Chapter 27: The End

We had a lovely few days together sampling all variety of terrible meals in old Havana and one awesome meal at a Paladar in Miramar with a pretty tranquil terrace setting, a great guitarist and great food and drinks. We were lucky enough to be in town during an international dance festival and were treated to several amazing dance performances on the street and in several of the various quaint squares and parks in the old city. On my parents last day in town we took a short wander through Vedado, dropped in to visit Cari at the house I had stayed at earlier in my trip, stocked up on rum and coffee and guava jelly – headed home for dinner in the city - which consisted of fermented orange juice, glue soup and raw chicken –all of which we sent promptly back to the kitchen because it was so foul tasting.

Dance festival parade

boxing ring - no fights on a Sunday apparently

Last and best pina colada

enjoying a rare awesome meal in miramar neighborhood

So my parents left me to pass one last day on my own in the one place on my trip that I just couldn’t manage to love. I wandered around took photos did some shopping, changed my last bit of money – ate one final questionable and inhospitable meal and spent the evening packing. In the morning I went out and bought some Cuban movie posters and then I got a cab to the airport. Thankfully my final ride out of the city was with an uncommonly friendly and chatty cab driver who talked with me all the way to the airport about life and learning a second language and wanting to move to the states. I passed through Cuban customs with no problems and was in no time on my way to Toronto feeling almost giddy at being free from Cuba.

So my final week in Cuba has been and gone and although the chill of the Toronto airport is making me rather miss the heat – I have to say that I am glad to be back in my home and native land – or at least glad to be out of Cuba. I just could not shake the perception that if someone there was being nice to me, it was because they wanted something from me, and though I’m certain that is probably not usually the case, I certainly felt that it was in at least 8 of 10 encounters – and I could never tell whether or not my rip-off radar was misfiring.

After passing some more time in the more touristy quarters of Havana and of Cuba in general, I began to feel like some kind of despised royalty – at least to people working in the hospitality industry – they will take your order, but when your back is turned they put someone’s left over beans and rice on your dinner plate. On one occasion a local travel agent – who was obviously not loving her job that day - rolled her eyes at me for asking a question after purchasing a bus ticket from her. I suppose this is what happens when highly educated people opt to work in tourism because it pays more (at least in tips) than they could ever hope to earn as an electrician, teacher, engineer, or doctor.

Last few sites in Havana

Anyhow – saying goodbye to the good the bad and the ugly of Cuba - I jumped off my plane in Toronto – jumped on a bus to Kingston – thought better of the decision of having to transfer busses and of spending 9 hours on a bus and of arriving in Montreal at 3:30 in the morning – jumped off the bus to Kingston – Jumped on a plane to Montreal – jumped on a bus to downtown – got confused trying to speak French to the bus driver when only Spanish words would come out of my mouth – said thank you and goodbye to the bus driver who turned out to be a Spanish speaker anyhow - wandered around lost on the streets of Montreal at midnight with an unruly amount of luggage –gave up trying to find the address and phoned Patricia - got unlost and spent my first night in Montreal shivering from the cold too exhausted to get up to throw a spare blanket on the bed but already quite content with this relatively unplanned post – holiday holiday.

The next day, we spent the whole day being lazy and not leaving the house until 7pm when we went off to Patricia’s Brazilian drumming class where I was lucky enough to enjoy a drumming orchestra all to myself – I thought of all the times I had tried to chase down the source of drumming in Cuba without success – and thought that this was probably better. Then we went out with some of the drummers to a quite little pub with probably the worst ever 1970s rock cover band – ever – had a drink and went home. The next few days were spent exploring Montreal and being lazy and eating poutine and smoking Cuban cigarillos and getting a sore throat, and before I knew it, it was time to go home to the west coast.

I quickly arranged to prepare some Canadian comfort food at my first opportunity

Montreal streescape - beautiful city!

Montreal smoked meat sandwich - not quite as good as the Montreal smoked meat poutine I had the night before - but good none the less.

For the first time ever I decided not to get to the airport too ridiculously early so planned on catching the bus that would get me there about an hour and a bit before my flight, and for the first time ever there was a disastrous traffic jam and the bus was late and didn’t get to the airport until about half an hour before my flight, but then for the first time ever, my flight was out and out cancelled so they put me on a later flight and gave me a voucher for a free meal and I was ok with that, and I got my free lunch and waited for the plane and ran into a friend that I hadn’t seen in at least a few years.

Then I got to Toronto to switch to my Vancouver bound flight –got amazed by the futuristic pod-like first class seats, got seated beside a smokey smelling guy – watched two movies – got home and found out my cousin had been on the same flight as me - went home and slept in a 20 year old bed that felt brand new compared to every bed I had slept on in Cuba – and sheets that felt like silk compared to all the sheets I had slept in Cuba. And it was nice to be home.