A french fairytale

My love affair with the most romantic city in the world began back in 1998 after watching a movie called ‘French kiss’ starring Meg Ryan

I watched wide-eyed while she fell in love with Kevin Klyne, totally stereo typed as a typical Gallic stallion sexy accent and all …that kinda explains it I think.

Then came my first brush with the real Paris, through the eyes of Adam Gopnik and Sarah Turnbull. Both ex-pat writers living in Paris, one American and the other Aussie. ‘From Paris to the moon’ and ‘Almost French’ became my survival hand book for the year I lived there. They came to stand for two extremely educational views on this beautiful city and its supremely elegant dwellers.

Even though it was a long time ago, there are some sights, smells and sounds that will be etched in my memory forever. For all you francophile’s out there, here’s a little taste of ‘my’ Paris

In a city where form determines function, imbibing the art of French ‘savoir fare’ took some getting used to. I mean where else will you get a manual in the box when you buy a scarf?

There’s a richness to the French way of doing things. Picnics on the banks on the Siene watching the sun set over the Notre Dame cathedral are complemented with a wonderfully frivolous beaujeaulous noveau, a rarity in this side of the world,

Fabulously simple meals enjoyed in neighborhood bistros take on a new meaning. While on the other hand Michelin starred chef's make combining tastes an art form.

Smelling mouldy sock odours becomes quite a pleasure when it takes the form of French cheeses.

Then there's the Jardin Luxemborg, with the famous carousel immortalized in Gopnik's book which kids would ride while trying to spear a ring. Remember Henri Cartier Bresson and his lovers kissing outside the Bon Marche? Place de la concorde in its ornamental beauty hides its gruesome history.

My gasp of astonishment seeing Paris spread out before me as if illuminated by candle light when the lift doors opened to reveal fairyland on the top floor of the Montparnasse will forever remain in my mind's eye.

Art deco light fixtures, rude waiters and fluffy omelets compete for my attention while I sip a Kir Royale on one of Paris's many bistro terraces...heaven!

I remember hours spent on the Champs-Élysées, the mecca of people watching . The Arc de Triumph lit up at night, pays tribute to all the men and women who gave their lives in the name of Liberté, égalité, fraternité, and while negotiating its eight tributaries...viva Gallic driving!

The list is endless, but let me end with my piece de resistance , the Tour Eiffel at night sparkling with a million fire flies…every 30 minutes.
I guess it suffices to say that this is the stuff that dreams are made of...welcome to Paris my friends. Enjoy the ride!

From Paris to the moon

My love affair with the most romantic city in the world began back in 1998, after listening to Kevin Klyne’s accent in ze movieee French kiss. I loved Meg Ryan’s hair…the sun glasses with the blue lenses, the whole girl next door look and the charming gallic man with the very sexy accent and a vini-yard in Bordeux…mon dieu! C’est tres romatique sigh! Then came Mr Adam Gopnik with his book from Paris to the Moon…boy did that change everything. Here was a true insight into life in Paris…an American living my dream. Boy I wanted it so bad I could almost smell it! Jardin Luxemborg with the merry go round which kids would ride while trying to spear a ring. Henri Cartier Bresson and his lovers kissing outside the Bon Marche…Place de la concorde and its gruesome history… Marianne in all her beauty…dinner at Zazou…Nutella ice cream at Amarinos...Le George the V with its exquisite flower decorations … Mont Marte with its bohemian memories … Aux Champs-Élysées, Au soleil, sous la pluie. À midi ou à minuit, Il y a tout ce que vous voulez, Aux Champs-Élysées…and of course the piece de resistance , the Tour Eiffel at night sparkling with a million fire flies…The stuff dreams are mad off. That’s gay Paris!

Yes white men can jump and moon walk too!
Cut to 2002, Bangalore….Girl out for a drink with girl friends. Totally oblivious to the world, especially the little man with the fancy moves standing at the bar. What ever! Back from the toilet and what do you see? The little man and his friend sitting at our table…why? Oh well, its one of those nights I guess. Didn’t quite get his name..think it sounds like a Guillermo…or did he say Gillano …not that it makes a difference to be honest. Buonne Notte to you Gilliano and hope to see you sometime in the future (yeah right).
What do you know it’s the Bob Dylan revival night..and who do we see there, its Gilliano and friend. Quelle surprise, Gilliano is actually Guillaume…a real life French man! I can hear Gary Moore singing in my head…Anyways, he’s leaving for Paris in 10 days, might as well enjoy him while I can…and yes French kissing was invented in France, non?
Day 15 and Guillaume is still here…nice one! Lets see where this goes.

January 2003…and the French adventure begins
Madame est Monseiur varlet, cordially invite you to the marriage of their son Guillaume Varlet to Arshia Basith, daughter of Iqbal and Irshad Basith at Speed Zone on January the 5th 2003. Trust me you don’t want to miss the party of the century

Life in the cocchinel - 14e
Bien venue Chez nous…Soixante sept Rue Didot …walk through the building, ring the bell and the door opens on to a courtyard. And what a pretty court yard it is! Look upwards at the little green door and who do you see there? Mme Varlet waiting to welcome you to her home. Bien venue a la maison…thank you for joining me in my dream. I love Paris in the spring time, I love Paris in the fall, I love Paris oh why do I love Paris…c’est normale non, dose'nt everyone?

The Spanish connection
Hola Andrea and Antonio, thank you for being my friends. I’m glad we met at the Alliance Francaise Andrea, I’m glad you were the studious one…always helps when one of us is. You made Paris that much more special for me. Yes we’ve all gone our own ways but I do remember all those fun week ends drinking beers in st Germain de Pres , picnics along the Seine and candle light dinners on the Champs de Mars. Yes, I do remember our nuit blanche party opposite Notre Dame…those were the days my friends. Thank you for introducing me to the taste of iberico sausage on bread with olive oil and tomato. Thank you for teaching me the one and only phrase one needs in France …es que vous avez blah blah …You gave me so much love and affection when I needed it most, and for being there in the gloomy days. You made Paris special ..merci beaucoup pour tous

Along came Uben
My little Britanny Spaniel aka Boo Boo, my little French man, mon petite. All the way from the South of France straight to life in the big city, a big ask for a little dog. U-ben? What a strange name one might wonder..this is France mon amie, nothings straight forward … dogs are named after the letter that’s representative of the year the dog is born in so the age of the dog is easily calculated, my boo boo was born in the year of the U, so UBen. His best friend, Sabine’s Jack Russel…Union Jack. Boo Boo the first and the last, as he was known in some circles, was a true French man…loved his cheese, his steak tartare and his whining…

