Cuba - February 2005

Where to begin…

I'm currently in the Vancouver airport. An incredibly old Disney cartoon called “Touchdown Mickey” is showing on the plasma TV above me to my right. My jeans are rubbing over the wound on my right knee, which causes me a little jolt of pain every time I move my leg, but I consider it to be a gentle reminder of the best vacation ever. Oh, and my flight to Whitehorse has been delayed.

CHAPTER 1: THURSDAY, GOOD START

13 days ago, I was in the Toronto airport. Hell, six hours ago I was in the Toronto airport, but that's not the point of this story. 13 days ago, I was with Leigh, Josh, and Jen at the Toronto airport. We had taken a cab to Terminal 3 in the afternoon, sat at one of the airport bars for a little while. I shot some video on my little camera, which was getting its first look at a trip away from Toronto. Sadly, it would not return alive.

Jen was sick. Her nose was stuffy, and her head was cloudy. You could tell just by talking to her. She was committed to beating the illness, however, and was chugging the fluids like she'd never see water again. Who knows if it did anything for her cold, but I can say with absolute certainty that she must have peed 94 times before we left the terminal. Even as rows 5-15 were boarding the plane, Josh was waiting outside the ladies room for Jen, while Leigh and I looked on, half laughing, half worried we'd miss our flight.

In the midst of this hysteria, we managed to miss two other young couples make a mad dash towards the gate and board the flight. Who can blame us? With all the distraction of college girls heading to Cancun for a drunken hedonistic humpfest called “Spring Break,” a chubby lady sitting on a chubby fellow's lap and rubbing with a little too much vigour, and of course the mystery of why someone was taking a skateboard to Cuba, our mind and eyes were unfortunately otherwise occupied.

Yes, Cuba. That was where we were headed. Two boys, two girls, and 55 kilos of luggage were going to spend a week drinking, dancing, sunning, swimming, and of course, drinking. Now, I'm sure you're asking yourself, “How can 55 kilos of luggage drink, dance, sun, swim, and of course, drink?” If you even have to ask that question, you've obviously never traveled with Leigh. I've never actually seen them, but I'm quite sure she travels with Oompa Loompas who help her pick out outfits each morning. That's the only possible explanation she'd need a bag of that size. While I'm thinking about it, what colour does an Oompa Loompa turn when he tans, anyway?

But I digress… Jen managed to find her way back to the washroom in time for us to get on the plane, and we gladly took our seats in Row 2, which I believe is Spanish for “all the leg room you could possibly ask for.” I think Leigh was asleep before we left the ground, Josh was face down in a book, and Jen was likely peeing again because the whole trip was fairly uneventful, except that I was fairly unimpressed by the “critically acclaimed” in-flight movie Sideways, and that Jen's head almost exploded as the pressure changed on our decent

The landing in Santiago de Cuba was a little bit rough, but anytime I can climb down the stairs from a plane and walk across the tarmac, I feel like a rock star, so all was forgiven. We cleared customs and grabbed our bags, although Leigh managed to get cut off by a lady in a wheelchair and her entourage, which held her back for several minutes behind us (For the record, that lady in the wheelchair was later seen running on the beach, climbing rock walls, doing keg-stands, and taking part in some sort of unsanctioned Cuban kickboxing match for the elderly).

We found our guide, found our bus, and found our seats. Our bus found the resort, and then we found the bar. We grabbed a drink, and explored a bit trying to find all the wonderful things we had seen in the pictures. Unfortunately it was dark, and we had no idea where anything was, so that didn't really happen. Jen turned in early, and Josh said he'd be back to the room after “one more drink.”

Then something happened that changed us all.

While waiting in line at the Pool Bar, someone started talking to someone they didn't know. I'd share more details, but frankly I don't recall exactly what happened. Minutes later, however, Leigh, Josh, and I were sitting down by the pool with Barrett, Chris, Natalie, and Krista… aka the four passengers running through the airport in Toronto. It was truly bizarre. Within minutes of talking to these four, I knew for sure that I'd get along with all of them. Within an hour of talking to these four, I knew I had found the people who would keep us entertained all week. And the best part was, I had a feeling they found us pretty entertaining too, which was a brilliant turn of events.

