I know winter is coming to a close, but when everything in sight seems permanently saturated in salt, I am finding its easier to be nostalgic about the last time the sun warmed my skin than to acknowledge reality.
My family has started a relatively new tradition the past couple of years of escaping the harsh Canadian winter for warmer pastures over the holidays. This year, we went to Varadero, Cuba. In my opinion, there is no better way to get to Cuba than by starting with an all inclusive trip: you get your flight and meals covered, and you've got somewhere to crash at the end of the night, all for cheaper than it would cost just for independent flights there otherwise. The all inclusive resorts are all more or less the same, so when push came to shove, we chose one that seemed to be calling us by name:
That being said, going on an all inclusive vacation is no excuse to not venture outside the walls of a resort and experience the culture of a country beyond the prefabricated package. On the first of many rainy days during our trip, we took a cab into the heart of Varadero.
We started with my favourite part of any city: the park. I love spending time in the park in any city, because I feel that the features of the park are so telling about the city or country as a whole.
For example, the park in Varadero featured a man made lake, which reminded me a lot of the man made lake in Retiro Park in Madrid. This feature tethered itself to its relationship with Spain, invoking cultural history. Not a bad place to start when feeling out the culture of a country, right?
Then of course, there is the opportunity to observe the way locals behave and interact in public places of nature. I didn't quite feel comfortable with stealing moments of stranger's for my own consumption on my camera, so instead, here, look at my silly brother Alex yet again stalking animals. This time, it was a family of roosters.
The sky was steadily ominous, so we decided to cut our time in the park short to explore the streets and real estate in the city.
Some residences were in better conditions than others, but I still feel that regardless of the state of upkeep, the houses were a symbol of the attitude of the Cuban people: there is not a culture of attachment to material things so much as a relaxed, laissez faire, experientially important culture.
Once again, the structure and care taken of religious artefacts and centres like this church invoked for me the beginnings of the country as a Spanish colony, which invites an interesting comparison of the ways in which a satellite country grows independently of its colonizer.
And then there are things that are not culturally significant, but that Alex makes me take pictures of, like this man wearing a dog as a hat.
My dad was incredibly eager to show us Al Capone's residence on the peninsula, and how else do you roll up to a famous gangster's house but in style?
We flagged over this sexy white Cadillac taxi to take us to Casa di Al. The boys were all thoroughly impressed with how the driver kept referring to the car as his wife.
I find it hard to care even a little about cars, but even I enjoyed the warm wind ruining my hair on our drive.
We pulled up to the house, which was very clearly upheld as a tourist attraction rather than as an authentic site (which is worth noting that it didn't make it any less fun).
We explored the gorgeous grounds, and found quickly that even though the house was beautiful, the property's biggest draw had nothing to do with the building.
Just check out the view that the house backs on to! Imagine boatfuls of gangsters pulling up to shore to pick up barrelfuls of rum and stacks of money, in the Gatsby era. So romantic.
I was in a full on Hemingway craze during this trip (Hemingway wrote only lovely things about this island), so this sexy little thing caught my eye.
And of course I found the time to take a camera face selfie.
We found the bar, and brought our drinks back out to the patio to enjoy the view.
The boys all drank Cuba Libres: rum with coke and lemon, but I opted for sangria, because you just have to when you're sitting on a patio by the ocean. I immediately regretted this decision when my dad convinced me that in Spanish countries, the secret ingredient to sangria is actual bull's blood, hence the name "sangria"… I wish I weren't so gullible.
The "bull's blood" got to me, so I went a little wild on the beach.
Evidently Al was vulnerable to a touch of bull's blood, too.
My brother's other (that is, other than finding and befriending all sorts of animals) unfortunate travel habit is acquiring various sorts of weapons. This time, he chose what I like to think of as a shiv, which seemed to be fashioned prison style.
We took an extremely touristy double decker tour bus back up the peninsula to Xanadu, the mansion (previously) owned by the DuPont family, before the revolution.
Once again, although the house was incredible, I had a hard time appreciating it when faced with its view of the ocean atop a cliff.
We couldn't access the dining room part of Xanadu which was cordoned off for an event, but that didn't stop us from appreciating the details.
Eventually we made our way upstairs to the bar, which had a 360 view of the peninsula.
The estate is now used as a club house for this golf course.
I don't golf, but looking out on the greens made me a little tempted to take it up. (Just kidding, my dad makes me try every year, and then we both remember that I suck and give it up until the next year once we've adequately forgotten my deficiencies).
I finished off our long day with the world's best pina colada. Seriously, if you've been searching, you can stop now. Stop messing around with your blender, and take a trip to Varadero instead.
You can thank me later.
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