Shake those maracas!

Recently, I was asked about my taste in music. I was auditioning for the Bachelorette. I kid you, I was rehearsing for a job interview. I kid you again, I was... never mind.

Anyway, this set me thinking about a little episode in Trinidad, Cuba. It is so vivid in my mind I do not even have to refer to my notes.

After arriving in Trinidad by bus, a nice lady picked me up from the bus stop - I mean, she was holding a placard with my name on it. As I approached her, she stoically told others touting their casas that I was with her. She was white, clad simply in a t-shirt and shorts, and we walked the very short distance to her casa, conversing in Spanish. It was a nice place, a living room, a courtyard beyond that on the right with the kitchen and a couple of rooms on the left and another small open space way out back. She lightened up when I said I would have breakfast (extra revenue) and firmly told me that I could come and go as I pleased but strictly no chicas. Sigh.

Just across from the cobbled street from their house, about 20 feet to the right was a bar called the Canchancharra. I scoped it, went for a walk about and a couple of hours later stepped in on the way back home. It was a long corridor, nearly 40 feet long, with an open courtyard on the left and a covered portion on the right with long wooden benches to sit on. A bunch of mainly white tourists were sitting agape. The band was at the very end, a door to the right just in front of it leading to the "bar", where a forlorn man was serving up the house specialty: canchancharra. Here is a link on Trinidad that mentions the bar, here is a video, and here is a definition of the eponymous drink.

Then there was the band. I had seen this outfit earlier that afternoon at some other watering hole. It was 7 or 8 pieces and I have the most vivid memories of two things: the wind instrumentalist and the female singer.. The guy could play practically all wind instruments with aplomb - flute, trumpet, saxophone. It was quite amazing, really, how talented he was.

The singer - phew. She was a rather plain, fair woman in a very simple sleeveless tight top that held up a rather fetching bosom and simple shorts with a hint of cellulite, and sporting very large eyeshades. She held in each hand a maraca, an amazing instrument that sets the rhythm for any salsa song. She was good at shaking her maracas, both pairs, ahem.

I ordered the house drink, the canchancharra, which effectively is rum, coconut water and a glob of thick honey oat the bottom. It took forever to stir it. But I did and went on to order another, listening to the great band in the cool shade of a rather torpid afternoon in Trinidad.

I miss Cuba.