Cuban adventures

Ohhh, this last vacations left a very strong impression in me and have enlighten my way to think about this world in general, specially about our societies and the standards to which we conform in our everyday lives. Why? because I have never been so wrong about my expectations about a country and their people, or better said, the standards to which they conform.

Im talking about Cuba. That secluded island neighboring my homeland (Mexico). We all know that it is quite an exception in most ways, but specially because is a communist country with closed borders, but what most of us (and this is specially so in my case)so not know is what implications this brings, or how different it can be from something that looks so similar.

As you might have noticed by now, I went there with great expectations and left deeply disappointed, not only because of cuba in itself, but also several other factors that made me angry even before I even arrived there. These unfortunate events are stories in themselves and Ill indulge with the main tale in a moment, but I want to make clear that this text is meant to be objective, what happened before cuba did not happen in cuba.

 And so it all began, waking up very early and driving in the cold to find out as soon as I wanted to check in that just a couple of days before, when I entered Mexico, my passport was not stamped and therefore I could not leave the country without going to the migratory office and getting the proper stamp. Funny thing, the office would not open until I had already missed my flight, and so I did. First time in my life, and that little misunderstanding ended up costing me several hundred dollars.

 Understandably upset and amazingly cold, I had to wait four more hours for the next flight while my dear friend who was travelling with me had to go ahead without me and wait four more hours for me until I arrived. Few times in my life had I been so angry and trying to look at the whole situation with humour I was thinking to myself that I should try to analyze, and memorize what I felt cause it was quite a unique moment in my life... but fool me, I had no idea of the amount of anger that was awaiting me later in this trip.

Anyways, I was there. Finally made it and my friend was waiting for me right where I could findd her without effort, but of course, one of the first things I heard from her was that her card didnt work in the ATMs. This came as annoying but not surprising. I had plenty of money with me in cash to change because I had read before about problems with money and the complicated system of having a "tourist-only" currency and extra taxes to credit cards.

Nothing to bad, we managed to get money with the exchange booth and then, as cubans are not allowed to fly out of the country (except in special occasions) and tourists are not allowed on the public buses, there is no other way to get to Havana than to take a taxi... and so we did. This old american car that makes the Havana look so nice and retro in all the pictures, yeah, why not? well, they are unsafe, uncomfortable and they stink to burned oil and diesel.

 Very soon the nostalgia of the nice retro cars was replaced by a disgustingly polluted city, seriously, grey air as bad  or worst than my hometown of Mexico City (which is pretty bad), and as said, the whole city stinks because of this. At least Mexico City does not smell like that. Oh well, I wouldnt let something like that get me down, I was just noticing the bad in everything cause I was tired and in a bad humor. Soon Ill be in the capital and everything will start going better.

 We found the "casa" where I had booked and found that it seemed clear and the hosts were nice. But exactly in the center, was kind of misleading. Never-the-less, lets shower and go out to make the best out of our first day. A walk to the "Malecon" that should be very near by sounds like the best start, if you dont consider the heavy and cold wind... which we didnt. So we ended up not being able to walk the Malecon because of the rough sea and heavy wind that would soak anyone who dared to try.

 Instead we walked through the smaller streets in direction of the old town. There were plenty of people sitting outside of their porches doing some "people watching" (quite a popular activity as I would later notice) and the other thing to notice was the bad condition of the buildings.

The good news is that on our first night, I wanted to go to a good restaurant. And lucky us, right in front of the capitol there was a very big line of people waiting to get a table in a Criollan restaurant. So we took our place and waited until we got offered a nice table at what seemed to be a very fancy venue all decorated with prices, hand carved wood decoration and lit under candle light. Exactly what I was hoping to find to celebrate.

It was named "Los Nardos". The food was good, and Prices seemed fair. I enjoyed it. So yes, not everything is as bad as I describe it to be. But the funny part about this, is that it was the only time on the trip that I would feel pleased with a restaurant. We were very lucky to start the trip with that, and it kept being a disappointment not being able to find another venue as good as that one was, and even worst, at such good prices.

