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“..First stop, Havana Go-go..”

 

Finally after nearly 48 hours of stopovers, we had arrived in Havana, Cuba. To my surprise there was a man at the airport, waiting, with a sign, that read ‘TOMAS DALTON’ which kinda freaked me out until I remembered. I’d organised a ride with one of the accommodations that I ended up cancelling. Whoops. If I’d known the extent of the countries disorganisation (From my own experience, not just from what I had been told), I wouldn’t have felt bad about scoring the lift and not staying at the hostel*. My initial thought on Cuba would remain the theme of my thinking for the entire three weeks; everything contradicted itself. The streets were full of beautiful old school cars and architecture just like I’d seen in pictures but everything seemed like it needed a paint job or renovation or both. There were murals everywhere of Che Guevara and Fidel Castro along with proclamations that the Cubans ‘Defend the Revolution’ which again, makes sense, but actually doesn’t.

We arrived at the hotel, signed in with our passports then headed upstairs. This is the only proper ‘hostel’ in Cuba in terms of dorm rooms/common area/kitchen etc. and probably the best thing to happen to us in Cuba**. There were about 5 people in the common room; an African born Canadian, a couple of girls from Europe, a young German boy and a man from Hungary also named Tomas. After the introductions they spent about 10 minutes giving us advice on food, the double currency, what not to do, where to eat…the list went on so long that most of the information, as invaluable as it was, became impossible to absorb.

We went for a walk around Central Havana, not finding anything to eat, instead finding $***4 bottles of Havana Club Rum which we bought and headed back to the hostel as it was getting dark and we didn’t know our way around. For the next 5 hours Zag and I sat around with Mahmoud, (the Canadian man) listening to his stories about Cuba and the rest of the world whilst drinking rum and looking through his pictures. He was a photographer and had seen a thing or two in his lifetime to say the least. About two hours into the conversation Zag asked him how old he was, I was thinking the same as he looked about 30-35 but the stories were not adding up. I’ll have what this guy is having, he was fifty fucking two years old and fit as a fiddle. I asked him what his age defying secret was to which he simply replied, “I walk everywhere.”

The others arrived back from dinner along with the addition of a Kiwi Chic and a cute guy from Argentina and the whole group of us decided to head out to a salsa club where the oldest gent in the hostel recommended us to go. I can’t remember his name but the image of his wrinkly body lying on the bottom bunk dressed only in his jocks is permanently burnt into the back of my skull.

The unlikely band of misfits took a local bus (costs less then a cent per person) to this salsa club which is right on the edge of the water. Cue purchase of another bottle of rum and within about 15 minutes Zag and myself were being taught how to salsa by the other lads there…..very unsuccessfully and very amusing for onlookers I’m sure. The rest of the night is a blur but basically involved another crazy bus ride home, walking to find pizza (which costs 30cents) and stumbling home to bed where I would be for the next 14 hours on account of my disgusting rum hangover. 

   

 

 

   

 
*A pre-organised Taxi from the airport into Havana cost us $35CUC and I’d gotten quotes from about 3 different places prior to landing. I’ve heard the taxi should cost you $15-$20 if you just walk down the road and barter with a driver but if you don’t speak Spanish it’ll be a total fuck around. The local bus is super super cheap, maybe 20c but again signs and timetables are non-existent in this country so be prepared for an adventure if you choose that option.

**The hostel is called Hamel Hostel. Its located on Hospital Street, Central Havana about 15mins walk from Havana Viejo(Old Havana/Tourist Area). Its great to stay here as its $5CUC per person a night and its way more social then staying in one of the Casa Particulars. Handy if you are travelling by yourself or wanting to meet new people. The host Magnolia is really nice and can hook you up with accommodation in other areas of Cuba. Best way to get in contact is via couchsurfing.com

***The two currencies in Cuba can be confusing. The CUC is the convertible peso and is worth the same as the US dollar. They’ll fuck you over more with the US then the EU though so if getting euros is an option I’d recommend that(especially for aussies as the AUS isn’t strong against the US at the moment so you get double screwed.)

 

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Layover It. 

About 2 hours into our 10 hour layover at LAX I was pretty over it. Zag had slept for a bit and I walked around in circles aimlessly but got sick of that pretty quickly. Google told me that Venice beach was relatively close so after Zag woke up from his floor nap we jumped in a cab and headed to Abbot Kinney Boulevard because it seemed to have a few restaurants on it. 

