In many ways it was the perfect place to walk right up to the edge, and not a bad place to fall right over the edge either if push came to shove.
Trapped on a heat crazed Cuban island for a week, fueled by a constant round the clock supply of free 7 year old Havana Club and cerveza. When the stifling heat combines with the dark rum it can seriously begin to mess with the senses. It¨s unnerving as hell to have Cuban gardeners jumping out at you from behind trees and bushes trying to pawn off all manner of palm leaf and coconut creations. Then, already off kilter, the array of familiar faces that keep popping up over and over cause minor moments of paranoia, before I manage to remind myself that they are in fact fellow travellers on this twisted journey and most of them just as rum addled as I am, plus hopped up on dangerous combinations of insecticide and sinus medication. The insecticide is still required, despite the massive fuming efforts and early morning low flying crop dusters.
When I first saw clouds of white smoke wafting past my balcony window I thought perhaps the whole damned island was on fire. I would have responded in kind as well and jumped out of bed in alarm, were it not for the afore-mentioned level of rum in my blood, which I knew made it advisable to stay away from open flame. Besides that I was wearing my trusty tempur sleeping mask, which has helped me ignore heinous realities on many occasions and did not fail me again this time.
Of course the cloud of smoke could just as well have been the result of the massive amount of cigar smoking that takes place. Every Tom, Dick and Hermes seems to suddenly become obsessed with cigars, whether or not they have ever touched one in their lives before, creating constant walls of tobacco everywhere on a pretty much permanent basis. Cubans are either far behind or way ahead of the rest of us with their smoking laws, depending on how you look at it, but either way the act of smoking is pretty much celebrated and encouraged and occurs virtually everywhere unchecked. I was tempted to partake myself, virgin cigar afficianado that I am, but I didn’t dare risk affecting the taste of the rum. A matter of respect of craftsmanship really. I did however wonder why I never saw any of the nubile young women that were prancing around the island with a large stogie in their mouths. But then again, that’s the sort of random pondering I’m prone to with or without the demon rum. I did manage to bring back a select number of Romeo & Julietas though, and I am not yet sure of their destiny.