Hustling hitchhikers

Pinar del Rio, Cuba, Tuesday 26th February 2013

One of my hitchhikers was a chap called Arturo, he was a nice bloke and I never really worked out if he was what you'd call a Jintero (tourist hustler). He hitched with me while I had two girls from Havana on board, and he proved to be great company, and was never demanding. Later after I'd sent the Havana girls packing he introduced me to a lovely casa particular in his hometown, Pinar del Rio, and also showed me his home. He was clearly very poor, even by Cuban standards - his home was a wooden shack nestled within a gap on a street which was otherwise normal brick housing.

In this space he was raising two young children, and also creating something else extraordinary. Almost completely from recycled materials he was in the process producing a very elegant ice-cream vending trailer, hand carved and welded into the shape of a swan. The detail and workmanship was superb - as an amateur carpenter myself I was impressed. If technology allows, or if I return there, I hope to see it finished and post another picture, as I'm sure completed and painted it will look stunning.

Anyway he invited me for dinner with his family at his humble home, and I was happy to accept, and offered to pay for the ingredients which he accepted. I took a daytrip west while he bought and prepared the food. He'd mentioned also inviting a lady friend of his which I thought nothing of, but when I showed up for the dinner I could see that he had spent a great deal of effort in setting up what was clearly a romantic dinner for me and his lady friend. I was impressed by the effort, for example he had decorated the patio with palm leaves which helped distract from the poverty of the venue, but there my positive impression stopped.

I sit with this girl and we chat a while, her main theme of conversation being how she is not like other girls and she is not a prostitute. I consider the viability of a Brazilian-run training program for Cuban women, whilst wondering when my friend and his family will join the table as well, but they hold back as if to give us space, which I so desperately want to lose for a change.

It gets worse, the food arrives and one bite of the fish and I can taste it's off. As are the tomatoes, which I didn't know could go off. I don't even touch the chicken, and for dessert I wince while trying to swallow the shaving-foam textured plastic cake. There are dishes galore piled all over the table but I barely touch any, though luckily the rice and beans are enough to make my plate look used, and the huge lunch I'd had earlier in the day means I don't go hungry.

I'm being as polite as an Englishman can be, which is very polite indeed, but meanwhile thinking what the f&ck is going on and how do I get the hell out of this. The family join the table briefly to scoff down a bit of food but then leave me again to my nightmare date. To be fair she was quite cute and probably everything she said she was, but I resented being thrown into a date which I'd never agreed to, and paying for it, and with terrible food. I would be having a private chat with my poor friend, though he may well have had the best intentions.

My resentful emotion I found interesting though - it was similar to something I experienced with an ex, and I surmised that the parallel was poverty and manipulation. I realised that if I gain a sense of security in associating with someone I know must depend on me, then I cannot expect them to be assertive - to communicate their needs to me directly - instead I am bound to become an object of manipulation.

Anyway I got things off my chest the next day and the poor chap seemed to take it well. But by now my confusion about his being a jintero (tourist hustler) or not was roused by some new business interests. I guess it's a grey. Well he knew some chap who allegedly worked in quality control at a cigar factory, maybe scooping off the duds to sell to unsuspecting tourists like me, but who knows. They looked, smelt (as far as I could imagine), and felt the biz, and were cheap so I took a chance. GBP30 for Cohiba cigars that retail at GBP800 is probably too good to be true, but hardly a costly mistake if so. They sealed the box in front of me with factory-stolen certificates, and all that now remains is for me to find a cigar-connoisseur tester back home - any takers? If they fail they maybe worth their cost as theatre props, if not as an interesting experience.

* * *

The previous day while on the daytrip out west I had a very different experience of locals. As usual I was picking up hitchhikers at practically every junction, if there was room in my car. Two ladies I picked up were heading back home to La Bajada on the far west coast. I let them stop on the way to collect one of their husbands. The other lady also had a husband but told me he was away so it didn't matter - would I like some company - I politely declined and we all carried on merrily. I dropped them off at their house and they invited me in, and it was fun to meet the rest of the family, the kids and the obligatory granddad on rocking chair.

 

They kindly offered to cook me lunch, refused payment, and generally made me feel at home. I even put my hammock up. Lunch was delicious lobster, the chap who cooked it usually worked as a chef at the nearby resort - so I counted myself very lucky that day. I wish I'd kept all my luggage in my car and just stayed instead of going back for that disastrous dinner-date in Pinar del Rio, but how was I to know.

  

 

Stuffed and sleepy I passed out a while in the hammock, then lazily took some of the family to a beach down the road before moving onto Maria La Gorda where I hoped to do some snorkling. But I missed the last boat (3:30pm) so that was a bit of a flop, and perhaps a sign of things to come later that evening. But I was happy to have met some lovely people in this little village of La Bajada, and would certainly like to come back some day.

[some names have been changed]