I can almost pinpoint the moment at which I knew we were going to have a fun week together. Three guys who were on our flight jumped into the pool and started splashing around excited (or possibly epileptic) children. Then, an exchange took place that made all parties involved chuckle…

BRIAN: It's like they've never seen water before.

CHRIS: ( mocking) She's a not FROZEN!

 BRIAN: (mocking) It is… it is…a fuck!

The fact that he made me laugh out loud and I immediately returned the favour was a good sign. And the fact that the girls jumped in on the making-fun-of-people action by ripping on an old lady on their bus who thought she'd had her wallet stolen, just made me giddy that we'd founded the Bucanero Sarcastic Bastards Club so early in the week.

Well, after about eight more Pina Coladas, or Daiquiris, or Cuba Libras, etc. we had explored the whole resort, this time finding all the things on the website including the lagoon, the Swiss Family Robinson hut, the tennis court, the Pool Bar. Of course, the Pool Bar was one of the first things we saw, but we stayed near it for a while to make sure that it was up to snuff. Apparently it was. We also found the disco bar, which was closed, but protected by a high tech security device called a “roof.” While trying to sneak into it, the roof saw me coming and cracked me on the head.

As we continued exploring, we came across some of the local wildlife. The crabs were everywhere on the sidewalks, and there were just as many dead ones within feet of the sidewalks. With the power of Havana Club pulsing through me, I was sure I could pick up one of these little buggers. And pick one up, I did. And pinch me, he did. So we went back to the Pool Bar and I tried to sterilize the wound with alcohol… from the inside out. I think we finally called it quits around 4 am, although I have no actual record of this.

CHAPTER 2: FRIDAY, WE BOOKED A BOAT

I woke up the next morning with surprisingly little problem. We had a briefing to attend with the tour company representative, Fidel. Yes, a guy from Cuba named Fidel. We weren't sure if it was funny or just a piece of social commentary, and we decided not to ask. We met up with the other four, who were from Peterborough incidentally, and introduced Jen, just to prove that she did, in fact, exist, and that Josh and I didn't actually share Leigh in some sort of bizarre love triangle.

After hearing a bunch of different people tell us about all the wonderful things Cuba had to offer, we headed back to the pool deck, which conveniently just steps from the Pool Bar. And while seated at the Pool Bar, we were offered a private sailboat trip for our group instead of a scheduled trip on a scheduled day. Of course we had to pay for it, but a private boat for eight people sounded pretty friggin' awesome. Our little group was starting to separate itself from the rest by being younger, louder, and way better looking. And now, we had a private boat.

Now, as great as a private boat sounds, it does present a set of problems. For one, upon finding out that you have a private boat, instantly want to be ON your private boat. The second being that as soon as alcohol is introduced into the equation, suddenly everybody and their brother knows about the boat, and a few lucky ones actually get invited. Not to single anyone out, but Barrett and Natalie had some issues with this second problem.

Just like the night before, we decided to go for a walk after a few drinks. Again, we made it down to the beach bar, which overlooked a beautiful lagoon and a sandy (though slightly rocky) beach. The view was incredible. Mountains on one side, palm trees and sand at the bottom of the cliffs, and a wavy blue bay surrounded by jagged black rocks below that. Oh, and the sun was shining, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I was starting to miss snowy wet Toronto already.

All this sitting around and enjoying the view, got us a little worked up for some physical activity. The stage was set for the first in a series of water polo games between the Toronto faction and the Peterborough folks. We played 3-on-3, with Jen sparing for the P-dot crew. Leigh, Josh, and I took a nice big lead, but ended up blowing most of it, before winning 11-10. Rematches were called for, and accepted, and the stage was again set… for another day. Celebratory drinks were had. And then the losers got a round. And then the winners got a round. And then somebody else did….

