Yo hablo un poco de Espanol.. or I speak a little Spanish

Rene is my Spanish teacher by day, and a journalist by night. His teaching job allows him to earn CUC, the stronger of the two currencies that are used in Cuba (currently almost on par with the value USD). He is 28, has a girlfriend and like many of his generation is waiting for change in Cuba. Rene’s brother, who was sick of waiting, has left and is living in Argentina. Rene is lucky. He could leave if he wants, as he has a Portuguese passport, unlike many of his fellow Cubans who generally are unable to travel. Rene is a mine of information, about life in Cuba and the differences between its various inhabitants. It is not uncommon when I speak to people about someone else I have met, to be asked about the colour of the person’s skin. I have found this question quite confronting, but the sad reality is, that your quality of life here can vary significantly depending on that factor alone.

Rene asks if I mind if he goes to change a pair or shorts he bought for his dad’s birthday as they are the wrong size. I seize on the opportunity of having a lesson “in situ” and offer to accompany him. He tells me that only 2 people are allowed to exchange items in any one day in any store, so if he is not there early, he may not be able to do it for another day. This seemingly absurd rule, is just of the numerous bureaucratic limitations imposed on Cubans every day.

Little by little, my Spanish vocabulary is increasing. I am able to buy items from the “tiende” and ask directions, and although my grammar still sucks, I am well on my way to feeling like I can communicate at least at a basic level. 

I am buying a few items in a larger shop called a supermercado (although the selection is still very limited) and decide on a whim to cook dinner. I have not cooked since I was in Sicily and I feel the need to chop and dice and fry and be in a kitchen. 

I laugh as I realise that the only thing resembling a meal that I can possibly make based on the ingredients available is a basic spaghetti bolognaise! In spite of the fact that I am missing fresh herbs and parmesan (I am able to buy a small piece of parmesan “type” cheese for a king’s ransom, the satisfying smell of onions frying in Gustavo’s tiny kitchen makes me happy. Later I dish up a surprisingly good meal and share it with Gustavo when he comes home from visiting a friend. We sit on his balcony and chat (well we manage a passable conversation at least which is a mix of English, Spanish and Italian) and listen to the sounds of the neighbourhood getting ready for another night. 

I need to book some accommodation in Mexico City as I am arriving late in the day, so I head off on the short walk to Parque Central Hotel, pretty much the only place nearby where I can get Wifi access. 

The lobby is spacious and comfortable, but I usually by-pass it for the quieter lounge area of the mezzanine floor above, where I can still hear the sound of the resident singers as they entertain the hotel guests. Tonight I am going to be quick so I sit in the first vacant seat I see. I am just about to log on, when a young woman sits down near me and starts to talk. She is on her own, in Cuba for the long weekend from San Francisco and she is having a bad day. 

Precy is an Indian American who is seriously tech savvy as she writes books for computer programmers. She has been having trouble coping with the attention from the Cuban men and to make matters worse today is the anniversary of her father’s death. I invite her to come to my favourite little restaurant (los Nardos) as I want her last night in Havana to be a good experience. She comes back to my “casa” while I get some money and she is so grateful to meet Gustavo and have a local experience. 

When I arrive at the entrance to Los nardos, the security man recognizes me and gives me a huge grin and hug in welcome. ‘It was so good last time that I brought a friend” I tell him and he ushers me upstairs like a long lost relative. A grilled fish and a couple of glasses of red wine later, and Precy and I discover that we have many things in common. When I walk her back to her hotel and then cross the road back to my little casa particular, I remember exactly why I am doing this travel thing. It’s for moments like this, for the delicious moments when you realise life is just perfect the way it is. 

Buenas noches

Mon x