Escape to Cuba / Escape from Cuba

We’d planned this trip for months. It was my brainchild. Following the earlier success of my, Sarah and Zoe’s trip to Costa Rica for spring school break, we decided to re-create the magic and go somewhere we’d never been. Namely, Varadero, Cuba. We booked a room in a 4-star resort, and a classic convertible guided tour of Havana. We were ready, we were excited.

The beginning of 2020 consisted of moments remembered in feelings, not facts. Many specific details are pretty hazy to me. As someone approaching 40 at the time, I’d never experienced a significant global crisis. I knew there were some catastrophic events that happened in the eighties, but I was more concerned with bubble gum and Super Mario to really pay attention. The world changed forever for me on September 11th, 2001, just as I was reaching adulthood. The world changed for a lot of people, especially in the years (decades even) that followed. The pandemic fear became a similar feeling, but perhaps more gradual and more lasting, as the next two years unfolded.

This way this pandemic started was reminiscent of SARS, but quickly evolved into something much more serious. In early 2020, it was still far from home. I remember taking a stroll to Whole Foods, and seeing a lone protestor holding a sign saying Re-open Ontario. I thought it ironic, as at the time he was standing in front of two very much open businesses – the liquor store and the very over-priced grocery store.

Then, we saw the situation emerging in Italy and things started getting heavy. Shortly after that, we were asked to start working from home. After a week of sitting at my dining room table, in a terribly-designed non-ergonomic plastic IKEA chair, I splurged on a top-of-the-line gaming chair, and things improved significantly.

I began watching the news religiously throughout the day, and I tracked the global death toll, as it continued to rise ever higher.

Should I be worried? I thought. I couldn’t get beyond the threshold of worry into fear. I’m not sure at what point now something would become scary to me. People asked me: Are you still going to Cuba? For weeks, my answer was an unwavering YES. My messaging was unchanging – as long as that plane is taking off, I’ll be on it. As time went on and the scheduled flight rapidly approached, I began fielding calls from Sarah’s parents. They weren’t convinced that she should go. This greatly disturbed Zoe. “If she’s not going, I’m not going.” She was solidly defiant.

Zoe eventually came around to my argument that Who knows when we’ll be able to travel again? And Wouldn’t you rather be quarantined on a beachfront resort in Cuba than in this tiny apartment?

We loaded up on the essentials: N-95 masks, hand sanitizer, sanitizing wipes, rubber gloves and germ-killing throat spray. The airport was eerily quiet as we checked in and watched our luggage roll down the conveyor belt. The near-empty flight was uneventful yet festive as we were supplied with complementary champagne.

It was dusk as we touched down and night had fully fallen by the time we stepped off the shuttle and checked into our resort. A well-polished exterior led to a shimmering pool, down winding paths lined with palm trees to our room in the small villa. To be honest, it was quite shabby but we were both happy to be somewhere warm, as we dropped off our luggage and took a peaceful stroll on the moonlit sand. We were treated to cold beer and burgers from the bar as well as a magic show. The atmosphere was festive, and nobody seemed to care about what was going on in the rest of the world.

Due to the uncertainty of the length of our stay, we were advised to check in each morning with the Sunwing representative, who had a small desk set up in the lobby of the resort.

Our first meeting with the very friendly Sunwing man was pleasant. He laid out the possibilities for our week in Varadero. We might have to be ready to get on a plane with very short notice. Despite this, we were able to truly relax; sitting and reading beachfront by day, taking short breaks to play volleyball or cool off in the pristine waters of the gulf.

Several weeks prior, I'd booked a typical excursion to Havana with Zoe for the Thursday of our stay: a guided tour in a classic pink convertible around the historic city. Unfortunately (and much to my chagrin), we had to cancel, and there were no earlier tours that we could take. We found this out on the second morning, as we were informed that we'd been booked on a flight for Thursday afternoon back to Canada. There were no other options. Refund for the three days we'd miss? Impossible.

Determined to make the most of our time, we booked a group bus tour for the following day to Havana, which turned out to be a bit disappointing - with several stops along the way we were only afforded about 90 minutes in the city itself. With 30 minutes of free time, Zoe and I broke away from the group and wandered down the lively and bustling streets, finding ourselves at a small café, offering Mojitos and live music. Despite being brief, our experience was memorable and we both vowed to return.

The next morning, we packed our bags, had a final swim in the ocean, a quick breakfast at the buffet and a few mojitos. We packed our bags onto a completely packed coach bus and headed back to the airport, where we boarded a full flight (quite a contrast from our flight in), steeled ourselves to brace the bitter March weather and mentally prepared for the next two weeks of quarantine.