A Broad Abroad in Cuba
February 2016
Part
2
Please read part 1
first.
Day 3 (Saturday)
Some things I started to observe about Havana by this day:
- Many people say "Bon dia," which is Catalan or Portuguese, instead of
"Buenos dias," which is Spanish. I wonder why? Supposedly, Cuban Spanish
is most similar to, and originates largely from, the Spanish spoken in
the Canary Islands of Spain, and I've heard that the accent of the
islands is similar to Catalan Spanish.
- People who are initiating into Santería,
an Afro-Cuban religion, wear all white, from head-to-toe, and you will
see them in the crowd shots in some of our photos.
- The situation for dogs and cats is awful here. Not Naples
horrible, not Romania
horrible, but still really bad. I have info on how to help them at
the end of this travelogue.
- The skirts of the school uniforms for Cuban girls are... really
short...
- Speaking of skirts, the answer to the question "Is this skirt/dress
too short?" in Cuba is "No."
- Images of Ernesto "Che" Guevara are everywhere,
while Fidel isn't nearly so prominent, and Raúl even less so. Honestly,
I think all the use of the Che image is more for the branding of Cuba
for foreigners than it is for any widespread deeply held love by the
Cuban people for him - if there is any such widespread deeply held love
now. I've no idea. Do the young people in Cuba really know who he is and
have any kind of emotional attachment to him? I am betting that, once
Fidel dies, his own image will be everywhere
for a while, a romantic legend replacing the reality.
- Very impressed that Cuba has motorcycle helmet laws and that people
follow them. Fascinating that Suzuki motorcycles rule here, just like in
Egypt.
- Cuba still has public phones, and even a few phone booths. There
should still be phone booths in the USA, where people can have phone
conversations, via their own phones, in private.
- I'm quite bothered by the complete lack of references to the
indigenous people that were on the island first, that were completely
wiped out by the Spanish settlers. There are none. Zilch. No memorials,
no mentions on plaques, not even a wall at the city museum. I didn't see
any paintings representing them at the art museum, that I recall. I knew
about the pre-Columbian people, and their fate, only because of my
guidebook.
- I'm also quite bothered by the complete lack of references to the slaves
of Cuba's past. More than a million African slaves were brought to
Cuba as part of the Atlantic slave trade; Cuba did not end its
participation in the slave trade until 1867. The number of slaves
outnumbered European Cubans, and a large proportion of Cubans are
descended from these African slaves, perhaps as many as 60% of the
population.
- Afro-Cubans are beautiful people. I mean it. Beautiful. And they have
maintained their African culture in so many ways. But I pointed out to
Stefan ways that you can see how they are marginalized: how they aren't
patronizing the same places as us, even when there are white Cubans
there, how those with the darkest skin are doing the hardest labor, and
on and on. My Lonely Planet book has some really sad testimonials by
people visiting who are of African descent, and how they often had
trouble going into restaurants and museums. Discrimination may be
against the law in Cuba, but you can see the results of it everywhere,
if you pay attention.
- Cubans work HARD. If you see them working, they are WORKING - digging
something, filling in something, waiting tables, jack-hammering,
whatever. I was impressed. But there are also way too many 30 and 40
something men just sitting around in bars during work hours, with
nothing to do.
- Not many street performers - not nearly as many as I was expecting.
- But of the street performers I saw - women made up in traditional Afro
Cuban dress, fortune tellers, other buskers - I saw lots of tourists
taking photos and NOT PAYING them. I was so angry. Folks, they aren't
sitting there with a costume on or performing in the street just for fun
- this is their livelihood.
This is how they feed and clothe and house themselves and their
families. You are stealing from these folks if you don't pay them when
you take a photo.
- I also saw so many, many tourists taking photos of old people on the
street or children - taking a photo of those people, specifically, not
just that those people were in the frame of a photo of a crowd or
building - without asking permission. I saw one elderly woman get angry
at a tourist who took a photo and then just walked away, no permission,
no apologies. And what would you do if you looked out the window and
there was someone you don't know, someone you know taking photos of your
kids? Show the same respect when you are abroad, particularly outside of
people's homes, that you would want from people right in your own
community! Damn it!
- Men grab themselves a lot. Your dick is always there, dudes, you don't
need to check so much!
- I think everyone smokes - and that makes me so sad.
- Very, very few blond Cubans - when the embargo ends, there will be
more blond Cubans.
- So much trash, sometimes as bad as what we saw in Romania.
- Cuba needs bourbon! In bars, we
saw every type of liquor, not just rum - but never Kentucky
bourbon.
- Cubans we saw that have tattoos have them in just two colors: black
and red.
- I'm surprised Cuba hasn't attempted to capitalize on the pirate crave
in some way.
The third morning of our visit, we got only enough coffee for one cup each.
So I asked for more. Oye veh, what a mistake! I got a long speech about how
difficult coffee is to get and on and on. I felt horrible for asking for
more coffee. Not sure why we got more coffee those first two days. But I was
really needing more coffee that morning. So we walked over and went in the Habana
Libre hotel for the first time, bought an hour of Internet time each,
and bought lots of coffee con leche
while I posted to both my FB accounts, posted to both my Twitter accounts,
and sent a couple of text messages. Internet was slow, so just that pretty
much took up the entire hour.
Then
we headed via taxi to the Museo de la Revolución. It's housed in the former
Presidential Palace - and it is a palace.
Tiffany's
of New York decorated the interior (yes, really, Tiffany's).
Of course, all of the furnishings, save the
Presidential office, are long gone, and the interior hasn't been
cleaned in a long while. Most of the palace rooms are now filled with
photos, narratives, and a few items representing the Cuban Revolution. It's
such an incredible piece of history and propaganda - it's not to be missed.
The displays are musty, they all look outdated and look as though they were
done on a very, very limited budget, they
try to be glorious, the items they show are, indeed, historic, they
are oh-so
Communist, gloriously anti-USA,
there's a display that uses the term "Yankee
Imperialism" without sarcasm nor irony, at times the display
descriptions are incredibly
cheesy and, all in all, it's tons of fun - at least that's how I felt
about it. There's even a bust
of Lincoln! The exterior is being renovated and looks lovely - I
suspect they will do the same inside, which in many ways will be a shame,
because it won't be dusty and musty anymore - it will be shiny and slick and
tasteful. But I'm sure they will maintain the bullet holes. I wanted so
badly to yell out the window on the second floor "Viva la Revolución!"
at
the tourists going by down below in old cars - but I don't want to see
the inside of a Cuban prison. Off on a side hall we found giant caricatures,
and I think we now know which
recent USA Presidents Cuba likes and which they don't. Our pictures
from this place really aren't to be missed. Trust me. Don't miss the
one where I misbehaved, just for a photo for a former University of
Kentucky basketball player that shall remain nameless...
