. The bus was dark. Louis tried to turn on the lights. Where were the lights? They must have gone green because the head lights were not functional. I probed my seat and my jacket in the dark. I looked down, trying not to move as the little plastic tab might just sink further into the seat or fall deeper into some crack. The glimmer of street light gave me a chance to look around briefly but to no avail. I was mad and furious. Louis had brought a second pair of glasses and offered to use his nose piece if I must. It was a little comforting to know there might be a solution but truly I was not sure if it would fit anyways. So, fuming mad now, I could not nothing but wait until the bus stops and hopefully get enough light to search for my plastic nose piece.
The bus stopped at Brisas to drop off a few tourists then proceeded a kilometer down the road to Ancon where the bulk of us would vacation for the next six days. The bus stopped and lights came on. This is it. You have only a couple of minutes I told myself. The crowd started its way down and left me alone with my backpack and camera in search of that darn tiny little bugger! As soon as Louis got off his seat, I contorted my body to fit in the space between the seats and felt my fingers around the cracks. Nothing. An eternity seemed to be running by. I still could not feel it or see it. It was not under the seat. I looked once then twice. Not under the seat. It was not on me. So logically it must have fallen through the crack between the seat and the wall of the bus. Pulling the side of the seat inward, I peered down the crack. Oh wait, what is that clear round thing? Could it be it?
I stepped down from the bus with a wide inner smile. Where was my suitcase? Where was the driver? Ah, the driver was now opening the under carriage compartment on the other side of the bus.Was that all that Fidel can throw at me? A great adventure was about to start.
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