Journey to the 2nd World, Part 5 - Making Peace With Your Inner-Colonialist

I've been feeling strangely guilty about this all-inclusive resort. They literally provide everything for you. You could spend 24/7 at the bar drinking your face off if you wanted to (After the first couple of days, I reverted to my normal self. Drinking that much for that long is hard).

It's the staff that makes me nervous. Do they resent us? Make jokes about dumb Canadian tourists? I do know that tipping brings out some fantastic enthusiastic service. We left a couple bucks for the maid and now we're getting twice the beer, pop and water in our fridge. L asked for towel art (they fold the towels into little sculptures for you) and she's now had a different "piece" every day. Isn't that just a little bit... patronizing?

Another part of me thinks - they're Cubans. They're stuck on this island with few economic opportunities. I found out from stephtopia's brother J that the average wage at the resort is 16 CUC per month. They work 12 hour shifts and they work pretty hard. I imagine the paltry amounts we tip go a loooong way towards making ends meet.

Which brings me to Diego. Diego is one of the sports trainers at the resort. garething and I decided to check out their archery range. You need to be supervised to do this as they don't want the guests shooting each other (they also have a pistol and rifle range with similar rules and concerns). We chatted with him a lot while we took turns shooting and he told us a lot about the life of the Cuban workers on the resort (and as jobs go, babysitting a couple of Canadian archers is pretty easy compared to being a line cook in a kitchen serving 500 guests every night.

Diego is using his tips to build himself a house. Damn. It was at that point that I would stop worrying about how I'm perceived. Love or or resent us,they are getting something out of the deal and I've seen no indication that the Cuban authorities make anyone work in the resorts. I got the distinct impression that it was like any other job - If you work at a Veradero resort it's probably because you live in Matanzas - not because you've been assigned to it by the communists.

Diego also attempt to sell us some cigars. I imagine that's a big no-no and could have gotten his ass fired if we told on him. Not that we would, we liked Diego.

And we tipped him a few bucks when he "loaned" us some archery targets that we'd never seen before in Cowtown.

I've decided that I'm not exploiting the workers by tipping. It's just that my ulterior motives (great service) and theirs (money that's actually worth something) coincide. I'm OK with that.

As an aside, the whole "tip with bars of soap" thing seems to be a thing of the past. Cash money is accepted in numerous place that don't accept soap!

Journey to the 2nd World, Part 6 - Let the Screechin' Begin

Wednesday was the day that I was inducted into their dark and blasphemous cult. Yes folks, I became an honorary Newfoundlander. The ceremony consisted of wearing garish woolen socks, a yellow fisherman's cap (like the guy on the Fisherman's Friend's package wears). Attempting to make sense of their primitive language and drinking some of the local beverage (Imported from the rock for just this occasion), known as Screech. This is traditionally followed by harsh language.

Screech is like Rum, but also not. I fear that the Newf natives may have been pulling a fast one on us. This so called "beverage" seems to have been created solely for inflicting suffering on outsiders. No doubt this cruelty is considered comedy gold on their remote North Atlantic island.

The ceremony also called for "singing" and "dancing" - both terms that need to be expanded greatly to accept the things we were made to do.

garething having married into their unholy brood, was the first to be initiated. As the old joke about the missionaries offered "Death or Bumba" as punishment went, so went we. G, being first, did not have the advantage of knowing what he was in for. Going second I did know and the horror was worse for that. Being entirely inhumane, they then inflicted their so-called ritual upon an innocent child (G's daughter K). The only glimmer of humanity they showed was that they did not subject her to their demon-liquor.

I'm happy to report that I took my Bumba far better then G, who broke down like a little girl. I, on the other-hand, took it like a man - a miserable broken soul-damaged man. Later the natives directed strange comments towards me like "he must have some newf blood in him" - Despite all reason, I fear these may have been compliments.

May all-merciful Allah forgive me.