Speaking of caricatures, a quick word about how Afro-Cubans are represented
in art and ornaments: yeah, it's
often not good.
Included in your ticket for this museum is admission to the Pavillón
Granma, which houses the yacht that was used to transport 82 fighters
of the Cuban Revolution, bent on overthrowing the regime of dictator
Fulgencio Batista, traveling from Mexico to Cuba in November 1956. They were
ill-prepared for the journey, which took much longer than they expected, and
the boat was quite overloaded with people. Batista's army attacked and
killed most of the exhausted, unprepared Granma participants upon landing –
no more than 20 of the original 82 men survived. Survivors, which included
Fidel and Raúl Castro, Che Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos, escaped into the
mountains. There are other vehicles associated with the revolution at the
museum, as well as pieces of the plane of Rudolf Anderson, who died when his
U-2 spy aircraft was shot down over Cuba during the Cuban Missile Crisis.
The Granma museum is not all that interesting, IMO, and the military guys
guarding the site don't like it when one sits on the steps while her husband
goes up to look at the yacht. No biggy if you skip it.
We had lunch
at Sloppy Joe's, a historic bar and restaurant that reopened in 2013
after being closed for 48 years. Before the Cuban Revolution, 90% of its
clientele was from the USA. Prohibition in the USA back in the 20s spurred
its original owner to change the emphasis from food service to liquor
service, as American tourists were visiting Havana for the nightlife, the
gambling and the alcohol they could not access back home. In the 1940s and
50s, it was a magnet for American celebrities (but I couldn't find a list of
such) as well as tourists wanting to mingle with them. Now, it's a nice
restaurant, a lot like any nice restaurant in the USA, with significantly
less decadence, I'm sure. I had, of course, a Sloppy Joe sandwich
(supposedly, it was invented there)! Food was decent, prices were very
reasonable, service was terrific.
We went to the Museo
Nacional Palacio de Bella Artes, the Cuban art museum, right next door
to the Granma museum. On the ground floor when we went was a large,
interactive exhibit regarding the Cuban Five. These are five Cuban
intelligence officers who were convicted in the USA of conspiracy to commit
espionage, conspiracy to commit murder, acting as an agent of a foreign
government, and other illegal activities. The Five were in the USA to
observe and infiltrate specific Cuban-American groups, two of which had
planned and attempted violence in Cuba. It was the first of many references
we saw for the Cuban Five throughout Havana, which considers them heroes (I
don't consider them heroes, in case you were wondering - but I'm not all
that crazy about those Cuban-American groups either). Otherwise, the
permanent collection of art at the museum is outstanding. I loved everything
on the second floor, and regret not writing down my favorite works and
artists. Looking at the Internet, I found one piece I really loved:
Guillermo Collazo Tejada's The
Siesta. The third floor stuff, mostly by Wifredo Lam and painters like
him, wasn't my cup of tea at all. It's a really lovely museum space, but the
bathrooms had no running water that day - apparently, that happens
frequently. The gift shop is also sad - they just don't have the resources
to produce an abundance of postcards and posters of many works. Stefan
enjoyed the
castle made of coffee pots.
At
some point on this day, we found and toured a small museum funded by Mexico,
celebrating
itself and its relationship with Cuba. It was free - why not? We
didn't entirely understand it, but it was a nice way to pass a few minutes,
and the bathrooms were clean. And there was the doll at left, which I
adored, but there was no gift shop with replicas of her, which I TOTALLY
would have bought! Other countries proud of their relationship with Cuba are
Ireland
and Bulgaria,
but Mexico and Cuba definitely have a very special relationship I wasn't
aware of, as expressed in this museum and various plaques around
Havana.
At some point, we also saw a
large group of people getting their hair cut on the street.
We walked down various streets, then down
the Paseo de Marti, which goes all the way to the waterfront. It
feels a bit like Las Ramblas in Barcelona. There are a few artists
showing their work, but no buskers. And I think we got there at just the
wrong time - we suddenly realized we were the only tourists among the people
around, and some of the people sitting on the walls seemed to be eying us in
a not-so-friendly way. It became not-so-nice Ramblas. We continued to walk,
not sure where we were going, and then a group of teens came up behind us,
throwing a baseball, hard, around us and over us. I felt like we were being
set up, I'm not sure for what, so I pulled Stefan over to the side of the
walkway, and we sat on the wall to let the boys go by - and maybe I imagined
it, but they seemed to hesitate just a bit and then, indeed, did move
on, throwing the ball the whole time. I was a little stunned at how dicey
things had suddenly turned. We looked down the walkway and could see a
tourist, older and whiter than everyone else and wearing some kind of
flowing comfy thing that I love to wear myself - and therefore sticking out
as though she had a big flashing light on her head. I thought, gads, that's
how WE look!
It was nearing 5, and Stefan once again forgot that I was brain dead at this
time of day. I don't know why he forgets that, and seems surprised that I
suddenly can't make decisions and am unreasonably grumpy around 5. Plus, I
was feeling like we still were in the wrong place and it was overdue to get
somewhere else.
We
got off the paseo, and walked up and down a few streets, all
of them residential, some of them questionable, and sometimes amid a
lot of buildings in ruin. Somehow, we found a little block far from any
primary tourist points and walkways, with restaurants and art studios up and
down the small block. We chose La Farmacia (La
Farmacia is on Facebook and on
Twitter). It was "our" bar. The food was delicious and affordable,
and the daiquiris are amazing, and the customer service was ALL THAT. And
it's off the beaten path - not many tourists pass
by. Stefan got this incredible looking pork dish that had something in the
bowl with the pork, in a sauce of vinegar and garlic and salt and I don't
know what. We couldn't tell what it was. So we asked the waitress. It's malanga,
a tropical root vegetable from South America, and it's like a potato: it's
great baked, mashed or roasted. We fell in LOVE with malanga. LOVE IT.
According to the Interwebs, "The Central American root is likely one of the
most hypoallergenic foods in the world. Anyone with extensive allergies
should be able to tolerate Malanga flour." Come on, Porlandia, get into a
Malanga craze so I can buy some! And get this: after asking the waitress
about it and her giving some basic info and writing the name in the back of
my Lonely Planet Cuba, she came
back later and said she'd talked to the cook and she started to give us
cooking tips for it. How freakin' nice is that? Cuba, sí!