For the rest of the trip, we fed mostly on smaller snacks and italian food (not something to expect in the caribe), and in my case, imported and cheap cookies. But on the bright side, most of the Casas will offer breakfast for around 4 Cuc's and they are not too bad, but a bit  miserable. So in conclusion, Ill finish my whining by saying that in general, the food in Cuba, as to be expected, is horrible according to my standards.

 Now the story about the busses. This one is funny now, but I almost went berserk when it happened. It started when we decided to go to the town of Cienfuegos instead of the beach of Varadero. Touristic places seemed to be something we were not aiming for anymore and to leave, we wanted to reserve two seats with one of the tour operators but for some reason I couldnt understand, it was only possible two days before the date.

 This meant we had to take the normal busses, and we needed a taxi to get to the main statin. So we took one those oldie ones again and once let me remind you, they look much better from far away. But lets not start that again, we made it there and after ignoring the many drivers that offer you to take you anywhere by taxi, we managed to get there.

 In the "reception" the fat lady behind the desk didnt even greet us, she was ignoring us while talking loudly with a friend of hers until felt like I had to interrupt. Not happy with my tone she replied "yes, what?" and after explaining our request she said that there were no more busses for tomorrow and the first bus was at 8:45 the day after. So we bought the tickets disappointed to stay in Havana one more night(which were two slips of paper with stamps and a lazy signature) and as soon as we did, she turned to her friend and said "So, as I was saying..."

 We walked for a bit, ate and made our way home again after not finding anything interesting to do or see. There we had the good news that we could stay one more night where we were, and that all our other reservations were successfully postponed by one night. At least that brought my temper down a bit, so I felt like going to the beach and getting rid of my pale skin was the best thing to do. And that was a complete joy even with the minor first degree burns that I endured in the process.

The day of departure, knowing that in Havana many things had gone wrong, we woke up at 7:00 and left to the station at 8:00 trying to be there 30 minutes earlier. It took us 5 minutes to find a taxi, so we got there at 8:20, only 25 mins which still seemed to be early enough, but no. The guy at the station even giggled a bit before saying that "the bus to Cienfuegos left only 2 minutes ago... it was not 8:45, but 8:15"

Asking for an explanation was no use, he would just raise his shoulders and smirk trying not to giggle again. Apparently the receptionist really doesnt like to be interrupted. So we had lost our bus, what now? Well, they told us to wait for the next one that was 3 hours away and that we shouldnt worry, there was always place to spare. Which means we could have taken the bus yesterday? -I asked calmly, and to my lack of amazement, the answer was "of course".

At that point, my brain was about to blank, do something stupid and probably get me into more trouble. I was about to burst with anger and so I did what I always do when I get that angry, I went silent and sat down trying to control the stream of chemicals rushing all over my body. And so I remained for the whole 3 hours before taking the next bus. And by the time I was calm again, I still couldnt find courage to start a conversation with my friend who seemed to share most of my anguish, also in silence.

It was a bad ride, not only because of our mood, it was long and also uncomfortable but when we had our touristic stop to shop, we managed to start talking again with each other. And funny enough, with the peace of mind, I managed to get some sleep before reaching Cienfuegos which lucky us, greeted us with pretty good weather. I verified (twice) the times for our bus to Trinidad tomorrow and we found our way to our new Casa.

From here on, the whole story turns out better. It was a little town founded by the catalans so it was pretty and reminded me a bit to my beloved Barcelona. The streets are build in a parallel mesh and organized by numbers and it makes it pretty easy to move around without getting lost. Left our stuff and went out as soon as possible so we managed to tour the little town quickly and we made our way to the bay just before a very beautiful sunset. Its amazing how something like that can cheer you up.

Next day we finished with what we hadnt manage to see, including a funny rehearsal for a kids show at the theater and made our way to the bus station where we had no more problems. The bus ride was much shorter and upon arrival in Trinidad, there was a lady with a sign that had my name written on it (I noticed that there is a first time for everything) and she escorted us through a maze of random streets (nothing like the nice Cienfuegos) up to our new Casa, and on the way I finally started to feel like I was in Cuba.

