Paradise

dispatch #107

Wednesday . . .

We arrived home from the Dominican Republic last night at midnight. It was strange and sad to come home to no dog greetings. I told Ron that I was just going to pretend it had been too late to pick her up from the dog boarders. We haven’t used a dog boarding place in years because our friend Gwen usually comes out to take care of her if we go away. But I just thought I’d pretend for a day.

We arrived home to lots of snow and it snowed overnight some more. It’s pretty but it sure isn’t a tropical beach.

Going away is so weird. In the morning we were both bobbing in the ocean in a blissful state and 12 hours later we were digging out our car to drive home. Like a dream.

the beach at Playabachata, DR

It was nice to be in the warmth and water. Not sure if we’d go to DR again – everything was fancier than Jibacoa (the small resort in Cuba we used to go to) but a smaller beach with about five times the people meant it was a bit hectic for us. The beach was lovely but no fish, no living reef so no snorkeling. The food was much much better. The room was nicer. Everything was easier and yet. We never developed any connections with the staff. I can’t tell you one name. We didn’t meet any people. It was like we were in a big city, which, in a way, we were. So everything – the rooms, the food, the public spaces, were spiffier and much more luxurious and it was ashes in our heart, because no love.

Thursday . . .

The sky is pretty this morning – soft clouds of pale apricot and warm grey, the light shining on the far shore. I can see bits of the bay between the trees. It is lovely here. Ron got the fire going and the coffee on so entering the day is easy. I didn’t walk with Sherri yesterday morning – just still too beat, but she came by and we got to talk about the trip.

I told her about meeting Tina.

Tina is, I believe, a squirrel monkey. I don’t know her human’s name but I met them on the beach at the resort. Tina’s human walks the beach from one end to the other just around noon. The first time I met them my face lit up – naturally – I mean a monkey! Seeing my expression the man brought Tina to me and she leapt onto my shoulder. I was smitten. He asked if I wanted him to take my picture with her and I said – oh no, I don’t think so. Why? Because I’m used to turning down the bazillion offers one gets on the beach – for massages, to have my hair put in corn rows (ugh), to go on excursions, to buy plastic bracelets from China. So I said it without thinking. But I couldn’t get the thoughts of Tina from my mind – a tiny little being with soft red hair. I knew the relationship would be entirely transactional. She had gone on to my shoulder because her boss had offered her an inducement to do so – a bit of some kind of food – corn nuggets or something. But I was without shame. The next day I didn’t see them as I had gone to get a massage (okay so sometimes I say yes). The following day we were being seduced by these salespeople from the resort next door, being fed a great lunch and plied with liquor (hmm...I guess I’m a complete sap come to think of it) and so as it turned out, it wasn’t until our last full day that I saw them again. I asked the human how much to have the photographs and handed over the dough without a thought. If he’d said a hundred bucks I probably would’ve paid it. It wasn’t for the photos though. It was to just have time with the tiny little creature. He made me put my hands flat and she sat on my hands for a bit, then on to my shoulder for some more photos and then up on to my head which was weird and nothing I wanted, then back to my shoulder where the human entreated me with gestures to put my hands under my chin which I thought weird. It reminded me of when the boys were little and we had photos done (imagine!) and the photographer would prop their large heads on their tiny hands for that oh so natural look. I told the fella later that I thought it was because he knew women my age didn’t look so hot in the neck department. Who knows. And then it was over. Me and Tina were done and I was left with forty photos all mostly identical with extremely dumb hair from being wet and then under a ball cap. But Tina is beeeyoutiful.

And readers, it was the highlight of the trip.

it looks like Tina is smoking a tiny cigarette but she doesn’t smoke.

