This isn't the real Cuba
I'm starting this blog post while lounging by the pool. The sky has clouded over but it's warm in Cuba today. We've had partly sunny and windy weather for the first half of our trip. The temperatures are much cooler than expected for a tropical destination.
Jorge, our tour guide, told us yesterday as we sat in the air-conditioned bus, “This isn't the real Cuba.” He didn’t mean the weather. He meant the tourist area of Varadero.
I’m staying at an all-inclusive resort with a huge pool, sprawling grounds, and a seemingly endless supply of food and drink. Around me are people conversing in Spanish, English, French, and Russian. Tourists scoffing at the price of beer in the gift shop, demanding clean towels, and cutting in front of others at the buffet.
This isn't the real Cuba.
When I was working full-time, I was always planning my next trip. My coworkers would regularly ask me, “Where are you going next?” I loved to travel and booked my next vacation at least 4-6 months in advance. I told myself and the people around me that I needed at least two big trips and two little trips every year to "keep me sane."
True to form, I booked the trip we’re on now around five months ago. As we moved closer to our time away, I couldn't wait for the day to arrive. But not for the same reasons as before, when I was eager to escape my corporate life. No, I wanted the trip to come and go. So it could finally be over.
I felt a lot of anxiety leading up to this trip. What if Lulu falls down the stairs again? What if hubby gets sick? What if something terrible happens? My inner critic didn’t help with my feelings of guilt and regret. Air travel is so bad for the environment! Why did you choose a tropical destination when you’re heat sensitive? How are you going to feel, staying in an all-inclusive resort in a country where its citizens are so poor? Also this: How dare you have mixed feelings when you should be grateful for this trip!
It was our first time in Cuba. As soon as we arrived, I started counting. Seven more sleeps until I get to go home. When I woke up in the middle of the night, on our very first night, I thought to myself: Six and a half more sleeps.
From the start, there were signs that my anxiety was a harbinger of the future. Our friend emailed to say that Lulu was sick and threw up a couple of times. Hubby got dizzy and nearly fainted as he was getting out of the tour bus. Then he got an upset stomach and we had to bust out our anti-diarrhea meds.
Three more sleeps.
But with each passing day, despite the signs reinforcing my anxiety, part of me remembered my love of travel and was more and more grateful that I was there. I loved learning about the history of Cuba. I saw how much our tourist dollars help the Cuban people. I realized I can enjoy my trip even though I don’t want or need to travel like I used to.
Jorge described Cuba as a melting pot; today, most Cubans are mixed descendants of Black slaves, Chinese indentured labourers, and White settlers. He talked about how there are no Indigenous peoples remaining. I’ve since learned that “some mixed but recognizably indigenous Ciboney–Taino-Arawak-descended populations are still considered to have survived in parts of rural Cuba” (source). This got me thinking about how the histories of Cuba and Canada parallel, interconnect, and diverge.
I was born in Toronto and I’ve lived here for over 40 years, but can I say I know the real Toronto? Can we ever truly know a place, when it is constantly changing? When everyone has a different perspective, interacting with and experiencing a place in their own unique way? When we exist only within a tiny sliver of time?
The more I think about this, the more tangled the ball of yarn becomes. What I do know is that I know a lot more about the real Cuba than I did two weeks ago, but not nearly enough to say that I know the real Cuba. Visiting a place is like looking through the keyhole of a much larger door. My view was limited and simplistic, but I got a sense of what is happening on the other side. And also that there is so much more.
Perhaps this is how travel teaches me. Realizing that my experience of the world, my interactions with a real place, will always be narrow and limited — regardless of whether I’ve been somewhere for a week or 40 years. But the very fact that I know that my view is narrow gives me so much perspective. It’s also way more expansive than thinking that my experience is the only one.
THIS MONTH’S REFLECTIVE QUESTIONS
Where does the pendulum come to rest for you in terms of your desire to travel? Why do you want to travel? (Or, why do you not want to travel?) What does home mean to you and how does travel enhance or detract from your sense of home?
Looking through the keyhole with you,
P.S. I’m experimenting with turning these blog posts into cozy solocasts. If you’d like some more context around this month’s blog post and hear my thoughts on the reflective questions, click here for the companion podcast episode.