Its my party and I’ll spy if I want to
There's a voyeur in us all...none more so when it comes to l the lives of others..Guillaume stands upright and sticks his head out of the sky light in our mezzanine bed room, its easy when you don’t have the space to stand up. ‘Not bloody again! Its Sunday and there he goes again’ its our Opera singer neighbor practicing his bars for the 100th time. Me? I don’t really mind…I quite like Puccini so no worries there…guess that’s what happens when you live cheek and jowl with 10 other people. This is Paris for you…lie on your bed and look straight into the bed room of Marcel and Anges…its nice they still make love…even though I wish it was more frequent. I think their relationship needs it. Perhaps they say the same of Arshia and Guillaume..who knows…Marta and Antoine love Norah Jones…me too…love her new album. If I ever meet you I’m happy to lend you a copy. Madam Martin in her Chanel suit immaculately dressed at all times…that’s my epitome of a French woman , after Coco Chanel and Marie Claude Varlet of course..

Une baguette, un baguette…?
C’est tres confusing pour moi…I don’t know if it’s a male or female baguette can you tell by the end’s perhaps? The sharp ones are male like the baguette Monge down the street at the Boulongerie Fertillet. Maybe the blunt edged ones are the females like the super market fare …no idea. But lets go with une baguette. I’m the dumb foreigner with the anglicized accent who cant pronounce vrai and grenouille so all is forgiven

Down on your hands and knees
Flash light in hand, crawling on all fours…Laurent and Anne Marie in tow…its gone. Metro Varenne here’s my gift to you…my diamond pendant treasured above all else at the time. I cant think of a better offering to a city that’s as precious to me as any bauble…Here I am worshiping at your altar…though unabettingly

Learning to roller blade at les invalides …how appropriate …
And still pretty unsuccessful…though the memories of landing on your ass still sting. Ha,ha,ha..thank God for knee and elbow pads…Guillaume did try…but as they say, some things are better learnt when you don’t care about scars to the body or the mind…and the ego

The BD, a French institution equal to none
From BD’s (Bande dessinée) to Mangas, the Fnac has it all…floors and floors of goodies to make any French man’s heart soar and boy did it take flight for Guillaume. My first encounter with the famous BD, was quite memorable. The comic book or BD in the English speaking world is the realm of the idiot, the one who cant hold his concentration long enough to read a novel..for those who are vocabulary challenged, so much so that they need the pictures to help them make sense. Turn this around on its head and that’s what you get in France. The BD is an institution by itself, a tribute to the French notion of aesthetics and art. The BD is a hard bound A4 sizes book, which for all thoughts and purposes looks like a Time Life series book.Those educational tomes we all had to read as kids to learn about the universe, the animal kingdom and such topics that would help us do pub quizzes I guess. But no my friends, it’s a comic book in every sense, revered for the exquisiteness of the illustration and the very strong story line. There are scores of titles, each one a collectible in its own right..so much so that one of them has even been made into a movie…little did I know that the 100’s of ‘time life’ like books on Guillaume’s shelf were comic books! Shock shock horror! Thought I’d married an intellectual…lets fast forward three months down and guess what, even though I don’t read the stuff, I think the illustrations are exquisite…its all about art …naturellemnt…

Form over function
Its all in the aesthetics…be it a simple table lamp to the flower buckets at Monceau Fleurs…the French have mastered the art of making even a bin bag look, well exquisite. How do they do it? Why is it that certain nationalities (I wouldn’t dare say races..that too’s been beaten out of me) are so aesthetically sensitive compared to others. Where does the need for ‘presentation’ come from? Be it the Haussmanian buildings or even the art deco entrances to the metro stations, the French have it down to a T….Viva la France, Bravo!

Les Francaise
Did you know there are 50 ways to tie a scarf … and when you’re a French woman, all 50 are coded in your DNA…Les Francaise, she lives by a code…elegance, style and poise..all three intrinsic in everything she does…A land where no means yes and yes means no…iconic red lip stick, talons, exquisitely cut suits, le pashmina wrapped around finely accessorized necks, just so. A flick of the wrist with the Ebel watch, a slight whiff of her Chanel No 5, a gentle pursing of the lips and she has you on your knees…


Autum in the Jardin de tuilerries
A time of magic..when the leaves are turning. The parisiennes in their stylish coats, collars turned up against the wind..orange Hermes gloves. Hat brims pulled over eyes…citizens braving the cold, sitting on the chairs by the pond watching the world go by while time stands still. Hot chocolate at Angeline and then a walk down place Vendome to the Opera Garnier. Lets rush into the Gallery Lafayette to de-frost then perhaps a walk down the bags section at the Print temps. The world is my oyster and I’m living every moment of it…

Some say that if it wasn’t for General von Choltitz Paris would have been reduced to a pile of rubble when the Nazi’s surrendered to the allied forces…He was tasked with raising the city to the ground rather than surrender. But that was never to be …Paris is magic …Paris was magic …so many wonderful memories of a time when life was wonderful, when relationships, fresh…when life was about discovery…When all else is lost, there’s still Paris...

Ps. Thank you for the memories (Guillaume)

The Cuba Chronicles

This story is dedicated to Heli, David, Paulo, Teresita, Ilran, Gusippe and Marco, Omeida, her mum and dad, her lech of a husband and all the wonderful people I’ve met here during my 10 days in Cuba and to all the one’s left behind but who’re on this journey in my heart;

Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely intentional. The incidents narrated in the following pages are not fiction but an actual representation of Cuba in November 2009

Life in a fabric softner commercial and other fluffy thoughts. Why? Because its so comfortable and idealistic there. Everytihing smells good, its always summer, she wears flowers in her hair…freshness, citrusy, floral or vanilla notes and of course the sense of utter joy and contentment soft sheets can bring…I mean who wouldn’t want to live in a duvet? The fantasy ends …the sheets are folded and put away

On-route to Cuba (in self-obsessed mode)

Bienvenue au Air France, please do let us know when you’re ready for your first Mojito … your safety and security is our main concern so please do let us know when you need to pass out ….bon voyage!