And then we were recruited by George (Jorge?) to play volleyball. And for some reason, they suggested that we wear shoes on the sand court. We were all drunk enough that they could have asked us to wear togas, and we would have shown up in bed sheets. Regardless, we grabbed our shoes and made our way to the court. After stumbling around quite a bit, I eventually found my volleyball legs, and was getting the respect I deserved with my El Capitan hat. After Cuba killed Canada in the first game, sides were mixed up, and El Drunken Capitan was playing with mostly Cubans. El Drunken Krista managed to dive for a ball and cut a chunk of her knee off on what was called “razorsand” from that point forward.

Taking my cue from her, I managed to dive for a ball, and cut a bigger chunk of my right knee off and bleed profusely. Not pretty at all, at least I was on the winning team that time. Of course, I now had another injury to go along with the previous night's head wound. This would become a running theme for the week.

After a short nap and a shower, the Elite-8 reconvened for dinner. Actually the Toronto four did, then Chris and Natalie showed up a while later. And then as we were leaving Barrett and Krista walked in. Apparently, they made the switch to Peso Time a little sooner than everyone else. It didn't matter though. All we were going to do was drink until the entertainment started, and then go to the disco. So we waited for them to eat, then headed back to our favourite spot by the pool and took turns grabbing drinks for everyone.

At 9:30, the show started at the stage by the pool. This was our first taste of what the week's entertainment would be like. There was some dancing, some sketches, some singing, and nothing to crazy special. And if I didn't like the people in the show and know that they worked really hard to make every night different and interesting, I'd probably be a lot harsher with my review. But it was a good way to kill an hour, and it finished with the Boomba dance, which is never a bad thing.

So we had a few more drinks, then headed down to the discotheque and beach bar. There was a lot of drinking and dancing and good times, but I don't recall too much specific beyond that. I think Josh and Jen gave up early in the interests of self-preservation. After a bunch of dancing and drinking, we closed the discotheque around 2 am and wandered back to the Pool Bar for a nightcap or two. After enough nightcaps, we decided that the night was done and that we should symbolize that by ringing the big bell that hung in the middle of the resort. I gave it a good crack with my knuckles and managed to get a pretty good gong out of it. Barrett decided to ring it with his forehead and didn't get much in the ways of results. Success, however, comes with a price. Barrett's head is fine. My knuckles however are still scabbed over as I look at them here in the Vancouver airport. For those of you scoring at home, that's a head wound, a bloody knee, and three skinned knuckles… and my plane has been delayed three times already tonight.

CHAPTER 3: SATURDAY, A DATE WHICH WILL LIVE IN INFAMY

I don't recall making it up for breakfast on Saturday morning, which was not a surprise by any means. Again, though, I woke up with no sign of trouble, threw on some shorts, and headed down to the Pool Bar with Leigh. We picked at a hot dog and fries for breakfast, and washed it down with some Bucanero Beer. At least I did, Leigh might have been drinking something fruity.

Bucanero Beer, for the record, is actually really good beer. Good thing too, because it was the only kind they had.

So while, the group started to materialize, Alex (a guy who worked at the resort) grabbed Josh and challenged him to a game of horseshoes. Then, Chris and Barrett played against Josh and me. Then someone played against someone else, and the Bucanero Beer kept being free so we took advantage.

At some point in this impromptu horseshoe tournament, Barrett and I had a nice long chat with Alex about Cuba, the lifestyle, his job, the people, and learned quite a bit about the place. He also offered to hook us up with some cigars, which sounded like a great deal to us. So Josh, Barrett, and I all ordered a box of Monte Cristo #4s, which were to be delivered on Monday. All for the low, low, price of 25 Convertible Pesos. That's about $33 Canadian for a box of cigars that goes for about $450 in Canada.

So after scoring a deal with the cigars, we took the Party Posse down to the beach to snorkel. Someone had the bright idea to take the paddleboat out so we could use it like a raft while people were snorkeling. Made sense, because it was my idea. So we threw the cameras (including my video camera, which was getting used quite a bit) on to the boat and started out to sea. Before we could get 15 feet from shore a big wave washed over the top of the boat, swiping Natalie right off, and soaking my video camera to an irreparable state, and making it impossible to even get the tape out.

