So I will start where I kind of left off. My trip. The infamous one that is. Where I traveled about 20.000km in ten days.
I hope we all know the basics about how it all came to be, it started with me conjuring up the story about my grandfathers’ supposed death. This never happened, but I needed an excuse for the school to give me permission to leave. This took about a month, by that time the story had already changed into me leaving for Suriname to sign my will, and if this didn’t happen, I would stand to lose 158.000 euros. Which couldn’t be any farther from the truth, a truth that included traveling to Holland to see Kylie live in concert.
Anyway, so all things said and done, my boyfriend at the time, Patrick, the one who is maintaining my blog (HA! That means that this text is censored on my end, because I cant say things that he doesn’t know about hahahahah) bought me a ticket from Cuba to Paramaribo. A one way ticket.
I left for Suriname at about 9 in the morning from Jose Marti International in Havana. On the flight to Panama I was seated next to this gay couple. The funny thing is that they were talking about me in Spanish. I grinned as they were expressing their desires for a ménage-a-trois. I looked out the window, saw the panama canal and the centennial bridge. Oh yeah, and a cruise ship. Arriving in Panama after two hours of flirting, I was exhausted as I didn’t sleep the night before, I was too excited. Either way, I tried to see if I had wi-fi connectivity. Turned out that I had to pay for it, 10 usd for 6 hours. I only had to wait for like one and a half, but I bought it anyway. And there it was. MSN. That is where I accidentally revealed to my stepmom that I was coming to Suriname on a surprise visit. It was a surprise as I didn’t tell my family about it. Funny isn’t it? But they already knew. That pissed me off.
Anyway, back on the smallest aircraft ever, an embraer e-190, that made me feel a bit claustrophobic. Saw the Andes mountains and stuff, and was afraid that some rebel Columbians were going to shoot an RPG at the plane or something.
Then I arrived in Trinidad, after a 2.5 hour flight. During which I had my first serving of beef in like 5 months. It was delish. Anyway, upon arriving in Trinidad I was a bit confuzzled as I hadn’t slept in like forever. So I went to stand at the diplomatics queue. The woman then told me, sir this isn’t a diplomatic passport. I asked her if it wasn’t. Then I slowly backed away into my corner of shame. And after that it got even funnier, I checked out my bags to check in again (I was switching from carrier), but the problem was that I had to wait 5 hours to check in again. So yeah, I like forgot to check in my bags, so I just walked over to departures with all my luggage up until the customs chick laughed at me and told me to back away and step behind the yellow line. Then she pointed me to the check in desk, where I realized that there were 4 more hours to go. Luckily the wifi was free. So as I treated myself to an upsized combo of popcorn chicken from KFC (their idea of an up-size is a double serving!) I realized that my battery was almost dead. I was freaking out.
So I just sat there like an idiot, waiting on the right time to dump my bags. So I did, and this is where the trouble started. I bought a commemorative bottle of Havana Club in Havana. LOL that was a funny story actually, there was a flight leaving for Moscow as well, so the store was filled with Russians. Now I heard stories of their drinking, but this my friends, took the crown. The line at the counter was endless. Even the kids were holding bottles. I even saw one sniffing the contents as if it was his asthma medicine. Technically I bought it tax free, so I could just carry it around with me. This is not what the customs said in Trinidad. They started sniffing my bottle like possessed bats. And told me that I couldn’t take it with me. I told them that they couldn’t do that as it was Tax Free. After running back and forth, I got to keep my opened bottle. Those bitches. Our flight to Suriname was delayed for an hour. While waiting at departures I did manage to find an outlet to continue my rantic MSN abuse. I encountered two Surinamese people along the way, and this is where I made a fool out of myself….again. One was just on business, and the other was in transit from Puerto Rico. He had lived there for 20 years. I started talking. And talking. And talking,………and talking. I just couldn’t stop. I was ranting on and on about all kinds of shit. It was terrible, I knew they were getting bored, but it didn’t stop. I just kept on vomiting words and words. The guy from Puerto Rico handed me a newspaper in a desperate attempt to shut me up. And it worked….for about 3 minutes, when I was at it again! There was no stopping me. It looked like they were about to commit suicide, but they were saved by the boarding call.