Trinidad is pretty. Most books names it the jewel of the caribean, which I consider an exaggeration in any way, but I did like it from the beginning so I dont want to make it sound bad. Then again, this might be because of all my bad previous experiences, the best out of the bad? Either way, I was happy to be there, happy there was a Casa de la Musica (even though I had no intentions of dancing salsa) and very confortable in our new room. 

Few days went by with satisfaction until I had to leave Trinidad and my good friend behind and go back for a very short night to the Havana. I wanted to arrive as late as possible, go to sleep and wake up soon after to go to the airport. But I had to eat something once I arrived and of course that city wouldnt let me go without a last proper goodbye laugh (sarcastic smirk that is). 

As I walked to the casa with my backpack on the Boulevard (the most busy street I knew) looking for a pizza stand to grab something on the go. Three girls approached me and started asking me if I wanted to have a good time, so I very politely answered that I was not interested. They continued insisting regardless of my ever more loud and direct NO!, thank you... until the point where one started pulling my arm and I had to yell for them to leave me alone, now!

They left laughing and I got my pizza*. But as soon as I got home, I noticed the side pocket of my backpack had been opened and I was missing a half bottle of water and my 6 moths old toothbrush. Those girls had obviously been bothering me while trying to get stuff out and left noticing I had nothing of value on the outside pockets. But non-the-less, on my last 6 hours, I was robbed.

*(Note, the pizza man was the only fair cuban that I got to meet for he gave me a couple of Cuban pesos to make up the price difference instead of rounding it up)

 My last and probably funniest anecdote was at the airport on my way home. After having checked my bad, had to go to migration to pay the tax for leaving the country. I was standing there in one of the 10 or 12 lines and waited for easy 30 minutes until it was almost my turn. Then as the lady in front of me went to the migration officer and delivered her passport he put it on the table and started looking down at it.

It took a while, and the other lines were moving, but ours wasnt. The lady by the desk was just looking around waiting for the officer and I was about to ask what was going on when I realized offer the side panel from his little cubicle that his eyes were closed, and he wasnt reading something, he was nodding his head asleep. Yes, the migration officer was asleep so I started giggling in disbelief and took a few steps forward to make sure. Yes.

So I screamed to the lady, loudly enough so everyone could hear: "wake him up, he is sleeping!" and she looked at me confused before looking down and realizing I was right and not knowing what to do, she just looked back at me and didnt do anything. So at that moment, the lady behind me in line stepped forward to the counter and with all her might slammed her hand against the desk so loud that all the airport turned to look at the guard who just jolted and almost fell back of his seat.

I found this slightly amusing even though in other circumstances I would have laughed-out-loud. It was very funny and his face unforgettable. But I was in no mood of laughing anymore, I just wanted to get out of that country and be home with my family and this seemed to be  the general feeling because everyone went back to the gloomy mood of just a minute ago, and shortly after, it seemed like nothing had even happened.

As I got to the counter I said "good morning!" very cheerfully, but he didnt seem to find this funny, and I didnt care if he did. I just waited a moment and went thru. Managed to find the terminal without problem, I bought me a last package of cookies and to my delight, not only the flight was on time but I made it to Mexico alive.

The conclusion of it all is that I do not like Cuba, and im very disapointed, but lets be realistic here: What other week of my life could have produced such a long and entertaining text? I even skipped a couple of stories so I wouldnt overwhelm everyone... I always said that good times make good memories, and bad times make good stories. The fact that I didnt like it, doesnt mean that I regret being there. It was an enlightening experience and left me with memories (either good or bad) that I will never forget and thats better than other holidays Ive had. 

Quality or quality?

Recently I was writing a note in favor of choosing quality over quantity. But as I progressed on it, and read back the things I was writing, I came to realize something new and interesting... so here it is, the final cut from 3 different notes:

Quality is important to me, I have always preferred good, lasting and reliable things. I prefer to enjoy the flavor of a good chocolate over a whole bag that takes me half hour to finish (even tho I know that I'll be hungry soon after). I will stay more in one place to get to know it instead of just crossing it out from the list and forgetting about it a couple of years later. I prefer to have phew friends as long as I know that they will be there when I need them. I have loved phew women but I still remember every single moment I had with them, and I have no regrets for they are all perfect to my eyes.