It surprised me how little I cared. I think I was so set on having a really fun vacation, and doing so well at it so far, that I wasn't going to let anything like a busted camera or repeated injury bring me down. So I went snorkeling and cut my leg on some corral while chasing a fish. Yes, another injury. I didn't care.

We grabbed a traveler from the bar upstairs and headed back for lunch, seeing crabs, iguanas, and other lizards along the way. Lunch as usual consisted of a variety of meats, a salad bar, fresh bread, but nothing too crazy special, and certainly nothing that was going to make too excited to eat either.

So, after our limited lunch, we head back to the Pool Bar, which pretty much became par for the week. So after a load of drinks, some hanging out by the pool, and a few games of horseshoes, somehow the afternoon was spent and it was time for dinner.

By this point, nicknames and catch phrases were starting to develop. El Capitan, Paris, Junk in the Trunk, and Splotch Adams had already stuck, however more were on the way. The all-purpose-accent (APA) had also made several appearances and we had all been “off the tracks” more than once thus far. The gang was coming together, and a name had begun to stick. I admit, I ripped it off from The Simpsons' boyband episode, but we took it, ran with it, and made it our own. The Party Posse was going strong.

We met for dinner again around 7:00, although again some of the party showed up late. And by some of the party, I mean Leigh and I, which led people to make some pretty improper assumptions. I will neither repeat, confirm, nor deny these accusations, for they are all lies, lies, lies… except for the people who guessed right.

So after dinner, we reconvened around the Pool Bar as per usual, until the entertainment started. There was a show, but I don't recall much entertainment. I do recall several drinks, and an ensuing shout of “Party Posse, OUT!!” as we headed down to the discotheque.

So there was more dancing, more drinking, etc. And then the discotheque closed.

By the end of the night, Chris, Barrett and I found ourselves at the Pool Bar sometime around 5 am. Amazingly, we were being somewhat loud and silly. We were actually officially “off the tracks.” To cap the evening off, Chris managed to get cut-off at a 24-hour all-inclusive resort, to which he replied “Nnooh!” Apparently, the locals are defenseless to the APA because Chris had a new drink seconds later.

CHAPTER 4 : SUNDAY- SO YOU WANNA BE A COWBOY

The crew still managed to meet for breakfast the next morning, and I had what was quite possible the finest omelet of my life. So with the day started on the right foot, we decided to pace ourselves for a bit by drinking by the pool and tanning. We had a big day ahead of us, so sitting and drinking by the pool and tanning seemed to be the only reasonable way to prepare for it.

After lunch, everybody headed back to their rooms to get changed for the day's primary excursion… a three-hour horseback ride through the mountains.

Of course, none of us was trained in the ways of horses. In fact, one of us was deathly afraid of horses. One of us ended up riding a donkey. One of us ended up riding a horse with a major attitude problem. One of us had a horse on cruise control. One of us dressed like a cowboy just for the hell of it. And of course, every horse and donkey had a name.

So with out any instruction, direction, or even a guide that spoke a word of English, we trotted out by the shore, across a beach, through a village, and up into the mountains. Barrett didn't say a word for about an hour, Natalie's horse wasn't a horse, Krista's horse felt like kicking everybody, Chris's horse didn't require any instruction at all, and dressing like a cowboy actually makes you feel more like a cowboy.

For the most part we just walked up and down the trails, but a couple times we broke in to a little trot. Josh, Leigh, and I seemed to be the only ones ambitious enough to do that on purpose and for a few seconds Josh and I were neck and neck coming down the stretch, until our Spanish-speaking-only guide clicked at us enough time that we slowed down.

About half way through the trip, we stopped at a little cantina by a giant pool… which was literally in the middle of nowhere. It was perhaps the most bizarre thing in all of Cuba. Just a giant pool with a bar, in the middle of the mountains, with no signs pointing to it, no signs of civilization near by, only 82 steps down a path from the road. We got a drink of water, trudged back up 82 steps until we got back on our horses/donkey.

