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.