Vacations for Humble Cubans
HAVANA TIMES – As the bus moved through the Sierra del Rosario, I couldn’t stop thinking about when the driver would lose control. I tried to keep a positive mindset for my daughter, for my optimistic friends, for my husband, who asked me every ten minutes if I was okay. But my fever had returned, and the adversities and stress were conspiring against me.
Accelerate, brake, pothole, horn.
We all needed to break away from routine, forget our needs, escape the blackouts. A week of peace, that’s all we asked for. But over two months of preparations, problems kept piling up, as if a voice from another dimension was urging us to cancel the trip.
Hill, curve, abyss, brake.
A month before the planned date, our friends’ eldest son developed a perianal fistula. It seemed like the trip would be canceled. My friend was frantic, as the boy’s father had to undergo surgery for the same reason years ago. After medical consultations, it was determined that it could wait until we returned. With some recommendations and care, the trip to the beach was still on.
Nausea, vomiting, horn, pothole.
Just two weeks before the trip, a thief had the audacity to slip through a small gap in the fence dividing our house from the neighbor’s. Whether due to inexperience, lack of time, or the small entrance and exit space, we don’t know, but he only managed to steal an electric stove and my husband’s phone.
That phone had all the contact information for our clients and suppliers. We lost a week running between ETECSA offices and the police station. To recover the number, we had to wait at least fifteen days because they didn’t have the lines to replace the one that had been stolen. And the police? Well, nothing, “a bunch of inept people.”
Accelerate, brake, pothole, horn, curve.
The deposit for the trip was already paid. My husband had just recovered from bacterial tonsillitis, I had started running a fever the night before departure, and even though the expense of buying a new phone awaited us when we got back, “we were already on the donkey, and had to keep going,” as my grandmother used to say.
Hill, curve, abyss, brake. And we finally arrived at Campismo San Pedro!
The cabin was spacious, nice, with a large refrigerator, fans in each room, and an air conditioner we couldn’t use (it was disconnected for energy saving), blackouts, a broken water pump, a restaurant without service, and a bar always closed.
Cell phone signal could only be found under a ceiba tree. There, all the guests gathered, holding their phones high, shouting to be heard by the person on the other end of the line.
The beach was dirty, full of trash, the grass uncut, the locales and cabins in ruins. And as if nature didn’t want to cooperate, it sent us a tropical storm that left us without electricity for a day and a half.
Not everything was terrible. My fever went away, we made new friends, we laughed at the insects that, despite the burning coconut shells, kept trying to bite us. We took pictures, fished, hunted crabs, jumped over the waves, collected seashells, spent time with our children, and for a few hours each day, we forgot that at the end of the week, home and its shortages awaited us.
Accelerate, brake, pothole, horn, curve.
From the bus, we murmured a goodbye to the sea and opened our arms to the “daily struggle.” At home, Mr. Blackout awaited us, the broken water pump, dirty clothes smelling of salt, an empty refrigerator, and light wallets.
The strange feeling of guilt over the expenses lingers, as if trying to escape for a few days were a sin. To banish these doubts, I close my eyes, breathe, and repeat like a mantra: “I also deserve a little fun.”