The flight back home was a bit scary as it was my firs flight on the local carrier. They served bread with tunaspread and chease. WTF??? Yeah I know right. Either way,. It went by quicker than I imagined. I was listening to music on my laptop and writing an article.
Upon arrival I didn’t even realize that I was back home. Something I had dreamt about for like 7 months at the time. I was back home, and immediately I smelled what I found to be trash. Ah yes, the scent of Suriname. I was just too excited to even realize what was happening. The checkout went quite fast as the flight wasn’t too filled.
This is when it happened. The shocker. My mom was supposed to be institutionalized so I did not expect her to be there, but she was. Pumped full of lithium, making a scene. Treating me like I was 2 years old. But I was a bit annoyed. So I kind of acted like an ass. That sucked a bit. Mandela, Kirston, Stacey, Jason and Santouscha were there as well, Now I only know Mandela, Kirston, Stacey and Jason, Santouscha was a bit new for me. They were so happy to see me. My grandmother and her boytoy were there as well, a whole crew. But as I had said before, I would be going home with my friends, so yeah. I went over to Kirstons place. The drive back was weird. I tried my best to print it into my mind, so as not to forget. Turns out that I didn’t have the slightest idea of what was about to happen on my trip. I realize now that I have almost typed two whole pages on my first day. I guess this will have to be a ten part series.
At kirstons place, the first thing I did was take a shit. I really had to go, and keep in mind, that at this point I had been awake for about 24 hours. I arrived at midnight, so I had been traveling for about 15 hours. This didn’t stop me though. I poured myself a glass of the Havana Club, took a quick shower, and changed so I could go party. I mean come on, it was fridaynight. I couldn’t waste any golden opportunities. So we went out at about two. You will never guess what happened next. Technically speaking, that Friday was Friday the 13th. The last Friday the 13th, Mandela, Stephany and Me went out drunk driving without drivers licenses. She slammed me from the back and half-totalled her moms brand new SUV. Do you see where I am going with this?
Mandela picked me up in her moms brand new car. We were planning on going to ZsaZsaZsu, the biggest thing to happen to Suriname since Starzz. Both nightclubs. And since we were all officially legal (Kirston turned 18 on may 2nd), we were all about to have a gay ole time. About to that is.
Not even 2 minutes after we left the house, Mandela, the proud owner of a new drivers license started to show off her driving skills by speeding up and revving the engine. Now I was screamingly asking her to slow down. Then Kirston (on the backseat) started slapping Mandela on her shoulder and screamed ‘show him the fast turn, show him the fast turn’, Mandela’s eyes started glistening, a banana shaped smile formed on her face, the car started speeding up, and she took the turn into the next best road. Now this all went very fast, she took the turn, the meter was on 70 kmph (that’s like 40 mph), and the car turned. But instead of the short, fast turn she was hoping for, the car took a slightly larger turn, and was headed straight for a tree, shocked, she turned the wheel, banged the tree from the side, causing the car to kind of leap, straight onto a stop sign, which was uprooted and floored. The car came to a full stop about 10 meters further. And refused to drive. Let me just state that this was within 2 hours of my infamous return to the motherland. She almost started to cry because she felt like she had disappointed me. Either way, after a whole drama with the towing company and her mom, she did manage to go out with us. It took some begging from my part. But her mom is cool, I love her.
Either way, we made it to ZsaZsaZsu in Santouschas car. A bit shaken, but not stirred. We did enjoy the night. I did the hot walk, its this Jamaican dance that the Surinamese girls don’t know about. I was drunk alright. Then my cousin (who takes pictures for a living) took our picture and put it on the net, and I am assuming in the newspaper the following Wednesday, as I asked him to. Arent I the regular attention whore.
From left to right: Santouscha, Stacey, Moi, Mandela (looking a bit shaken and stirred) and Kirston.
We ended our whole escapade at about 4-5 in the morning. I stayed over on Kirstons bed. Needles to say, we still managed to enjoy ourselves. I saw it as my imperative to get Mandela drunk, she needed to.
The next part of the story is Saturday, june 14th 2008. I will write that later.
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