Then we went farther up into the mountains, up and down windier, narrower, steeper trails. After one particularly long, steep, treacherous, decline with a very steep cliff on our left side (for the majority of which I was riding directly in front of El Clicky McGee our Spanish guide), he motions to me to stop and get off the horse. I'm sure he's about to tell me that I am an expert rider and that my handling of Rusty down such a steep and dangerous trail was magnificent, and likely due to my borrowed cowboy hat.

Instead, he gets off his horse and approaches Rusty. He reaches down under the saddle and pulls up a strap that has worn right through and has been hanging below my horse for the whole length of the steep decent alongside the steeper ridge. Apparently, this saddle could have fallen off at any point, but he didn't feel the need to say anything until we hit the flat, safe, end of the ride. I could have killed him. I really could have.

After El Clicky McGee roped up my saddle with an extra piece of shoelace, the race was on back to get to the ranch. After another hour, all of us had amazingly sore asses and thighs, as the Party Posse entered the Bucanero Corral. We all agreed that it was a great trip, and we'd do it again, but we'd like it to be about an hour shorter.

After dismounting, disembarking, and distancing ourselves from our equine companions, we split up for a bit and showered the horse stench away, got changed, and ready for dinner. Everybody looked quite lovely, especially the fellas. Dinner was mediocre, as usual, and of course it was followed, as usual, by a trip to the Pool Bar, as usual.

The night's entertainment consisted of a synchronized swimming team, which consisted of a bunch of hot girls with tight buns, and a bunch of muscular guys wearing gold unitards. All their credibility as muscular men was lost as soon as the gold unitards made their first appearance. Of course we felt the need to mock, and this time we were joined by our new Australian friends Peter and Melinda.

The Aussies seemed to have a knack for world travel and a million good stories to tell. For whatever reason, they found us as entertaining as we found them, and they became honourary members of the Party Posse, when they joined us for more drinks and a trip to the discotheque… but not before a few games of Giant Connect-4.

Now, in the words of our urban friends, the discotheque was OFF THE HOOK. And of course, we eventually rode the Havana Club train right OFF THE TRACKS. And as we did so, the hilarity ensued. We played New Rule for a little while, danced for a little while, celebrated the official turn of the clock for Leigh's Birthday, and took a load of pictures.

Half of the Posse stayed up late at the Pool Bar again until sometime around 5am, and after a load of more drinks, everybody who needed help walking home got help, and everybody who didn't fell over along the way.

Not true. I made it back to my room in one piece… with no new injuries to speak of, other than some sore inner thighs. And a new cut on my toe, which, I think was a result trying to climb a mountain in flip-flops.

CHAPTER 5: GO HARD MONDAY / I SURVIVED LEIGH-25!!

I had the good fortune of starting Leigh's Official 25 th Birthday with another wicked omelet. I think I raved about it for a couple hours. By the end of the week, everybody was raving about the omelet. I feel like I set a trend.

We got Leigh started early, heading straight to the Pool Bar for some drinks. Then we sat by the pool and drank… and drank… and did the Boomba dance, which became our new favourite thing for the rest of week.

Jorge rounded a few of us up for a game of volleyball in the pool, so Peter, Barrett, Josh, and I took our beers to the swim-up bar and showed the rest of the countries how you play pool volleyball. Jorge was having a blast giving us the play-by-play while Joel made some very questionable calls from the ref's chair. Either way, we won. So we celebrated by having a few more drinks at the Pool Bar, and making sure that Leigh was having her birthday share.

After delivering Leigh's drink, I ended up standing dripping wet by the pool when MC Hammer's “Can't Touch This” started to play. I couldn't help it. That song makes me dance. So I busted some wicked moves to the point where everybody (including the Cuban entertainers) was laughing pretty hard and a few people congratulated me on a job well done. One guy said I should get an agent. I took that as a compliment, but later in the week realized that the guy who said it was a complete and utter nutbar (the illiterate from Windsor, England). Somehow, we found enough money to buy more drinks.