MortalityTM
Notice how us humans love talking about ourselves? I remember my mum had a friend once who hit the nail on the head, when someone asked him to say something interesting he’d always answer with ‘you’ you’ you’ . Boy do we love it…is this a manifestation of the break down in society? Gone are the times of shared experiences, now the only stories we share are of ourselves. Is this a latent need for appreciation, affection or perhaps just recognition of the fact that we exist! Question, why bother with publishing memories ? Isnt that by far the most egocentric pursuit ever? Anwer, maybe, so what? Whats wrong with having a bit of ego stoking? I mean if someone finds you interesting to read then obviously you’ve lead a life worth living right? Or is it a away of leaving a memoir morte? A stamp that says ‘ I was here’, this is what I was about. PAN gave me this David Sedaris book to read, and I have to say I’m not really enjoying it much. I did enjoy his other books but not this one… maybe because I don’t find his life all that interesting anymore, infact I think its really mundane and I don’t care to get to know him so intimitly because the chances are that it wont matter. I do appreciate that there’s this little gem of .. I don’t even know what to call it because its not irony but more like ‘human truth dawning on him’ at the end of every incident, which is great but is that supposed to evoke some response from the reader? Probably, but theres usually none forthcoming from me…You call people like me blasé I guess. Or perhaps in that gray area between Indian self- reproach and western self-worship? All the same, it’s comfortable here…sigh!

Who am I today? PS: leave me the fuck alone…
Flying to Cuba, not feeling super even though I’m on my way to the Caribbean. It’s a comfy flight, Air France so no complaints there. Why do I feel like this? Because I can see this Austrian guy kissing his very average girl friend. Perhaps its their half yearly holiday..pre-Christams when they’ll be going to either his or her home, meet the family…drink champagne that kind of stuff. Am I envious, hell yes! …where’s my bloody Austrian? Arent I average enough? Sitting next to these two Slovenian young men, not bad looking at all… a bit on the young side, but if the air guitar is anything to go by, then I think I’ll pass. Then there’s the Jamaican with the dreads and the Cuban moron on his phone while 20,000 feet in the air flying over the Pacific..if the plane crashes wonder if his Nokia will survive that drop test? Ist it funny how when you really don’t want attention, the way it actually finds you..Did’nt think I’d get a second look in since I feel like death…but I guess anything goes when your on holiday atleast from a mans perspective. Surrounded! In normal circumstances I would do the polite talking and all but right now I’m playing the stuck up bitch with my head phones on typing on my lap top. That’s when you know you’re in your 30’s when politess and manners go out of the window … so if I have to make the polite conversation …hmmm, who do I want to be today?


Missing Peter Pan

The butterfly effect
Who’d have thought a 40 pound college tattoo of a butterfly would be the symbol that has come to represent my relationships? Its my McDonalds tattoo, the budget tattoo everyone gets and which becomes a faded blob which comes to mark mermories of those college years. Its good to know that us butterflys do flock together too..isnt it strange that the butterflys amogst us are usually the more interesting but totally understated ones?some call us moths, we’re attracted to flames? We have lovely wings but are usually quite unaware of the lovliness and the wings are pretty easy to tear. We like flitting from flower to flow, we don’t take too much from the flower but do help the flower as much as we can. Its usually a win win situation though the wings do sustain damage at times. We take our time getting out of the chrysalis and usually we’re quite unrecognizable to when we go in. Collecters like putting us in glass cases but we try not to get caught. Though when we do its like a stake through the heart. We never recover. This particular butterfly has landed on a lily. Its beautiful and the fragrance is intoxicating… I can feel my wings tearing…why do I not fly away?

Hello Havana (The blinkers are slowly coming off)

Day 1

Where are the seeds? (this one’s dedicated to H)
Its so easy to wax eloquent when sitting on a terrace in Havana under the blue Caribbean sky, with a fantastic coffee and a cigertte in your hand. About a lot of things, mainly the virtues of being single, of being a liberated woman who’s travelling the world and to a friend who sees you with rose tinted lenses. But that apart, I’m amazed at how easy it is to forget, here I am in this 100 year old hotel that’s still reminiscing about its glorious past….old black and white prints of years gone by when dapper Cuban men wore their Havanas and white linen suits while dancing the night away. Dusty glory. But today while sitting in the same ball room breakfasting on rather strange fare…you cant help but hear the forlorn sigh from the walls. There’s a grand old piano that’s seen better days, parquet floor that’s surprisingly well polished and corniching on the ceiling that’s been painted over…sad. The food in the buffet seems like a poor mans feast…what ever they could offer up because there really isn’t that much left. How strange in a country with glorious tropical weather, where are the tomatoes, the cucumbers the watermelons the aubergines…Heli’s explination, they don’t have the seeds…hmmm, suspect. I understand there’s an embargo but no seeds? Well I guess they’re very strict about getting food into the country maybe that’s why…but seeds? The migerating American birds are not allowed to shit here so no seeds….or sheep for that matter. But that’s a different story



International man of mystery and an American in Cuba, WTF?
Hello J, Hi, B. It’s a pleasure to meet you….The accent…B, are you Canadian? Its always better to be polticaly correct in these situations…call a Kiwi an Aussie and all hell breaks loose, maybe the same applies to the Canadians..No, he’s American, how the hell did he manage it? My advice, find out where your ‘peace misson’ office is mate (ha, ha).

Act 1 – J from Denmark - Hello J …interesting man. Wears an earring in his left ear. Does that make him gay? I can never remember this protocol stuff… well, if the conversation is anything to go by. He likes women ..good! Makes it easier for me to turn the charm on! Quelle surprise.
So what does Joesf do? I don’t know and neither does anyone it seems…What? He lives in Costa Rica for the last 20 years? Nice…is he running away from something?...what? He’s buying an apartment in Havana? How? …ok, what ever..He lives in LA for some of the year? Ok, that’s not too shocking…what does he do anyways? Why is he so evasive..ok, now lets put the pieces together, he’s worked in the pharmaceutical industry in Switzerland at some point in his life…is that why he can extol the virtues of Valium. Why are we talking about Valium, well because you can get it OTA here…the holiday gift for friends I think. What? he has contacts with the Mafiaso here…is that a tall tail or am I becoming cynical again? Who do I want taken out? No one at the moment thank you, but do leave me your number please. Thanks ever so much…

