Chapter 23: In the waiting line

The next day I wake up and eat a delicious breakfast of Nicaraguan pinolillo, Nicaraguan coffee and Cuban fruit. Then I wander off to the bank to quickly withdraw some money – only to find that this time the line is longer than ever, filling the inside of the bank and the sidewalk outside and it is after 10am and sweltering hot, I ask for the “ultimo persona” in line, wait for someone to get in line after me, and then go and tuck myself in to a thin slice of shade beside the building. When I finally got into the building and had a seat, I took the opportunity to pull out my Spanish notebook and practice my long neglected verb conjugations. With the noise of the aircon, and the traffic outside and all the people milling about, I did not feel shy about practicing half out loud and so my hour in line went by almost quickly. Cubans seem to spend quite a lot of time waiting in absurdly long lines. They wait in line at the bank, at the money changing kiosk, outside of grocery stores, inside of grocery stores, to pay phone bills, to buy phone cards, they even wait in line for ice cream – and we are not talking just normal lines – we are talking amusement park caliber lines if you know what I mean – like stand around in the sun for an hour sweating outside the ice cream shop just to get in another line to get seated at a table to get a bowl of ice cream, and usually there are only two or three flavors to choose from – and there might be five different lines to choose from as well – and each of those lines might have access to different flavors of ice cream and by the time you walk around the block to find the line with the flavor you want – another 20 people have already got in line in front of you. The funny part is that while people really do seem aghast when they happen upon a long line, they seem rather patient in the process of waiting. The odd time I have seen a Cuban in a hurry in a line up they have certainly stuck out like sore thumbs amongst a sea of more or less very calm line waiters.

At the bank, I asked the guy in front of me how long he figured it would take and he just shrugged and said who knows. When I finally got through the line, I ran a few more errands before heading home for some lunch and laundry and packing. I went for one last walk around the city that evening with a stop at the internet kiosk to very happily find that luck had finally decided to agree with me – with the help of my dad pestering Air Canada until they agreed to change my ticket. So I happily finished my cooking and packing and everything at my Havana Casa, and was bid farewell by Cari bright and early at 5am the next morning.