But there is another side to all of this. I have always said that luck is something you have to earn, that life gives opportunities equally to everyone (life may be a bitch, but she is fair) but only those who are looking for them will get to notice one when it presents itself. That was the turn over, the more opportunities you find, friends you meet, things you have or notes you write. The more you do, more the chances of one “lucky” strike. And also practice makes master, right? The more you do something, the better you become at it.

So... quantity brings quality. But it is also a fact that less is more, that by doing less things you can do them better. So how does this system work? Less quantity brings more quality, and more quantity brings more quality. Well, yeah! Took me a long time to realize something as simple as that. There doesn't need to be a contradiction. It all comes down to this, do less but do it right... or do as much as you can... both of them will lead you to a better result. My conclusion is that quality is the result of effort, not the lack of quantity.

I have never been the best at something, but I'm competitive in almost anything. I do not have much, but I am proud of the things I have. There is not much love in my life, but all of it is disinterested and unconditional. And if I compare the small amount of people I can call “friend” with the huge amount of people I have met in my life, I realize how special and extraordinary you all are and how “lucky” I was to have found the opportunity of meeting you.

Thank you all, you are the proof that all of my efforts are well rewarded.

dream of a winter morning

Looking down my jacket I'm trying to understand why my bright wine-red tie wont fit, I realize the node is not right and I pull it off with frustration like if it wasn't the first time it went wrong. Start all over again but pretty soon mi interrupted by the sound of a door opening that compels me to turn my head around, and again, I miss the node. Frustrated about it I turn to see who is to blame for distracting me, and as soon as I do, I can't seem to remember what was I doing before I saw her.

Through the door, a beautiful and sophisticated looking girl wearing a long and shiny blue dress comes in and gently asks  -Are you ready?- I reply raising one eyebrow with a gesture of doubt while showing her the horrible mess around my neck. A whisper of dissapointment mixed with a little humour follows as she starts walking towards me before taking the tie away from my neck with a gentle jet aggressive pull that makes me loose my balace a little as I get bend down closer to her. And as soon as I quickly recover and turn my head down to see her progress I realize the node is perfectly finished. -Now you are ready- she says giving me a smile as I stare confused wondering how she did it, but it doesn't matter.

After taking my hand we start walking to the door on the other side of the room and just before we reach it, she suddenly stops and turns to me saying -I almost forgot...- . Then I notice she has red carnival mask in her other hand, same red as the suit I'm wearing, so I take it and only until then I notice she is wearing a similar mask but in a matching blue, had she been wearing it this whole time? can't remember if she had it on before or not, cant seem to remember her face, but it doesn't matter, so I just put my mask and soon as I do, her voice cheerfully says -Lets go!- and her hand firmly starts to pull me again.

It takes jus a few more steps before we reach the door we where heading for and as a gentle man I open it and gesture for her to go in before me. A smile and a bow thank me this invitation but as soon as she goes on, she pulls me in hard enough to make me loose my balance and I stumble into the next room following her and trying not to fall down while still being in her guiding grip that won't let me go as she continues to pull me gently towards her. I slowly recover to notice her face right next to mine, my hands around her waist holding her tight and her arms streched over my shoulders as if we were about to dance. I'm standing confortable again somehow, jet hypnotized by her skills and beauty. All I see is a pair of beautiful eyes hiding behind the blue mask mixed with a big naughty smile that blinds my senses. I just do not realise where I am until several moments after.

I'm at the biggest hall I have ever seen, an endless sequence of domes and pillars extending without end in all directions, and an incredible amount of people is dancing in circles around us, everyone with different colourful suits and dresses similar to ours, and everyone with a different matching mask. No trace of the door we crossed or some way to go in or out of there, but it doesn't seem to matter, is actually the overwhelming immensity of the room and the ridiculous amount of people around me what starts to scare me.

I turn around desperate, only to see more colourful people spinning in circles. All the movement is starting to make me confused and more scared, but then someone captures my attention. I see a brunet, in a blue dress, with beautiful eyes hidden by a blue mask, standing still and alone with one of her hands streched towards me and leaning her head just a little making her seem playful while she keeps staring at me with that naughty smile that had me hypnotized before She seems to be waiting for me to accept her hand so I reach out for it and in that moment, as our hands touch, it seems I completely forget where I am, it doesn't seem to bother me any more so I now I it is me who leads her into the same dancing position as we were just a moment ago. Now it is me who is smiling.