I’d been to venice beach when I was 14 and from what I had remembered it was pretty grunge-esq but as it would turn out we heading for the swanky part of town. Good looking California boys for days. Everyone was way too cool. The buildings were way too cool. The all black pug wearing a bandana and hanging out in a clothes shop was too cool. We were both extremely hungover and chose a pretentious spot to eat where we sat through our entire meal listening to some wanker tell his group about 80 times that he’d just gone surfing. He was from Malibu and worked in the music industry, I won’t bore you with the rest of his life story because I’m desperately trying to erase it from my memory. I’m still yet to drink a decent margarita in the US so I can see why everyone goes batshit crazy over the ones we make at Mamasita. 
We walked a bit further down the street, crossed the road then headed back the other way. I managed to walk past the Scotch and Soda shop twice before finally caving in and retracing my steps all the way back to the sale rack. Despite the blonde haired blue eyed sales boy who also looked like he’s spent most of the day on a surfboard I exercised some self control knowing that I had 6 months left of carrying everything I bought. 
The next and final stop was at a bar called Roosterfish where I hoped a beer would cure the jet lag. It didn’t and combing the two with the overly camp bar tender practically screaming a shit story to his friends at the bar was giving me a headache. Zag emerged from the bathroom informing my naive self that we were in fact in a gay bar as there were ‘dicks everywhere’ in the bathroom (Upon further investigation done by yours truly i discovered that he meant photos of naked dudes all over the walls and not actual dicks). The bar had a pretty cool rustic courtyard out the back but we couldn’t deal with the general public anymore. 
Cab back to the airport then another 5 hours of floor naps and walking around in circles. It was good to get some fresh air and eat some non-airport cuisine but the whole street reminded me of what I was getting away from. If I wanted perfectly groomed boys and shops I shouldn’t be spending money at I would’ve just stayed in Melbourne. Bring on Cuba.  
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Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair…

“Typical stinkin’ freezing cold day in Aukland New Zealand.” D. Zaghet.

6HoursLater

It was a lot colder in San Francisco then I had imagined, mind you we did step out of the airport at 8am. Getting into the city was pretty simple. It was probably the loudest train I’d even been on…even with my earphones up to the highest they could go. We dropped our stuff off at USA hostels but couldn’t check in till 2 so we strolled through what we would later find out to be the Tenderloin. Within 5 minutes we had seen our first arrest. Just four casual cop cars putting two lads in the back but apart from that it seemed like a very quiet city.

We ended up in a typical american dive bar call High Tide. It was right around the corner from the hostel and the tacky neon sign was too hard to ignore. The bar was empty with the exception of one older gentleman sitting at the corner watching TV. Between him and Zag I couldn’t figure out who was more surprised/impressed with the other as they got into a well educated conversation about Basketball and I sat there staring at the decor. The floor and back bar walls were covered in one dollar bills, each signed by a previous patrons. It would’ve been pitch black if it weren’t for the abundance of fairy lights hanging through the bar. Our bartender was a sassy Chinese girl called Riki who was heading home for a month the next day. To say she was already in holiday mode would be an understatement. When not pouring our drinks or training the newbie she could be found line dancing or reapplying her makeup while telling us stories from the night before. When it became apparent that the two of us would be the entirety of her afternoon rush, she sat herself at the end or the bar, whacked her earphones in and began bellowing out a few random Chinese pop songs for us, drowning out the commentary from the basketball game we had been watching.

By the time we got to our room we were delirious from sleep deprivation. Our excitement at the prospect of two interesting roommates was shattered within minutes of meeting the two Aussie boys on the other side of the room. They weren’t into us from the get-go and the feeling soon became mutual. After our first shower in what seemed like a week we both decided that rather then search the city for a bar we’d head back and watch the Superbowl with Riki. It turned out to be a pretty close game from what I could understand and it was worth watching just for the ads and halftime show, not to mention the random assortment of characters entering the bar and staying for one drink then leaving again.
“I almost forgot my magic wand…” proclaimed one such character returning a few minutes after his departure, “..or tennis racquet as the europeans call it!”

The pair of us were pissed and in bed by 9 and I could heard Zag snoring within 5 minutes. Turns out I must’ve got more shut-eye during the flight over here as I couldn’t sleep. I turned on Grindr and within half an hour I was out the door and heading to a whisky bar, only stopping to think twice when I thought of waking up the other two boys then realising that I didn’t give a fuck what they thought anyway. Hunter was originally from Texas but had been in San Fran for about 4 years. Despite being 28 he had the whole boy next door thing going on and was a writer for an online magazine however we spent the majority of the time talking about food. He has the map on his iPhone open the whole time giving me a full run down of the city which was apparently the food capital of the states. The city seemed a lot less intimidating by the time I left his house and got home, it was only about 1am but I was exhausted and fell asleep to the sound of Zag snoring below.

