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Published: July 18th 2008
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Ultra Inclusive and Infinite in Varadero - The Emotional Finale
Fri 30/05 - 01/06/08
Friday, 4pm. The wedding is over, and Barney and Leanne are married. We all move to the wedding villa, to begin the celebrations. Sadly, the fathers of both bride and groom are taken ill and have to withdraw from proceedings. I wander in amongst the party, mind hazy from champagne, feeling slightly out of place and out of kilter with things. I'm floating in a social void, a space between sober and drunk where my judgement of what's socially acceptable and proper is askew and my inhabitations still make me self aware, bordering on self-conscious.
I just not sure of my role in it all. I'm not a parent or a relative, not married or in a couple. I'm not one of the children. I mingle with ineptitude, my thrown together wedding outfit adding to the feeling of alienation. Barney takes me on a tour of the villa, which the couple will now stay in from the remainder of the holiday. We go up to the top of the tower, which looks out over the beach and the ocean beyond. He goes back down
to see to his guests and I remain, seated, looking out to sea.
Weddings. Fuck. How ironic that an experience that's unique and specific to two people should bring your own situation into sharp focus like a crash zoom. What the fuck am I doing here, half way around the world, living out a life in chapters like a telly addict flickering from one channel to the next, never settled? Do I want it to come to an end? Would I rather just keep on trucking? The wind, the air, the sun slowly setting on the horizon - they just raise more questions than they answer. I feel like doing something crazy, something reckless; running naked into the sea, masturbating furiously over the side of the tower, eating one of my arms, shouting obscenities in a language even I don't understand - anything to get rid of the tick. But this is a family affair, not a place for twitchy lunatics and I just need to sit tight and drift through the weird mood onto something else. Just look at the fucking view, and try to forget that everything comes to an end one way or another.
At some point, we move on, down to the beach for the wedding meal and the speeches. Perhaps for the first time, I see signs of Ben feeling the pressure, and I'm glad when his speech goes well. The food is appalling - I watch a few of the pretentious complain, ready to inwardly mock, but then I try to chew my meat and realise their concerns are well founded. Oh well. There's more important things than a piece of meat you can't chew. The cake gets cut, and with night drawing in, the older and youngest members of the group drift off to bed. Just as things begin to draw to a close, a troop of showgirls and dancers walk through the restaurant, heading down to the beach for a party. Reluctantly, I let two of them stand by me to appease the paparazzi.
The party continues back at the wedding villa. Rick and Ben have arranged karaoke. I head to the lobby bar with Ben. Things are heating up in the fun bar - they're getting 'em out by the dozen, but we've other priorities tonight, we must move on, we need to participate. We must move
on. We fill a tray with piña coladas and mojitos and take it back to the villa.
Everybody's well lubricated, liquored up and in the mood for music. This isn't really my style of karaoke. Too many caucasians, too many people who actually have the ability hold a note. I need a fat Asian with a tray of beer. I need the Vietnamese national anthem, some green mango and white spirits. The main thing is the bride and groom are having fun. Ben sits in a corner, filming everything as Elvis impersonators, cock rockers and disco divas flaunt it in front of the lens.
It's around 2am. I'm in the toilet, and there's a knock at the door. "I've had about all I can take - I'm done. I'll meet you in the lobby." The best man is unravelling. He's been on his best behaviour and done his duties admirably, but now the mask of sanity is about to slip. I tell him I'll be along shortly. I stick around for a bit longer, but things are coming to an end anyway - this is a wedding night after all, and I'm not sure I wanna be around
when what needs to be done gets done.
Most folk away to their beds. I've left Ben alone for almost an hour, and in his current mood, a lot could have gone wrong. As I approach the lobby bar, I look up to see a single lonely figure sat upon a bar stool, holding animated court to a video camera. Our favourite bar maid Ida looks on, bemused. As I get closer, I can hear the manic conversation. He's asking where the fuck I am. He's explaining, to an audience that will most likely never swell beyond two or three people, including himself, where the night went wrong and where his patience snapped.
As I approach, the camera swings around and I'm forced to explain myself. The Fun Bar has long since closed. The Aqua Gym girls are safely tucked up in bed and the Venezuelan hookers are no where in plain sight. Somewhere, not so far away, innocents are likely being subjected to unspeakable horrors by an overweight Parisian, but on the surface of things, all is quiet in the hotel Paradisus.
Hannah arrives and stays for a drink before disappearing again. As so often, we're
the last two up and about, two sad, single guys with nowhere better to be and nothing good to say about anyone. Except Ida. She's magnificent. A true gem of a woman, with the patience of a saint. We babble and rant, we point cameras at her, we order drinks in multiples that exceed the number of free hands we possess. She just smiles and accepts it, the ultimate in ultra-inclusive bar service.
For once, I have no idea what time it is when we finally call it a night. It could be earlier than usual, it could be later. At one point, we went for the now traditional late night swim, followed by the traditional return to the bar dripping wet and stinking of chlorine. Happy days, soon to come crashing to an end.
Saturday the 31st. My last day of infinite possibility. As usual, I look good in 360°. I try to milk every inch of ultra-inclusiveness out of the Paradisus, but the hours wane away in double time, and soon the sun has set and the last supper has been eaten. We all congregate in the lobby. Louise and some of the other girls
are trying out rums. I have a sambuca and immediately regret it. Ben is looks like a broken man. He's lost all desire or will to mix, a social burn out. I turn to talk to someone else, and when I look back, he's gone, for once the first to leave the bar.
I can't let things whimper out on my final night, and luckily, a few other souls are willing and able to hold their end up. I'm keen to impress people with my Gibbon impression, forged after hours of behavioural observation at close quarters. Nobody can out Gibbon me. At least, so I thought. I'm literally blown away by Rick's effort, a staggeringly accurate and unnervingly real display of monkey magic. Talk about method acting; he is not aping - he is ape. After Gibbon's, we continue along the acting route, going through the full spectrum of emotions and performing a series of sick and twisted displays with an umbrella.
In the morning, I strap on my rucksack once again, ready to face the open road. I say my goodbyes to everyone; the end of life as we know it. The Paradisus has been good
to me, scooping me up in my hour of need, and settling me down on safe and solid ground. I was a deadbeat going through the motions, living in a daze, confused at every twist and turn. I went from pauper to prince, all be it living a lie; wearing the fakery, often exposed, revealed and defiant, blistering in the sun. The Magic Man hat and me. Hand in hand, we step onto the bus. Everything comes at a cost now. Nothing is for free. The possibilities may still be infinite, but from this moment on, nothing is ultra-inclusive.
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