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.