Act 2 – B from Providence…The place inbetween NYC and Boston… Hicksville I imagine. I’ve never been so close to a Mulato before. Wow, he’s beautiful. I like Americans, loud naïve and fun. They try so hard…its almost charming. So whats an ER doctor doing in Havana? Here to study the health system. Cant say that I have a POV on that. Did you know that Mulato men can’t dance….wonder if the other clichés apply too? Guess I’ll never know…

Day 2 ( a surprise around every corner)

Where’s my diet Tucola?
Ok, so Fidelism is supposed to do away with the evils of capitalism. It’s a bit like a GT, socialism with a twist.. Why? Because you can buy those Lucky strikes and Camel lights. Look hard enough and you’ll find Sprite in the corner kiosk. Open your ‘mini bar’ (ha, ha) and you’ll find these ubiquitious little cans of a rather interestingly named drink called ‘Tucola’ (two-cola). Tastes like the original Coke recepie. Think it must have been the Cuban cleaner in Atlanta who stole the ‘secret recepie’ from the Cocoa Cola HQ in Atlanta and made a runner. Then of course the revolution happened and he couldn’t go back for the diet , cherry, vanilla or lime versions. What a pity… Think a Diet Cuba Libre would do me a world of good considering how good the dam thing tastes, kya karna control hie nahin hota ….

Cubanitis and other obsessive diseases
Its all in the immune system and I think I’ve developed some anti-bodies to fight it. H wasn’t so lucky unfortunetly. Until today when I think she made a miraculous recovery after throwing up all night. Was it the mojito’s? was it the snorkeling? Was it the sun? Or was it just time to go home? What’s Cubanitis? It’s the stuff the travelers warn you about…the obsessive compulsion one develops with this country after visiting it for the first time. Strangely enough I seem to be immune to it, considering I never escape any kind of it is’s. Reggaetone, ok, whatever…salsa, thanks but I’m quite sick of hearing about it…cocktails, sure thing but one a day keeps the doctor away…cigars, my suction power isn’t as good as it used to be…dual currencies, why? bother …sun shine, lovely! Cant argue with that…rice with black bean stew and fried bananas, delicious!...casa dela musica, one in every town….people, fabulous …beach, haven’t quite made it there but its in the cards….Ok, think I’ll come back some time but not in a hurry..

Ballet in the Caribbean
Who’d have thought I’d watch a bunch of Cubanitas and Cubanatas (?) jump around in body socks, in a French ballet and you know what, it was bloody brilliant! The Cuban national theatre..faded glory at its best…a building beautiful enough to rival the Opera Garnier but a poor cousin at best. The ghosts of the glory days still haunt the boxes, ladies and gentlemen, madams est monseiurs, senors et senoras, let the show begin….In walks the ochestra, coat and tails? No way! This is the Caribbean darling…its tight shorts and halter tops through and through..The conducter, walks in …ties his dreads in a top knot and taps his baton and the lights dim…no flash photography please or recording of any sort…out come all the cameras with flashes going off like strobes in the Ministry of sound. The string quartet start playing the first notes, one would expect the reggaetone but De Bussy’s Clair de Lune begins and Iits perfect! Enter, the star of the show… and hour and a hald later we end to a standing ovation. Cuban ballet is at par with the best I’ve ever seen, and yes I’ve seen a few…grudgingly, another lessoin learned ….

LDR’s and other interesting acronyms (this one’s for P, yes I will find you on Facebook)
Little Indian girl, tall Italian guy. Padua? Yes I know where that is…Why is that such a surprise ? How many brain dead individuals have you met this trip anyways? Two smart asses ….perfect recepie for disaster. Yes, I know what game theory is, why is that such a surprise again…no, I don’t believe in LDR’s , by the way what is a LDR? Long distance relationship …right, ok. …thought acronomyms where a thing of American soaps for 16 year olds …your 25? Aaahh, ok I get it. My paedophile days are over mate…sorry…What? You like older women…nice…but this one’s not that old. I know I look 25 its my Aisan skin thanks to which I don’t spend a fortune on sun beds, but even after the 4th mojito I do know how to say no. You’re very interesting… You’ve been accepted for a PHD this week ? I think that’s very cool! Well done you… I never met a 25 year old PHD student from Padua…thought PHD’s were for eternal students? take a good 20 years live on a university stipend, become totally anti-establishment, grow a beard spend your days theorizing about the advantages of adding an x co-efficent to an equation and voila! You save the world. Yes, lets talk about probability…whats the probability that your going to sleep with me?.2% if this scenario is an anomaly and a positive one …yes, like the Berlusconi equation you’ve used as a model in your thesis. I’m very impressed, yes… This is a Molotov cocktail in the making…you know how that turns out, BOOM! No, I don’t know how to smoke a Cohiba. But I can learn…I’m a fast learner. I do understand you like ‘proud’ women but why is that such a rare thing? No, I have no problem with big brother watching me..makes me feel safer actually…yes, I’m totally random…and come back when your older mate …Bon voyage!


Day 3 (look around you, there’s a world out there)

My other dog’s a bull terrier
I don’t own a fancy car, I pay 50 cents as rent for my crumbling colonial apartment and no I don’t know a mobile, BUT my dog says is a pure bred mean machine. In a country where you’re not allowed to make a better life for myself but need to live on hand outs from the state, there needs be some form of social currency right? And that my friends is in the dog I own, the number of foreigners I know and the number of English songs I have on my computer. No easy feat when I have 10 hours of internet access a month on a dial up connection…explains it all.
I met someone who knows a chichua today…a really big guy with tattoos … it’s a bit like a Mr T in a fiat Punto. Then there’s the british bull dog owner, does that make him a lager lad? A cocker spaniel security dog? What ever works for you senior

Will you help me in my revolution?
I’m sorry D, not tody…give me another three years then ask me again. If you need it by then of course… Why? had I a red passport with a coat of arms on it, I would. Had I the option of running to my embassy and taking refuge, I would. Had I the opportunity of the media rallying my cause in an island far far away, then perhaps…so D, I do apologise, but not today…
I do understand your reality…its very far from mine. I would be lying if I say that I empathise. I was very young when my country was in a state of flux …where yours is today, so my needs were very far and few. The closest I get to those days is through the history books or natisonalistic films glorified by Bollywood to become something much bigger than what those days were. But like you D, I never learnt World history … ask me about the Maharajahs not Eisenhower…But I do sympathise. Yes, I did buy the Life magazine with Jinna on the front cover …I’m not making a statement D, I’m just nostalgic abut my identity…why do I say nostalgic, well that’s becasie I don’t know who I am anymore D…This term that people bandy about ‘world citzen’, well that’s what I’ve become now. The fact that I buy Jinna and not Gandhi or Nehru is a Freudian in a way no? Is it a good thing? Well , I would like to think so, because you cant afford to be prejudiced because you have nothing to discriminate against, cause you don’t belong to anywhere and neither do you not.. It was a long process and a slow transformation. It’s definitely benefited me because its given me back the ability to find integrity in people again. Though I do hate Hello kitty! Yes, I can take the high ground because I’m very far removed on a little island I call home … I am only human D.