Had to tear ourselves away at last from this beloved bar. Found a taxi to
take us back to the Habana Libre, where we stopped by the convenience store
outside the hotel, which did have beer this time (hurrah!). We also bought
cookies. We sat on the porch of our guest house and I reveled in our day. We
saw about 25 people sitting in a circle in the courtyard down below and next
to our apartment. They were quietly talking. I think it was meeting from the
Baptist Church. It was a nice night to talk about stuff...
On this night, at long last, we heard the 9 p.m. cannon! I was so excited to
finally hear it! Our guide had told us that, every night at 9 p.m., at one
of the historic forts across from Havana, a cannon was shot off to mark the
end of the day. It was then, in times long past, that the now-long-gone city
gates were closed, and men used to use the cannon as an excuse to say, the
next day, "Oh, sorry, honey, I was outside the gate when the cannon sounded!
I couldn't get back in!" My old Lonely Planet guide says the cannon shooting
ceremony is really cool, but most tourists don't go see it. We thought about
it - but it's a lot of money for a round trip taxi ride to see a cannon shot
and some people marching.
I'll
say at this point that Cuba has some lovely publicly-viewable and/or public
art that make for terrific viewing and photos, like giant chihuahuas in one
of the squares (at left) or tile
decorations on buildings or massive
wall paintings or this
sculpture of a modern family or these
people talking or Sancho
Panza or one of the fathers of Cuba, Martí
(TONS of images of him everywhere) or whatever
this is or this fascinating
bust of someone or this intimidating
hole in the wall or whatever
this is or whatever
this is... I just love public art. Well, most of it... I think the
image at right should be the new logo for Kentucky Fried Chicken! I'd wear
that t-shirt!
I know some people back in my home town of Henderson, Kentucky that think it
was a waste of money to build statues inspired by the wildlife prints of
John James Audubon, who lived our town for so many years, and to put them
all around our little town. I think it was a brilliant idea. Marvelous. And
when I win the lottery, I'm paying the artist that made the woman on the
chicken at right in Havana to make another one and I'm paying the city an
obscene amount of money to put it right on the river front or in front of
the court house JUST to piss you people off.
(that was for you, Carol)
Day 4 (Sunday)
We slept until 8 a.m, the latest we ever slept. This time, our breakfast had
a special edition: honey. Stefan didn't want it, but I poured it on my fruit
and my butter-laden toast. I thought it was delicious. It made me think of
Papaw, my paternal grandfather back in Kentucky, who loved to take a bit of
peanut butter on a plate and pour corn syrup on it, mix it all together and
eat it.
It was Sunday, and we could hear the shoutin' Methodist preacher at the
church next door - yup, in Cuba, they still shout. We walked to Habana Libre
and got a taxi driver for our ride to the forts
across from Havana. There are two ways to get there: via taxi in a
tunnel that goes under the waterway that leads from the ocean - the straits
of Florida - to Bahía de La Habana, or a ferry that crosses the water. The
taxi driver was obviously highly educated - we could just tell. I wonder
what he trained to do at university... He told us he was oh-so-excited that
President Obama was coming to visit in March. I think every taxi driver we
had after that told us how excited they were about Obama coming, and the
excitement was genuine.
The
taxi driver drove us in the tunnel under the waterway and told us that there
was an annual book fair happening at the forts, but that the fair had
devolved from an event about literature and literacy to a big festival of
beer and soccer magazines and bouncy houses and boy band concerts. We really
wanted to see the historic forts, so we followed the advice of my old
guidebook and went to the Foraleza de San Carlos de la Cabaña first. It was
only when we got near the entrance that we realized the
insane amount of people at the festival. It
was claustrophobic, even scary, at times. And it was incredibly hot. The
fort is impressive, but it was filled with trash and lines of people
trying to get into any pavilion that featured comics or publications from
Mexico. All of the historic exhibits were closed. All of the restaurants
were closed. We never did manage to get a good photo of the MASSES of
people, the crazy crowds, to show you just how bad it was. I did manage to
get past a long line of kids wanting dinosaur stickers and books to see the
United Nations booth, far inside one of the barracks halls, where I
picked up some publications, most of them a few years old, about various
development activities in Cuba; unfortunately, the staff was either long
gone or hidden among the various visitors who milled around.
We spent most of our time at the wall to look back over the water at Havana.
To our delight, here
came an old-fashioned schooner sailing out to the straights! I had
commented earlier in our trip that Havana really needed to have some
schooners sailing up and down, to give that true pirate-feeling - someone
heard me!
We left that fort, crossing what was a dry moat but was now filled with beer
vendors and food vendors and port-a-potties and a growing number of people,
passed a steady stream of even more families crowding to get inside, and
Stefan went to take photos on a far wall outside the main entrance while I
sat and watched the line of people leaving - not nearly as many as the
amount still stuffing inside. And every now and again, I could see foreign
tourists amid the crowd. Gads, it's like we have a big strobe light on our
heads. We walked over to the Castillo
de los Tres Santos Reyes del Morro, the fort right on the point,
looking out over the ocean. On the way, we were absolutely overwhelmed by
the heat and crowds and craziness of people at a massive outdoor "fun" space
created between the forts for the festival. It was all the usual stuff you
would see on the midway of a big county fair, sans the rides. It was burning
hot. I was heart-broken to see horses offered as rides for children, walking
in the burning hot sun, absolutely baking. It brought back memories of the
last circus I went to - I was probably 10, and my maternal grandfather took
me, and I was appalled at the performing elephants and horses, and the horse
rides outside - I had to fight off tears, because I didn't want to
disappoint my grandfather, but I knew it was my last circus ever.
We
arrive at the other fort, which inside, wasn't as crowded as the other
place, which was good, because it's a much smaller space inside. I had to
pee badly. Painfully. I'd drunk two sodas earlier because it was so hot, and
now I was paying for it. But there
were still too many people and the crowds and the heat ere - yucky. We
walked around the side of a wall, and suddenly, there were no people at all,
and I thought maybe we were in a place we weren't supposed to be. And then
there was an older Cuban woman that turned the far corner of one of the old
stone walls, walking toward us. She looked at us, and said, "Baños?" I
replied "Sí!!!!" And there they were, right around the corner, just a few
steps from the massive numbers of people. And there was no line. And they
were really nice - clean, with
running water. I left more change than I needed to - I was so happy. We
walked up some steps to reach the
wall around the light house, and met a lovely couple from Scotland,
who were just as overwhelmed by the crowds as we were. We laughed about
having a true local Havana
experience, one most foreign tourists never see. And we meant it - no, we
wouldn't have chosen to tour the forts that day had we known the book fair
was happening and what the book fair really was, but we were here and this
was the experience that was there, and it was fascinating to see so many
working class Cubans all in one place, obviously enjoying themselves on what
for them is a very special weekend. Stefan and I sat on the wall and looked
at the ocean and the young lovers taking selfies everywhere.
