Carefree In Cuba

by Daniel Griffin

I’m writing this column from Trinidad, Cuba, a quiet colonial town of cobblestone streets and decaying Spanish mansions. Palm trees sway in the Caribbean breeze, the strains of Afro-Cuban jazz linger in the warm air. It’s the sort of town you see in Cuba Tourist Board advertisements and it truly feels like my wife and I have stepped into a postcard. I should confess that I’m here with just my wife—our three daughters are back home with my parents, giving us our first week-long holiday without kids since, well, since before we had kids.

Five days ago when we left the house and headed for the airport, a carefree elation coursed through me. We arrived early, sat in the bar and ordered cocktails. I was a new man. This first euphoric taste of freedom lasted about as long as the effects of the alcohol. By the time we landed in Havana, my wife and I already missed our girls.

Now, after five days on our own, we’ve come to know the pros and cons of travelling without kids. In case you’re considering a trip without yours this summer, here’s how I tally the ledger.

Pro: No worrying about the kids’ needs or desires, you can do as you please. You can stay out all night listening to Cuban jazz and dancing the Cha-cha-cha (although in truth, we haven’t done a lot of dancing because, what with three kids, we never signed up for lessons at the “Y” as planned—but that’s okay, I don’t mind sitting on the sidelines while others dance).

Without the kids, you can also go wherever you want. You can rent a car and drive off into the blazing Caribbean sunset. On the Con side, you might just try. In our case, instead of planting roots at some agreeable beach near Havana, we rented a car and headed for the countryside. Within a few hours, one pot-holed back road slowed us to a crawl and a flash flood threatened to strand us in a small village miles from anywhere. By the time we neared the southern coast, we’d already spent one quarter of our vacation driving. We needed to head to the beach for some relaxation.

On the Pro side, with just the two of you in the car, you can pick up hitchhikers as a way to get to know the locals. Of course, in most of our conversations we ended up talking about the kids and missing them even more—thinking, for example, about how eye-opening it would have been for them to meet the two barefooted boys we picked up on the way to the beach.

Ah, the beach. As the azure water appeared just beyond the sugar cane fields, it occurred to me that going to the beach is exactly what we could have done if we’d brought the kids. I tried to assure myself we’d have a different kind of beach experience: put up our feet, drink a mojito and smoke a Cohiba with no worries of our daughter bursting into tears at the sight of me smoking and then crying that I’ll soon die of cancer. Unfortunately, once I was settled into the warm sand, I remembered that cigars stink and I didn’t really want one anyway.

An undeniable benefit of traveling without kids is that they’re not bugging you to buy treats, trinkets and souvenirs. Unfortunately, the Cuban hustlers are, and they’re far more persistent than the kids. They stand four to a corner in every town worth visiting. I keep picturing a neon sign above me: “Please take my money.” If the kids were here at least our imaginary sign might also say: “Fun family, cute kids, be nice.”

Because we didn’t have to buy three extra plane tickets, financially we’re ahead. Saving money is another benefit for most couples who fly off and leave their kids at home. Truth is, though, being away for a week builds up another kind of debt. The kids feel left out, jealous, even a little neglected and a few gifts from Cuba won’t pay what they think we owe. In the weeks to come, they’ll find subtle ways to retaliate against us—actually, mostly against my wife. There will be sulking, temper tantrums, a cold shoulder, a stubborn refusal. However, there is one last important reason you might travel without kids on your next vacation: For a week neither my wife nor I had to change a diaper. Ah, Cuba—blazing sun, tranquil beaches, sultry jazz and no diaper changes.

Daniel Griffin is a writer and a father of three. He lives in Victoria.