I travel through you
I got soul but I’m not a soldier. I travel through you people. Its not because I cant but because I’m not empowered to. What does that mean? I’m not allowed to afford it. I like you people but I we have nothing to talk about… the weather’s always sunny in Cuba mate. I travel through you, you are my internet, my Lonely Planet, my La Republica and my FT … here’s a lovely Cuban meal and a jug of daiquiri. Forget the food stamps and the rationing welcome to my home and my heart. Talk to me, tell me your stories, take me on a journey … come fly with me.

The one who shall not be named
Lets talk about everything…but NO! not him…
Legend has it that when Camilo made his speech, the crowd went beserk and when the one with the beard came on..there was silence and booing, he then turns around and asks Camilo ‘how am I doing?’ and Camilo replies ‘fantastic, they love you’….Guess that set the tone for the next 40 years…


Day 4 (Alone in the Caribbean and lovin it! )

Communing with God
Sitting on the Malocon, facing the sea, the sun is setting…gone, in two minutes..thats tropical sun sets for you…nothing’s on your terms. Darkness…lightening strikes, thunder claps and the rain falls. The waves become stronger, crashing against the wave breakers. I’m significant. I try to control my environment the only way I know how…my ipod, my music, my thoughts..these are mine to control..the elements are yours. I will use them to create mine…The fishermen continue doing what the know best, the runners, all Western, continue pounding through the rain, the lovers continue making love … everyone’s oblivious ..except a small Indian girl sitting on the Malocon facing the sea…listening to U2 singing Beautiful day, in the darkness...communing with God

Third row from the back, the one of the left, yup that’s me!
Before the show – I’m an extra in a Cuban / Swiss movie… I’m the dumb foreigner who cant Salsa…wonder if it’s the beginning of something beautiful? I get a free salsa lesson out of it so what the hell!

After the show– Quelle disaster
The less said the better…ask me the next time I’m pissed when dignity goes out of the window and you’ll get the whole story. Though what I will say is that I’ve learnt to make a gracious retreat…where the hell are the Bollywood genes when you need them?


Day 5 (Die prejudice!)

I’m a walking, talking CUC (pronoumced kuk)
Machine gun delivery ( that’s Spanish to me) ….sorry, no habla espaniol….si caramello for my little girl…no, sorry, I’m on a diet… do you have a pen or a bar of soap at least…sorry, I don’t, but will wet one’s do?..no…ok, then can you spare 1 CUC then…here you go...buonas dias. Whats a CUC? The stuff that dreams are made of here in Cuba. Cuba has two currencies, one mainly for the locals (the lesser mortals) and one for the foreigners (affectionaley called the cretins). Cuba has a very strange monetry system, ice cream and veggies are priced in Cuban pesos but God forbid a cretin wants to buy a banana , that’s CUC to you mate. Beer, cigerettes, meals in non-government restaurants, clothes, shampoo all priced in CUC even for the locals…this is Fidelism for you, socialism on crack.The CUC is worth 4 times the Cuban local peso. The average bottle of Havana club for the cretin costs about 5 CUC, in Cuban peso’s its about 1CUC…alcoholism in Cuba …ridiculously high, wonder why? There’s definitely in a niche in the market here for an AA for both cretins and Cubans. The average salary in Cuba is a little less than the taxi fare from the center of town to the air port, one way, so that’s about 25 CUC…the average cost of kindness.. 1 CUC…

I don’t have much but here’s a lemon
H’s caught a stomach bug and is throwing up in the streets. A Cuban couple stops..normal reaction, is it the Havana club talking. Actually this time it is’nt, it’s the water…Out comes a lemon from the man’s bag…machine gun delivry and we’re on our way. In this, the land of Daiquiries, a lemon is a rarity and are pretty pricey…the average cost of kindness…a lemon

The cretins view - We are the world, we are the children…
There’s just one other place in the world where I’ve seen such a melting pot of races , yes races (shoot me G) living together in such absolute harmony, and that place is Utopia, no its not a night club..and Brazil, same thing..perhaps. A Hispanic woman with a black man walks hand in hand past a Mulato with a blond girl with gray eyes…. Then there’s the Cuban jeasus I saw yesterday …striking blue eyes, brown shoulder length hair , white skin but with Cuban features (what ever that is). The mixed race boy with the gray eyes…Afro hair, almond eyes, big African bum, flat stomach…cubanita you are beautiful… Soft skin, curly chest hair , hard stomachs you can iron a sheet on, sharp features Cubanata (?) God got the blue print right when he created you.. who knows, maybe I’ll start liking dreads by the time I leave…that would be something. Welcome to Cuba…God’s laboratory and the portrait photographers dream…

The Cuban view – I like my steak rare please
Here you go, have a look at my ID card, it says M – M for Mulato baby…that lady there…who? The one who looks Hispanic…yes, well Hispanic is a term that does’nt exist here, she thinks she’s white and that’s what her ID card says..what?...yes, that’s how we roll. A ‘white’ will go out with a white, the darker the skin the lower you are in the food chain…The mulato’s are stuck in the middle, I’m a Hava which means afro hair, non-afro lips, light skin, then there are other kinds of Mulato’s too. But with tourism, it’s more common to see mixed race couples…mixed race couples?..yes, the old Caucasian woman with the money and her young beautiful black man, or the old geriatric with his young Cubanita.. the identity politics are rampant, look hard enough and you’ll see them everywhere…But your beautiful…thanks babe, but it just means there’s a lot of oppertunities I don’t get...like what?...like jobs and stuff…I do understand, I wish God hadn’t left you in the oven that bit longer than the rest…

Free love and all that jazz
Enter !
I - I have a French girl friend, yes she’s in France, I’m planning to make a baby with my Swiss girl friend, I was born and brought up in Havana… I do like you…will I see you at strawberry chocolate this Thursday?

