Ultra Inclusive and Infinite in Varadero

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Ultra Inclusive and Infinite in Varadero

Wed 21/05/08

The bus from Havana to Varadero, Cuba's most popular tourist resort, costs 10CUC and takes around two hours. I leave at 2pm, full of positive vibes. There are, as usual, a few variables that could place a potential spanner in the works and put a frown on my happy, happy face. Firstly, I'm not 100%!s(MISSING)ure in which hotel my friends are staying. I'm almost certain it's the Paradisus Varadero, a five star, ultra-inclusive hotel with two pools, eight restaurants and a sports centre, but I haven't actually gone as far as checking my emails to make sure.

Secondly, they don't know that I'm coming today. Surprise is a wonderful thing if there's someone around to receive it. However, I'm arriving on the day of the Champions League final, between Chelsea and Man Utd. Both groom and best man are Man U followers, and if the hotel is not showing the game, they will undoubtedly go somewhere that is. And if the hotel is not expecting me, I'll probably be swiftly ushered out, my rough house appearance not exactly the aesthetic they desire or are used to.


I arrive in town, and check my watch. It should be close to half time in the game. I catch a transfer to the hotel, and approach the front desk. The couple on reception look me up and down. I'm carrying two dust covered rucksacks, and I'm clutching the magic man hat in my hand. My t-shirt is stained, and my eyes red and glazed. I adopt an air of confidence, and inform them that I have a reservation, as part of the Gardiner wedding party. They don't look convinced, and check the register. No record of my booking.

It could be that I'm just being paranoid, but I sense a tangible lack of respect from these two. They are certainly in no hurry to believe that I belong here. I ask them to confirm that the Gardiner's are actually staying in the hotel, which they do. They ring a couple of rooms, but no answer. I look again at my watch. I'm missing the fucking football, and I can't be arsed to stand here and be looked down upon by these cunts.

"Is there a sports bar here, or anywhere that's showing the football?"

Recognition spreads across the male receptionists face, and he nods and points. I tell him I'm gonna leave my bags out the front and go find my friends. I'm sure if I was a rich business man with a trophy wife, or a Columbian drug lord, a porter would be ushered in to help me with my things, and I'd be faced with a completely different attitude. However, I'm just a poor boy from a poor family, and in the Paradisus, nobody loves me.


As I walk, I look around me. Things here a very different. Oscar's place was nice and homely, but he didn't have fish swimming in clear waters alongside wooden walkways, or Champagne on ice in his front room.

I approach the entrance to the bar. The door opens, and out walks Ben, best man and brother to the groom. For a second, I stand and take in the scene. I fucking made it. There were obstacles along the way - trials and tribulations. Savage beasts, thundering, petrol-spitting machines of death; fear, anger, poverty, madness and monkey bites. My only friend on the road the last six weeks has been my hat. The only thing that kept me going, a vision of a cool mojito. Now, at last, a familiar face, and a chance for salvation.

I call out. Ben stops, turns and blinks with surprise. We shake hands, and he leads me inside. The first person I see is Barney: "No fucking way." All I can do is just stand there grinning. My brain staggers and keels. There's so much to take in. I meet new faces and get reacquainted with old ones. I look up at the big screen, and see that the score is one all. I get handed a beer, and I'm told that everything from this point on is free; no money needs to change hands. In the space of a minute, the whole world has changed. Things will never be the same. It's like I've come home, and at the same time stepped into another universe.


Despite my protesting that he should stay, Barney leaves the football to help me get settled. We go back to reception, and explain that it was arranged by email that I would join the room occupied by Ben and Barney’s sister, Hannah. The hotel doesn’t seem to have any record of this, but agree to let me stay. We walk to the room, dump my bags and get back to the match.


I drink another beer. I try to concentrate on the conversations I'm having, but I just drift in and out. The game goes into extra time, and then to penalties. Christiano Ronaldo, arguably the world's best player, steps up. I turn to Barney: "He's going to miss. It's gonna be just like Baggio in World Cup '94." Seconds later, and the penalty is saved. Ben has long since disappeared. He can't take the tension, and the sense of impending doom.

