Señor Castro and the Cuban dream...fat cigars and even fatter cars...rum, Romantico and the only way to go to Varadero...beach that is...back to the future and lost in the fifties we lived, The Real Cuban Dream!

At the customs desk while entering Cuba, via La Habana, the customs agent began with the usual barrage of questions.

"Citizenship?"

"Canadian!"

"You speak Spanish?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"Because I'm a photographer and I travel a lot?"

"Why do you have so many stamps in your passport?"

"Because I'm a photographer and I travel a lot!"

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm a photographer, I travel a lot?"

Her lack of hearing had caused me to answer like an automaton! Oh well, at least I didn't have to pay anything at that desk, or so that's what the sign I read said. I was in Cuba to travel around with Franz Olry, a man quickly becoming a legend in the young sport of kiteboarding, and take some of the first kiteboarding photos in Cuba. I was more than a little excited to see what Franz had checked out already. He had been in Cuba for a few days, supposedly scouting out some good locales...Like I say...Supposedly.

I picked up my luggage and cruised out to the passenger pickup where Franz and his entourage of extended family (his girlfriend is Cuban) were waiting for me. After quick greetings and introductions we headed out to the car, a 1956 funky, red, Buick-something-or-other. The symbol of American post-war opulence still surviving in one of the last truly Marxist states. The irony of it all still makes me chuckle; in a country where most people can't afford to fill up one of these cars with gas, these behemoths still live on. Some of the cars are modified to a certain degree; the one we were in was fixed to run off either gas or kerosene...Kerosene?

As we settled into the long drive from Habana to Perico..."Perico?" I asked, not being familiar with the town after all my perusals of Cuba's coastal towns.

"Uh yeah," Franz said "Perico is kind of in the middle of Cuba."

"So you're going kiting on some lakes then?"

"I don't know, maybe hunh!"

"Que?" I was perplexed.

"Ahh, don't worry we'll go to the coast, it's only about an hour and a bits drive either way!" he answered.

"Oh, is that all!?"

Visions of getting completely skunked popped into my head...Oh well, at least I figured I could get some cool photos of the cars.

Roughly fours hours after leaving La Habana we arrived in Perico, a sleepy little hamlet almost dead in the center of Cuba.ÉAt least I could still get photos of the cars, I thought again. Since it was Sunday night, the last night of the disco for the week, we showered, changed and headed out right away. Party we did!

I woke up the next morning as if in a dream. I felt as though I had been thrown back in time, to somewhere in the late fifties...the hairstyles, cars, barber shops, and fashions were all of a fifties sensibility. A little coffee and oranges woke me up enough to remind myself that I was just in Cuba.

Cuba certainly is surreal. Life seems to have slowed down so much that it still feels as though you're living in another time.

While not actually in the fifties, Cuba certainly is surreal. Life seems to have slowed down so much that it still feels as though you're living in another time—a strange kind of Rip Van Winkle effect on the entire country. When Franz and I went for a walk around the town it was hard to feel like we had any chance of blending in. We were a bit more like two kids from the future running around in the past, much like Michael J. Fox in the movie Back to the Future. Our flashy surfer-wear didn't quite blend in with the straw hats and faded blue Guajiro style of the locals. I decided to ask Franz again if we were going to go kiting at all while in Cuba.

"Yeah, I think we should, hunh...Maybe tomorrow we'll go to Varadero...It's nice here in Perico, eh, I like it!"

While it certainly was nice there I was afraid that if I stayed too long I'd be pomading my hair and smoking fat cigars before long. Luckily we did go to Varadero the next day.

As we drove to Varadero we passed by endless fields of cane, orange trees and rice, those being some of the staples of the Cuban economy. For what seemed like hours on the road, our old cruiser lumbered along while our host family, including the mother and boyfriend, and sister and boyfriend of Franz's girlfriend, and I, listened to endless amounts of the local favorite music...Romantico.