Hola Familia y Amigos!
Day 2 in Cuba found us well-oriented and now on our own in Habana for the next three days, free to wander and lose ourselves. We stumbled through the cobbled back streets, bearing witness to the local edifices, sidewalk affairs like businesses selling comestibles, locals showing us the colorful side of Cuba with their traditional attire and musicians making our day and leaving us to feel welcome. There are other parts of Havana not so ‘down and dirty’ as Habana Vieja, so we set forth to check these out, Vedado, the central business district, where we first targeted the famous Hotel Nacional de Cuba, pictures of which I had inherited from my adoptive mother, Kay, on her two month honeymoon trip in 1938, 75 years before this adventure! Transportation was a 1953 green Chevrolet, housing a Hyundai engine and sporting a Peugeot steering wheel (Frankenstein car). At the end of our stay in Cuba, we rode “in style” in a 1981 Russian Lada, bearing a Peugeot engine and parts from a Daihatsu and a Hyundai. Prior to entering our Chevy chariot, I felt a tug on my arm, finding my old shrunken “tongue” lady from the previous day who had punched me, now giving me the “tongue-drooping-out-of-one-side-of-the-mouth” look, pinching my side with a lascivious sly grin and a little tin cup thrusting in my direction. I was laughing so hard I had to give her something. Though it wasn’t much, she cast a wrinkled squinty wink at me as she walked away.
Whisked away to the Nacional by our driver, we learned a great deal on a short ride about his car and life in Cuba. Upon arrival, we took in the grandeur of this landmark, its old world decorous interior with chandeliers, high ceilings and multiple archways, followed by the manicured green grounds leading down to the ocean. At the edge of the lawn was a bunker used during the Cuban Missile Crisis, with paraphernalia documenting that momentous moment in history, which brought back memories for me, at 17 y.o., when my high school girlfriend and I went out on what we thought might be our last date ever! Following this history lesson, we moved on, using our map, to find our 2nd target of the day, Coppelia’s, for ice cream (excellent choice on this hot and humid day, our shirts already dripping with sweat). It was a two-part operation. We were relegated to the non-local section, where only CUC’s are accepted. We purchased our two scoops each of ice cream for less than 1 CUC and Coppelia’s reputation turned out to be well-deserved. Even on a cold day this would have been Heaven. On another day, keeping in step with visiting the more upper scale parts of Habana, we hopped off of the Hop-On-Hop-Off bus at the Copacabana and traversed the tree-lined 5th Avenue, walking down the plush, grassy median in the Miramar district, home to international embassies, e.g., Sri Lanka, Iran, Bahamas and somewhere, Raul Castro’s residence.
After downing our luscious ice cream cones, and with our maps in hand (which became a point of humor on P’s and my inability to be as accurate as we thought we would be) and with help from some university kids, we finally got on track to our 3rd target, a well-known music venue, Callejon de Hamel. Still, we found ourselves questioning our direction. So P and I stopped to ask a Santeria lady (easily spotted in white attire), who pointed twice in two successive directions then walked away. When Maggie and M caught up with us, we told them we had found the way, which they were distrustful of (rightfully so). So we told them we found a Santeria and she “knew” things. Luckily, Santeria lady turned out to be correct and P and I got a little bit of credit, finally. Alas, no music that afternoon, but the art work was amazing, colorful and psychedelically appointed. Art was elsewhere in Habana as well. We continued walking, as we had been since the Hotel, now toward the Museo Napoleonico, stumbling upon a large square of about 200 school children being taught the Rhumba. At the museum, we were treated to Napoleon’s death mask, paintings of him in royal attire (his narcissism on full display), ornately appointed military hardware and uniforms circa late 18th –early 19th century, as well as decoratively bejeweled furniture. We were held captive beyond our point of exhaustion in the sweltering heat, the museum attendant explaining to us in detail every single item, M translating for us, finally breaking free, as we tipped her generously when she told us she could get fired for providing information, as her job was only to safeguard the treasures. The only other museum that we visited was Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, which held paintings and exhibits depicting life in the 1800’s and up to pre-revolution Cuba (1959). The newer works were quite modern and surprisingly stunning, very frank commentary on politics and state of the country, which did not necessarily reflect well on the Castro government.
Upon questioning Alex on our first date with him, we had asked about mojitos and night life, to which he highly recommended Bar Bilbao on O’Reilly Street (not sure where the Irish influence came from). On our own now, and dangerously armed with maps, one each for P and me, we finally found Bilbao’s, a small intimate bar located on the corner, with a seating capacity of maybe 20 maximum, a four piece band stuffed into a tight corner, doors open, allowing a small, but much needed night breeze. Maggie was the center of attention from the saxophonist, who sidled the 20 feet from his band to be in front of her, suggestively playing his horn. It sure made Maggie’s day! It made his day when we gave him a 3 CUC tip (1 CUC=&1 USD and an average monthly wage in Cuba is 20-30 CUC). We weren’t through with our ‘mojito crawl’ though, and headed out to find Ambos Mundos on Obispo Street, our 2nd target, but passed on going there since it didn’t look funky enough, especially after Bilbao’s intimacy and charm, but visiting it on our last night in Cuba instead to test their mojitos. Bar Bilbao was the hands down winner. Our 3rd stop was Bosquecitos at the corner of San Ignacio & O’Reilly, whose menu did not light us up and the mojito did not measure up to Bilbao’s. Moving on, we were drawn to music emanating from inside Café de Paris, but passed that up (we were hungry now) after seeing a couple leaving, mentioning that the food was ‘pretty bad’. We did finally find, of all things, a brewery at Plaza Vieja, where we topped off the night, under the stars, eating bruschetta with rice, drinking the brewery’s tasty suds. In the following days, we would indulge ourselves at a couple of Hemmingway hang outs: Sloppy Joe’s, around the corner from our hotel, with great sandwiches (Cubano, ham & cheese) and mojitos (Bilbao still the winner) and the Floridita, up the Prado, for ‘world famous’ daiquiris and a light dinner, having our picture taken at the bar and later, in front of a 7 foot tall martini glass bearing the Havana Club rum logo.