Just like at the other fort, all of the bars and restaurants in the forts
were closed, so we ate at one of the food stalls - burgers. I didn't finish
mine, because I don't think it was fully cooked, and while I like medium
rare burgers, I don't like RAW.
We decided to head out and try to find
the Jesus statue, and then walk to the ferry back to Havana that was
supposed to be at the end of the road leading to the statue. It was a three
kilometer walk back through the book festival madness between the
fortresses, back passed those poor, poor horses, and then out to the parking
lot for the festival, which was in a field outside of a historic and still
used army fort. We also walked past a building that said it was the La
Cabana de Che Guevara - it was closed, and there were goats feeding outside
of it. Supposedly, the Observatorio Nacional is nearby, but we didn't see
it.
On the street, we saw a guy with a Jawa motorcycle, and I couldn't stand it
anymore - what the hell is a Jawa motorcycle? It's not a Star Wars tie in...
the rider, VERY nice guy, said it
was made in Czechoslovakia. But he wanted to point out that his
speedometer and headlight were made in Germany. I was happy to know that my
Spanish skills aren't just for ordering in restaurants or negotiating with
taxis - I can also talk motorcycles!
We walked around the Jesus statue a bit (it's big - but not that
attractive), then down the winding road, trying not to get hit by the few
speeding cars that were going up or down, passed a lot of trash and a guy
asleep on a wall next to his Pioneer sound system (major status symbol in
Cuba), to the ferry station in Casablanca. The ferry back to Cuba, for
pedestrians and bicycles only, was supposed to be free that day, but we got
charged because we're foreigners. Whatevs. Also, it is QUITE a jump from the
pier to the ferry - yikes. There's a train station there, for the only
electric railway in Cuba. The railway was built in 1917 by the Hershey
Chocolate Company!
The ferry was not scenic - everyone
stands, and there's few windows. With a crowd, it was a bit
claustrophobic. It took only 10 minutes, and that was a good thing for me.
The ferry dropped us at Habana Vieja, right next to the massive, crumbling
ports and outside of a little cafe that was nothing special, but all of the
retractable walls were open, so we had the feeling of being outside even if
we were inside. It was a really nice way to end the day, just drinking
beers, eating mediocre pizza, watching people getting off the ferry and the
cars passing by. We couldn't see the water, because of a
big metal temporary wall along the road. I loved ending the days just
sitting and doing nada.
I told Stefan that the teenage girls of Cuba were making me sad: slouchy,
pouty, thick makeup, constantly taking selfies. There were no goths, no
punks, no grunge girls, no sporty girls, no skateboard girls, no
I-don't-need-to-pretend-I'm-grownup girls - no alternatives, no "I'm going
to be different than what music companies and pop stars tell me to be"
girls. And every young guy is a metrosexual, teen-boy-band wannabe. No
rebels. It made me sad.
Which brings me to my list of things I wasn't seeing in Cuba, and was
surprised not to be seeing:
- Public sports fields or public parks where people could play frisbee,
have a picnic, etc. There were tiny green spaces around some statues,
and some benches and small greenery in some public squares, and tiny
walled playgrounds for little kids, but no places for young people to
just play basketball or soccer, no places for families to have a picnic
or cookout. We passed a couple of big sports fields, for baseball (of
course) and soccer, but these seemed to be private, only for formal
clubs.
- Grocery stores. Never saw one. Not even a little one. And we saw only
one big outdoor food market. No wonder Berta has trouble getting coffee.
- Beauty salons - no places for women's hair cuts, for mani-pedis, etc.
Nada.
- Clothing shops. By the time we left, I'd seen just two, and the both
seemed to be primarily for tourists.
- Shoe shops. By the time we left, I had finally seen one, called
"Wisconsin." Because, when you think of shoe fashion, you think of
Wisconsin!
- Outdoor roof patio bars. We did finally find one - and it was closed.
- Bars or restaurants with ocean views. Some hotels had such, some
didn't. I expected the waterfront to be lined with such places - it
wasn't.
- We never saw community Internet centers, places where anyone can come
and get reasonably-priced Internet or make a phone call. I was expecting
to see at least a couple. Instead, we saw groups
of people gathered together, seated, outside hotels, outside
telecom stores or outside the offices of Cuba's Internet service
provider, usually at night, all looking at phones or laptops, some even
making what I guess were Skype calls. There's no free Internet - the
people we saw in these groups have paid for that hour or two of access
somehow.
- Auto or motorcycle sales shops.
- Bicycle shops (and not many people riding bicycles - perfect weather
for it!)
- Running fountains. Severe water problems in Cuba.
- Coffee shops.
- Urban gardens - no one was growing any veggies on patios or roofs. I
guess because of lack of water?
- Ice cream parlors. We did up seeing ONE before we left.
- Chinese restaurants. I ate at a Cuban-Chinese fusion restaurant in New
York city in 1990 - some things you just don't forget. I assumed this
was a thing in Cuba as well.
- Fire stations. We did finally see one before we left.
- People handing out flyers.
- Any references to Elián
González - I figured there would still be propaganda around about
him. There wasn't at all.
We also saw only two pharmacies, both
historic but still working pharmacies in old town. Given the Cuban
health care system, I thought there's be lots of pharmacies everywhere, like
Germany.
So much of this severe lack of things is because of the long-term embargo of
the country, lead by the USA, which, because of the Helms–Burton Act,
extended the application of the USA embargo of Cuba to apply to foreign
companies, threatening them with legal action for undertaking certain
financial ventures in the county. It's created a fear of many foreign
countries regarding investing in Cuba, because of the severe financial
penalties the USA would attempt to apply. The consequences have been
devastating to the Cuban people - and probably entrenched the Cuban
government. But this all going to change soon, with the incredible thaw
that's been happening. I'm no Castro supporter, but I do support the people
of Cuba. I love this country, and want to see all the people there have the
opportunity to prosper - AND TRAVEL.
