The Return

The tires of the plane hit the ground and the plane erupts into a joyous yip.  Already the expressive spirit of this island is singing through me.  We have arrived in Cuba.  I feel a sense of coming home.  It feels warm and welcoming and tinged with the elusively intriguing sense of despair that I know is also deep in the heart of Cuba and it’s people.

My Cuban lover, Manuel, sits next to me.  He touches my hand lightly and smiles.  I want to devour him right now and pray that somehow tonight we can be together.  It’s been more than a week now since we’ve been able to enjoy each other and have time together.  We've been sort of secretly planning this trip together for over a month and I am excited for the moment when I can pull him deep inside me to incite his incantations of passion and pleasure.  I’ve been trying to tell myself I won’t sleep with him again, and that it's best for us to just be friends, but the draw is so strong, we both know it’s inevitable.

Looking out the window, there is a soft haze spreading across the tarmac and the airport looks bleak and uninviting; almost intimidating, but I know what lies beyond is a world of rhythm and magic.  For that I am excited.  It's been almost two years since I've been here.  My heart has been aching since I left and to land here right now, with this beautiful God creature of a man next to me and months spent learning to dance salsa feels divinely perfect!  I know that this trip will only intensify my love of this culture, it's music and it's magic and I know too that when I leave the aching in my heart will return both for this man and his country.

I also know that getting through customs will be a game of hoop jumping and tolerance, of trying to smile even as the contents of my bag are spread out and ripped through by customs officers. I know that I will lie when they ask me if I have brought gifts for Cuban friends and say "No, it's all my personal stuff," even as they look at the large men's shirts and shoes that clearly won't fit my feet.   I remember well enough watching and experiencing this last time, and I am already trying to find the right things to say to make it easier for myself and hoping I don’t stumble too much in the process.

A few hour later, after trying to re-stuff my once carefully well over packed bag with my things, I find myself in a taxi heading to Manuel’s sister’s home for dinner.  The adventure has begun. I made it through the first obstacle.  I am happy and content and smiling inside.  This is totally not what I had planned but I’m following my lover’s lead and grateful to not be left alone yet.

My somewhat limited Spanish hasn’t kicked in yet and I’m relatively clueless as to what’s actually going on, where we are going and what I’m actually getting myself into, but I know that I’m safe and that the most important part of this journey is trusting the flow and being open to it’s mysteries.
I get in the car and do my best to try to remember how to roll r’s and understand Spanish and to try not to be mad at Manuel for putting me in this car with his family rather than taking me with him in the rental car.  I know he is trying to hide the fact that we are lovers from his family and since this was not a part of our plan, I just go along with it to keep things moving along.  I am not sure what’s normal in this kind of a situation and if he wants me to go with his family and not with him, then OK.

I watch the scenery go by and feel the present moment arriving for me to continue to welcome while reminding myself to let go of expectations and be open in each moment.  I love the nostalgia and charm of the old cars, horse drawn carts, cowboys with big phat cigars hanging from their lips, and even the unique stench of Habana lingering like thick stinky pudding in the air.    An hour or so later we roll over huge potholes into a typical Cuban cement home neighborhood.

Manuel’s family all greeted me with hugs and kisses and welcome me in as part of the family, even though clearly I am a stranger to them.  I was pretty sure none of them even knew I was coming or had any idea why some white woman who couldn’t speak or understand much Spanish was in their midst, yet I felt totally welcomed and at home with them nonetheless.

My favorite person was the grandmother.  She sat on the front porch and smiled at me with a cigar in her wrinkly toothless mouth and held my hand with a grip that was nearly bonecrushing.  A strong woman even at 87.  She spoke in a garbled Spanish and I didn’t understand even one syllable much less a word of it, but somehow we had some interesting conversations in spite of it and laughed a lot together.

They fed me well, and within a few hours, any discomfort or unease I might initially have felt dissolved as the rum was passed and the music came on.  I found myself feeling grateful that I’d spent so much time learning to dance salsa in the past few months in Colorado.  Manuel watched me dance and I was able to catch a few of his comments to his uncles and cousins, "Ella suave si?  Baile bien."  I liked the way he watched me dance and encouraged me to dance with his family.  We danced for hours in the tiny living room of their modest home and the joy in my heart grew.

More family members came throughout the night and I was entertained by being passed from one man to the next for the evening, all of them wanting to see how the white woman danced.   The women sat and watched my feet, talking amongst themselves in lightning fast spanish and gave appreciative smiles and nods of acknowledgement.  They occasionally got up and joined the dancing and when I got tired the men danced with each other which was really amusing and beautiful to witness.

My heart was so blasted open in this first night.  I felt such love, such family and such appreciation for this opportunity to be here and remember that there is a way of living that invites the heart to play and be touched, and that even as a stranger, I can be welcomed and invited as family and to the joy of the dance of life! 

The Cuban people know this way as their way. It’s normal here to celebrate with dancing and music in the home with family.  Through the music and dance, hearts are opened, friendships are made and joy is shared.  It was  a perfect first night.

I find myself feeling a sense of belonging and family that I rarely have felt in my own family.  I can't help but make the mental note that I've never shared a dance with anyone in my "family," and feel a little bit sad that this is something I will never have as my own, but that I can only borrow and experience in this way with other people who are not my "blood" relatives.

I am sitting outside on the porch alone trying not to cry feeling the gravity of this realization and the tenderness in my heart that comes from this bliss, and a little rum,  and Yankel, Manuel's most beautiful young cousin comes down to chat with me.  "Como estas?  Esta bien?" He says to me, and I try in my pathetic spanish to share with him what I'm feeling.  "In just one night with your family, I feel closer and more kinship than I ever have in my own blood family in 41 years.  It's sad to me, and I am also so happy to know that it is possible somewhere in the world, thank you."   He puts his arm around me and reminds me in words and gesture that family isn’t just about blood, but about how we can be together and what connects our hearts.

When it got late and I got tired, I went to lay down to rest in the guest room where my bags had been placed.  Manuel came in and said, “You want to sleep here?”

“I’m so tired baby, can I stay here?  Is it OK? I feel uncomfortable going to your uncle’s house.”

“You can stay here, but you know if you stay here, I’m going to come in and make a lot of noise and make love to you tonight.”

“Please, hurry back then,” was all I could say before I pretended to pass out.

I was tired and dozed in and out, in anticipation of his return for hours.    Finally I began to realize that perhaps he wasn’t coming back.  I wished I had gone with him to take his uncle home.  Maybe he was sleeping somewhere else as to not make me uncomfortable in his sister’s home, or maybe he was in another room, but I began to think for sure that he wasn’t coming back tonight.  I fell into a deep sleep.

Morning was just starting to break when I felt him come to bed.  I reached out my arms and pulled him into me, half asleep but so happy to feel his strong body in my arms again at last.  Instantly he was inside me and my body had no resistance.

As always, we made love twice, coming together both times in bliss. We were both so happy to feel each other again. I laid with my body wrapped around him feeling so content to feel him here in his homeland and to hear the sound of his heart, beating in my ear, and the gentle rhythm of his breath.  I realized I could even learn to like snoring if it was his.