Enter D
D- Yes T is ok with me having sex with someone else as long T and I are absolutely open and honest about it. No I have no problems with her being with someone else. We love each other but the sex is not as explosive as it used to be and I don’t see the point in denying myself that..so whyt not? Why become one of those couples who cheat on each other because they cant get their carnal requirments saitiated somewhere else. Is it common in Cuba? Yes and no…my family accepts it, they understand…what about responsibility? Its both ways no? By the way are you free tonight?

Enter T
T – I have to learn to accept it…I love this man…And you know what, it is quite liberating…I can play games with him, irk his jealousy without being manipulative or even vindictive, he asked for it…do igive him details? Of course! What better way to play with the male ego, plus I get my insecurities satitaied in the process…best of both worlds amiga, is’nt that great?

Enter H
Well I just want him to be honest, tell me he’s with someone else and don’t lie. We’ll talk about it and come to a consenus of how to deal with the problem…. Yes, we’re very controlled…maybe it’s to do with the cold and the high suicide rate..

Enter A
A – Where were you last night? Between someone’s legs…right, ok…and you? Waiting up for you mate..but I’m sure you can take a guess where I’ll be tonight…. I do know one thing, the day I’m ok with my partner being with someone else is the day its obvious that I’ve stopped caring. How does it work with me? Well first of all, how does it matter? …ok, so you do want to know…well, I’m not a big follower of open relationships to be honest, though there must be some sense in it…lets just say that, I haven’t seen the light yet. I did meet this French man who contributed greatly to my intellectual development who did once tell me that the only reason why brothels in France were not illegal during the regency period was because there are some things one cannot dream of doing with the mother of their children while with a woman they have no emotional ties with, its easier…maybe there’s some truth in that. I know it’s the same with us woman too…its easier to be brazen when you have nothing to lose…so maybe I’ve seen the light, in the Caribbean…but I think I’ll pass this time…

You can run, but you cant hide…
Its 1993, Cuba is in its worst crisis yet…the Berlin wall’s fallen, the Soviet Union is on its way to complete dissolution…Cuba’s lost its strongest allies..moral of the story, choose your coalitions wisely…Tourism’s suddenly allowed in a country that’s lived with blinkers on since the 50’s. There’s a new currency that’s been introduced, the CUC…suddenly inflation strikes…prices have quadrupled and the average Cuban has no idea whats happened. The tourist industry is the place to be..all those fancy tips certainly do the trip. But no scientists or people from the education sector allowed..thank you very much! Suddenly its better to be uneducated because it opens up so many possibilities (ha, ha, ha). The Havan club wears off and the Cubans take to the streets…Castro panics, opens the borders and suddenly everyone’s running…life raft sales hit the roof as do the sales of tires…The US boarder forces are making a fortune working over time to stop the influx of desperate Cubans fleeing their country…you can run but to where? Cant really create an Israel for you, sorry….The spot light shifts to the casualties and Castro’s safe, once again. Then comes the propoganda …’yes, we need to sacrifice because we have to pull our country out of this mess…we need to fight to keep the forces of socialism alive (did someone mention spending power?) …we made a mistake betting on the wrong horse but at least we can proudly say that we have the most educated and qualified prostitues in the world!‘ WTF? You’ve got to be kidding? You can’t quote Proust while giving a blow job mate, trust me

37th time lucky?
D – ‘I have a friend who tried escaping to Miami 36 times’
A – WHAT?
D – yes, 36 times and the last time I got fired because of him, from my last job
A – Wow! So what happened when he got caught?
D – well the American boarder police patrolling the waters kept him in a holding boat and then returned him to Cuba. He could see the North American coast from his holding cell..
A – So close yet so far away, huh?
D – yes
A – So what happened once he came back
D – well, nothing, because the two governments have an agreement that the Cuban authorities cant prosecute anyone for trying to escape…but he did get fired for taking a week off work

The lobster woman
D gets a phone call, there’s a whispered conversation…all very cloak and dagger… There’s a quick conference between T and D. D grabs a bag and rushes off. There’s silence, its half an hour and no sign of D. T gets upset and starts pacing the room. Then finally after about 45 minutes of agony D comes back looking triumphant. T is ecstatic. D puts his hand into the bag and pulls out a ….lobster! what an anti-climax after all that stress. I ask D why the spy vs spy tactics and he tells me that buying lobster ‘privately’ is a felony in Cuba. The lobster woman as she’s fondly called is a black marketier who is a teacher by day and a lobster seller by night because she needs the extra cash. She risks life and limb to come into Havana to sell fresh lobster to the appease the pallet of the discerning Cuban. Lobster and shrimp are almost unaffordable to the average Cuban. This almost reminds me of that Woody Allen story about the million dollar truffle, if you don’t know what I’m talking about, ask Peter Pan.


Day 6 (On the road to Trinidad and the love affair begins)

Its times like this, time and time again
Its happening again, I’m falling in love… I wake up with a smile on my face, why? Because dammit I’m in Cuba!..’They’ were right, its got me, the Cubanitis bug has bitten me.See the green sugar cane fields flash by, see the little calf prancing around its mother in the Cuban sun shine…see the smiling faces, or the need of this bus driver to stop and help the broken down truck , but he cant because of his precious international cargo which could become a diplomatic incident if its touched..See the hesitation in the faces of the locals to thumb down our ‘safari vehicle . See the clean roads pot holed but there, the simplicity of the houses,the broken down ‘American cars’ as they’re fondly called here, the chevys from the 30’s propped up on stones parked proudly in what I think is a garage in the back of one roomed houses, see the bill boards with revolutionary slogans dotting the country side.See the little children in their sailor uniforms in lessons in their open air classroom..free education for all. Feel the most commonly used phrase in this country ‘I love to love’. Feel the belief in a fading ideology emenating from the soul…Feel the cheer, the acceptance and sense of security …feel the stocism …’I cant fix my house I know its falling to pieces around me, I’ll never earn enough..so might as well buy a beer, that I can afford, … I know my kids will get an education, I’ll have a roof over my head and that half pound of rice and soy mince every month … why bother fighting lets have a party instead’…