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Nothing’s as it seems.

After two weeks of goodbyes tonight was the big one. I’d put off heading to the hospital all day but it was getting late and well past time to bite the bullet. Its been just over two years since I moved back to Melbourne; my step mother had been diagnosed with cancer about a year prior but it wasn’t looking like things were getting any better so I decided that I wanted to be closer to the family. When shit hit really hit the fan about 6 months ago Dad and I took my sister to the zoo to distract her from the boring reality of the hospital. We got talking about travel and he told me I need to go, life’s short. “You can’t wait around.”

If you were to ask me over the years had we been close I would’ve said no. We never hugged, kissed or said ‘I love you’.

Tonight as we shared what felt like our first real hug and said goodbye she whispered “My other son,” and thats when I remembered. I remembered her drying my hair when I got out of the bath as a kid. I remembered her coming on the roller coaster with me at magic mountain because Dad was too scared. I remembered waking up after vomiting in my sleep and her cleaning it up so Dad wouldn’t find out I’d been drinking. I remembered Dad explaining that himself and my mother are affectionate people and that my step mum did love me she just didn’t show it in the same way.

She began to cry and told me not to come back when she dies as there was no point in coming back to look at a white box. Then she said to look after her little girl followed by calling herself a ‘big sook’. There was no ‘I love you’ spoken but I sure as hell felt it.

I cried my way out of the hospital and the whole way home listening to triple J. It was 11pm on a Friday night and the deep house tracks plus my sobs were an interesting combination. As I pulled into the drive way Dad rang and I realised that I wouldn’t be seeing him again before I go and I hadn’t really said anything to him when I left the hospital. I got a hold of myself and we had a quick chat about the trip which pretty much involved both of us saying the cliche right things to each other.

“I’ll be careful..”
“If you need anything..”
“I’ll let you know when I land..”
“Don’t yada yada yada…”
“I won’t yada yada yada…”

I stopped into the house tears streaming down my face. “I don’t want to talk about” I threw at Mum, holding my hand up. I’d ran out of ciggies so I jumped straight back in the car and headed to the petrol station. I stood there waiting for my card to go through, it was taking far too long. I started to worry that when I got my travel cards today I’d messed something up and it wouldn’t go through. My face had dried up by the time it went through and I walked out smokes in hand and bumped straight into my father. Fucking small towns.
“These are for Mum…” it was too easy.
“Fuckin’ ciggarettes” he said rolling his eyes. “Di was worried she upset you before,” he added.
“Its just shit timing.”
“Cunt of a thing that timing business” he smiled and turned to walk off.
“I’ll see you when I get back” I replied as I jumped in the car and he entered the station. I guess I get my deterrence for goodbyes from the old man.

Oh cruel universe, I guess this is my lesson in plans and how they don’t work. I could very easily sit here and curse you for the fact that I came here with the intention of being there for my family and now I’m less then 48 hours way from getting on a plane to the other side of the world. Instead I’m going to thank you. Thanks for the time I did get to spend with my family. Thank you for the friends I made in Melbourne who became my family, I couldn’t have done it without them. Thanks for keeping my old friends around and reminding me that although everything has changed, nothing has. Finally, thank you for reminding me to look below the surface.

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NYD

I’d be lying if I said I jumped out of bed this morning. The alarm went off and the familiar feeling when you’ve only just started to get to sleep and it’s time to get up hit me. I jumped in the shower and then tiptoed around the apartment trying to clean up but make as little noise as possible. Texted Zsuzsa “Wakey Wakey,” then headed downstairs for a ciggie.

There I was all chuffed with my ability to back it up at the ripe old age of 24 while the younger ‘kids’ were all still sleeping…until I caught my reflection. I looked 40. The snap back wasn’t fooling anyone and the sins I’d been committing in the final days of 2014 had caught up with my face.

Fuck it. I was too excited to care. Not just excited for today but excited about the whole year. In exactly one month today I’ll be on a plane headed for South America. Zsuzsa stumbles out of her room holding her naked breasts as I reenter the apartment. “I’m awake, I’m awake…I’m having a shower but I’m awake”

I’m awake too. Let’s do this.

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Wild Child

2014/12/img_0055.jpg “Why are you taking photo’s of me, Tommy?” You’re beautiful. I thought it but didn’t say. I must have been in awe of how well you are carrying yourself through this shit storm.