Varadero

Varadero. The final stop on the tour. It was here that we said goodbye to our government appointed driver and our government appointed guide. After 10 days of faithful service we were to tip them for a) not killing us, and b) informing us of what life was like in Cuba for real people. And yes, we wanted to do this. Unfortunately, we all came up against the logic of economics again. Since our guide told us from the outset that she earned 15 (ish) kooks a month (that's 180 kooks a year), and the Saga brochure advised us to tip around 5 kooks per person per day, we worked out that for 10 days of service the 27 of us would be paying each of them 1,350 kooks. Even 1 kook per person per day would be 270 kooks -- so that would mean that for our coach alone for 10 days work we would be paying them around a year's salary. Maybe it's me but the Star Trek Prime Directive kicks in somewhere at this point, doesn't it? I've been told by many not to worry about such things but none of those people have ever studied the philosophies of Star Trek, so I dismiss them all and will carry on regardless.

Now listen up, mes enfants, 'cos I'm going to explain the realities of Saga travel. As you may have noticed we have been somewhat curtailed in our freedoms in return for a more disciplined, schooled and cerebral approach to exploring strange new worlds, seeking out new cultures and boldly going where no one else would have made it because there was a bar in the way. The reward at the end of it all was Three Full Nights in Varadero. We were all looking forward to it. The reasons? Well, for one, the bloody coach had gone. I swear there wasn't a living soul on that coach that loved it. It wasn't a bad coach per se. It was just that we spent so many minutes in each hour getting off and on the damned thing that it just wasn't funny any more. Two: we were overloaded about information about Cuba. It was exactly what we signed up for but for god's sake did they have to be so damned efficient about it? Three: alcohol was snatched at every opportunity before re-embarkation on the coach. Hey, we were getting good at it but always careful because bladders were getting full and you never knew where your next stop would be (in fairness, Niall never let it get past a couple of hours and the toilets were always passable even if missing toilet seats or loo paper). Four: we were fed. My god we were fed. I don't think I've ever crapped so much on a holiday. Five: we were tired. Seriously, you cannot do one of these earnest, cerebral holidays without getting weary. A holiday that merely involves leaping about from one bar to the next is piss easy in comparison.

And six, well, let me demonstrate by reciting a conversation. Niall (or Saint Niall, as I think of him) gathered his flock on the first day of our stay at the Media Varadero All-Inclusive Resort for a "hotel orientation meeting". He told us,
"I've booked the steakhouse restaurant on the last night if you are interested. They do very good steaks but I've had a word with the chef and he can do steak, salmon or pork. I need to get numbers so hands up for who wants steak?"
"Most of you. OK, put your hands down. Who wants salmon?"
"Five of you. OK, who wants the pork?"
One lady put her hand up, but added, "I'd rather have chicken though."
"OK", said Niall, "that won't be a problem I think".
"Oh", said another, "is there chicken? I'd like chicken, too".
"Does it come in a sauce?", asked yet another.
"Yes, mango", said Niall without a trace of testiness. I could tell he was making things up at this point.
"Oh, that sounds nice", said a new voice, "I'll have one too".
"OK", said Niall, "let's start again. We're going to the steakhouse on Sunday night", and I swear there was absolutely no inflection the word "steak". "Who wants the salmon?"
"Is there any sauce with the salmon"?
By this time I was gently massaging my forehead with my fingers, slowly shaking my head. I truly believe no one noticed.

So, Varadero was to be our Shangri-la. Our pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Our peace that passeth all understanding. You can almost see the "BUT" coming can't you? After orientation, we picked up our beach towels and headed for the pools for the first time to get some of those 30°C rays we'd been sweltering in all these days. Just settled down when some shouty twat in a red shirt and a PA system that was far too big for his testicles started booming right next by my left ear, about what I have no idea. With Star Trek still in mind I wished him a horrible death met by all the dumb security guards wearing red. In return, he backed up his shouting with some garage, underground crap excuse for music that went I LIKE TO MOVE IT, MOVE IT! and carried on on a endless loop amongst other WOO WOO music that included meaningless words like "Gangnam Style" for the rest of the day. Firing foul curses and photon torpedoes, none of which pierced the sound shield, we moved to the opposite end of the estate and settled down for the second time.

Now, this will extend your credibility some, but we honestly did not notice the partitioned-off area at the end of our row of sunbeds. With I LIKE TO MOVE IT, MOVE IT down to a dull roar someone started an angle grinder off right next to my right ear. Linda kept her head studiously in her book. I muttered something about going for a walk on the beach. It was, I am happy to report, a nice beach.

Please forgive me for the length of this post, and indeed for the boring, tedious ramblings of all the previous, but this is my last. Tonight, we go for a steak (!!) and tomorrow we fly home (if Donald hasn't blown the world up in the interim). One last observation. I think there are three ways to holiday in Cuba (four, if you include cruise ships, but those that know me know what I think of those -- mind you, who'd have thought we'd end up on a Saga holiday).

One: go to an all-inclusive resort in Varadero for two weeks. As one waiter whispered fiercely to us the night we arrived, "this is not the real Cuba!". Quite. We assured him we knew that. There are probably far better all-inclusive resorts closer to home (although we can understand why there are so many pissed Canadians here -- it's only three hour's flight away and it's bloody cold there now).

Two: at the other end of the adventure spectrum, make your own way across Cuba using the growing number of casas particulares and paladars. You might not get luxury but you will see it from the ground up. If you are young and fit enough, pack a bike on the hold. It's quite popular but hard work.

Three: go Saga. 'Nuff said? One thing's for sure, Cuba is a fascinating place, but it will change quite rapidly in the next five to ten years. I wish them well.