How the mighty have fallen
I’ve been in denial for the last 6 days and maybe now its time to face facts, I am back packing in Cuba, the signs are all there. I’m staying in a casa particularis with absolutely no issues..its clean that’ll do me fine… I can smell an internet café from a mile. I’m ok with living on greasy food without getting sick but eat for India when I’m offered a home cooked meal. I don’t make plans but go to places recommended to me by people I meet along the way. I’m starting to communicate with anything that helps me be understood signs, drawings, telepathy and the last resort is language - a mixture of French, English, german and anything else I can get my hands on…quite a feat in a Spanish speaking country it has to be said. I can sit for hours in a café with nothing particular to do, I don’t need guide books but wander around the town and invariably bump into all the things I’m supposed to see. I talk to anyone who talks to me…As P put it , I’ve created a new category ‘hotel surfing back packer’…maybe it sounds better in Italian…what’s that? Its someoneTM who dosent scrounge, I’m ok with doling out the CUC’s when I need it…I’m pretty generious with the peso’s not a good idea telling me what the average Cuban salary is. and I’m ridiculously grateful to receive the services I’m paying for…Yes P you win, I carry a bag with wheels but I’m a back packer in my heart

My Cuban dictionary

Cuba – Paradise lost

Miami – the promised land

Cubanita – incredibly beautiful woman usually looks like a pron star, basic uniform - hot pants, halter tops, the more on show the better, body made of elastic.

Cubanata –gold watch, hairy chest, tight t-shirt and jeans from the 80’s, cigetrette or cigar in hand, made of rubber to match the elastic body moves. Most often used pick up line – I teach salsa would you like to come out with me tonight

Mira – Used in the start of every sentence translats into ‘look’ or ‘listen’ and no its not the same as Meeha (for those of you who are ardent followers of Ugly Betty)

Ernest Hemingway – Most commonly used marketing ploy and dead celebrity edorsemnet in Havana

Havana Club – water

Ron - rum

Cuba Libre – Rum and coke with lime

Mojito – Nectar of the Gods

Cubana – poor mans version of a bloody mary

Daiquiri – waste of money

Raggaetone –socially acceptable form of making love in public

Let’s have a party – Routine, like I brush my teeth every morning

British bull dog – social currency

Fidelism – desperation, stoicism and humour all rolled into one with a strong over coat of hypocrisy

Revolution – akin to a bad hair day

Mi amore – hello

You have a lovely face, where are you from? – Can I have a CUC please?

Will you marry me – Get me out of this shit hole!

Down with capitalism – yes, we’re fucked

The Trinidad chapter

Horse drawn cart – delivery van for everything – from children and pigs to eggs

Cattle truck – people carrier like a Renault Espace

Dachshund – the iphone of dogs

Bonita - Arshia

Day 7 (Marketing 101 – How to brand your Casa particularis)

‘Its all about branding darling’
I tell my host while eating a very good sanwitch. In a country with no brands that’s a feat to explain. And of course my obvious lack of Spanish and her lack of English skills but we understand each other…amazing how language is so much more than the spoken word. How about we position your casa particularis as a ‘home’ a haven in Trinidad for single women travelers – your USP – safety, cleanliness, good food, english and a dog! O’s great I like her a lot. Mother of an 8 year old, married to a lecherous man (her second husband she says, who fights with her every night and can’t stop looking at women), lives with her parents, the nicest people in the world…in a two room house. They’ve really made an effort I can tell, clean room, an air conditioner they’re so proud of, a fan too, plus a flush that works toilet paper (costs 1CUC here) and TWO bars of soap in the bathroom. The inspector arrives to check the millions of forms they need to fill in to maintain the status of a casa particularis. ‘its tedious’ she says, ‘but we need to do it cause that’s the only source of income we have… We pay 200 CUC a month to rent out a room. Wether we have guests or not…we had no guests September, October and all of November and it was hard…no food, no nothing. ‘How did you manage?’ I ask? ‘Well, we borrowed from our friends, my mum couldn’t have the operation she needed and my son couldn’t buy stationary for school, it was very hard’. My heart goes out to her…’Let’s go dancing tonight’ I tell her ‘its my pleasure to invite you and your husband, though you would need to make it up to me, teach me some salsa moves and we’re even’. She smiles ‘and that’s all I need’ We begin marketing 101…and I begin counting my blessings ….


Touch the cow, and the girl dies!
The scene opens on a typical gangster movie set, the man in the white hat has a gun to the head of a cubanita. There’s Daisy in the corner calmly chewing her cud, totally oblivious to the scene in front of her…that’s what’s its like here when it comes to cows and other bovines. Cattle belong to the state, no one is allowed to buy beef. The only place where beef is served is in the government restaurants and in the big hotels. The casa particularis are not allowed to serve anything but chicken, pork, fish if your lucky. Shrimp and lobster, only when the shutters are closed and everyone pretends not to be home. God forbid your caught serving beef, its 1500 CUC to the offender…no cow tipping (the national sport in Wales) here that’s for sure…

Delhi belly in Cuba
Its been a cardinal rule of mine to stay away from KFC ..bend the rules and all hell breaks lose (literally) as is the case today. Its 2:30 in the afternoon and I’m home in bed, in close proximity to the toilet…why? Because I decided to eat some fried chicken, at the most local of locales…oh, what a mistake that was...Lesson learned, in a country where oil is a very expensive commodity and is obviously recycled many many times, stay away from heart attack city…and horror of horrors its chicken tonight again at Casa Rodriguez …oh oh!

Human sanwitch in a club with no roof
I never imagined I’d hear the opening chords to We are the World and then hear Linonel Richie break in, and where? In a night club…of all places! Guess there’s always a first time. Welcome to clubbing in Cuba. Quite an experience that’s for sure…O, leach husband and I went to casa dela musica last night . It’s a night club in an old house with no roof, shiny disco ball hanging from the ceiling and a few lights thrown around here and there…The night stars off with a blast from the past…and then the games began! Reggaetone, salsa, bump and grind all around…H was right about black men having the softest skin and its no wonder they all have six packs here, boy can they gyrate those assets! Being a human sanwitch with two beautiful black men was definatley not the menu, but boy did it taste good. Then comes P from Barcelona,. Amazing how you really don’t need language especially when talking to an anarchist. 1 mojito, 2 mojito …7 mojito bwaaaahhhhh …. And Arshia christens Cuba…


Day 8 (getting back in the saddle …literally and metaphoricaly)

