CUBA LIBRE REDUX  - Hiatus?

I spent the last week packing, sorting and planning.  I am off to China for three weeks starting tomorrow as a reward for completing my 9 weeks of cancer treatments and getting the thumbs up from all of my docs.  I look at this Cuba stories hiatus as only a temporary delay while I cook up a few new stories from the Forbidden City and the Panda Preserve, and the Three Gorges Dam and the Terra Cotta Army and even from Tibet.  Unsure of my internet availability since most Google apps are banned in China, but hang in there, I WILL bring back stories, regardless and relay them to you if you are interested.

Cooking Up New Stories From China to Follow CUBA LIBRE REDUX Series  

  I'll miss you and look forward to re-connecting with all of you in early October when I return to the good ol' US of A.  Stay safe and try to not choke on all the political pap while I am off cuddling a Panda cub.  Eat your heart out!  

CUBA LIBRE REDUX - Bad Decisions

Lots of Room to Congregate Under Watchful Windows 

Arguably the three most important buildings in Cuba are the primary government offices anchoring the Havana square in which a hundred thousand Cubans cheered Fidel after the Revolution. To this day it remains hallowed ground for his speeches and official celebrations.  

Ubiquitous Sprouting Antennae, Revolutionary Faces

Government buildings in Cuba are readily identifiable by the myriad of antennae sprouting from the roof tops and it is no different in this complex.  Opposite the eight-story metal outlines of Fidel, Che and Camilo Cienfuegos is the dominating marble memorial to Jose Marti, slightly less propagandized. 

Marble, Marble, Marble Everywhere

We have been encouraged by locals to visit a renowned attraction a mile or two from the Marti Memorial…  a cemetery.  One hundred and forty acres and 53,000 plots for dead people seems to me a waste of our precious time in this vibrantly alive city but I am overruled and so we begin the two mile trek along a route I have selected from our city maps to the Necropolis Cristobal Colon.

Over the years I have developed a second sense about personal safety issues when walking in foreign cities.  I love to experience a city from ground level but have been reminded every now and again that human nature is human nature whether you are walking down a busy boulevard on a sunny Sunday afternoon in Barcelona mere steps from Gaudi’s La Sagrada Familia when someone attempts to steal your shoulder purse, (Kristine) or sashaying absent-mindedly past a Mosque with a camera hanging from one’s neck in Riyadh while a hostile crowd of bearded men glowers at your obvious infidel-ness.  (Me)  So I am observant when I am on unfamiliar walking tours, taking note of economic conditions, the physical condition of my surroundings and of course, people gatherings that could signal my being in the wrong pew at the wrong time.  Our long trek towards the cemetery takes us longer than planned due to another one of those bad decisions for which I have a knack, having honed the art of bad decision-making during the many years of my foreign travels.  

Our path takes us through an obviously poor neighborhood and my senses are alerted as we approach a group of six or seven men including one quite ancient gentleman with a wheelbarrow standing idly on the sidewalk blocking our way.  Preparing to usher my three companions to the other side of the street we are suddenly greeted by “Hola’s,” broken English and big smiles.  It is apparent to both them and us that we are not on a regular tourist path when they ask us where we are going and if we are lost. (We are not because my map reading is not altogether incompetent but maps do not relate economic conditions)  When we describe our destination the old man with the wheelbarrow smiles and points us two blocks up and tells us when we approach the yellow wall surrounding the cemetery, turn to the right and follow the wall to the main entrance. 

At the bright yellow wall (the only artifice within miles sans chipping or faded paint) we turn to the right but are approached by a young man asking if we are headed to the entrance.  Enter RK’s poor decision making process.  Buoyed by the friendly reaction from the previous group (who looked threatening at first) I listen to this pleasant young man’s offer to take us to the rear entrance which is a much shorter walk. I convince my fellow travelers to follow this young man to the left along a quite dilapidated and garbage strewn street rather than to the right as the old man had suggested. A quarter mile later we are at the rear entrance.  It would appear he has saved us a long walk.  But wait…  a small glitch appears.  There is a guard at this gate.  The young man apologizes and explains there is NEVER a guard at this (broken) gate.  No amount of cajoling or “gifting” can change the guard’s demeanor, friendly but unstintingly firm.  We MUST walk all the way back to the main entrance.  We reluctantly tromp back the way we came and then follow the old man’s original directive to the right.  The old man with the wheelbarrow is now across the street from us, smiling, and I can only imagine his opinion of these dumb touristas.  Thirty-five long, silent minutes later we arrive at the main entrance.  

We, Along with 25 Funerals Everyday, Enter Through the Main Gate

This episode was indicative of our entire time in Havana.  Regardless of the location, regardless of the poverty, regardless of seemingly dangerous neighborhoods, we never once felt threatened or unsafe. It has been many decades since I have experienced that level of comfort while exploring a foreign city on foot.  Furthermore, at no time along that entire yellow wall walk did I find any chipped paint.  Next?  140 acres of gravestones, of course. 

