Losing a part of me

I got back to my apartment at 2:00am and decided it was better to start packing before I went to sleep, rather than rushing it and trying to do everything in the morning. It was not at all surprising that although I came down with two suitcases that weighed 60 lbs. each and two carry-ons that weighed 25 lbs. each my two suitcases (which included my larger and heavier carry-on) weighed less than 60 lbs. combined, and my knapsack that I am carrying on weighs probably 20 lbs. From the beginning it was my intention to leave a ton of stuff (much of which I collected from my generous friends in Canada) with my buddy in Havana who is a Mason; some of it was for him and his family, most of it will be distributed by his lodge. It feels incredible to be able to help the poor Cuban people who need it; it feels wonderful to be traveling home with a much lighter load than I came with.

Yesterday was another good day, both with regards to walking and with food intake. Late in the evening I was hungry and thought about enjoying a protein bar, but instead I opted to go to sleep with a slightly empty stomach. According to my phone (which I know is not as accurate at my fitness watch) I walked nearly 18,000 steps and climbed sixteen flights. There is nothing wrong with that!

As I write this journal entry I am sitting in the airport in Havana. After passing through all of the checkpoints I purchased a bottle of booze at Duty Free, as well as some crackers and wafers. I gave my buddy the last of my US Dollars this morning, after putting aside enough to get to the airport and $5 extra for a cheese sandwich (which I am slowly savouring as I write). I was hoping that my Canadian credit card would work at Duty Free, but it did not, and I was relieved to have Canadian Dollars. The exchange rate is lousy, but the bottle that I purchased is not available in Canada, and as long as the US does not confiscate it from me, I should not have a problem. I have an hour and a bit before my flight boards, and while I will not be connecting to the Internet (which means it will not publish until I land in Houston), I am happy to have a relaxing time to sit and put down some thoughts.

I love helping the Cuban people, and am happy to have the ability to do so. What sometimes jades me is how blatantly the people in the street size you up and try to separate tourists from their money. Last night as I was walking home a lady (in the loosest sense of the word) accosted me in a vain attempt to get me into bed (and for her to get into my wallet). This was not the first time that has happened to me, and I was not in the mood to even stop walking. As I kept telling her no, she asked why. I eventually told her that she was not my type. She asked what was my type, because she has a friend. I told her that I only like boys. This shocked and offended her… but after a snide comment it also got her to leave me alone. (For those who are wondering, it was as blatant a lie as I have ever told, as I clearly am quite straight!)

This morning a guy saw me walking with a couple of bags that I was taking for my buddy. He said ‘Is that for me?’ I told him that it was not. He then started playing upset that I help others and not him, and that he says hello to me every time I pass by ‘his corner.’ I looked at him straight and told him that am happy to say hello to everyone, but with 400 people saying hello to me in Old Havana every day, I do not have the wherewithal nor the desire to help every single one. I say hello because it is the nice thing to do, but if he is doing it solely to get something from me then he should not say hello to me anymore. He got pissed off… but he pissed off.

I may be exaggerating with the number 400, but not by much. There seems to be an entire brigade of people trying to get you a taxi, sell you cigars, give you a tour in a classic car (or walking), or sex with their sister mother daughter aunt or grandmother. Every single person wants to change your dollars, or wants you to help the me to buy medicines or bread for their children or grandmother. Everyone has a sob story, and every one of them is well trained in sizing up tourists and figuring out an angle. While I joke about it from time to time, it really does get boring in a hurry. When I give something to someone in the street I do not know where it will end up. When I give it to the Freemasons I know that it will be distributed to people who really need it, and not to people whose job it is to con tourists.

That is not to say that I do not give money to some people in the street. Sunday evening I was sitting at a café when a man walked by wearing a kippa and wearing a Star of David. I stopped him and spoke with him, and gave him some money. Saturday evening I was waiting for a friend outside a restaurant when a man approached me on crutches; he had one leg, and his one foot was obviously in trouble. I gave him some money (and spent time talking with him), but what he wanted I could not give him. He wanted hard currency… dollars and Euros. He said he needs it to buy his medicine. Whether or not that is true, I did not have sufficient money in my pocket… and when he told me I should go back to my apartment to get it for him, I told him that I could not. I feel terrible for him and for all of the Cuban people, but there is only so much I can do. If I gave every person in the streets that needed money for (fill in the blank) only one dollar, I would not have money to eat… let alone take care of my friends who also have their sad stories.

I feel terrible that I get jaded, but the incessant onslaught of people obviously trying to scam me gets old fast. I feel terrible that I cannot help everyone… but I do not have that kind of money. I try to find a balance between not making eye contact with all of them and not letting my heart harden to their plight. I am reminded of my visit to Mumbai, how sad it was seeing the dichotomy between the opulence of the palatial hotel I would spend my evenings in and the modern and secure office complex in which I spent my days, and the throngs of people living in lean-to hovels along the road who had nothing. It was hard to see that. It’s hard to see the plight of the Cuban people as well… but while none of them live well, I know that none of them are going to starve to death, and they all have somewhere to live. Knowing that the tourist areas are well-manned by these hawkers and such, I have to decide each time I come whether my love for the city is enough to keep me renting the cheap apartment off the beaten path, or if I am better off at a hotel. So far the apartment and the real Havana keeps winning out.

My plane leaves in an hour, and I am going to make my way upstairs to my gate. I was disappointed to learn that I will need to collect my luggage in Houston, but that’s life in the fast lane. I only wish I did not have the overnight layover. I miss my dog and I miss my bed. The hotel bed tonight will be much more luxuriant than the one I have been sleeping in this trip, but Princess Sophie will not be in it. I look forward to seeing her tomorrow afternoon when I finally do get home.

Have a great day folks!