It
was getting to be Jayne's-brain-shuts-down time, so I suggested we head to
the Hotel Sevilla on Unli Animas, next to Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes and
the Granma Memorial. It had gotten my attention every time we passed it,
with the row of classic cars outside, and the music coming from somewhere
inside. We walked in and there was an open patio in the back of the vast
lobby, open to the elements, Roman villa style. There were only two other
tables with people there, but the music from the band was incredible. We sat
down, Stefan ordered a Cuba libre (rum, cola, and ice), but switched to
Cristal beer immediately after. I downed three daiquiris (not as good as La
Farmacia) while I completely, utterly grooved on that band. Man, if I could
sit in that bar once a week, drinking daiquiris at 5, listening to that
band, I could get through anything the week threw at me. Unlike all the
other places we saw where bands were playing, it wasn't crowded at all. I
gushed to the singer (at left) on her break, in my drunken Spanish, how
awesome she and the trumpet player are. She was gracious (and probably
terrified). Here's
a video that I hope gives you an idea of their awesomeness. A group
came in and sat at the table near us, and one of the women asked Stefan for
a light (that happened constantly - lighters are hard to come by in Cuba),
and she, and her group, turned out to be from the USA, from New York City,
in fact, and they had been to Cuba before. They gushed about how much they
love it and how much they love to return. They visit a farm whenever they
come - they do some kind of agricultural work, and I should have asked them
more questions, but I was tipsy and didn't want to get into it.
Oh what a happy girl I was when we got home. But then Doña Berta got all
aflutter about our ride back to the airport, and then I got all aflutter. I
went back over my paperwork, and it looked like it was all arranged. Spoiler
alert: it wasn't. It wasn't clear in the paperwork, but in fact, a ride back
to the airport was NOT included in our booking. Good on Doña Berta for
following up!
Day 5 (Monday)
I was trying to keep track of our daily expenses, and doing a little math,
and by my calculations this day, we were spending, on average, a wee bit
less than 100 Cuban pesos a day, not including what I paid for our travel
coordination, guide and housing. That's actually really good - I'd read that
it's good to budget 100 Cuban pesos per person, and we were hitting that for
the two of us. We weren't skimping
on anything at all. I really wanted to buy some Cuban crafts, but there was
so little available, and what was looked cheap and kitschy. I had to stay
away from the book sellers, because I would have gone crazy buying antique
books - I know my addictions, and that one makes suitcases oh-so-heavy.
This
day, we didn't leave our own neighborhood, Vedado, at all. We were entranced
with the crumbling
grandeur of the houses of this neighborhood, some of them almost
palaces, and we wanted to see more of them, up close. Vedado is a very
green, walkable neighborhood, and it's skipped by most tourists. We followed
the tour recommended by my guidebook, for the most part. But first, we went
to a bank to change more money, and then stopped by a small outdoor market
we'd passed almost every day but never stopped at. As usual, we were
disappointed in the offerings - it all looked so kitschy.
It
was really humid, and I had a
migraine I had to get under control first. We began our tour with Havana
University, quite near our guest house. It is beautiful and worth a
visit, but, like most places in Vedado, it hasn't been upgraded since well
before the revolution - it would be a great place to film a movie set any
time before the 1960s. The views from the front of the university are
spectacular. I had watched Soy
Cuba ("I am Cuba"), which I had recorded off TCM months
before and watched a few weeks before our trip, and I recognized the front
of the university from that movie. We were looking for the Museo
Antropológico Montané, which according to my guidebook, has "a rich
collection of pre-Columbian Indian artifacts," and given how the
pre-Columbian people were completely wiped out by the ancestors of the
current residents, and my interest in pre-Columbia culture, I wanted to see
it. I wasn't expecting anything too grand - just a few rooms with dusty
items under glass - but we couldn't find it. It is somewhere on the campus
of the university, off the main square, but we couldn't find any sign for
it.
We gave up and walked on, past
a big hospital and near Revolution Plaza and down the Avenida Paseo,
to get to the Necrópolis Cristobal Colon, a massive, incredibly ornate
cemetery with about a million remains. Before we got to the cemetery, we
passed a long closed car dealership, and what looked like an
abandoned effort to build a park. We also found a
memorial to Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, and sat on a bench nearby
while I explained to Stefan who they were.
We asked two police officers standing a few meters away if there was a
restaurant nearby - I was needing something to drink, and at first got the
usual reaction to my Spanish: "Que?" This became a joke for Stefan, ala Faulty
Towers. I work SO hard to sound good when I speak Spanish - but I
guess I just sound super awful. Of course, when I speak English in England,
Scotland and Wales, I get the same reaction in English... the guy suddenly
realized that there was a cafe right outside the entrance to the cemetery,
so off we went. Near the entrance, we passed a
fire station (bomberos!) - the first and only one we'd seen - and we
should have stopped and met them, but we didn't realize we wouldn't be
coming back this same way. Just as the officer promised, there was a cafe
right outside the cemetery entrance and we stopped for drinks, to pee and to
people watch. We shared a table with a woman from Finland, who would be
walking back the way we came. A group of bicyclists, I suspect European,
stopped for refreshments as well mid-ride. The bathrooms had no running
water - after you went, a woman would go in with a large bucket of water.
The cafe was named after where it is - 25/12. Many restaurants are named
this way, which makes them really easy to find!
Then
we walked over to the cemetery, paid our admission and began our own tour. I
don't think Stefan enjoyed it much, but I was absolutely mesmerized.
It's a city of the dead: it has streets, and many of the massive
mausoleums look like grand houses from the outside. All
of the graves are raised. Some family crypts are simple, massive
marble slabs, and those buried there get
a little marble stand on top. There are common graves for baseball
players and umpires, for sailors,
for journalists,
for Japanese
Cubans, and, of course, for firefighters. And the cemetery reminded me
of something I'd noticed throughout Havana, on various memorials: being
a Mason used to be quite the status symbol. It's a peaceful, beautiful
space, worth an hour or even two of your time. On a really sunny day, take
an umbrella. I took so many photos that I created
a photo album just for these images - it was really hard to choose
just two for this travelogue.
We walked out, back to the 25/12 Cafe right outside the entrance, for a
bathroom break. I was not feeling well. I had felt fantastic
in Cuba up to this point, in every way, but something I ate, probably that
questionable hamburger at the book festival, had given me major tummy
trouble which, at that exact moment, was turning into a major bathroom
problem. Ugh. And in a bathroom with no running water. Ah, memories of my
illnesses in Kabul... working and traveling in developing countries! So
glamorous!
