Trust (21 page)

The
ride into town takes over an hour, with many of the roads bumpy enough that I
’
m happy I
hadn’t
spent all morning dri
nking mojitos like we
’
d been doing for the past couple of
days.  Chase has been promising since we got here to show me the real Cuba. 
Spending time on the resort is great, of course, and I have enjoyed the
relaxation, but I know how insulated a five star
hotel
is from real life in a country like this, and
I
’
m curious to see how Cuban people really
live. 

After
paying and tipping the driver enough for him to want to stick around town for
the day to take us back again, Chase leads me through the brightly p
ainted center of the little town.

“
Welcome to Vi
ñales,
”
he says. 

“
Wow, it
’s
beautiful
.
” 
It really is.  Many houses are painted the bright colors
common in the Caribbean, pinks, greens, yellows, but mixed in with those are
bigger, more historical looki
ng buildings which have
their own character.  The architecture of many of them seems almost colonial.

“Careful,” Chase
’
s hand eases me out of the way of a cart
being drawn by a couple of animals.  In the back are a few weathered men who
look to be in thei
r 40’
s.

“
What are those?  Horses?
”

“Oxen,”
he replies. 
“
They
’
re likely on the way to the fields. 
Farmers here grow some of the best tobacco in the world.
”

The
men smile at me as they pass and I wave back.  Everyone seems very happy.

We
continue to wa
lk through the town and each time we
pass a local, Chase greets them in Spanish and they say something back.  I wish
I could understand what they are saying, but the extent of my Spanish knowledge
is from my trip to Mexico years ago with Evelyn.
 Dos cerve
zas,
por favor.
  I don’
t think asking politely for a couple of beers is going to
get me very far.  Especially since most of the locals he is stopping to talk to
are children.  Each time he meets one, Chase reaches into his backpack and
pulls out something
he picked up back in Canada,
handing it to them along with a few dollars.  The smiles on their faces almost
bring a tear to my eye.

“
Do you come to this town often when you
’
re here?
”

Chase
shrugs. 
“
Believe it or not, this is actually one
of the touristy
towns.
” 
As small as it is, I have actually
noticed a number of faces in the town which clearly don
’
t belong. 
“
I usually go to different places,
smaller ones, but still in this general
area
of the country.  But there
’
s a good mix of things to see here so
I thought it would work for us today.
”

Chase
leads me past the town now and soon we
’
re at the edge of the farms.  Workers
and animals dot the landscape amid broad leafed plants that are about waist
high. 

“
Tobacco,
”
he says when I ask about them. 

We
continue to walk, the hot Cuban sun layering us in sweat
as we pass small little houses sprinkled here and there amongst the farms.  I
have a feeling this is even more indicative of daily Cuban life than Vi
ñ
ales, so I
’
m glad
to see it.   Chase had packed
water and had warned me this morning to
wear my walking shoes, so I
’
m not about to complain.

Eventually
we come across a small house at the edge of a farm and stop.

“It
’
s lunch time,
” Chase says.  “Hungry?”

I
nod vigorously.  I
’
m starving.  If it is act
ually
lunch time, that means
we’ve
been walking for close to three hours.  My feet are
exhausted and I
’
m overheated from the sun.  Still, I don
’
t recall Chase packing a lunch for us so
I
’
m not sure what he has in mind.

“
Follow me.
”
Before I know what
he’s
doing, Chase is knocking at the door of
the farmhouse.  An older Cuban woman answers and as soon as she sees Chase, she
pulls him into a hug as if s
he’s
known him for years.  The two of them begin speaking very
quickly in Spanish.  I have no idea what the
y
’
re saying, beyond being sure that he
hasn’t
asked her for a couple of beers. 
Before I know it, though, we
’
re being ushered into the little house.  I try to catch
Chase
’
s eye to ask him what is going on, but
he is too busy talking to the woman.  She look
s old
enough to be his mother.

The
two of them speak for a few more moments before Chase introduces me.  The woman
’
s name is Elena Cruz.  As soon as Chase
introduces us, she says something and then exits the front door, leaving us
alone in her house.

“
Ch
ase, what
’
s going on?  Who is this woman?
” 

“
I’ve
known Elena and her husband Victor for
years.  Every time I come by this way I stop in and they always feed me a great
meal.  You can
’
t visit Cuba without getting at least
one home cooked meal.
” 
He
winks
at me and gives me a little hug.  I accept it
stiffly, still unsure what to think about standing in a stranger’s home in
Cuba, waiting for her to feed me lunch.

While
we wait for our host to return, I look around.  This is the first Cuban house
I’ve
been
inside
of, and despite how small it is, I
’
m amazed at how much character is packed
into it.  There are pictures of Elena and who I assume to be Victor alone, but
also with others who I assume are their children.  From what I can tell, they
have at least t
hree of them.  In the photos they are
various ages and I can almost track their growth progression through each
picture.  All of them seem to be taken in this very house until the kids became
adults, at which point the pictures stop.

“Hola!”

I
turn to se
e Elena return with a darker skinned man
wearing a wide brimmed hat and a light shirt.  Chase introduces me to Victor
who matches the images of the man in the pictures with Elena.  He smiles and
shakes Chase
’
s hand as Elena disappears into the kitchen.  Th
e three of us sit down in the small room with all of the
pictures.

“
Victor owns this farm and has for a few
generations.  They grow tobacco.
”
As if he understands what Chase is saying, Victor pulls out
a few cigars from a box next to his chair and offers
them
to us with a smile.  I politely shake my head, but Chase takes one and the two
men light them up.  Victor
doesn’t
speak as much as his wife, and we sit
mostly in silence until Elena returns to tell us that lunch is ready.  We
follow her to the kitchen
and sit at a little table
laden with food.

 After
Victor motions at me, I help myself from a pot of what seems to be beans and
some type of meat covered in a light sauce, as well as a tomato salad. 
Although I haven
’
t a clue what the dish is that I
’
m eat
ing, it
’
s delicious and I say so.  Chase
translates and Elena smiles happily.  The three of them talk a bit during lunch
with Chase occasionally translating.  Mostly they are talking about the changes
to the US embargo and what it might mean to their count
ry.  They
’
re cautiously optimistic.  I don
’
t know a lot about it though, since
Canada has never had any such restrictions.  From what I know, though, the 50
years long embargo has been very hard on the country, so I can imagine why they
’
re excited at the p
rospect of it possibly being lifted.

After
the meal, Chase brings his backpack out and empties it onto the coffee table in
the first room.  There is still a lot of stuff left.  He speaks to Elena and
Victor, and they smile and hug him again. 
“
They can ta
ke
what they need, and then give the rest to their friends and neighbors,
”
he explains.  I also see him hand some
money to Victor.  I
couldn’t
see how much it was, but it seemed like a lot.  I
’
m touched at how generous he is.  I know
that kind of money
isn
’t
a lot to him, but it must mean the
world to people like Elena and Victor.