Varadero 2015 (Part 2)

Day 2, 3 and 4:

Housekeeping towel art in the bathroom

Not gonna lie. The next few days were a bit of a blur. Yes, in part it was because I was in a constant  buzz from all that sweet alcohol; but also because there was certain monotony in staying within the confinements of a resort and not have much more to do but relax. I guess I'm too used to being busy and moving around, always running against the clock.

That second day (and first morning spent in the hotel) was a lazy day. I had told my family I was planning on sleeping in and that I was going to miss breakfast.
It doesn't come as a surprise that at 8:30am my dad called my room and asked if "I was ready". I said "No. I'm sleeping and I'm not planing on leaving my bed anytime soon". He bugged me a little and then eventually let me rest. Half an hour later, Daniel comes to my room to pick up my sister. Finally after 9:20am I was able to fall asleep again. After 11am however I realized I could stay in bed the whole day but I wasn't going to fall asleep again. So I decided to get dressed and have some lunch before exploring a bit the surroundings. I was still half full from the night before, so I was a little more conscientious about what I was putting on my plate.

My sister and I having a pina colada and a margarita.

My mom, Daniel, Claudia and my dad.

As I sat alone eating my lunch and reading my book, a waiter stood next to me and read aloud "Wild". I looked up and saw his expectant gaze, not sure what he wanted me to say. Finally I replied "Si. 'Wild'". I could have asked "Have you seen the movie?" or "Have you heard of it?" or "Reese Witherspoon is in the movie!", but I wasn't quite sure how much the locals knew of pop culture in North America, or if they knew who Reese Witherspoon was. So I just smiled and went to refill my coffee.

It seemed very deceiving what the employees of these hotels knew of us and what they were allowed to know. I somehow felt like I shouldn't be sharing more information than I should. Later on I found out that many of the employees (if not all of them) were painfully aware of their situation, but there was some sense of national pride that wouldn't allow them express those feelings. And all of them also seemed hopeful for a brighter future after the U.S. Embassy had just opened not too long ago in the Havana. Soon the barriers that were built over 60 years ago would be brought down and families would reunite, tourism would grow immensely and the people would be able to choose their life, even if that means to stay.

When I found my parents by the pool bar and told them about this waiter trying to have a conversation with me, my dad said "You know, I'm sure these guys can take you on a date if you pay them. That's probably what he wanted. Don't think it's because of your good looks". I wish I had a  bigger hand to do a majestic facepalm. "That was not the point, dad!", was all I could say. And before I could think more of it, my sister and her boyfriend came walking from the beach. I hadn't been to the beach yet, but I had another 7 days to do so. I wasn't in a rush.

The Pool bar

Varadero beach

The airline that flies you to Varadero from Canada is called Sunwing, and they offer you all kinds of city tour deals once you arrive to Cuba. A touristic agent had arranged a small meeting with some of us to talk about these touring packages regarding cost and availability. I had heard that going to the Havana from Varadero was a little expensive, so I really hadn't bothered to look it up. But we had traveled in slow season, it seemed, so prices were lower than usual. There was the possibility to actually visit Cuba's capital city, after all! A quick family meeting resolved in going to the Havana over the weekend, however my uncle Hugo suggested in renting a cab and taxi driver for the day and visit Havana by ourselves. We didn't mind the freedom of not following a schedule, so we decided to go for it.
The trip was still a couple of days away, so in the meantime we could just roam in the hotel and go from buffets to pools to the beach. That night the hotel offered an outdoors show full with Cuban music and dances. It was beautiful. Decadent Cuban dancers with the most athletic bodies gave a colourful performance on the history of Cuban music. After the show, the dancers and singers came down from the stage to try to sell you their CDs. My dad believes in supporting traditional performing arts, so he got a copy.

Cuban Nights show

The next 2 days were spent between the beach and my book. I also found out that wi-fi was actually available for CUC 2 per hour. The Convertible Cuban peso (or CUC) is comparable to the euro, so it was only a little more expensive than our Canadian currency. I was able to buy an Internet card for 1 hour one of those days, however the Internet service wasn't very stable. It came and went every other day. It was frustrating not being able to use wi-fi, but I hadn't come to Cuba to bury my nose in my phone. I could do that at home (where the Internet was more reliable anyway!). The funny thing was that the Internet wouldn't not only NOT work in our hotel, but in the rest of the peninsula. So even attempting going to the local market to use their Internet Cafe was futile. Maybe it was the government's way to regulate internet usage in the island. Who knows.