Havana Looking Good From This Distance 

CUBA LIBRE REDUX  -  Priorities

Every traveler has a special singular expectation of his or her destination.  The British Museum in London, the Eifel Tower in Paris, the funicular in Hong Kong or the Ramblas in Barcelona were just a few of mine, and all proved to be well beyond expectations.  It was no different here in Cuba.  I had long dreamed of cruising along the fabled five mile malecon (a shoreline pedestrian promenade) separating a vibrant Havana city from the azure blue and benign Gulf Stream.  Alas, it was not in the cards this day as our taxi rumbled towards the city center.  The unseasonably horrible weather of the past few days had stirred up the Stream so much that crashing waves had inundated the malecon and closed its entire length to vehicles.  My first priority, to see the malecon, was out of the question.  Instead we gazed at the deteriorating neighborhoods passing by the open windows of our 1954 Ford taxi.  

As it was our first day in Cuba, we were newbies about negotiating taxi rates. We paid around $25 to arrive at the center of Havana but would later find the regular rate was around $15 to $20.  Subsequently we would take a free tourist bus into town from the hotel across from our marina slip using taxis only when we missed the bus going back to Marina Hemingway or did not wish to wait for a bus. The bus always took a little longer but made stops at all the major tourist locations outside of the city center. Havana city center, on the other hand, is a very walk-able place with many of the must see attractions within a mile or two of the Capital building.  This is a city chock full of museums and parks and wherever you wander… the sound of music.   

Hollywood Set?

Optional GM or Ford Paint Schemes? 

Once we acclimated to the movie set that is boulevards jammed with 1950 automobiles sporting a myriad of colors that occur neither in nature nor the paint shops of Ford or GM, we strolled into the Museum of the Revolution.  It is housed in what in what pre-revolution had been Cuba’s “White House.”  The minutiae of Fidel’s rise are painstakingly prioritized in hundreds of photos of men with beards standing around with rifles.  Highlights?  The radio Fidel had used to broadcast his arrival from Mexico is prominently displayed but for me, walking up the three flights of the magnificent open marble staircase was reminiscent of an unplanned layover I had in the Athens airport not long after a 1980’s terrorist attack.  I can report that the tell-tale mark a bullet makes in pristine marble is remarkably similar no matter in which out of the way corner of the world the marble may be ensconced. And this Cuban staircase was pockmarked with hundreds of those telltale indentations.  Outside the building, a fenced in park with equipment remnants of the US backed invasion force are proudly on display and freshly painted so the bullet holes are readily apparent.  Next to that, the actual 60 foot boat that brought Fidel and 81 friends from Mexico to Cuba to overthrow Batista.  My boat is 41 feet and once I had 19 people on board for a party in the slip in Marina del Rey. That weight load submerged my entire waterline.  Venturing out to sea in that condition is inconceivable to me.  The fine line between bravery and foolhardiness was obviously more fluid to Fidel than it is to me. 

 Cuba's Former 'White House' 

Batista's Last Stand (or sit)

Back at the center of the city, we have a pleasant lunch at the open air patio of the Ingleterra Hotel.  One of the Havana landmarks, it too is a bit downtrodden (no toilet paper or flushing toilets in the restrooms) but the sandwiches and local beer are excellent. The strolling musicians put a smile on everyone’s face even as they shill for tips and CD sales.  I desperately wanted to see Cuba before it becomes a suburb of Florida as the constraints on Americans traveling here are removed and so I care little that we must stuff our pockets and handbags with toilet paper for any necessary stops. I am happy to be here see this authentic Havana.  In May of 2016, the Starwood hotel chain concluded a deal with the Cuban government to rehab and update three major Havana hotels to American tourist standards.  The Ingleterra was one of them.  The good news is that toilets will flush.  The bad news is that finding an open table on this patio for lunch will be nigh on to impossible.   Further disturbances in the Force occurred on Wednesday, August 31, 2016 when the first commercial US airline in fifty years landed on Cuban soil.

   Finding an available tiled table will be difficult 

It is said that Ernest Hemingway was instrumental in making daiquiris famous at the Floridita tavern. In truth it would appear he drank them wherever and whenever he paused to pee.The famous Floridita however, was on my priority must-see list (as with every tourist in Havana) so we imbibed (they were delicious, if a bit overpriced) then asked a local to document my homage to the Hemingway legend.  Worth every peso. 

The Five Amigos at the Floridita

On our trip back to the marina one other element became quite obvious.  Not just housing was in terrible shape, buildings of every shape and size were run down.  Paint chipped and missing, plaster falling off in chunks, walkways cracked and uneven, all screamed for attention in spite of the captivating and innovative architecture that is everywhere throughout the city.  It is a spectacularly beautiful city… until you look more closely. It is sad to witness this neglect (due to economic issues of course) but there is a bright spot.  Whenever one comes across a reminder of Fidel, or Raoul, or Che or even the Revolution, the reminder itself will be freshly painted, well maintained and expensively displayed.  Just goes to show… everyone’s priorities are different.   And I’m okay with that because it has been one terrific day in Havana, Cuba.  Terrific days are pretty high on my personal priority list.