Just a block on our walk down Calle 12, we got fished into a restaurant bar,
with the waitress promising pizza. We ordered sodas and took photos of the baseball
memorabilia all around (and the
Christmas decorations), and our pizza arrived - flatted pieces of
bread with tomato sauce and a bit of cheese on them. We were starving and
ate them, but when the bill came, I threw a fit - amazing how much better my
Spanish gets when I'm angry. I threw down a five and said firmly
"Absolutamente no más!" and we walked out. Stefan said he saw the waitress
take the fiver and walk over and kinda throw it down to some guy at another
table. Whatever. We didn't get killed.
This is a good example of how our 15-year-old guidebook was, at times,
woefully outdated: for the area outside the cemetery entrance, it says,
"Several art galleries, cinemas, shops and cafeterias now grave this lively
corner of Vedado." Nope! It's a rundown area with many places entirely
shuttered. What I just wrote about is all there is now.
We walked all the way down Calle 12 to the Malecón, at the ocean - almost
three kilometers. It was gently downhill and worth the walk, to see the
incredible grand and decaying homes and palaces. I wondered if it would all
be renovated as the embargo lifts and people get more income, or if some
developer would start mowing it all down. If they will keep and restore most
these grand homes, even if they stay apartments rather than single family
homes, it will drastically affect tourism and investment in the country, in
a great way. But it helps long-term, not short-term, and developers and
governments only want short-term gains. We turned right at the Malecón, and
saw fisherman here or there, many of them with no fishing poles - they would
throw their lines out into the water and hold the line in their hands. The Hotel
Habana Riviera was in the distant, a typical 1950s Las Vegas-style
hotel. It reeks of the ghosts of Vegas mobsters. Famous guests include
Abbott and Costello, Steve Allen, Mamie Van Doren, William Holden (OMG!!!),
Nat King Cole and, of course, Ava Gardner. I think this is where the Cuba
meeting in The Godfather II was
imagined. We also came across the bicyclists from earlier - they stopped in
front of us and, when we got to where they were stopped, we realized one of
the riders, an older woman, was suffering from heat exhaustion. It was,
indeed, really hot.
We made it passed, and I was really hoping to make it all the way back to
our hotel, but even stopped at a tiny cafe for a rest and sodas, I couldn't
make it. I was brain dead and my legs were done. Of course, any time you really
need a taxi in Havana, there are none around. We started walking away from
Malecón to a more inner street and came across a Lada taxi. It's driven by
Juan Diaz, and I want to HIGHLY recommend him as a driver! His email is
j.diaz@nauta.cu, and his number is (+53) 05 296 7379. I wish we'd found him
earlier - he is delightful. He was so happy to tell Stefan of his time
studying in Germany long ago - in East Germany, of course. We really, really
liked this guy. He drove us passed the newly-opened USA embassy - I was
stunned at how closely we could get to it.
We got beer and chips at the Havana Libre convenience store. We loved that
little store, even when they were out of Cristal. They had such a weird
selection of things: A1 steak sauce, Pringles potato chips, cookies, and
cartons of sangria right next to the cartons of milk. We went back to our
flat, I took my second shower of the day, we ate, we drank, we napped in the
air conditioning. We also met a Chilean couple who were staying somewhere
nearby, as arranged by Doña Berta, and were talking in the living room with
her. They were super nice. They had been bicycling all over the country, for
20 days. I asked them what their favorite city was, and they said Trinidad,
no question. My prediction is that bicycle tourism is going to explode
quickly in Cuba, as adventure tourists look to get away from the hordes of
tourists soon to descend on Havana.
We got up at 7, and walked around some streets we hadn't seen yet. We felt
completely safe. We saw the India Embassy, in one of the once grand homes of
Vedado, and inside some homes that were lit from the inside. There were lots
of bars and little food bars everywhere, far more than we realized. We
passed a paladar which looked super expensive - I'm sure it was, and there
were massive xx buses outside. We were hungry, and decided to have our first
supper out, but weren't seeing anything that looked enticing, at least to
me. We stopped at the very questionable-looking Restaurante Wakamba near our
guest house, and it turned out to be a very good, cheap meal with excellent
service. Stefan said it was one of the first places outside of Germany where
the waiters know how to properly serve a beer and how to stand with proper
posture - he was super impressed. And I have to say one of our waiters was
the most handsome Cuban African men I have ever seen in my life - GET THAT
MAN A MODELING JOB. There is nothing special on the surface of this place,
and it's not the best food you've ever had, but it's a good, cheap meal,
Cubans eat there, I highly recommend it.
Day 6 (Tuesday)
It was our last full day in Cuba. I was really sorry I hadn't booked one day
trip to go farther outside of Havana, to see the Cuban countryside, maybe
even an actual Cuban farm. Had we done that, we would have had something to
do every day, no question. But now - what would we do today? There was
nothing left to do, as far as I could tell. And with a 15-year-old
guidebook, we knew we were missing out. Also, I wasn't feeling great, for
all the reasons you can imagine. I medded up, put on shorts and a t-shirt
for the first time, and looked over all the UN publications I'd gotten at
the book festival whilst Stefan showered. I also thought about how
incredibly Spanish-feeling Cuba is, far more than Mexico. What amazing
explorers that country used to have. But also what amazing destroyers of
indigenous culture.
Stefan suggested we go to the Museo
de Decorative Arts in Vedado, one of the very few rich people houses
that has been preserved. It is the former residence of the María Luisa
Gómez-Mena viuda de Cagiga, Countess of Revilla de Camargo, it was designed
in Paris and was built between 1924 and 1927 in a neo-classical style. It
has much of her furniture, dishes and sculptures, as well as items from
other houses from the same era. It gives you an idea of the elegance and
luxury that upper class families once enjoyed in Cuba - and like all such
houses anywhere in the world, the opulence can be a bit disturbing. My
favorite parts: the staircase (I love me a grand staircase!), the hidden
doors we found (they just look like parts of the wall) that lead to
bathrooms or provided a way to escape a room unseen, and a photo on the wall
that, we think, shows a guy with a metal detector finding a big collection
of items hidden behind a wall (during or after the Cuban Revolution? I guess
we'll never know). You have to pay a HEFTY fee to take photos inside, so
just Google the name of the museum to see all of what we saw. Unfortunately,
there were two big buses of elderly French-speaking tourists there at the
same time we were, and the guides were super focused on keeping us all from
misbehaving. According to the reviews I read online, if you go when it isn't
so over-run, the guides are actually super nice and helpful. We walked
around outside, looking at the once grand pool and gardens.
