Storm, Mini Golf and a Spanish-Language Comedy Show

We wake up to discover that the sun has disappeared. Dark clouds roll in, rain begins to fall, and the wind picks up. A storm settles over Varadero — and refuses to leave.

Marek decides to head out anyway and walks toward the tip of the peninsula. There, in a park area, he stumbles upon a pile of bones. Ancient ones. Human bones. Stacked together. Nearby, he also visits an impressive cave — apparently Cuba’s oldest tourist attraction, open to visitors since the 1860s.

In the evening, we decide to visit the nearby Casa de la Música. On a previous night, we had seen long lines of locals waiting outside. In our part of Varadero, there aren’t many tourists in the evenings — most are staying in the expensive resorts at the far end of the peninsula, where entertainment is included every night.

Casa de la Música in Varadero is an indoor nightclub with a fairly steep entrance fee: 10 CUC for tourists, 4 CUC for locals. This Tuesday evening, a local comedian is scheduled to perform before the party begins. We buy tickets and go inside — but nothing is happening yet. We’re told the comedian will start around 11 p.m. and finish at midnight.

Meanwhile, Marek reminds me once again of his long-standing wish to play mini golf. So we head to a nearby restaurant courtyard where there’s a small mini golf course.

We play in the dark. In the storm. The owner cheerfully tells us we can play all night if we like. It turns into an unexpectedly epic battle of skill and luck. In the end, sport prevails.

After midnight, we return to the club. The comedy show is still going strong. The crowd bursts into laughter every few minutes. It certainly sounds funny. Unfortunately, we understand absolutely nothing. The entire performance is in rapid-fire Cuban Spanish.

When the DJ finally takes over, the party never quite reaches full momentum. Perhaps the storm dampens more than just the streets.

By 2 a.m., we call it a night.

A storm outside. Mini golf in the wind. A comedy show we couldn’t understand. And a disco ball spinning above it all.

Not every evening needs to make perfect sense to be memorable.