I am staring into her eyes again, and after a short bow we begin to dance in circles mixing around the crowd. There I am, dancing in circles lost in between thousand of couples doing the same thing as we are, all the colours moving in the background melt beautifully as we turn in perfect synchrony with the rest. We go on, and on, and on... we never stop... there is no entrance or exit, and it doesn't seem to matter. I never stop staring and smiling, she never stops either, we never stop dancing, going around in circles... and it is fine. It doesn't matter... nothing else matters any more.

Why? just because.

I am curious and arrogant. I think those are the qualities that I like the best about me, because they make me the way I am. I am a learning machine that finds a way to be fascinated by most things that others find common (curiosity), and I also find the way to improve myself every day by learning things that most people wouldn't find interesting or useful at all. Currently I am learning photography, Japanese and how to juggle 4 tennis balls at the same time... why? Not because I plan to become professional photographer, travel to japan or because I want to earn money on the streets showing off my new tricks (though maybe I could give it a try). It is simply because there is no reason not to do so.

It bothers me not to know something, and it is even worst when I do not understand it. I become obsessed with it until I find an answer that satisfies all the questions I have. Most people live their entire life without even knowing themselves or knowing their own body. We all consider some things for granted and ignore them, or simply never even notice them. There is just too much information around be able to process it all, and that is Ok by me. But there are things that you notice, and choose to ignore. Most people will choose to remain ignorant, and as I have mentioned many times before, I hate ignorance with all my guts.

I can not see, touch, smell or hear something without asking myself... Why? The ultimate question for everything. There is always a reason, even if we will never find it. Why is it that I am the way I am, cause I ask myself that question every day. Understanding the world helps you enjoy it more. When you notice how complicated it is to answer the “why” of some little details of life that we ignore or give for granted you will be able to find the interest in life, the fascination over this beautiful world that you have lost with the time. There will be more reasons for you to enjoy your every day, everything will become more beautiful and life will start to have more meaning... even if we do not understand it all. Its all about the details. I can guarantee you this.

Just part of the routine.

I want to tell you a story today, its based on a true story even though some things might not be completely accrued. A guest, that could not even remember my name, pointed at me screaming -you!- and came to me asking if I was really a Mexican. She heard it from my chief yesterday night during the presentation of the team after the show had ended. -Yes-, I answered proudly. And she commented that i didn't look like a Mexican. -Mexicans should all be small, dark skin, eyes and hair-. So I laughed with irony to make her think she was being eloquent. I fake this things quite often, and I hear this comment also quite often so it was nothing new. So I nicely answered - I am sorry that I am not able to fit into the cliché, but tomorrow I will bring a big hat with me so you can take a picture-.

It is quite easy to be offensive, but you require a lot of talent to offend me. And let me tell you, this woman was a great contender. While the fake giggles and whispers were still fading I tried to make my way out of it, but she noticed and quickly pulled my arm and said -before you go, let me just ask you one more question... what is a Mexican doing here in the Canary Islands? Is it not too far away from home?- So, after getting her hand away from me I smiled and answered, in the same pretentious tone as her. -Well, you already know what I do here... I believe you saw me yesterday. And I am here for the exact reason that you just mentioned... it is far away from home, I want to see the world while I can-

This was not enough for her, so breaking her promise she kept asking more and more questions that I can even consider routine and that I avoid as much as possible. But she had everything already figured out. -how old are you?- 24, -how long have you been doing “this”?- for almost 3 years now, -what did you do before?- university, -really?- yeah, -what did you study?- I started engineer but didn't finish cause I don't want to practice engineering anymore (I even gave full answer knowing that she would push more), -but you can not do “this” for ever... what will you do when you are 30?- well... I do not know what I will be, but I can tell you what I will not be... “this”, so I want to do it while I can. -But you seem to be a smart boy, you should do something better with your life and continue as engineer!- Well, just as not all Mexicans have dark skin, not all smart people end up being engineers.

