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The distinguished gent across from me, a rich well-traveled Turk who was living in Cuba on a lark, raised his eyebrow and his glass.The car packed high with tent and stove, kitchen kit and several gallons of water, we went way off the beaten path.Love, whether a life-long partnership or a night-long fling, is never easy.Throw in a language barrier and culture gap and you’re lost in a strange new game with strange new rules.They are appreciative of what really matters in life and are graceful even under challenging conditions.Cuban women generally have dark hair and eyes, and rich, olive skin.

When we pulled up between pines as thin as a Cuban campesino, we saw a panel truck and a party in full swing.We saw nothing for miles – no birds stirred the air, nary a lizard snuck out his tongue.Not one car or person appeared in the 90 minutes we were on that rutted road.[tweetmeme source=”connergo” only_single=false] Back in the 1850s, when everyone from priests to sugar barons were fighting for their piece of the pie (and their piece of mulatta ass, let’s be frank), this island was known as “.” The forever faithful island of Cuba. I remember when I was a tenderfoot on these shores – all bright-eyed and basking like a well-fed turtle, not bothered by termites in my bed or even reggaeton (see note 1) – and how much I still had to learn. She’s one of those naturally beautiful, smart women who always seems to get what she wants even when she’s not entirely sure what that is. ‘I trust him implicitly.’ Did I really just say that? Me, who has only trusted implicitly five people my whole life, four of whom share my last name? ‘I wouldn’t trust anyone here implicitly, ,’ he said sipping his Bucanero. I’d never even seen a spit-roasted pig or the inside of a hospital (see note 2) and my husband and I were spending August camping around the island.As a yuma married to a Cuban for going on nine years now, I can tell you this fidelity question has nagged me long and hard. On one of those fine sunny days way back when, I was seaside with some friends (a pair of ex-pat Europeans who bailed long ago) having a few cold drinks and taking the ocean air. I was blissfully unaware of the depth of my ignorance about Cuba – had I known then what I know now and I had known how confused I’d still be all these years later, I may have run away and quit before my Cuban odyssey ever really started.It’s one super-hot, foreign girl after another and after a while they all start to blend together and look the same.

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