Eventually the restless Italian on the bus from Cienfuegos to Havana slumped into the seat across from mine.
There he sprawled out and fell asleep, unaware that one pink testicle had wriggled free of his tiny swimming shorts.
So a guy gets talking to a girl (although there’s every possibility it is she who initiated the conversation).
She laughs at his jokes, touches his arm whenever she speaks to him, and is fucking gorgeous. She accepts and suggests a nice place (meaning they don’t recycle drinking straws and might actually have all the things listed on the menu).
I had a bunch of questions about how Cuba worked which for years had been nagging at me.
None of those questions, however, had much to do with getting laid.
They were stale, older questions about revolutions and socialism and bearded men in berets.
Even if I hadn’t come to Cuba to get laid, Cuba clearly wanted me to get as laid as possible as fast as possible.Everyone knows this is going to be a short-term thing. Everyone knows that compared to the toned, bronzed local guys who can dance, sing, play percussion and cut sugar cane you’re pretty fucking lame. The problem with all this is that while it’s mostly just a bit of harmless slap and tickle with a new pair of shoes thrown in, the system is wide open to abuse.Cuba has long had a reputation for producing stunningly attractive men and women, but increasingly now it has a reputation for offering the kind of cheap strange that you’d never be able to get at home.For a time there was a kind of tourist apartheid going on.The tourists flew in, stayed in all-inclusive compounds on beaches that were off-limits to locals. This is the part that makes your average edgy backpacker squirm. The local guys I talked to, though, saw things differently. Certainly it’s not prostitution as most westerners think of it.In the morning he is elated and she is still fucking gorgeous.