Let Me Tell You A Story
|Havana grocery shopping.|
In Cuba a couple of years ago seven friends and I hired a bus and a guide for a couple of weeks to take us from Havana around the island. One morning I felt lousy, and when we hit a rough and endless road, I went from lousy to miserable. There’s nothing like a Cuban backroad to churn your stomach into a slushy volcano. I took over the back seat and stretched out. At least I wouldn’t die sitting up. When we did find a small town, there were no restrooms for weary tourists with engorged bladders and, in my case, a Vesuvius stomach.
|Bougainvillea and Moorish Architecture
A Never-Fail Combination
Juni, our guide who had been a professor at the university and became a guide so she could support her family (bless Castro), turned out to be one resourceful and spirited girl. She had the bus driver stop in town, found a house and negotiated with the owner until her eight tourists could use the bathroom. Yay, Juni!
Inside the house the living room was small and pink with a large TV, a couch and tons of doilies. If I didn’t get into that bathroom immediately, I was going hurl all over that pink room and those doilies, so I dashed in, and barely noticing that this room was a baby blue, hurled into the porcelain bowl. Problem solved. But not quite. When I pushed the lever, nothing happened. Being mechanically inclined (cue laughter) I removed the doily and miscellaneous objects from the back of the toilet, lifted the lid and discovered. . . this water closet had no water.
|Havana Open Book Market (double entendre fun)|
I stuck my head out the door, avoiding the glares from the engorged seven, and yelled, “Juni, I need a bucket of water!” Being a Cubana, she immediately translated that to mean, el baño no funciona and came to my rescue.
Moral of this story: hire a university professor as a tour guide.
Did You Know. . .