The Italian charm school for men (dedicated to M and G)
Located in the historic Italian capital, Rome, the Italian charm school for domestic men is an age old institution created the day Italy was. Our alumni, apart from all Italian men, boast formidable names like Mark Antony, Casinova and Vincent Perez to name a few. The course consists of life long learning and graduation is based on the number of hearts broken. Distinction is granted to those graduates who’ve gotten an international score board. These students will be graded on the number of countries covered, the more exotic the better. Our curriculum covers the following – the art of bull shit, 101 compliments (sometimes referd to as clichés), the art of posing, Italian chivalry at its best, complaining with style, drama, mastering tragedy, loving your mamma, how to leave the family home only when your 30, being flashy without appearing too vulgar, how to talk with your hands without poking the eye of your neighbour, knowing breast sizes, jealousy for beginners, how to master the Italian accent to charm the pants of English speaking women and music classes focusing on wolf whistles. Students are requested to bring their own uniforms - big sunglasses (the branding on the frame needs to be in a font not smaller than 20 points), designer stubble, tight jeans (preferably Versace or Armani), tight white t-shirts, Big watch needs to be seen from a 20 mile radius, hair gel that keep your hair pointy all day and designer shoes (lime green is the preferred colour for this years graduating class). You also have the option of bringing your own eye brow tweezers. Thank you M and G for being my muses, albeit unsuspectingly

Hi ho Silver!
Racing across grass medows is by far the headiest feeling in the world and in a typical Argentinian saddle. 16 years and I still haven’t forgotten to put a horse through its paces.G gallops alongside me , we fly through the grass, wind blowing through my hair…my horse is panting but we thunder on…your animal instincts take control…there’s none of that controlled stuff you see in equine sport in the UK….here its sheer adrenalin…We slow our mounts down and join the rest of the group, both laughing hysteriacally…for that one moment I feel so good to be alive! Then the moment passed just as quickly. We head down the mountain with the rest of the group, a young Italian family from Rome, M, G our guide and me… as orderly as an Italian can manage. No queue here… We reach the parking point for horses (ha, ha) We dismount and make our way through the forest to the waterfall, it’s a challenge keeing upright, when will I ever learn…stay away from the Mojito’s! …we finally make it to the clearing with no incident…the Italians are actually really naaaiice. Off come the t-shirts, jeans and M and G jump in…shock shock horror! They wear y-fronts! I don’t believe this, the image crashes – no Armani eblazoned jocks here.! The water is freezing but so refreshing. I climb out sit on the rocks … There’s a man playing his guitar..the sun is shining on the rock pool in front of us, the silver fish dart amongst the shalows…the water fall trickles in the background…is this what heaven is? I’m brought back to reality when I can feel the pain in my ass begin, now the thighs and now the body…boy oh boy am I going to pay for this tomorrow…

The best Mojito’s in Cuba
And they were right. After the promise of the best Mojito in the world, in those dulcet Italian accent….how can a girl resist? We’re on route to Miguel’s after being accosted every 5 minutes by buskers, the pain of walking with foreigners…sigh! when G decides to buy a painting from one of the many souvenior shops that dot Trinidad. The discussions go forever, both the Cuban mama and M are both formidable bargainers…gosh, they put us Indians to shame…BUT we walk out with no painting but instead a molto argumento between G and M. Italian soap opera at its best, hands and legs doing the talking along with raised voices! We finally make it to Miguel’s where the story is repeated over and over again to the entire Italian contingent with varied degrees of animation and drama …by this time the Italian armed forces leave to go back to the painting store. M and I decide to stay back, for one because I am not Italian so probably would be quite ineffective and two because I can’t be bothered. I spend the rest of the evening taking photographs of the night sky while M spends his evening shivering as he’s too chivalrous to leave me alone for all of 15 minutes to go get a jumper, even though I do assure hime that the chances of him needing protection are a lot higher because of those tweezed eye brows of his …If there’s one thing everyone I’ve met along the way has been its been…a sense of humour, chivalry….and trhe abilitry to laugh at the bizarre i.e ourselves.

Raindrops keep falling on my head ….
I had a ‘Butch Cassidy and the Sundance kid’ moment yesterday. I’ve never been ridden around on the middle bar of a bicycle before and yesterday I did! I There I was sitting on the middle bar of a bicycle being ‘chauffered’ down the Trinidadian streets by O’s neighbour who decided to give me a lift ha ha ha....its great until you hit the cobble stones…no shock absorbers you see…ouch ouch, ouch … amazing how the most simple things are the most memorable ones





Day 9 (the home stretch)

Muchos muchos gratsias Cuba
On the bus heading back to Trinidad and I can feel my heart strings tugging. There were tears this morning when O and her family, including the lech husband came to see me off to the bus stop. I feel like I’m in a Harry Potter book, the one where Voldermart splits his soul and puts hides them in various places in a hortifix I think its called. I feel like my soul is split too, and now there’s a piece of it in Trinidad with this family. I’ve left traces too, not just through the material things I’ve given people, but in their memories as O and D have said to me ..I’ve promised to come back to Cuba. To D and now to this family.. and hopefully not alone the next time (Peter Pan are you listening?) I’ve had the privlidge and the honour to experience this country through its people and for that I will be ever grateful…Its helped me fight my demons and helped me see and not just look… again… I think it was time for a reality check …Its funny the noticeable difference in my attitude, I do hope it lasts for a while now..cant afford going back to Cuba for a while. I read Sedaris again last night because of a lack of reading material and this time, I enjoyed it…what a difference from my feelings about him on the way in…I can relate to his enjoyment in the very simple things like watching spiders go about their daily business or the disgust associated with squeezing puss out of boil on his butt…yes, I can relate to both (ha, ha,ha). I don’t think it’s the act of egocentricity anymore, to me its like making conversation albeit in the written word, and that’s ok, I’m doing pretty much the same through this account of my trip, to me its the sheer joy that comes from sharing these very special moments with the one’s I love… or not as the case may be. I’ve started using the word ‘love’ a lot again… and in its most non-loaded form … empathy, genorisity, appreciation, respect and affection…love is seeing from the heart

Back to life, back to reality
Bienvenue au Air France, we trust you found your soul in Cuba… its time to take you home now along with the plane load of ‘Cuba before I die’ geriatric tour groups … we are very optimistic about making it there as we’ve decided to avoid the Brazil route back (ha, ha, ha)…

Au revoir

FINI