In anticipation of the holiday season I wanted to share with the trolls of their most impressive journey…
Luba, my history has not ended, just the mood of the resort))
“A journey of a thousand leagues begins with a single step” – I said Lao Tzu. I will hrenovskoy why he said it. Maybe he said it on his nacure, dazed from his infinite wisdom to the disciples. Maybe he said that to the next whore, forcing her from her home and weighed her to accelerate a heavy kick in her fat ass. Or, more likely, he never said that. But is anyone niipet. The people love loud wise phrase, it was picked up and reiterated at every opportunity, like Lao Tzu said it to them personally.
So, my journey began with the train. Stare blankly at the window. There follow each other the same trees and fields flashed the same type of station and the cemetery. It seems that the train goes in a circle, and I got into infinity. I was met by Kiev station. If Moscow was a chick, I wouldn’t have agreed to fuck her even for money. There’s something repulsive. She reminds me of a vain vulgar woman of indeterminate age, with Golden teeth and bleached peroxide hair. Although I’m in it for a while. I just need to get to the airport, so after 12 hours of being in Cuba.
Customs – duty free – plane. Tacked straps. Stewardess – a natural blonde, something similar to Linda Evangelista. She smiles at me. She is generally all smiles. She is a welcome, if only not to look her in the eye. And in her eyes the emptiness and vacuum. Full fuck a vacuum with the absence of any glimpses of emotion. Here is Suzuka smiling zombie. She me something scary. Occurs slaborastvorimae urge to hit her in the face. With all his strength. So hurry to get this stupid smile off her stupid face. I think she noticed me watching her. Smiles at me even wider, I smile at her, no less welcome. Emotional fusion shoot.
Asks me if I need any help? You certainly do, and very much so. It would just be nice if she now stood on knees and greedily sucked me off right in the middle of a fucking salon. Drooling, and faithfully looking me in the eye. Almost like Linda Lovelace in the epoch-making film “Deep throat”. Although, in the eyes it is better not to look. But I don’t say it. She knows what I’m thinking.
I wonder if she likes anal sex? Most likely not. These dolls, with empty eyes, usually fucking amazing monotonously and mindlessly, as if serving labor service, or doing morning exercises. Sometimes I think I hear them saying: “Take a starting position: feet shoulder width apart. Start exercise, perform circular movements of the hips, one-two-three , one – two-three… breathe deeper, deeper… breath-exhale, inhale-exhale… And… one-two-three, graduated exercise…”.
I have to look away from her, not to see her ublyudochnoe smile. In the illuminator of the solid clouds. We’re flying over the ocean. If the plane goes down, it is best to drop him now. For some reason I don’t want to get scraped off with a shovel, from the ground, mixed with different shit and the remains of the Luggage. It is better to merge with the oceans. But the plane is not falling.
I drink. I’m not afraid to fly. I flew cargo planes of the Russian army. But I’m bored. I fly 12 hours. I drink tequila. No salt, no lemon. Fuck all the rules and conventions. I drink it as vodka, gulps, drinking tomato juice, at an altitude of 10 thousand meters. I’m flying into the past. Eight hours ago. This is all easily explainable, but for me still there is something mystical.
Knock the chassis about a landing strip is always nice. That means we landed. That means I’m in Cuba, liberty island, rum, cigars and Che Guevara. Airport named after Jose Marti in Havana. Going through customs, “no I do not understand your…senku veri mAh…this is ugly…”. Havana meets me with rain, and the mellifluous Spanish speech. You saw the Royal palm trees in the rain? It’s never a brochure of a travel company “Susanin”, and not a desktop, where the eternal sun and the beach. It was real. And it is beautiful.
The food in the bus to the hotel. Two hours on night track. From the speakers sounds shrill Latin music, outside the window in the dark glimpses of unfamiliar scenery and the air is saturated with moisture. At this point I find myself thinking that I feel absolutely happy.
The hotel throw things in the Bungalow, and go to the nearest bar. Order a Mojito. I don’t like him, but you cannot be in Cuba and not to try Mojito. It would be sacrilege. Then, go to the ocean. Lowered into the water your feet, the water is warm and gentle as the lips of the woman he loved. But it’s too late and I’m too tired. Leave a closer acquaintance with the ocean in the morning.
Wake up at 4 in the morning. I for all time was not able to adapt to the local time. Again, go to the bar. It is almost empty. Behind the bar stands the bartender. He is probably considered beautiful. Sleek dark-complexioned young male, a growth of almost two meters. The white shirt with the same white teeth. I look at him and frankly don’t know what the hell this big bastard instead of chopping cane in the plantations of the collective farm yobanyy, then pours the cocktails. Pointedly walk past him to standing next to the barmaid, a pretty yellow woman with tired eyes. Order rum. She’s looking at me, laughing, asks a Russian tourist? I silently nod. She laughs even harder and keeps the appearance fun! I laugh with her. Giving her more than for tea, it is necessary to encourage the study of the classics of Soviet cinema.