Daniel applying sunscreen after he already gained some colour (the lobster colour LOL)

Chilling at the beach :)

I've never seen anybody of that age sleeping so peacefully at the beach under a nice umbrella.

Paramedics chilling on the shore just in case!

My sister Claudia her boyfriend Daniel and I visited the local market a couple of times. They had a bank in there, 3 restaurants, a tobacco store, the before mentioned Internet cafe, a small supermarket, a bookstore, a post office, a pharmacy, and many boutique stores that sold bathing suits, beach dresses, shirts and hats. I got a post card for my friend Maria who now lives in England. I also bought a six pack of Bavaria beer to keep in my mini fridge in my hotel room. You cannot deny yourself European beer even if your hotel is an all-inclusive. Specially when it's so cheap!

On our way to the market.

Posing in the little "train" before leaving to the market

Claudia and Daniel buying souvenirs

Back in our hotel room, and sharing the beers with my dad, Daniel and my mom, we started talking about Havana, and how our relatives from Peru were going to be in the hotel by the time we came back from our little tour. We were excited to see them after at least a year.
When we started planning this trip, we hoped most of our family in Peru would be able to make it to the Caribbean. But in the end only 3 of my relatives were able to make the trip. Regardless it was going to be an amazing reunion and we could not wait to hear all the gossip we were missing from our homeland.

How To Behave When Meeting Latin American Parents

A couple of weeks ago, my dad FINALLY met my boyfriend! After being so stubborn, he eventually was "ready" and accepted to have a small introductory chat with him.
However, Jeff and me were a bit uneasy about how it was all going to turn out. After all, we come from different cultures (he's Canadian, I'm Peruvian) and our understanding on what is polite or what is correct may not be the same.
Luckily, both times that Jeff got to talk to my dad (yes! Twice already!!) went pretty well; but after talking on the phone with him about what else he would've done or talked about with my dad, I realized we both needed some ABC on what to do and what not to do when meeting parents.

When introducing to Latin American parents, first of all you need to know how much English they know. Maybe they don't speak it at all, which means awkward silences are going to be dominating the first encounter. If they don't speak English, you need to learn at least five very important things in Spanish:

#1 Me llamo ______. Mucho gusto. [My name is _____. Nice to meet you.]
#2 Yo no hablo mucho espanol. [I don't know too much Spanish]
#3 Muchas gracias. [Thank you very much]
#4 Si, gracias. / No, gracias. [Yes, thank you. / No, thank you]
#5 Senor / Senora. [Mr. / Mrs.]

If they do speak English, ask to your partner how well they speak it. Some people speak it slowly (because is not their native language), whereas others have more domain of the language. If they do speak it fluidly, then you better have a list of possible topics to break the ice to make it less awkward. Hopefully your partner will participate, too, to help make the conversation more interactive.

Number five is tricky, though. You see, in Canada it's polite to call everybody by their first names. So if I am white, I'll be presenting my dad to my boyfriend as Robert*, and my mom as Alice*. To most white people, being called by last name is not correct and even considered rude. In Latin American countries, being called by their first name is a sign of disrespect. They might not be offended, but they won't like you for sure. They preferred to be called by last names. In this case, I won't be introducing my parents with my last name because my boyfriend is supposed to know my full name by now!! Introducing should go like this:

Me: Jeff, this is my dad.
Jeff: Nice to meet you, Mr. Villa.
Me: And this is my mom.
Jeff: Nice to meet you, Mrs. Villa.

After that intro, you don't need to call them by last names anymore for the rest of the conversation. Simply "Sir" or "Ma'am" will do. It is also important to shake hands, as Latin Americans believe in physical contact, as opposed to North American countries in which a nod of the head is usually enough.

These are just the basics. There are so many differences between cultures about what is correct to do in one but not in the other. But for now, this is all you need to know about meeting your Latin American girlfriend/boyfriend's parents. It's a very interesting culture that will get less complicated with time and communication. So, embrace it! =)


[*] Different names used to protect the identity of the individuals.

