Saturday night was wonderful, until I got home that is.

Our eight hour bus ride yesterday to Sancti Spiritus flew by. Eight of us, four bikers and four staff, with bikes in tow, drove in our old Chinese-manufactured bus (with a recently added Russian engine), to meet up with the other four riders in this 500+ year old town. Along the way we passed sugar cane fields, mountains, livestock, people on horses, old American cars, vendors selling cheese, live turkeys and onions and so much more. Our tour guide, a former English professor, lectured us on Cuban history, its economy, culture, government priorities and many challenges. Of course we had lots of questions and he adeptly answered them all.
We made a stop in Santa Clara for a 13-mile bike test ride and a visit to the resting place and museum for Che Guevara. Fascinating. I knew of Che's Motorcycle Diary ride through Argentina and his significant role in the Cuban Revolution but was unfamiliar with his close relationship with Fidel Castro and the extent of his involvement in other parts of Central American politics. Yet another piece of world history that I need to brush up on.
Sancti Spirits reminds me of an old European village; a town square, families mingling about, groups of men nursing drinks at cafe tables, an ancient church, and people feeding pigeons in the park. What is different about it and other towns in Cuba is the wifi hotspots. Because internet access is new to the island, those lucky enough to own smart phones gather around these hotspots to Skype family members abroad, surf for updates, text and email. It feels like a modern day version of a town crier, people gathering around to learn of and share in the news of afar.
Last night we had our official kickoff dinner. I'm with a great group of people. As is usually the case with these organized trips, the folks love to explore, are fond of adventure, enjoy meeting new people and easily forgive the many trip details that often go awry. The group is made up of a neo-natal pharmacologist, a journalist, a major metropolitan newspaper editor, an industrial engineer, a movie set designer and two retirees. The dinner conversation was full of interesting stories, laughter and lots of beer and wine.
Saturday night was wonderful, until I got home that is. Then it got a little awkward. Nothing too bad. Just an uncertain dynamic with the eighty-something year old woman; my host for the night. More on that in a minute.
Earlier, I had walked along the beach back from the "internet hotel" in the dark and the light rain. An occasional car whizzed by, conveniently spotlighting the path leading back to the main road and the Italian restaurant that was recommended to me at the hotel. It took me about 20 minutes to get there. I was wetter then I would have preferred to be while dining but given my excitement for being there, it was easy to brush it off.
I had told the person at the hotel that I wanted to eat Cuban food and he assured me that the Italian restaurant served great local cuisine too. Unfortunately, that was untrue. There wasn't a single Cuban dish on the menu. I ordered the pasta which was terrific. It was mixed with pesto, garlic, some other herbs and topped in olive oil. Accompanied by fresh local bread, it was perfect. I ordered a Cuban beer and nursed it as I people-watched and listened to a Mariachi band serenade other diners. I was a tired but relaxed and contented and so happy to be there.
When I got back to my place, the awkwardness started immediately. My host, who lives by herself, had been waiting up for me. I was anxious to take a shower and go to bed but she motioned for me to sit down at the kitchen table. She then brought out some forms and repeated, passporte, passporte. I started to protest wanting to wait til morning. But she would have none of it.
The forms were in Spanish and I could decipher only a few words. She stood behind me getting a little too close. She then put her hand on my shoulder. Maybe it was innocent. I couldn't be sure. It seemed as if she giggled a little too often, as if trying to impress. Oh dear! As she looked at my passport she kept repeating "Massachoooseeets." When she did she let out a big laugh. "Massachoooseeets, hahahahah. Massachoooseeets, hahahahah."
After filling out what I could, I put my hands together and laid my hands on them, signaling I was going to bed. She got the message, thankfully. I expressed my gratitude, went into my room and locked the door. Phew!
In the morning it was as if nothing had happened. She served me a wonderful breakfast of ham, fresh fruit and coffee. A great way to start the day.
Today, Monday, the group will meet in the lobby for breakfast at 7 a.m. After that we begin biking in earnest. I can't wait.


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Location:Sancti Spíritus, Cuba