A few years ago Corbin and I visited Cuba.
I visited because I was curious about a socialist Caribbean nation. Also, I wanted my twenty year old grandson to experience a place different than Virginia, Minnesota, Iceland, Florida, North Carolina or New York.
When we cruised into Havana harbor I was surprised by the murky and dark littered water. Also, there was a stale smell in the air. These first impressions contrasted with other places visited in the Caribbean where the water was clear and the breeze usually free of any foul odors. Next, there was an absence of small boats and yachts and several rusting hulks of small ships were moored nearby. The only small boats were wooden fishing craft and a few aged fiberglass models. I found out later, the rusting small ships were old Soviet patrol boats abandoned after the Berlin Wall fell and the Soviet Union crumbled.
Clearing customs took place in a dark warehouse where agents offered few smiles or greetings. The only bright spot of the entry system were the attractive young customs ladies in their tight uniforms and interesting nylon stockings. After ascending a huge set of steps we passed through a large room of vendors and welcoming decorations which struck me as handmade creations of school children.
At the time of our visit, the Cuban government required tourists to signup for at least two excursions. We chose a "Havana Heritage Walking Tour" and evening at the "Tropicana Cabaret". Once on the street we marveled at the variety of available transportation. In addition to old American cars, there were horse drawn carriages, various peddled cab like vehicles, modern buses, vans, rickshaws, motorbikes, miscellaneous Russian and European cars along with a few modern automobiles. The streets around the port area vibrated with horns, shouts, backfiring engines, laughter, and Latin music. Traffic cops stopped the constant rush of vehicles and politely guided tourists across the main street while fussing with impatient drivers blasting their horns.
For the next few days we walked many miles of streets and alley ways around Havana.
The Spanish themed buildings and churches were awesome, but too many were in awful states of decay or disrepair. Above the ground level is where many people lived. Their niches were easily identified by the lines of drying clothes waving in the wind. Our guide told us while a few people had washing machines, very few had clothes dryers. The backstreets were filled with government markets and stores which carried modest stocks of goods while the limited number of private restaurants and shops were a bit more lively. There were many cats and dogs roaming the streets and our guide informed us most had tags issued by the government. Given a little attention several of the street dogs followed our group for many blocks seeking friendship or handouts. The locals were slightly curious about our presence and between their poor English and our limited Spanish we engaged a few in casual conversations.
As many buildings and streets were being repaired it was incredible how slow some workers pursued their tasks. Watching one man move two or three bricks in twenty minutes, I asked our guide about this practice. The guide chuckled and noted that Cubans received the same wage for whatever job they were assigned to and therefore, for many, there was little incentive to work fast or hard. In contrast, he mentioned that Cubans in the tourist trade and those given a license to run a private business had chances for profits and tips and that was a big incentive. Along the way, we encountered street performers, beggars and vendors selling souvenirs, cigars, and a variety of fruits, food and drink. They were friendly and not aggressive in their selling or promoting.
After our walking tour, Corbin and I decided to go separate ways for a few hours. While I plopped down at a park bench for some serious people and old car watching, Corbin had a very interesting experience. Later that night, he related encountering an old man strumming a guitar on the steps fronting a large building. The man was playing for tips. Corbin said he tossed a few coins in his basket and sat beside him to enjoy his playing. Being a musician, but sharing no firm way to communicate, Corbin and the old man began to somehow exchange guitar chords and the old fellow allowed Corbin to use his guitar. Soon, they were "jamming" and enjoying their musical encounter as a few curious pedestrians stopped to watch a young American and an old Cuban exchange chords. After a few hours, the old man bid Corbin to follow him and Corbin did. Corbin was led to a dilapidated old building up the stairs to it's fourth or fifth floor. He entered an apartment full of people he guessed were the old guys family. Immediately, Corbin was greeted with smiles and an invitation to dine with the old mans family. With very few common words between them, Corbin enjoyed a tasty stew of vegetables mixed with some kind of meat. Even though he expressed a few initial misgivings, Corbin felt his encounter with the aged guitar player and his family was a memorable event. I agree.
This encounter impressed Corbin. He immediately wanted to know about moving or visiting Cuba again. He was genuinely impressed by the warmth and friendliness of the old guitar man and his family.
One night we attended the "Tropicana Cabaret". The bus ride there showed us more crumbling buildings, the lack of street lighting, impoverished grand old hotels and long lines at gas stations. The show was a Las Vegas style major tourist event featuring talented and scantily dressed dancers. Lots of rum, elegantly dressed musicians, sets, and chorus lines filled the evening with an explosion of colors, sounds and spectacle. While impressive, I felt the experience was less contemporary Cuban and more a touristy reflection of Hemingway's pre Castro Cuba times.
We did a few more walks around Havana before our Cuban holiday ended. One of our guides was an ex soldier and he offered interesting observations about the black market, deep poverty, pride, and optimism of the Cuban people.
In my opinion, the people of Cuba have suffered and endured many decades of western trade embargos, Castro/Russian communism and socialism since the great missile crisis of the 1960's. Unlike their island neighbors and from my limited observations, Cuba is not a care free tropical retreat. All the Cubans, Corbin and I encountered were warm and friendly folk. Their material depravation, difficulty in free travel, and inability to enjoy better standards of living seem an unfair fate for an island nation barely ninety miles away from Florida.
As the Castro regime has passed and the the Cuban people are increasingly calling for more liberty from their world of government induced poverty and repression, we must support their efforts. Cuba has been on my mind lately. From my brief visit, I remember most the common bound my grandson and an old Cuban man shared for a few hours. In retrospect, it was a moving and powerful gesture of how people of different generations and cultures can bond in friendship while governments cannot or will not.