Probably the most unique experience we had on the island (Alex had mentioned on our first day that Cuba is not one island, but 4000!) came when Maggie and I took a turn around the block from our hotel and ended up side-by-side with a young 20-something local couple, who proceeded to invite us to a Salsa Festival, a one day only event. We followed them to a small hole-in-the-wall place, where the female wrote us (in beautiful penmanship I might add) a note of admission for quarto personas (that would be the four of us travelers), gave us the cross streets where we would gain free admission. While these slips of admission were being created, four drinks mysteriously appeared, followed by a couple of ‘souvenir’ coins and free cigars (allegedly Cuban), and a pitch to come with them to the Mercado to purchase milk for her two year old, pulling up her shirt to show the scar on her stomach from a supposed C-section, plying us with questions on our children, grandchildren, really ‘milking’ this thing. According to her, the Mercado only took CUC’s (Cuban Convertible Peso), not the CUP’s (Cuban Peso, which is not exchanged outside Cuba and used by the locals only). So now Maggie and I are feeling the “con”, but playing along with it as it is part of what we want to experience when we travel (so long as it does not endanger our lives). We finally had enough and politely said we couldn’t go with them, paid for the outrageously priced drinks, gave them 3 CUC’s and bid them good bye…small price for a good story. Turned out the cross streets for the “festival” did not exist and the cigar was pure garbage!!! Several days later, when we hooked back up with Alex, before we barely got started with the tale, he howled with laughter, saying “So you experienced the Salsa Festival come-on! I forgot to warn you about that. It is the #1 scam in Habana”. At the end of our Habana experience, we would also experience another hazard of traveling in poor areas. We took a cycle rickshaw to the Mercado de Artesania on the harbor channel northwest of our hotel, we purchased three cool original Cuban art on canvas, bold and colorful, music-themed works, painted spatula-style for a total of $100 USD. They were rolled up and in my back pack, and to the testimony of ‘artful’ thievery, they were deftly plucked from my backpack, unbeknownst to me, somewhere on the way back to the hotel. A bit more expensive ruse than the Salsa Festival. Sad thing is, we really loved these paintings.
Music was everywhere in Cuba, in clubs, on the street, but the big ($170 USD) deal was our night at the famous Tropicana, established in 1939, with an interesting history involving gambling, la Cosa Nostra, the infamous Trafficante family and well-known mob “accountant” Meyer Lansky. The performance would go from 10:00 p.m. to midnight. It was a long ride from the Prado and upon arrival at this gaudy and showy venue, the women each received a long-stem carnation, the men, one authentic Cuban cigar each, and at our table right next to the stage, a glass of champagne each, nuts, soft drinks and a bottle of Havana Club rum, we found ourselves in an open air, under-the-stars setting, trees surrounding the entire seating area, lights mounted on platforms up in the trees to showcase the performers, several levels of stages and staircases, We felt we were back in the 40’s, the heyday for The Tropicana. The cast of lithe, supple and young dancers was 70 strong, with many costume changes to stun us with their bright pageantry. The audience was international in makeup, not where the locals go (or can afford). At the end of the night’s program, countries were announced of those in attendance, followed by some brave souls getting up on stage and dancing (or some sort of simulation thereof) with the cast. Of course, to be true to the No Tourist Left Behind policy, the four of us hopped up on stage, following the moves of the cast and other guests. What a night to remember!!
On another day, a less memorable musical experience was at Casa de la Musica, where we paid for a performance starting at 5:00 p.m., ending up sitting through 2 hours of bizarre videos, blooper and candid camera-like film clips, with canned music, yet patrons were dancing at their tables! Totally confusing. The main act started at 7:00 p.m. and wasn’t even Cuban! It was Mexican. Just another story to tell of our sometimes failed moments. We left after an hour of this and stopped at Bar Bilbao to make up for that fiasco. Hemmingway was throughout Habana, so we had to visit Hemmingway House in the hills on the outskirts of Habana, with a commanding view of the city in the distance. We saw his study, his boat, “Pilar”, hunting trophies, paintings, library and his pool.
The personal highlight of Habana for me was finding the statue that Kay posed in front of in 1938. I had shown it to Alex. He knew exactly what (Generalisimo Maximo Gomez, sculpted by the Italian, Obra de Aldo Gamba) and where it was located. The four of us set out to locate it and have me imitate her pose. Pretty humorous, with them telling me how to move my limbs, shoulders, step right, now to the left. The final result completed my tribute to her and her Cuban experience, having passed in 1992 from Alzheimer’s. One more dispatch to come from the rural areas of Trinidad and Cienfuegos, and Santa Clara.
Hasta Luego, Stan & Maggie