Before I travel anywhere, I study up on all the things to see and do, especially the little things that people never even know about. Somewhere, in a book, there are always lists of wayward information that catch my eye.
One of those in Havana was the ice cream carousel, an open-air place, where ice cream in all shapes and sizes and flavors is served at a huge booth that is laid out in a circle in the middle of nowhere, meaning a small park.
Of course, everything was written in Spanish on the huge boards, and the servers, all older women, spoke only Spanish. And of course the place was crowded with mothers and children and the odd teenager looking mighty guilty on a school day.
I believe that my friends and I were the only tourists, the only English-speaking people there. And we didn't speak or read Spanish. Lovely.
So we ogled what people were coming away with in their hands to see if it was what we might want. But nothing, and I mean nothing, looked familiar. We had no idea what was in the ice cream, and there were many to chose from and many ways in which to buy them.
Cookies, cones, fruited, you name it.
The servers weren't too keen on messing with us, wasting precious time with us when we didn't have a clue what to say or to order.
Several attempts at the counter to different servers failed, so finally in frustration, we crowded up to a server for one last try. As soon as she handed the mother in front of us a tray of different ice creams, we pointed at the tray and said, "Seis, por favor," with ridiculous gigantic smiles on our faces, as if that could possibly help.
She frowned, once again, so we said it louder. Right. Good move.
I guess she figured that she'd never get rid of us obnoxious people if she didn't put something together, because all the servers were sick of us by now, sick of our feeble attempts to make ourselves understood.
She nodded, turned around and went to work.
We were practically high-fiving each other. Well, we would have been if we'd heard of it, because high-fiving wasn't even invented back then.
Instead, we giggled (the girls did) and the guys looked mighty pleased with themselves.
Oh yes. We were getting the famous Cuban ice cream at last.
When the tray was ready and we had paid, one of the men grabbed it and we all said "gracias," in awful accents and even bigger grins than before, then we went and sat down at one of the tables in the sun, and looked longingly at what we'd just bought.
We had no clue what it was.
So we just chose one each and tried it.
Now, I was the only one of us who had studied up on this. I was the one who insisted we should go there and try it. And I loved ice cream.
But I was the only one who couldn't eat the ice cream because the flavors made no sense to me at all and I didn't like any of them.
But they all loved them.
So there I sat, watching them gorging on the colorful concoctions while I sat in the heat, sweltering and feeling like a loser.
And then it hit me.
None of what the server gave us looked one bit like what was on that mother's tray. She'd just given us whatever she felt like giving us. Six buckets of whatever.
"Hey," I said. "We didn't order this."
"Who cares?" they all said. "It's great."
"I might have liked what we ordered, you know," I said.
They just laughed and kept right on eating.
One of those in Havana was the ice cream carousel, an open-air place, where ice cream in all shapes and sizes and flavors is served at a huge booth that is laid out in a circle in the middle of nowhere, meaning a small park.
Of course, everything was written in Spanish on the huge boards, and the servers, all older women, spoke only Spanish. And of course the place was crowded with mothers and children and the odd teenager looking mighty guilty on a school day.
I believe that my friends and I were the only tourists, the only English-speaking people there. And we didn't speak or read Spanish. Lovely.
So we ogled what people were coming away with in their hands to see if it was what we might want. But nothing, and I mean nothing, looked familiar. We had no idea what was in the ice cream, and there were many to chose from and many ways in which to buy them.
Cookies, cones, fruited, you name it.
The servers weren't too keen on messing with us, wasting precious time with us when we didn't have a clue what to say or to order.
Several attempts at the counter to different servers failed, so finally in frustration, we crowded up to a server for one last try. As soon as she handed the mother in front of us a tray of different ice creams, we pointed at the tray and said, "Seis, por favor," with ridiculous gigantic smiles on our faces, as if that could possibly help.
She frowned, once again, so we said it louder. Right. Good move.
I guess she figured that she'd never get rid of us obnoxious people if she didn't put something together, because all the servers were sick of us by now, sick of our feeble attempts to make ourselves understood.
She nodded, turned around and went to work.
We were practically high-fiving each other. Well, we would have been if we'd heard of it, because high-fiving wasn't even invented back then.
Instead, we giggled (the girls did) and the guys looked mighty pleased with themselves.
Oh yes. We were getting the famous Cuban ice cream at last.
When the tray was ready and we had paid, one of the men grabbed it and we all said "gracias," in awful accents and even bigger grins than before, then we went and sat down at one of the tables in the sun, and looked longingly at what we'd just bought.
We had no clue what it was.
So we just chose one each and tried it.
Now, I was the only one of us who had studied up on this. I was the one who insisted we should go there and try it. And I loved ice cream.
But I was the only one who couldn't eat the ice cream because the flavors made no sense to me at all and I didn't like any of them.
But they all loved them.
So there I sat, watching them gorging on the colorful concoctions while I sat in the heat, sweltering and feeling like a loser.
And then it hit me.
None of what the server gave us looked one bit like what was on that mother's tray. She'd just given us whatever she felt like giving us. Six buckets of whatever.
"Hey," I said. "We didn't order this."
"Who cares?" they all said. "It's great."
"I might have liked what we ordered, you know," I said.
They just laughed and kept right on eating.
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