We walked to the bank near Habana Libre for one last money exchange - we
were afraid we couldn't make it for the next 18 hours on the pesos we had -
and then decided to go back to Old Town one more time. I asked a taxi how
much, and he quoted a ridiculous high price. We walked off. Then another guy
approached us, much cheaper. As he drove us on Malecón to old town, and as
we passed a gas station, we saw a long, long line of ADV Riders getting gas,
obviously foreign given their lovely dual sport bikes. I think I squee'd. We
really, really would love to return to Cuba and do a motorcycle ride.
Obviously, it's not impossible to import your motorcycle!
We got out and started looking for La Farmacia. I was getting overheated - I
knew I was about to be in trouble. Just when I was getting scared, we found
it, and I collapsed in my seat, so ready for non-stop cold drinks. I stuck
with colas. Unfortunately, there was construction going on nearby, so we had
to listen to a jackhammer the entire time. Not fun. Still - I love this
place. We had a bit of food, and then were stunned when it started to rain!
It was a light sprinkled, very pleasant to walk in. We were walking towards
El Capitolio Nacional, and just as we got to Hotel Iglaterra, it
started to really pour. We stood in the covered walkway in front of
the hotel and watched the deluge. It felt wonderful, refreshing. It sounded
wonderful. I was so happy for the poor, poor horses pulling the carriages.
When it was starting to lighten up, we crossed the street and headed closer
to El Capitolio Nacional, to make sure we absolutely couldn't go in - and,
indeed, we couldn't.
We walked back down Obisbo, a street we walked down the first day and that
feels like the main tourist walkway, and it was PACKED. It was crowded all
the way down. We were so confused. We hadn't dealt with crowds like this at
all, ever. We found a artisan market that we'd seen our very first day but
didn't go in, and lucky us, it not only had the first lovely handcrafts we'd
seen (I bought a tile), but they let us use the bathrooms reserved for the
artists! Then we walked back to the dive cafe across from the ferry port,
and during the walk, we found out why there were hoards of tourists: a
massive cruise ship. Oh, no, TWO massive cruise ships. Old Town was
ready for them, with cars and horse-drawn
carriages at the ready. We got to our cafe and just
sat, drank Cristal beer and watched them - few came to our patio, we
think because it didn't look all that scenic. We stayed there for more than
an hour. Maybe two hours. And the weirdest part: there was this beggar in a
wheel chair that had hit me up for money as soon as I came out of the bank
back in Vedado early in the day. I brushed him off (even in developing
countries, I give to NGOs rather than beggars 99% of the time - I'm too
afraid my money isn't going to feed that person but, rather, to the mafia
person or abusive father forcing the person to beg). Hours later, I was
staring out the doorway of La Farmacia, about 3.5 km away, and who is there
looking at me with his hand out? Same beggar dude. And then, as we sat in
the cafe about 1.5 km from La Farmacia and got up to leave, who was staring
right at me from the street next to the patio? Same dude. No way he was
following us - but, indeed, he was working the streets that well and that
hard. Wow. Give that man a JOB!
We
strolled back down the street to find a taxi, and I asked Stefan to take one
more photo of me. Our trip was coming to an end. This building where we took
this photo is dilapidated now, as is the pier next to it, but I'm sure,
within five years, they will be refurbished, paid for by the cruise
companies, to handle more cruise ships. More tourists. This mural will be
long gone then.
We found a taxi
back to Habana Libre, and the Cuban music playing, the beautiful
sunset... we sat in the back, holding hands, and I almost started crying.
I'm almost ready to go home at the end of a trip, and I was at the end of
this trip, but I also am tremendously sad to say goodbye to an adventure. I
really like me on a trip.
We walked back to our guest house from the hotel. My feet were beyond gross,
because of the rain. Time for a shower just for my feet! Then I took a nap
while Stefan went to look for some beer and maybe something to eat. He came
back an hour later with some french fries, water and beer. We couldn't sit
out on the patio - Doña Berta had done laundry and it was everywhere drying.
So we just sat in our room, chatting, packing, thinking out loud. We packed
up completely before bed, wanting to be able to just walk out the door for
the airport at 3:30 a.m., no worries. I went right to sleep. I was
exhausted. I have to say, I rarely had trouble sleeping in Cuba. I did wear
earplugs some nights, but usually, I didn't need them.
Good thing Stefan packed an empty backpack in his bag: indeed, we'd
acquired just enough stuff that it didn't fit in my bag. Plus, we
wanted to buy some things at duty free in Mexico City. So sad that
Kindersurprise, available for purchase in Mexico, is illegal in the USA...
I'm sure no one ever buys some and hopes that, perhaps, no one will check
their bag as they come back into the USA... no one at all...
Last day, heading home
I awoke at 2:30 a.m., on my own. As we road with Viktor to the airport,
Stefan noted that we'd never done this ride in the day time, and that was
kinda of disappointing - it would have been nice to see more. But I was
stunned that, at 3:30 p.m., there were always people on every street,
usually just two or three, on their way to somewhere. At the airport, the
departure area for flights was completely different than arrivals - clean,
orderly, efficient, quite pleasant. We checked in and then I sat in a
waiting area while Stefan went outside to smoke two cigarettes. It was a
cool, very pleasant morning after two days of such incredible heat and
humidity. I started thinking about all of the airports I've been in all
over the world, how many places I've been, how different they've been and,
yet, in many ways, how alike. There are great people everywhere, there are
bad people that can always be found among them, no matter where you are in
the world. I feel so bad for people that live in fear of their fellow
humans, not because of any personal trauma they have experienced first
hand, but because of what they hear about, and how they have turned
statistically rare violent events into things that they fear will happen
to them tomorrow. I don't fear terrorism anywhere near the way I fear car
accidents. I don't fear Muslims any more than I fear Christians - most
Muslims don't hijack planes or bomb buildings or shoot people and don't
want to murder people, just as most Christians don't blow up health
clinics, don't shoot health care workers, don't molest children and don't
want to murder people. Most Muslim families seem to just want to feed me,
just all the Baptist families I've encountered in Kentucky. The more I
travel, the less I fear all of humanity. I still fear people sometimes -
usually an individual, a teen boy or a man, walking or standing too close
to me somewhere that I feel vulnerable. But humans, in general? Nope.