Just came back from my walk with Sherri. My left hip, the one scheduled for a replacement, has been bothering me since about the third day of my trip. I’m not sure why. It may be that my walking on the beach, which is significantly more exercise than walking on a firm surface, aggravated the joint, though that doesn’t really make sense. It may be that my massage caused something to flare up – but the massage therapist didn’t focus on my hips much. I guess it doesn’t matter what caused it but it is slowing down my strength program. I think I will try today to do exercises that focus on my upper body and just do stretching ones for my lower body. It is truly annoying as I had good momentum going – doing my exercises five times a week. And as those of my readers who are older than fifty know, building back up to what you were used to takes a much longer time than it used to and success builds momentum. I’m on the list for a total hip replacement but it could be years before it happens. I wish it was sooner because my right hip (the one that is made of strange metals) works perfectly. I know whatever I do to strengthen the muscles in my legs and glutes will significantly help my recovery but right now I am finding it hard to get back to it. And that is why I’m boring you with this bit of my bothersome life – if I write it I’m more likely to do it. So I promise you that I’m getting back to a program of some kind today.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Cuba these days. I first went there in the late 90’s to do some teaching in Havana with a group of therapists. I fell quickly and solidly in love with the place and the people. We were working with doctors who made about a hundred bucks a week at that time. They took terrible public transportation to work. They shared living quarters with other families. They had chosen to believe in the dream of a socialist country but they were obviously struggling. It was well known that the interpreters would report any dissatisfaction expressed to the authorities so there were very few moments that people could speak freely. But there were a few. One of the other teachers and I had a surreal conversation with a doctor during a crazy wind storm where she patiently described the dilemma they lived with constantly. A taxi driver told me Cuba is crazy. I understood that it was easy to romanticize what was happening. That is still true.

At that time they had enough food and the infrastructure was working to some degree. They had gone through what was called The Special Period, a time of great hardship after Russia withdrew its aid in the first years of the 90s, but they were starting to get on their feet again. Tourism was picking up and those who worked at the resorts were making much more than doctors, educators or other professionals. It was a hard time but hope was in the air. Every person we met was well-educated. Everyone had food even if it was not a copious amount. Everyone was housed if simply.

a painting I made of a photo of Vinales from my first trip to Cuba

I have been to Cuba a half-dozen times since. Always to resorts, mostly to Jibacoa. We’ve gone twice since Covid and we noticed a great change. Hope had fled. The infrastructures were weakened. We met wonderful people both living there and those that were compelled to help in a variety of ways. People that organized bringing in food and medicine. Where we once felt nothing but welcomed we began to notice that some of the people, not the workers, but Cubans who were staying at the resort, seemed unfriendly towards us. We noticed that there were now class divides in a place that had promised never to have them. There were clearly those who were eating well and those who weren’t. I began to feel guilty about my own irritation when the buffets offered a paltry display of food, when there was no dairy, no butter, no plates even. The resort we stayed at in Jibacoa (there are two) was owned almost entirely by the Cuban government. We only glimpsed the hotel management from afar. We heard that complaints were met with steely indifference. All the most ambitious of workers on the resort were trying to get enough money to leave. A favourite bartender from a year previous was now working in Montreal. Another was in France. The hunger and despair in people’s eyes became more and more obvious. Every time we went we brought more and more items to give away – pain medication, puffers, art supplies, baseball gloves, fishing line, sewing supplies. I worried constantly about whether we had brought enough or the right things, or who I should give them to.

This year we decided not to go to Cuba. I’m not going to go into the logic of why not because there will always be someone who has a different and equally compelling reason why we should keep going. It is hard to unravel all the layers of what is happening, and maybe I’m not even sure of my own reasons entirely, but after a lot of discussion we decided not to go. Now I’m trying to figure out a plan of what we can do to support Cuba at this time without being tourists in their country. Here’s my plan so far:

1. Write Prime Minister Carney and tell him that we need to give as much aid as possible to Cuba during this crisis and long after its abatement.

2. Contact Jennifer Raymer the director of the organization Together for Cuba www.missiongo.org/raymer to both send some money and see other ways I can support their organization which works tirelessly to help the Cuban people.

3. Take these steps to other social media to help spread the word.

4. Continue to read objective analysis on the situation with the hope of having more clarity – though after a quarter of a century of trying to grasp it maybe I shouldn’t worry about that so much.

Jibacoa - our last visit

Thank you for reading my ramblings. I would, as always, love to know you’ve visited. Best of all I love a response, but giving my love button a smack is good and sharing is nice too.