With the dawn again, go to the ocean. It is beautiful. The ocean is so beautiful that it can even jerk off. Transparent up to the limit of the turquoise water and a beach of soft white as powdered sugar, sand. People practically are not present. I rest. Examine the content of the bars. An all inclusive taxis, try all the cocktails, from the truly Cuban, of which at least seven and up to generally accepted international where another dozen. Then move on to stronger drinks. In Cuba, the cult of alcohol. Nowhere else I’ve never seen such perfectly made cocktails and quality spirits. Their cocktails can be safely put as a reference in the chamber of weights and measures. At night go for a swim. Even in the moonlight, going neck-deep into the ocean, completely see the bottom. And beside noisy foliage giant palm trees are symbols of Cuba and grow up to 30 meters.
Again Wake up early in the morning, my every morning starts with the bar, and each evening ends. The afternoon meal in a jeep through villages and villages. There are practically no cars and the roads are surprisingly comfortable. The villages are small and poor, and nature is really smart. Stop at a banana plantation. A local farmer, moustached macho man in old military uniform, with a machete on his belt, treats ripe sweet mango and fried bananas. The food on. Stop at the shore of the ocean. In a wooden hut suggest to plunge into the ocean with scuba diving. I agree, although I never tried it. Dive together with an instructor to a depth of 12 meters. The instructor is a young muscular black man, with a shiny anthracite leather. We dropped lower. I’m trying to guess how often the ebony head free the descendant of African slaves, comes the idea to drown someone here from rich white tourists? I would’ve thought about it constantly. Look for flocks of different fish and corals, everything seems too unreal and perceived as shooting the Cousteau team. Feed the fish, they surround us from all sides, grabbed by the fingers. I’m not sure I want to drop back a second time, but once is worth a try.
Then boating on the river, they serve lobster and mojitos. On this island everywhere Mojito. Sometimes it seems to me that in the toilet tank and in the tap water they also that fucking shake. For myself I rest chose the Daiquiri, Ron Collins, and then as an addition to rum or gin. We moor to the shore, where costumed Indians and Indian women dancing in front of us, shaking their bare Tits. They ask for money. I want to give them a few pesos, just so you never have to see them.
At the hotel again, go to the bar, the bartenders I know are smiling. They all smile here. I have the feeling that if I suddenly hit a stroke or legs would come off, they will just stand and smile happily, dancing to the Habanera.
One of the bartenders, hunted looking around, offering me to buy him on the cheap rum and coffee. He has bad breath, and shakes hands. It makes me obvious hostility. But I agree. The goods are not defective. And I pahren that he’d cut the rum from their bar. Let them think of their administration. 5 convertible pesos (cookies) -about 150 rubles per 750 gram bottle of seven “Santiago de Cuba”, it’s a good price. Per kilogram of coffee he asked for 8 cookies (about 240 USD). Later, the bartenders regularly offer me to buy rum and coffee.
The next day walking around Varadero. This is the city where lies my hotel. A sort of tourist Mecca of Cuba. Looking Souvenirs, they’re all primitive, clumsy, and clearly reminiscent of the crafts made for the new year in the clumsy hands of children with developmental delays. Underground the seller offers to buy products made of black coral. Without a certificate, but inexpensive. At least with gold, at least silver. I don’t believe that gold and silver. But he strenuously burns lighter “black coral” to prove that real, constantly throws off the price, and diligently trying to persuade me. Only adeniran I don’t need corals. “Bring, bring me coral beads” this is not about me.
Night drunk food taxi cabaret show. Taxi – Cadillac 1964. It is matchless. For 40 years Cuba was prohibited to import machines from abroad. Now those rare lucky ones who have personal transportation, I go on the antique cars. Ask the taxi driver “how mAh prostitute?”. He laughs. Says 40 cookies (1,200 rubles). I clarify, “he’s a knight?”. He said that for an hour. I too laugh. For a country with average monthly salary of 20-30 cookies (600-900 rubles), prostitutes they are prohibitively expensive, even with travel fees. Maybe somewhere in the reserves and preserved loli ready to give for a handful of caramels and spirits “Red Moscow”, but I such did not meet.
Cabaret dancing is quite plump, costumed mulattos, with bongs on the tights and heavy makeup on the face. Near the bar, spinning a local girl.