If Chelsea win, it will be a travesty on so many levels. Firstly, they're pure scum - overpaid pawns being shuffled about on a board by a self-indulgent Russian billionaire; a spoilt man child with sad delusions of grandeur, drooling like a despot, throwing his toys this way and that, demanding that everything goes his way. Sure, Man Utd has got money in spades, but you can't buy class and money alone can't get you to the top. Secondly, the best man's speech has been written around the premise of a Man U win - a re-write at this late stage and with this much alcohol flying about could be a disaster. And thirdly, a loss would put everybody on a downer, and provide comprehensive proof for all to see that I really am a harbinger of doom, and that somewhere in my backpack, I've all the bad luck in the world rolled up tight in a ball.

Chelsea's captain John Terry places the ball on the penalty spot. Earlier in the game, he disgraced himself by spitting in the face of a Utd player. How fitting if he should slip up now. And slip up he does, losing his footing at the crucial moment, and skewing the ball wide. Former wonderkid, now a veteran of the team, Ryan Giggs confidently puts his penalty away, and the pressure is back on Chelsea. If Anelka misses, Utd will be crowned champions, and I will be able to breathe easy, knowing that for now, at least, the world does not tip and tilt in time with my break beat existence.

The kick is saved, and the crowd goes wild. Things become blurred. Beers and champagne wash down the victory. I get my bearings, taking in the two pools, the 24 hour lobby bar and the expansive white sands of the beach - all this is mine now. All this and more.


We locate Ben, who'd hidden away at the bar, and didn't realise his team had won until some time after the match had ended. We have dinner at the Italian restaurant. I sit on a table with Ben and Hannah, as well as some people I don't yet know. I'm pretty wasted now. The day has been one long adrenaline rush of strangeness and unfamiliar familiarity.


After dinner, we move to the lobby bar, where I encounter the Aqua Gym girls, dressed as candles for their Beauty and the Beast stage show. I still haven't worked out who everyone is yet. Aside from the three Gardiner’s and Barney’s wife to be, I only know Tricky, another of his old friends. There are three or four other couples, and I slowly begin to put names to faces; Matt and Selena, Rick and Louise, Gareth and Ashling - these are the unfortunate souls who will have to tolerate my presence and my fuck ups for the next ten days.


The party moves into the Fun Bar, where we earlier watched the football. Everything happens in bright flashes, which leap out of the disco darkness. People dance. Ben stands, arms raised to the skies in triumph. Cameras pop. A video camera does the rounds. At various points I see Ben pointing it up young girls' skirts. I have no idea what I'm drinking. At some point after midnight, most people retire. Soon, only Ben and I remain. The Fun Bar is still packed out with revellers, most of Latin descent. The music is terrible, though the majority of the crowd seem to be enjoying it.

We dance, totally in our own world. Everybody else ignores us, except when Ben bends down and performs his camera trick. Anyone watching would think the man a sick, twisted pervert, but I doubt the camera is even switched on. Ben has a nose for trouble. Like a stark crazy bloodhound, he will tip his nose to the ground to pick up whatever foul stench rises, and then follow, onwards, to wherever the danger may lie. Like me, he likes to be in the thick of it. He likes to challenge and provoke. He likes to take it to the cunts.

The DJ is playing “Follow the Leader”, and everyone dances in synchronised lines. We hover on the fringe, like outcasts. The mob knows that we are not to be trusted. They see it in our eyes. They may act with indifference, but underneath, the truth of it is, they fear us because we’re different.


The Fun Bar kicks out around 2.30am. We stop off at the lobby bar, and return to the room around half three. Things have changed, but are somehow the same; the wallpaper is significantly brighter, the roads are safer and the animals have all been tamed, but whatever the backdrop, we’re still drinking like our lives depend on it. I’m a floundering fish out of water, yet I feel right at home. I look around the room, and notice that they haven’t provided the third bed as promised.

As I curl up on the chaise longue, I assess the situation. No bed, and a noticeable lack of hospitality and tolerance for scruffy men with hats. Ultra-inclusive? For now, the jury is still out.

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