A colourfully dressed black woman with a large basket of fruit perched on top of her head waits for a tourist willing to pay for a photo opportunity… and she finds one. The man and his wife take a number of photos which the woman happily poses for. I am not sure how much of a tip they leave her, but from the body language she is satisfied as she walks back to her spot in front of the cathedral.
It’s Saturday night, and I have followed Gustavo’s instructions through old Havana to find Plaza Catedral, a huge square dominated by an old cathedral and lined with magnificent old colonial buildings in various state of disrepair and renovation. The largest to the right of the cathedral is elegant and renovated, with a balcony across the whole of the front of the building on the second floor, facing the square filled with linen covered tables and diners enjoying the balmy evening.
Earlier a huge thunderstorm bucketed down on the city, accompanied by lightning. The streets are now full of mud and puddles making walking along them an obstacle course. The back of my legs are flecked with mud spots thrown up by sandals as I negotiate the slippery cobblestones and puddles. Now the night is clear and the large square is bathed in soft yellow light from the restaurant across from me and from antique lanterns strategically placed to light up the buildings as well.
A six piece band is playing. The podium they are on gives best views to the restaurant patrons but also to the passers by strolling through the square. A haunting violin solo is playing as I sit observing the square and all of its activity. A moment of silence as it ends and then the band bursts into a salsa beat and all around the square people nod, tap their feet and move their bodies in time to the music.
Waiters touting for business look on nervously as a man holding a bottle of what looks like rum, sways and gesticulates wildly as he walks towards a young woman in uniform, perhaps security staff, who moves towards him to stop him getting any closer to the patrons. She tries to placate him, gently at first and then more firmly as he tries to explain his situation. From what I understand someone has attacked him, as he shows her and motions where he has been struck. Eventually she encourages him to walk with her out of the square and away from public view.
Berta is a woman with shiny black skin that almost glows in the night light. She is dressed modestly in a long layered dress with her head wrapped in white cloth, the typical head wear of many of the Afro-Cuban women here. It is hard to guess her age but she looks to me to be about 45. She greets me with a huge smile and in perfect English tells me that life is very hard and it upsets her that people just accept the situation without speaking up. The Government is bad, she tells me. She also tells me that she is 65, and has a 40 year old son. I am incredulous, and even more so, when she tells me that she has been imprisoned 4 times for public disobedience. “I won’t keep quiet, so they will keep trying to stop me speaking”, she says sadly, “but nice to meet you”, she says as she wanders off.
Alain is 38 and a chess “master”, who competes and teaches chess to young people at school. I meet him on Sunday lunch time at Calleyon de Hamel, a small street near Malecon (the long broad walk along the waterfront) a few blocks from where I am staying. It is a place where Santeria (a religion with African and Catholic elements) is practiced and where every Sunday from 12 to 3 adherents of the Santeria religion sing and dance and play Rumba music. The few tourists who wander down are welcomed and invited to join in. The small street is already humming with activity when I arrive. Vivid artwork, slogans and Santeria beads and altars decorate every possible surface. Keen Bob Marley look-alikes are already selling music CD’s and an enterprising woman is doing a brisk trade selling mojitos and other drinks to thirsty hot visitors. I can’t remember what is different about Alain’s remarks as he walks past me, but somehow we start chatting. Perhaps it is because he asks me a serious question about philosophy or my values because he sees me trying to read the words of the poems and other writing painted on the walls in Spanish, but we are soon having a lively conversation sometimes in English (which he speaks very well) or Spanish which I speak very hesitantly, but want to practice. Alain’s background is one of deprivation and abuse, and playing chess (taught to him by an uncle) has become a way for him to escape his everyday problems. He says playing chess has helped him stay strong, be happy and succeed. His dream of competing at world level is difficult as he has no computer nor access to internet and no passport- the cost is prohibitive, and even though he works full time teaching at a local school, his take home monthly wage is about 60 AUD. His home situation is difficult as he is forced to live with an Aunt and her husband and their children (both his parents live in other provinces with new partners and families) and the energy in the apartment is noisy and negative and not conducive to chess practice and study. In spite of his circumstances Alain is neither negative nor looking for handouts and I am impressed by his determination and energy.
Coming to Cuba…conclusions
Years ago I dreamed of going to Cuba, especially Havana. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was because it just seemed to be the most unknown, dangerous and exciting destination I could think of at the time, or perhaps it was because Hemingway wrote “Old Man and the Sea" here (which I don’t think I have read, or if I have, I’ve forgotten), but something called me to visit this faraway place.
When a journalist friend was going to Cuba to do a story for the ABC about 25 years ago, I asked to tag along, but at the last minute I got sick and couldn’t travel. Now, sitting at the Marti Jose Airport waiting for my flight to Mexico City, after two weeks of being in Havana I can’t believe I made it, and had such a good time.
Cuba has been a much safer, welcoming and interesting destination that I imagined. (Notwithstanding the attention from Cuban men, the pollution, the poverty and lack of things we take for granted in Australia, and the fact that I did have my camera stolen).
What I will remember the most is atmosphere of a city that really never sleeps, that sings and dances and ekes out an existence in spite of bureaucracy and repression and lack of basic modern infrastructure whose people are born with rhythm and hope and the ruthless opportunism that comes from being in survival mode and yet are warm and hospitable and resilient.
I will remember the view from my balcony and the sounds of locals calling out to each other in greeting and frustration, the taste of the papaya, pineapple, mango and guava that Gustavo prepared for me each morning, my clothes saturated with sweat from the heat and exertion of salsa classes, my body gliding effortlessly across the dance floor under Luiz’s command, dancing in the rain, having a conversation and not realizing I was actually speaking Spanish, singing with Gustavo and Raul, sitting in the Plaza Catedral, standing in endless queues, looking for a birthday card (they don’t exist) and an envelope (they do, but are impossible to find) drinking Mojitos, having icecream at Copelia and going to the YARA cine, the boy lying motionless in the street who I thought was dead, struggling with Spanish grammar, teaching my professor meditation, my lungs burning from constantly inhaling exhaust fumes, eating Flan (Cubas version of crème caramel) at Hotel Florinda, catching “collective taxis” each day, clubbing in Cuba, photos, bookstores and memorabilia about Cuban hero Che Guevara,
slogans about national unity, and everywhere, always the sound of salsa music.
Mostly I will remember the people who made my stay here what it was.
To Gustavo for giving me a home
To Alain (professor) who gave me a Spanish voice
To Louis, who was my Fred Astaire
To Elizabetta, who made movimento so much fun. My “Torax”, hips and shoulders thank you!
To Ulrike and Roberto for taking me under your wings for the first few days
To the doorman who made me feel at home
To Priya and Seema, sisters and fellow travelers, your company, albeit brief was a joy
To Alain (chess master) for so many things
Gracias
Mon x
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