Girls in Cuba, that’s definitely not the girl on the ball. Picasso goes in foot erotic. As a rule, almost all of them ugly in the conventional sense of the word. It’s not the mulattos, which can be seen on the website of Pornohub. Early blurred with thick Asses and with a silly cow faces, but all smiling and all have something naughty. It seems that they immediately want to indulge with you raznostnogo sex, without any unnecessary preliminaries and conventions. Cuban slang for “mango” is a beautiful girl, and “papaya”- the female genitals. Such is the interesting botany.
Morning meal in Havana. We visit the house-Museum of Hemingway. Show us his house, his boat and graves his dead dogs. Once again, convinced that I never liked ham neither as a writer nor as a person. Crowds of people with cameras rush to capture each meter relevant to celebrities. At least half of them never read his books, and many confuse it with Fejhtvangera.
Wandering around old Havana. I go to the restaurant “Floridita”, where Ernest Hemingway drank his daiquiris, and there according to the legend, invented this cocktail. Here every place is shrouded in its own history. Hemingway drank there, smoked there, Fedel, and there’s wanking young Che Guevara. When leaving the restaurant, local fuck offers me cocaine. I understand it well, the word “cocaine” doesn’t need translation. He asked for 50 cookies per 10 grams. This is a cheap price. I am sending it to hell. He’s still a while coming for me to take yield. I’m pretty sure that this is another divorce for tourists, and in a bag at best, icing sugar, so I send it again on all known to me languages. Then he switches to the other tourists, someone leaves him in the alley. Human stupidity is infinite as the universe.
Then going to the revolution square, look at the mighty face of Che Guevara. They have it everywhere. People have not forgotten how to be proud of its history and its heroes. They love Fidel and Che. At least in words. They sing songs about them, and praise the revolution. They live in huts nischebrodskih, and they still rationing food. The large salaries of doctors, military and police. The rest are very poor, but it seems like it don’t bother.
Drive up to the Capitol, he looks American, only around piles of garbage and rabble. The house is beautiful, but ragged. Havana reminds me of the impoverished gentlewoman. And Cuba reminds me of all my girls together, the same passionate and vicious. It’s not Switzerland, where you can live on a schedule. Then, while you’re young, you got to love, to make revolutions, and partisans, and when you’re old, to drink rum, smoke cigars and watch the ocean.
Stop by the cigar factory. She’s like a Chinese sweatshop, several floors with a couple of puny fans, where wet from sweat, half-naked Cuban mindlessly, like robots, hand-rolled cigar at a cigar. They receive a penny, and they smoke cheap cigarettes. They can’t afford to smoke cigars. I buy my “Montecristo”, which was Smoking Che Guevara, buy a Cohiba cigar that Fidel smoked and buy “Romeo and Juliet”, which Churchill smoked. Smoke one cigar immediately, right at the factory. I’m not a great lover of tobacco, but I like it.
I’m going back to the hotel, again the cocktails and the ocean. The water is always warm, and in the sky the sun constantly. Perhaps, over time, it’s boring, but so far I like it.
Through the day, I’m going to the Caribbean. On the way we visit the crocodile farm. Crocodiles are majestic and seemingly unhurried, these contemporaries of the dinosaurs, it seems, indifferent to everything around him. Tourists begin to feed them, and reptiles powerful spurts fly up to the food and swallow it without looking. One crocodile does not have half the nose, apparently his took a bite of his kind. Tourists fun laugh. As much as I wanted to see if, at least one tourist has fallen behind the grille.
You order at the restaurant crocodile meat and turtle meat. Crocodile meat with a specific smell, they say, it raises the potency. Another legend for the tourists. Every country has some exotic stuff, which according to unofficial data should raise the potency, and to heal all diseases. In Thailand it is the blood of a Cobra, in Egypt it’s nuts, in Cuba is crocodile meat. Turtle meat is similar to beef. It’s all washed down with rum poured straight into chopped coconut. In my wardrobe adds a belt and wallet made of crocodile skin. Bad dressing, but with the imprint of local color. Evolution has made it possible to buy such things without having to personally hunt the reptiles.
The Caribbean sea is also beautiful his emerald hue. I saw Jack Sparrow, and this makes the sea even more beautiful.
Finish. I’m going home. I’m a little sad, but at the same time I want to return Home. All beautiful valid within reasonable limits, then it loses its charm. We have to catch the moment when you received the maximum pleasure, but have not had time to step on the satiety. When I fly back, I no longer look at the flight attendants, I don’t care about fellow travelers, and the surrounding scenery. I think that would be faster to get home. I’m bringing rum, cigars and coffee. Well, perhaps memories…
