Facing them, I picture his chubby hands on this pretty 20-year-old mulatta (a
person of mixed European/African heritage) and think about the thin wall
between their bedroom and the one I've just rented in this Cuban family home.
I know this goes on everywhere from Brazil to Thailand, but I still feel like
telling this leathery old man, with his big gold chain, vest and shorts, that
he's a creep, and finding a hotel.
I bite my tongue though, and while the girl watches a Brazilian soap opera, I
pour some rum. On the terrace, the man tells me he's a retired Sicilian
executive who spends half the year here enjoying the young women.
"Is that so?" I say, trying to look as if I find this an admirable way to spend
one's golden years. "That must be quite a few girls."
"Eighty," he smirks. "Well. At least 40 or 50.
"Cuban girls are different from you Europeans. They aren't prudish. In bed,
they do everything. If she's not interested, I kick her out and get another
one."
When I remark on his age, somewhere over 60, he springs to his feet, beats his
chest and flexes his arms.
"I'm a lion! I have the body of a 40-year-old. In bed, I'm 25," he cries. "I
don't even need Viagra."
Foreigners have come to Cuba for years seeking escorts for nights out and sex
in exchange for gifts or cash to help the family. Cubans dub them "yumas", a
term adopted for Americans after a 1957 western set in the town of Yuma on the
US border with Mexico.
Travelling here a decade ago, when Cubans were going hungry from the loss of
Soviet aid, I saw countless beer-bellied foreign men smooching young women, and
mid-forties women with hot young Cuban guys.
Cuban leader Fidel Castro hates sex tourism. After the 1959 revolution, he
razed the brothels that had flourished under strongman Fulgencio Batista and he
outlawed underage sex and pornography.
The government has also cracked down on hustlers, known here as "jineteros", in
recent years, and the trade is now less visible.
But tourists are still like walking bank vaults in the two-tiered economy of
Cuban and convertible pesos. The dollars I brought for a three-week stay equate
to eight years' of state peso wages - hence the torrent of romantic
propositions.
Mini Economy
On the sleepy Isle of Youth off Cuba's south coast, the Italian calls his
girlfriend. She flounces out, a cinnamon-hued goddess in a tight "Italia"
T-shirt and tiny pink shorts, and flashes me a smile.
Draped in gold jewelry, she is halfway through a law degree, but her yuma has
brought her family more wealth in a few visits than several years on a Cuban
lawyer's wage would.
"In my country you'd have a boyfriend like Brad Pitt," I joke. She giggles. The
Italian slaps her thigh.
"She does not have the head of a European," he says. "She has the T-shirt of
Italy but in the head she is Cuban. Right, sweetie?"
With everything from clothes to CD players out of reach of most Cubans, a
wealthy tourist is still a tempting prospect for many.
Our hostess appears and fawns over the Italian. "He is one of the family," she
coos. "The whole neighborhood loves him."
Rent-paying foreigners have made a palace of her house, with a paved garden,
garish china ornaments and a stereo player.
Neighbours share the leftovers from our dinner. One asks the Italian for some
coins. Like a Godfather, he's driving a mini-economy and loving it.
While the lovebirds head for bed my hostess shows me photographs of her
daughter's "quinceanera", or 15th birthday, which marks a coming of age for
girls in many Spanish-speaking countries.
"She's pretty," I say, admiring the showy ball gowns and skimpy outfits in the
photos. "Will she get a yuma one day?"
"A yuma?" the mother snaps. "I would kill her."