Lunch was a sad affair. Peter and Melinda were scheduled to ship out in the afternoon so our time with them was running out. To make it as memorable as possible, we did the roller coaster with our lunch table, which involves banging on the table and letting the silverware rattle around. Peter said he was going to use it with his rugby buddies, which made me proud.

We headed back to the Pool Bar (do you sense a pattern developing?). We got Leigh a few more drinks. Of course, we weren't drinking. It's Leigh's birthday we couldn't possibly try to keep up with her… whaaaaaaat? We kept up. We played horseshoes, enjoyed our last few hours with the Aussies, and made sure Leigh was having a good birthday.

Then things got a little shady. Alex (our horseshoe instructor) said that the goods we ordered had arrived, so we trotted off to Josh's room to receive our box of Cuban Cigars at discount prices. Josh, Barrett and I each got our box of Monte Cristo 4s, which excited us dearly. We got it for $25 convertible pesos because Alex's friend apparently smuggles them out of the factory, but we weren't complaining. They are very nice cigars, and opening my own box was a very cool experience.

We shared our new treasures with Peter before he and Melinda caught their taxi. We took some pictures and watched them get in van and drive away. I couldn't help myself and chased after them… to no avail. When I got back to the group, Leigh had “25” written on her back in cigar ash, which was a brilliant sign of things to come.

Monday's theme for dinner was “Dress Up for Leigh's Birthday” and we must have looked good because people thought somebody was getting married. Minstrels came to sing her happy birthday. Did I mention everyone looked hot?

So then there was some Pool Bar time, some lousy entertainment, and then more drinks. We kept Leigh's drinks coming, all the way down to the discotheque, then we played New Rule, and drank, and danced. If I'm not mistaken, at one point there were a bunch of bare asses hanging out the pants of people in the Party Posse, but I can't be sure. Then there were some people who got picked up off the ground. Then somebody grabbed some ass. Then somebody got kissed. Leigh's birthday was a success.

But it wasn't over yet. Well, not for everyone at least. Leigh, however, needed to turn in before some people… who were kind enough to visit her a couple hours later while she was in a groggy sleep. We said, “LEIGH!!” And she said:

I AM!!

…which made us laugh very hard. The rest of the night was drinking and more hijinks.

CHAPTER 6: TAKE IT EASY TUESDAY

Believe it or not, Leigh started slowly. I can't imagine why, but she didn't really move much until I had gotten up a couple times, gone for a long walk, and come back a couple times. By this time, breakfast was over, so it was deep fried hotdogs and fries for me, while Leigh, for whatever reason, didn't feel like eating much.

Chris and Natalie joined us at the Pool Bar, and then the rest of the crew showed up. After a bit of sunning and tanning, Water Polo beckoned. We played 2 on 2, at least until a weirdo French guy invited himself into our game and eventually mounted me from behind and tried to hump me out of scoring a goal. It didn't work. I scored, but my cries of “WHO IS THIS GUY?” were left unanswered.

After lunch, we played some horseshoes, which was a little less exciting than usual, because the alcohol wasn't flowing so freely today. After all, it was Take-it-Easy-Tuesday, and we were taking a break from the mayhem to relax for a day. Everybody was drinking water, or lime-soda, or beer.

Okay, so what if we slipped a few drinks into Take-it-Easy-Tuesday.

We went to the beach. And while half the crew went out to snorkel and take underwater pictures, the other half sat on the beach and enjoyed the sun and drink pina coladas. A euchre game broke out, more pina coladas were consumed, and iguanas invited themselves to our table to drink. Jen and Josh won the first game, but I think Krista and I won the next two.

For the first time all week, we all showed up to dinner sober, which was a different sort of experience. Licky the Dog showed up to greet us as usual.

And then the whole crew called it quits. Even before the entertainment started, we were just done. The whole Party Posse vetoed the show, and went to bed.

CHAPTER 7: WEDNESDAY SUPPOSED TO BE WACKY AND WILD

The whole point behind Take-it-Easy Tuesday was to be of sound mind and body for the Party Posse Private Boat Ride Extravaganza, which was to take place on Wednesday. To start Wet, Wild, and Wacky Wednesday, Krista made some wakeup calls (two for me!) and we all met for breakfast, which for the third time in the week consisted of a wicked omelet.

