CUBA LIBRE REDUX  -  Traditions

    What is this thing we call “Tradition?”  Is it an event that repeats itself out of simple inertia?  Or out of desire to re-capture what is often, a mis-remembered past?  Is it an attempt to improve on those past events?  Or is it merely a ploy to avoid the energy necessary to re-imagine the future?  I have not a clue.  I never gave it much thought until I met my good friend, Chuck, many, many years ago.  Every now and again you meet someone with whom the simpatico is instantaneous. So it was with Chuck and me.  Over the years and hundreds of passionate dinner arguments/discussions, It became clear to me he is overly enamored of the concept of ‘tradition.’  He has instituted (with my enthusiastic concurrence) a long series of traditions within our friendship.  Each and every time we have both agreed that this is definitely “the one.”  Of course, all have fallen by the wayside after a few years due to what I view as the societal mores thrust upon us by the era in which we live. We acknowledge our responsibilities to others and as a result, at certain times, life just gets in the way of living and another tradition goes by the boards. I am not now nor have I ever been the originator of any of our shared traditions in spite of offering (much) unnecessary advice and consult regarding their initiation.  Yet, I have always enjoyed experiencing these forays into establishing stability in an unstable environment. Unfortunately, their individual demise has often played heavily on Chuck.  I see it in his eyes, I hear it in his tone and I feel guilty... guilty for not having done more to preserve them and guilty for not sharing his deep sense of remorse at their lapse.  Chuck, this one is for you. 

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   Yes, it was a shock to me to find myself desperate to continue that ancient 1961 “tradition.”  I had not even remembered it until I heard the Hotel National mentioned by Kris and Mel while discussing must-see locations. It was a great couple of hours. Continuing the tradition, multiple daiquiris were once again involved, at least I am pretty sure there were multiples!   Do I want to do it again?  Absolutely!  Will the tradition continue?  The outlook is not bright as I run down the long life-list of places I have NOT yet visited and the upward trend of my age demographics.  I started this one in my youth nearly 60 years ago and now it is most likely... dunzo. There is a small, dark and empty space where that new memory should be stored.  I think it will remain dark and empty.  So now I know precisely how my friend Chuck feels in those moments of disappointment.  And I don’t like it much either.  Karma, Baby, Karma.

CUBA LIBRE REDUX  -  A Day of the Dead

So if you had told me a highlight of Havana would be a graveyard, I probably would have laughed.  After this day I would be forced to choke on that laugh.  Of course I have seen the New Orleans “topside” monuments, but they are a mere pittance compared to the Necropolis De Colon.  The 135 acres and 53,000 plots situated in the heart of Havana, contain an incredible testament to the hubris of those seeking a legacy.  Perhaps the reason is that within these 135 acres are the only plots of land on the entire island that can be owned by an individual.  Every other square inch of Cuba is owned by the Cuban government and merely leased to individuals, companies, or organizations.  Also, there are very few venues in the world that display more marble than the British Museum but this may be one of them.

Monumental Hubris

We were smart (lucky!) to engage a Barack Obama “doppelganger” to give us an informative and fascinating tour of this surreal neighborhood.  His services came free of charge thanks to the Cuban government, but it was his candor that captivated us.  The man was a true chameleon, riding the wave of history as Cuba’s fortunes rose and fell with the vagaries of the Revolution.  When Fidel took over our guide left his University teaching job, traveled to Moscow to learn the language and returning home, worked as liaison with the Russian Embassy.  Realizing nothing lasts forever, he taught himself German, French and Spain Spanish along with several Slavic languages rounding it all out with his excellent English. A forward looking polyglot preparing for the increasing tourist hoards from Europe by simply going with the flow.  He spends two days a week escorting tourists through this cemetery giving him the opportunity to use his language skills while staying current on foreign news otherwise unobtainable in this closed island society. I have no doubt he is required to make copious reports on his “tourist charges,” in particular us Americans who remain quite rare in Cuba but I believe the conversational exchanges we had were mutually enlightening.    

"Barack" with Kristine at the Dead End

Every Plot, a Story and Every Story, a Plot

Entrance to Where Exactly?

It May Preserve Fruit But Also Encourages Mold

One of Many Stained Glass Portals

Is 'Angelic Guard' an Oxymoron?

Some Guards are Less Traditional

Gated Community

Chained Melody

Radiating Elegance

No Longer Running Rum.... Sleeping It Off?

The Baccardi Rum family plot contains about 40 members interred prior to the exodus caused by the Revolution.  How?  Most memorials have four to six 'resting places' so the newest residents get top billing.  With a consistent flow of those dying to get in (sorry, couldn't resist) older residents are consigned to the next lower level.  Think of it as a high rise building in reverse where your oldest relatives will always live in the basement beneath you except they will most likely not complain about the noise.     

Lower Apartment Takes on New Meaning Here

No Low Income Housing Here Either

And One Very Un - Traditional 

Is There a Rule Against Enjoying a Graveyard?

First and Only Living Resident

We had one more out-of-the-ordinary encounter during this most unusual cemetery excursion.  As we were walking towards the exit, a  cherry 1957 Chevy Bel Air taxi painted a most unusual shade of purple pulled up a bit in front of us.  As we walked by, the rear door opened and a heavy-coated figure (odd since the temps were upper 80's) stepped out of the back seat. As the figure removed dark sunglasses, Mike did a double take and said to the three of us... "It's Ozzie Osborne."  He said it a bit too loud because the figure immediately glanced at us and rapidly retrieved his dark glasses and pulled the heavy coat over his head.  We had not intended to take any photos but Ozzie (there was no mistaking him)  wasn't taking chances that here in a 150 acre graveyard in the center of Havana, Cuba on a sunny weekday afternoon, the paparazzi had tracked him down!  To this day, the four of us are unnaturally curious as to why he was there.  However, I can report that Ozzie looked older than the tree pictured above.

P.S.  We forced a generous tip on our "Barack" for his wonderful story telling.  If you go, look for him!