With such persistent guests it is always the same story, always the same answers. But I would not be writing this if “she” would be just another annoying guest who thinks that knows what is best for me. Ohh no. She kept going where she shouldn't have... -And, what does your mother think about this?- She is proud of me. -Reeaally? (with a tone that made it very clear where this was going to end... and at this point I knew I had to run away... now!)- Yes, she is, and my dad too. -They should know better (she said), if you were my son I would not allow something like this- Well... I am very glad that you are not my mother, cause I love my parents very much and they are the nicest people you would ever meet, and I'm sure that my chief also appreciates the fact that you only have one son (poor guy) or else there would be any entertainers left to hire.

Of course she got upset about my tone, but no one messes with the ones I love. So after a short silence I continued and said goodbye to her. -Well, it was a pleasure talking to you, and if you have any complains about the way my mother raised me, feel free to talk to my chief Jordi or directly to the management of this hotel. My name is Matias, as you can read (pointing to my badge) or just “the Mexican guy” would be enough. I hope to see you for bingo at four O'clock and if not I wish you a nice day-. I had never been so rude to a guest before in my career, not even to random people who have also tried to offend me, I think this place is really starting to affect me more than I though. But you know what? I liked it, she deserved it for being so pretentious. I have always said that I am too nice, specially to people that do not deserve nice. So there is a first one for everything... right?

self-righteousness-awerness campain

Have you ever watched "Dogville"? its a great movie that taught me a lot about myself. I do not judge others according to my standards because I strive to be the best human being that I can, and that includes being forgiving and understanding of anyones imperfections (including my own). But you know? I hadn't realized, until very recently, that forgiving sometimes can mix itself with having pity... and avoiding conflict can allow wrong-doing not only to myself, but also to those that I care about. And for what? Self-righteousness?

I'm extremely arrogant, no one needs to tell me that (and when they do I sometimes even like it), but someone once told me I was "too good" as if this was something to complain about... which kind of contradicts my previous confession. And since then I've hated to be called that. But they are right: everything in excess is bad, even the good things, even the good intentions, and even forgiving. Sometimes being rude and make someone take notice, as I just did, is not only the right thing to do but the loving thing to do for them. Yes, calling me what used to be the worst offense I could describe, was a caring way to tell me there was still room for improvement hidden behind my huge arrogance.

And now, what all of these words were trying to express is that I'm TOO nice to tell you somethings in your face, and just because I don't, it doesn't mean there is no complaints or criticisms to share. It means there is always room for improvement, but the best way to realize it is to pay attention and start looking at yourself, as I also look at myself and as I look at you. Start judging me according to your standards and see what you can criticize about me that I could not criticize about you. Start by asking yourself if this is meant for YOU to read it, cause maybe there is room for improvement behind that arrogance of ours.

potential hopelessness

For me, that my efforts never satisfy my expectations and that my hopes of personal talent are shadowed by the cruel realization that I've been wrong before... many times. For someone who has always been willing to give it a try knowing that failure is eminent and that remaining humble is the way to save my poor self-esteem, its hard to understand where my very noticeable arrogance keeps coming from. What makes me crave this disappointment? Do I enjoy to believe that I can do better, always, even if it means to fail at it, always.

How many times did I think about writing this in one of my notes? many. How many times did I read my final score and decided to start over? A lot. When will I be able to express to you what it is that I'm trying to say? Never (maybe...). I know all of this, and still here I am, doing it, failing with every key-stroke and pausing after every sentence to gasp before resuming what is probably my most depressing moment of my day. And any ways, I always find the motivation to continue. It could be the hope that practice will not make me perfect, just a tiny bit better.

And at the end, I read it. For you it may make no sense, but for me its the universal truth in every-single-little-thing that I do in every-single-insignificant day of my life. It is not meant to be understood, it has no reason to actually exist, it would be better of if I would have invested my precious time in something productive and not just in writing some short idea that went through my mind while I had apparently nothing better to do, or say. But then again, why not? This is bad according to my standards, and I can do better, and I will do better. But its over, I've done it, and that is closer to one win than never have tried.