Things I learn at work

One of the things I've lost at work is something I'll get back: Pacience. Dealing with customers everyday can be and IS a very difficult part of my job. There is no question on what irritates me the most. "Do you work here??" No, I just think this uniform, this name badge and this walkie talkie on my ear are SO stylish that I decided to go out of home like this. F*ck! Really?? Another thing I hate is when people don't even make eye contact with me, and just ask where the regular Tylenol is. Or any question, really. I find really rude when customers can't excuse themselves before asking anything. I've never in my life had talked to a person that I don't know before saying first "Excuse me...". I might work at retail, and might be offering Customer Service (or so my name tag says), but I think I deserve some respect. I am the person that is going to HELP you. Ok, I am getting paid for it, but respect is priceless. I wouldn't hesitate on refusing to give service to a person that is being an asshole to me!

So, whenever a customer starts asking something, I immediately assume is something stupid. I put an I-am-so-interested-in your-question,I'm-here-to-satisfy-your-shopping-needs face and listen to whatever may come out of their mouth.

This particular customer, however, impressed me and reminded me not all people is alike. She started by asking dumb questions about our in-store insoles machine. She didn't know how to use it. Even though it says clearly what to press (and there were only 2 buttons that you could use), when to press it and what to do. By the end of my assistance, she asked me where I was from. I guess she could tell my accent (Note aside, I hate having an accent. It makes people realize I'm not from here, I'm just a foreigner. Which is true, but I don't like when they start talking to you a bit slower, like you don't know how to speak English -even tho you've been having a normal conversation 10 minutes go). I told her I was from Peru. And she told me she wants to go there. That she was a person that has travelled a lot and that she had been to Equator before. That she wants to do the Inka Trail and asked me if I've ever done it. I told her I hadn't because I never had the time since it takes you days to complete it. But that I had been to Machu Picchu and that it was gorgeous. She asked me how I was liking Canada, and I said I like it, it is much colder for sure but that I got used to it already. And then she said something that made her stand out. She said "The people is not the same, are they? I think Canadians don't realize how lucky they are for being born in a country like this". And it was true. People in here are different. They always want "their space". They always plead that their rights are not being met, that they are being exploited, that their poverty margins are too high, etc.

This kinda reminded me of one of my first jobs in Lima. I only lasted 2 days. I was a waitress at a very busy dancing club. My shift started at 7pm and ended at 9am of the next day. I had no breaks, wasn't allowed to eat or sit down, and if I didn't sell enough beers, I had to stay extra hours at the club. If my tips exceeded S/.10 (Ten soles, which in Canadians dollars is about $4), I had to leave the 10% to my employer. And I couldn't complain. Nobody could. The rule in there was "If you don't like it, you can leave", and you could be more than certain that they would get at least three other girls asking for a job in less than a day. My first day wasn't bad. I got off at 6am, and have S/.9 from tips for me. The second day, however, was awful. I didn't make as much money as the other experienced waitresses and had to stay til 10am trying to sell more booze or food to the drunk or tired customers. My parents got worried since I couldn't use my phone at work and I wasn't home by 7:30am, so they went there to pick me up or see what was going on. I remember seeing them and trying so hard not to cry. I was so relieved they were there to save me, to take me out of that terrible place where they would only give me water to drink (without ice, since it had an extra charge). I couldn't hold my tears. Everybody saw me crying...

And that was my last day at that job. They told me I could go back next week to pick up my cheque. I never did. I only made S/.30 the shift (about CA$14), and for that amount of money I was not going to face those exploiters again -that saw me crying when my parents came to claim their daughter, nonetheless!. I have my pride, ya know?

So when this lady told me that Canadians don't appreciate what they have, I couldn't agree more. I also thought about the difference on the definition of "being poor". In here it usually means that you leave in a dirty co-op building, are a crackhead, have a dog so the Government gives you more money to support your pet, and receive a cheque that will ensure you wont die from hunger. In Peru, being poor means having to eat pasta everyday because is the cheaper you can get to feed your family of 5 (with the money you get from either begging in the streets, selling hand-made stuff or candy, washing cars, or playing musical isntruments on a bus); it means you have to wait 10 minutes before the community market closes down so you can get at least the guts of the chicken to buy and make a decent soup and get some protein in your daily diet; it means having a house in the mountain made of cardboard because a simple apartment is just impossible to afford.

And then I thought I would really, really like to show my children this part of the world. The injustice, the inequiality, the real poverty and the misery. It would teach them humility, appreciation for what they have and the people they meet. To always be nice to one another and authentically care about others. To be respectful even to people that ask you if you work here when you have a full uniform on and a name tag.


I guess I can't complain about not learning anything at work =)