Everybody wandered down to the beach to meet our boat, which was anchored a little ways off shore. A motorboat picked us up on the beach and taxied us out to the sailboat, which was sweet. The eight of us took our spots on the boat and enjoyed the waves, the sun, and the view of the mountains on the shore.

Actually, seven of us did that, and one of us sat absolutely still, doing her best not to puke her guts out from the seasickness. Jen was not feeling too hot, and she let everybody know it by yakking a stomachful into the Caribbean. The rest of us tried to not get splashed and took a lot of pictures of each other drinking beers from the cooler.

After about an hour of boating, we stopped and anchored for a while. Everybody, including Pukey McYakster, threw on the flippers and the snorkel masks and fluttered around in the water for a while. There wasn't too much to look at in the ways of fish, but the water was very clear and we did see a few colourful little fellas.

Back on the boat, the boys drank a few more Bucanero Beers while the girls sat in the sun and tried not to puke anymore (some more so than others). The view on the way into the bay of Santiago was breathtaking and the giant fortress overlooking it was also pretty impressive.

We had lunch at a little place on the bay, where we had four choices: Fish, fish, beef, or pork. The soundtrack for our meal was a Spanish album of Beatles songs, which I liked quite a bit, but never found out the name of. After our dessert ice cream was done, we fought off all the people trying to sell us shells, and we boarded another boat, and ferried across the bay, where a bus was waiting for us.

The Party Posse was about to hit the streets of Santiago de Cuba, which, by the way, was founded by Germans in 1515. We got dropped in the center of town, by a lovely square in front of a giant old church. We stepped off the bus and were promptly accosted by locals asking for our clothes, our money, or trying to show us around for tips. After shaking the first crowd, we tried to explore some of the side streets where local wares could be purchased.

Every time we stopped, however, another local would try to weasel some money out of us by giving us a tour, offering cigars or rum at discount prices, etc. One fellow in particular followed us around for blocks until we were essentially running away from him. It was extremely stressful. Everybody started to get uptight and snappy, which was the only time all week that anybody was less that cordial. Josh was the only cordial one, and the locals took advantage of that fact by chatting him up as they followed us.

After a short time of wandering the narrow streets and alleys and avoiding hustlers and motorcycle traffic, we finally decided to abandon the exploring, and head to a nice hotel in the center of town. At the rooftop bar, my rum & coke cost the same as a bottle of water, which is a sure sign that Santiago is my kind of town… if you disregard the hustlers and beggars.

After our drinks were finished, we headed back to our bus. After an elderly lady grabbed at our clothes one last time, we pulled away as she practically pressed her face against the window and screamed. A 20-minute nap later, we were pulling up the driveway of Club Bucanero and happy to be back.

We celebrated our safe return by playing a game of water polo, and again switching up the teams. Considering it was our last night, everybody tried hard to make it count. After a series of drinks poolside, we took a quick break to change the clothes, and head back for our last dinner.

Dinner for the 7th night in a row was less than spectacular, but we had gotten used to it. There was a band playing to entertain us during dinner, and because I was unable to find a nice guitar to buy in town, I felt the need to redeem myself by performing for everybody who would listen. I borrowed a guitar from one of the two guitaristas, and played “Hotel California” while the bass player, bongo guy, and the rest joined in. My voice was strained from a week of screaming, cigars, and laughing, but I didn't care all that much. I had fun.

The only thing was, just before I sang my song, my stomach decided that it wasn't very happy. I hadn't had too much to drink, and I hadn't eaten anything different, but my gut was clearly debating something, and I was unsure of what the verdict was going to be. I tried to ignore it, and did for quite a while, until about the time the entertainment started. I thought that I was about to lose my lunch, so I took a little walk back to the room, and Leigh came back to take a nap.

