Kris Romaniuk - Rum Socialism: A Travel Diary of Communist Cuba

[Rum Socialism] gradually builds in drama,laughs, and [builds in] tension until before you know it [youre]flying across Cuban roads in a police car in the middle of thenight hunting criminals.

--Brian Keegan, ForgetTheBox.net

By Kris Romaniuk

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 by Kris Romaniuk

KrisRomaniuk.com

RumSocialism.com

I have tried to recreate events, locales andconversations from my memories of them. In order to maintain theiranonymity, in some instances I have changed the names ofindividuals and places, and I may have changed some identifyingcharacteristics and details such as physical properties,occupations and places of residence.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced ortransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,without permission in writing from Kris Romaniuk.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoymentonly. This eBook may not be re- sold. If you would like to sharethis book with another person, please purchase an additional copyfor each person you share it with. If you're reading this book anddid not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only,then you should visit Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Cover art by Vitold Polyak

VitoldPolyak.com

Editing by Kara-Lis Coverdale

klis.coverdale@gmail.com

)

I dont claim to have any expertise on Cubanculture, society, or politics. When I booked this trip, I waslooking to escape a failing relationship and a job I hated. But Ihave a penchant for finding trouble, or maybe trouble has a crushon me or something, and I happened to keep a travel diary while Iwas away. The pages that follow were built from that.

Everything I say about Cuban law andsocio-politics is based on a mix of observation, speculation, andwhat people told me. I am not a journalist and no fact checking hasbeen done.

I do happen to have a degree in politicalscience, though, and I minored in economics. So Im prettycomfortable with the opinions that I expressed about what I coulddecipher from what I saw. I ask that you proceed with nopretentions, an open mind, and a sense of humour. Salud

)

There are more interesting places to spend anEaster Monday than the boarding terminal at Pierre Elliot Trudeauinternational airport. I got there around noon, and by the time Idcleared security, I had more than half an hour to kill before myflight boarded. The terminal was lonely for midday, and most of thegates were empty. There was a bar just one gate over from my ownand I decided that drinking alone would be a better waste of timethan watching a bunch the antsy French Canadians in flip flops andstraw cowboy hats linger by the gate.

The only other customers at the bar werethree Latinos, and I wondered if they were heading out on the sameflight as me. The bartender had her back to me and was moreinterested in re-stocking the beer fridge than taking orders. Iwaited to be served for what seemed an unreasonable amount of time.My flight would board soon and I wanted to consume enough beer thatId be drunk by the time we hit cruising altitude.

Eventually, one of the Latinos took pity onme and hollered for the barmaid in Spanish. He seemed familiar withher and I wondered whether they were off-duty airport employees orif theyd just gotten friendly waiting for their flight. I thankedhim with a nod and ordered a brand of beer that Id been meaning totry but isn't served in the kind of bars I hang out in. It had beenmarketed as micro carbonated and tasted creamy and flat. I couldsee why none of my watering holes served it and made a point toorder a pint of something on tap the next time around.

I called Elections Canada and drank quicklywhile on hold. There was a federal election the day I getting backand I wanted to make sure that I was registered to do my part tostop the Conservative Party from getting a majority government andrunning my country deeper into some tar sand pit that one of theircronies owned.

A couple of middle-aged English speakers Irecognized from the check-in line pulled up stools next to me. Iwas feeling lonely and wanted to strike up a conversation andthought about warning them away from what I was drinking, butdecided against it. Going out of my way like that would make meseem eager, and even a little creepy. Besides, when a younger manwhos all by himself strikes up conversation with older men who aretravelling together, theres always a chance that wires getcrossed. They might get the wrong impression about my intentions.Generally, Im all for awkward misunderstandings they make themundane memorable. But it was too early in my trip for ambiguouspropositions.

One of them looked just like any othermilk-fed forty-something from suburbia who was too old to bewearing sportswear, and the other looked like a balding, overweightbear with the head of a ferret. They were both large men, more thansix feet tall, weighing well over two hundred pounds, and Iwondered if maybe thats what a lifetime of eating bovine growthhormone does to you. There was schoolboy enthusiasm in their eyes,and I could tell that theyd been looking forward to this trip forlonger than it was going to actually last. They looked harmlessenough, but also like the kind of oafs who can turn dangerous afterhaving too much drink and realizing that woman still arentinterested in them.

I eaves dropped on their conversation for awhile, and realized that they actually knew something about Cuba. Ihadnt really done any of my own research beyond making small talkwith a few people I knew whod already been, and by now the beerhad diluted my inhibitions enough that I didnt mind coming off asan over the hill twink cruising the airport for a sugar bear.Besides, I was going into a communist country blind and alone, andit could be days before I had an innocent conversation with anative English speaker again. So I ordered a pint of draft andstruck up a conversation with them.

It was the Ferrets first time going to Cubabut Mr. Lonely had been going every six to eight weeks. I didntask what they did for a living, but six hundred dollars for yourflight and all you can eat and drink seemed within reach for alonely, middle-aged man with no kids or alimony payments tomake.

I asked Mr. Lonely innocuous questions andlearned things, like how the cups on the resorts were small.Apparently I shouldve brought my own so I wouldnt have visit thebar for refills so often. He was proud of a novelty travel mug fromTim Hortons that hed brought along. It looked like it held acouple liters and that hed gotten plenty of use out of it. I alsolearned that simple commodities like pens, paper, and clothing madefor better travel tips and more friends than tourist Pesos. Myhairdresser had mentioned this, but I hadnt brought any becauseId been too lazy to go out of my way to pick any up. He alsocautioned me to tip my cleaning lady so she wouldnt go through mythings; it could either be ten pesos in advance or a peso a day, itwas my choice.

Then Mr. Lonely started telling me about hisgirlfriend down there, and the Ferrets eyes began to burn with thesame intense kind of hope that you see in children when you tellthem that the Tooth Fairy is coming. He was expecting to go downthere, meet some beautiful, young thing thatd recognize him forthe gentle, caring provider that hes always meant to be, andfinally get that happy ending hed been promised growing up.This was it for him. It had to be. I could see it in hiseyes.

Mr. Lonelys girl was the reason he visitedso often. He always brought her clothes and toiletries the stuffshe couldnt find easily down there. He explained how you couldbring a Cuban on the resort for only 15 dollars a day, and theycould eat and drink as much they wanted. He also explained how theywere a simple people and that he admired them for it. He coulddiffuse any argument with his girlfriend by giving her that extrapair of jeans hed been holding out on. I didnt know who to feelmore sorry for, the poor woman whod been whoring herself out for afew pounds of denim a year, or the miserable, middle-aged wretchwho seemed to believe that he was her one and only. But maybe hedidnt mind that there were probably two or three other Canadianskeeping her wardrobe stocked with third-rate apparel. As long as hestayed in the rotation and she held him late into the night.