The Cuban bathroom attendants really wanted Mexican pesos instead of
Cuban coins. Sorry, ladies! There were several Cuban athletes on their way
to Mexico City on our flight - not sure why. Turned out there were some
athletes from Honduras as well. They all looked so sleepy, I decided not
to bother them with my questions. We so appreciate that the Havana airport
has what airports in the USA do NOT have: clocks everywhere! And they were
all accurate! The airport was the first place in our entire trip where I
saw an Internet lounge, btw. After we got through security - where they
took one of Stefan's lighters, but not the other, and also took the small
facial scissors that had made it through every airport to Cuba... and
before - I sat looking around at the athletes and trying to eaves drop
while Stefan went to smoke more in a smoking room. He came back and said,
"There are Russians already completely drunk in the lounge." It wasn't
even 5:30 a.m.!!!
Our flight to Mexico City was quiet and uneventful - and we got a row to
ourselves (hurrah!). And the little TVs on our flight showed commercials,
in Spanish, for TV shows, movies, cities and countries, and tips for how
to be happy. And the tips were pretty good! (get enough rest, do something
you love every day, don't eat junk food...). The smog was awful in Mexico
City - I
could barely see the twin volcanoes, Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl,
poking out - as we descended, we could see at least half a dozen fires. I
remembered how bad the smog could be in Austin, Texas because of the fires
in Mexico.
Once we landed, the athletes all headed straight for the transfers
counter, so Mexico City wasn't their last stop. We went through customs
and outside the security area, and thus began our six hour layover in
Mexico City. I sat in a waiting area while Stefan had some smokes, and I
had to stop myself from giggling at all the people bundled up around me,
freezing. Then we went and checked in for our flight to the USA. We
took our time, having breakfast at Restaurante
Casa Ávila, "la mejor comida española." I know, eating at a Spanish
restaurant in Mexico... is that like eating at a British pub in New York
City? It was, in fact, a delicious breakfast. We were surrounded by
business people, mostly men, and images of Ávila, where I twice took two
weeks of intensive Spanish classes at IEMA
- Instituto Español Murallas de Ávila, which I highly highly highly
recommend. BTW: my Spanish is much
better in the mornings than the late afternoons or evenings.
Then we headed over to the food court - which we found by accident - and
I bought the latest New York Times
and USA Today, and did something
I haven't done in years: took all the time I needed to read both from
beginning to end. It was heavenly. I so miss reading print, with proper
spelling and grammar and editing and citations. Although, wow, USA Today
is even worse than I remember - it was like Fox News light in print.
Unfortunately, Stefan was bored out of his poor mind. The only way he can
be content for hours with nothing to do is to build a fire and let him
tend to it. Of course, I've taken that away from him at home, by leaving
the dogs unsupervised and his beloved quartz fire pit smashing into a
million pieces - oh, no, don't think even Cuba has driven that horrible
moment and reality from my mind. We got up and strolled into an exhibit
area, which featured information and textiles representing the diverse
indigenous peoples of Mexico. Then we went back to the food court area and
tried to find ice cream. The best we could do some some sort of frozen
treat from Carl's Jr.
My right ankle had started swelling a bit at the end of day 3 on this
trip, and was always a bit swollen at the end of every day after that. So
at the airport, I always had my carry on bag in front of me when I sat, so
I could sit with my feet up. I had gotten so scared when my ankles were so
swollen after my long flights from Portland to Ukraine back in 2014, and I
now watch them oh-so-closely when I'm traveling.
At long last, it was time to go to our gate. The flight back to Salt Lake
City was awful. It is absolutely shameful how the airlines have packed us
in airplanes now. It cannot be safe. Everyone was miserable on that Delta
flight. MISERABLE. Even the flight attendants, the same ones we'd had on
our way down to Mexico City a week before (I remembered because I found
them delightful) seemed overwhelmed by the crowd and madness. I felt bad
for them, I felt bad for us, and I cursed the airline executives getting
new summer homes on the money they were making at our misery. We landed,
and then went to the wrong gate, in another terminal, for a flight back to
PDX that was NOT ours. We sprinted back to where we were supposed to be,
and were the last ones on our plane. Once again, a miserable flight. Shame
on all of you, and thank you, Senator
Schumer, who somehow heard me say, "Airlines have taken this too
far! The government needs to mandate minimum seat sizes!" to Stefan, and
is now
pushing for that regulation. When are people going to understand
that corporations CANNOT regulate themselves?!
Back in PDX, we took the shuttle to our car in the long-term parking lot
- and had a flat tire. ARGH! Stefan smoked while I pushed the emergency
button. The maintenance truck showed up about 20 minutes later, and Stefan
pumped up our tire using the generator himself, much to the delight of the
maintenance worker. And at long last, we came home to a very happy dog and
cat. We went almost right to bed, at midnight - we were wiped out.
And that's my trip to Cuba!
A reminder: please consider donating to The
Aniplant Project, Inc. (TAP), a nonprofit in the USA dedicated to
the protection of animals, and its primary activity is to support Aniplant
(Asociación Cubana para la Protección de Animales y Plantas) of Havana
Cuba. Aniplant is not part of the Cuban government and receives no
financial help from the Cuban government, but it is the only animal
protection organization permitted to function in Cuba. Aniplant's HQ is in
Havana, but it provides services throughout most parts of Cuba. In 2014
Aniplant sterilized over 5,000 dogs and cats in its traveling weekend
clinics which move throughout the country. I've made a small donation to
TAP in support of dogs and cats in Cuba, and I so, so hope you will do the
same, and like their
Facebook page, to stay up-to-date on their work.
Also, my disclaimer from part
1 of this blog, on another page: This
is my experience
in Cuba, in February 2016. I'm a 50-year-old white women, originally
from Kentucky, now living in Oregon, and that's my filter. I've been to
more than 35 countries - and I still don't at all consider myself
worldly, wise or even mostly appropriate. I wrote this travelogue from a
place of honesty and sincerity and my personal perspective, never from a
place of unkindness, and it is, no doubt, rife with my prejudices,
misunderstandings and ignorance about oh-so-many things - because I'm
human, not a machine. I made no attempt to be comprehensive about Cuban
life or culture or history - I wrote about what I saw, experienced and
felt in one week there. This
is account full of opinions, and I make no claims to being impartial.
This is Cuba through my lenses, and when you go, or if you live there,
or if you lived there, please, by all means, write about it through your
lenses.
Photos from our trip to Cuba:
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