Nothing happened. But I did feel better. So I left Leigh sleeping, and rejoined the group. Of course, about 15 minutes later, I started feeling the same way again. Again, I headed back to the room and managed to empty some of the tainted goods, in the more pleasant of the two most popular methods. I felt better, again.

I rejoined the party. And as the night progressed, my trips to and from the party became more frequent and every time I'd get some more trouble out of me. Eventually, I puked… and again, I felt better. By the time, the party was about ready to move down to the discotheque around midnight, I was stumbling along trying not to upset my stomach any further.

Krista, who had been fairly sedate over the course of the week, had chosen Wednesday as her "night to shine." She was in fabulous spirits and was doing her best to encourage all of the people around her to keep up. And I tried my best.

As we wandered down to the discotheque, my mysterious stomach bug had resurfaced so many times that it was beginning to wear on me. I kept coming back to the party though, which surprised everyone, but finally it was time to shut'er down. Chris told me to go to bed, I didn't debate much, and only Krista seemed truly disappointed that I couldn't answer the bell. The rest of the crew also seized the opportunity to call it a night, except for Krista and Barrett who partied until the wee hours.

I went to bed, but continued to visit the washroom quite frequently. I wasn't feeling so hot. Popular consensus was that I had a nice little case of sunstroke. And my stomach didn't let me forget it until about 8am the following morning.

CHAPTER 8 – THIRSTY THURSDAY

Leigh and I made it up for breakfast, but I passed on my usual omelet and stuck to a piece of bread. I sipped a cup of water, and paced myself until I felt able enough to eat a deep-fried hotdog later in the day. The crew showed up and we got primed to enjoy our last day by the pool. Apparently Krista had gone on shining for quite some time after we left her. Photographic evidence would later show that Barrett picked up a dog (literally) and that Krista's face had been vandilized after returning to her room... but who could have done it? Who had a key?

Sometime around 11:00 I felt well enough to have a beer, and play a game of horseshoes. We played another game of water polo and drank a few more banana daiquiris until it was officially time to eat our last lunch. As we choked down our bread and salad, and drank our drinks, we decided that sitting in the shade and drinking banana daiquiris until the bus showed up to get us was a good plan. Darryl and Katherine joined the party, and by the time we were done, there were more than 50 empty cups on the table. Everybody had tried to drown the sorrow of going home, and some people were quite successful.

As we huddled in the lobby, and grabbed our bags, the manager of the hotel asked Barrett for $5 because apparently he had stolen a towel. There was a bit of a commotion, Barrett threatened that we would never return and threw in a “Nnnoh!” for good measure. He paid the 5 convertible pesos just to make them happy, but after a week of good times, we were left with a sour taste in our mouths.

The bus to the airport felt more like a thrill ride as we zigged and zagged at high speeds. Krista was kinda ill, I had to pee, Barrett was fuming, and everybody else on the bus probably had some other sort of problem too. We made it to the airport in record time though, and proceeded to wait in line for about an hour or two. Side note: Apparently, we are prohibited from bringing catapults on the plane, which was a shame because I bought a very nice one in Santiago that I couldn't bring home.

Leigh and I did buy some local woodwork (at the resort), and everybody hit up the Duty Free shop at the airport. A bottle of rum goes for 5 Convertible Pesos, which is less than $7 Canadian. We snacked on crackers, candy, and pop until the plane took us home.

Of course the plane was late, and uncomfortable, and tiring. Everybody was either asleep, or cranky, or hungry, or dehydrated, and of course… we were leaving our tropical vacation paradise. We were going to split up from our new friends, to whom we had become so close, and with whom we had enjoyed so many good times. Our new friends already felt like old friends and it was sad to see them go.

After clearing customs, we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. The cab made it downtown in no time, Leigh and I hopped out at our place, and Josh and Jen kept going. Toronto was quite a bit colder, and I got a pretty major chill as I crossed the street towards our apartment.

Perhaps I should have put a jacket on when I landed…

Or maybe it was the flip-flops.

----------------------

Editors note: This piece was written over the course of a few days and finished in Whitehorse, Yukon. The plane from Vancouver was delayed 3 times, and the author's guitar did not show up until two days later...