Babcia and I went on a beach holiday to Cuba. No one else wanted to or could come. How perfect to spend a lush eleven days with a person who has lived so many lives, experienced things I could not fathom, and raised my mother.
Because of the proximity to the beach and the right price, we set off to Club Amigo Ancon. The old resort rests on Playa Ancon, about 15km south of Trinidad, a Unesco World Heritage site.
I’ve heard stories of Cuban resorts. People get up early and begin drinking at breakfast. They complain about the food, the service, and the rooms. To them a 3 three star resort should be very much like a 4 star resort, and nothing at all like a 2 star, but things are a bit different in Cuba.
This resort does not have boozed up clientele because, I suspect, TripAdviser reviews caution that this isn’t the place you come to for food, service, party or luxury. You shouldn’t come here if you want a reliable working elevator or warm water, either.
The resort is full of carefree, easy going folk. Club Amigo Ancon. Amigo, amigo. People smile, make easy friends, play volleyball, and greet each other in the dining hall. This place is like camp for adults. It’s Red Hot American Summer without the crazy madness, but all the fun.
Leave the pomp and party at home.
Do come for the beach, for Trinidad, for delicious and creamy butter (served in the dining hall – it really is delicious and one of the fond memories of my trip.)
And, bring your grandmother along.
For eleven days I basque in the luxury of not having to think about school, students, marking, or email. I sleep, read,swim, walk, eat and drink coffee. With sunscreen on, I play in the sun. The air is fresh. The music in the background blends in with the sea’s shush. The day’s routine is easy. There is no fuss.
On walks along the beach, or while we float in the salty waters, Babcia tells me stories of her childhood, her forays with boys, life in post-war years, and what my mum was like growing up.
According to tradition, it’s time I should be married, so much of Babcia’s talk is meant to be a kind of encouragement for me to find a husband.
So, of course, Babcia has her eye out for any man that looks my way.
One morning we are waiting for a shuttle to take us to Trinidad. A bus pulls out of the resorts car park and the driver waves us in. I hand over the ticket fare, and as soon as the pesos are in his hands, I realize that he’d have given us the ride for free. On our ride to Trinidad he asks the usual slew of questions. Where are you from? Is is cold there? Do you like Cuba? Is this your mother? “No, this is my grandmother.” This answer always gets a smile and a nod of approval.
Back at the resort, we see the bus driver everywhere, smiling. After dinners he comes up to us and asks us about our days. On my way upstairs I pass him in the stairwell (the elevators are not working, and it’s a good walk to the sixth floor) and he asks for my room number. I’m not giving it to him, so instead he gives me his, room 448. A number that will forever be imprinted in memory because of his insistence in making me understand that it is room 4-4-8, showing me the numbers on his fingers and making me repeat them. I desperately want to laugh, out loud, but instead I repeat the numbers. He asks if I salsa, says goodbye and goes off to 448 while I climb two more floors to get to my room, waiting to burst into laughter.
My Babcia loves the story and we are cheerful each time we see him, but she assures me that he’s not the kind of man I should be looking for and winks. We wonder how many people come to these resorts looking for quick fun to have created the conditions for such interactions.
In Trinidad we stroll up and down cobbled alleyways and sneak into a bars for early afternoon drinks. Locals sit around the bar, chatting. People say ola to us, too. Some come in with loud greetings, and leave, while others order a cold cerveza. Babcia’s gotten a taste for mojitos so that’s what we sip on, one after another until she’s ready to navigate the uneven streets again. Yes, the irony…
By the time we’re ready to get back to the resort we don’t even have 10 pesos left to pay for a taxi back to Playa Ancon, but people have trust here, and the cabby drives us, and waits until I run in and find the cash he needs.
Most of our nights end with a show. Roberto comes out onto the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen welcome to Cuba. It’s our show time.” Each night, at the end of the show he comes back out and says, “Don’t worry. Be happy.”
On the last day, the volleyball court has been hijacked by a game of football. It’s time to head home, though neither Babcia nor I are at all eager to go, even if home has hot running water.