A great opportunity was opened for me when a close friend and former colleague from my days working on a State Department contract for the U.S. Refugee Program invited us to visit him in Havana. Though many quasi-legal avenues are open for U.S. travelers, I went through the legal channels, which took lots of paperwork and several weeks to clear, but it was well worth it.
Upon leaving the Havana airport, and heading out on a four-lane highway, probably one of the best in Cuba, I was struck by a large billboard on the side of the road. It was a giant portrait of a little girl in a Cuban schoolgirl uniform with violin bow in hand, playing an invisible violin. The girls face showed all the intensity of a concert violinist. The slogan was translated to me as, "You can take away my violin, but you can't take away my music!"
I was accompanied by my wife "Fabulous", who is a Brazilian, and as she would put it, "a Latin, da germa". A Latin to the core. It would be through her eyes and the eyes of our American host, that I would see Cuba, as my own sight has been failing due to a long-term retinal deterioration. I mention this, only because some of the observations were gathered with many other senses.
My first close up of Havana was the area of the diplomatic residential community, Cubanacan. Before the Revolution, it was called "Country Club". The houses around this former ex-pat only country club and golf course are sturdy and gated. Many have their own generators to deal with the now daily Havana power outages, to supply air-conditioners against the relentless heat.
I guess you could say that the country club's "comrade barrier", was broken in 1959, as witnessed by the photograph of Fidel and Che in their fatigues, playing golf at the once exclusive turf of Cuba's foreign investors. This well-known propaganda shot, illustrated the new balance of power. But if the Cuban people wanted to play golf they would have to use invisible clubs, as well as make music with invisible violins.
Heroic leaders don't play invisible violins, they play air guitar, that obsession of most teenaged boys where they stand in front of mirrors, make a sneering face and act real tough while wailing invisible music. There would be a lot of air guitar to be played in the turbulent history of Cuban-American relations, at one point to the brink of nuclear war. I don't really have much against air guitar, as long as people aren't doing it professionally.
At this point you may ask am I offended because I am on the Left or the Right. It's mostly because I am a musician.
Our friends made it immediately clear that they were under electronic surveillance and avoided sensitive conversations in their car. This was especially evident when discussing Cuban nationals with who you were having social contact. Havana is a "non-fraternization" post, which specifically refers to sexual encounters, but is interpreted more broadly to include social contacts. My friend, who I will call "The Eagle", said rather proudly, "I really don't give a damn and I'll talk about what I want in my own home". But he did cut conversations short with me in the house on several occasions.
I was getting a greater understanding of the repressive character of the Castro regime. Cubans never refer to Fidel by name; they stroke their chin as if to indicate a beard. If you ask a question like, "Why is beef so scarce?" The Cuban will simply stroke his chin.
Though people were friendly, no one would engage in any criticism of the government. Indeed, any contact with U.S. citizens is libel to illicit questions from the authorities.
Our American friends suggested we hire the gardener, who had a beautiful'54 Buick Super in which he could drive us around Havana. The car had all its original parts, except for a Czech diesel engine. The car sounded like a truck when it was fired up. Our driver worked for the official government employment agency Cubalse, as are all the Cuban nationals who work for the U.S. Interest Section either at the Section or as domestic help. Though we agreed with our driver that we would go back to Old Havana the next day, he called the next morning saying that he couldn't make it due to car trouble. The car showed no signs of trouble the day before and this set off wild speculation that he was brought in for questioning about the Eagle's new guests. The next day, he showed up and we went out driving about town again.
Driving down the Quinta, you enter Miramar, home to the various official Embassies, business headquarters and some high-priced real estate for well off Cubans and foreigners alike. You see some of the legendary 50's style gangster-owned hotels like the Riviera, once owned by Meyer Lansky, and the Nationale. Though much of the architecture is impressive, it is in grave disrepair.
According to the Eagle, the most recent flap with the current U. S. Administration is about Castro making possession of dollars illegal and confiscating them all and giving in exchange "Convertibles" or "Kooks" which are a supplementary currency to the Cuban national peso. This windfall of dollars is in large part being used for building restoration in Old Town Havana. This act of making the dollar illegal caused a tightening of the U.S. embargo. Now, you are only allowed to bring artworks, literature or music back to the United States. Even the little souvenirs, which you could by in the open-air markets are technically not allowed, but can be slipped by if you are not bringing in the Big three, Coffee, rum and cigars.
The coffee is very good, but I am partial to a particular Brazilian brand, which my mother-in-law sends me or I pick up in Brazil. The 7- year old Havana Club rum is quite good and is used in the delicious mojitos and other drinks, but frankly, Bacardi Superior, made by the Cuban-exile family now based in Puerto Rico, is still a fine product. Ah, but the cigarsThere are no finer cigars made.
Upon touring the Partagas cigar factory in downtown Havana, you see the centuries old process of hand making cigars go on uninterrupted. I nearly wept when I found out that one of my favorites, the Bolivar bellicosi fino, were selling for $140 a box. As I was there for only 8 days, I got a 3 cigar a day supply, avoiding the ubiquitous Cohibas for some Hoyo de Monterey double coronas, some sleek and elegant Trinidads (allegedly the favorite of El Comandante), some Bolivar robust (they wouldn't break up the box of the bellocosi) and a few Solomon quabas, which are considered the most difficult to roll and only 100 or so a day are made. Outside the factory and all over the street you are offered counterfeit cigars, with the come on that "My brother works in the factory" or "These are rolled from the same tobacco." I tried some of these offered to me by some U.S. diplomats who got some from these vendors that didn't quite make it for me. It's Cuban tobacco, all right, but the rolling isn't so good and the flavor is not quite up to snuff. I have been smoking Cuban cigars since I had some on a trip to the USSR in 1975 and am quite good at recognizing a fake. It is my contention that at least 65% of the Cuban cigars offered on the world market are fakes. So, if you're looking for the real McCoy, better go to a reputable dealer.
Our driver returned again a day later and drove us to Old Havana. Two impressive forts, Cabanas and El Moro, protect the once counting house and embarkation point for all the Spanish treasure plundered from the New World. It was said by the architect of the Cabanas, "Who rules this fort, rules Cuba." This fort became Che Guevara's personal headquarters after the Revolution, a token of the great trust Castro had in the romantic revolutionary leader.
Since the reinternment of Che's remains, the cult of Che has been reinvigorated. An award winning film (I am referring to the "Motorcycle Diaries", which was pulled from the Havana film festival after 2 days, because it portrayed Che is too "Bourgeois"), many articles with his image, including a Cuban 3 peso coin can be readily found. Only the walls of the Cabanas, marked with bullet holes from the post- revolutionary executions, bear silent witness to the darker legacy of Che.
Besides visiting the forts, Museum of the Revolution and Bellas Artes, Havana glows with the sounds of music and happy crowds. Mostly happy crowds of tourists, as the monthly wage of most Cubans is about $10, enough for 2 drinks and a plate of tostones, in a modest little bar. There is live music everywhere and the bands have their own CDs for sale. Beautiful young woman and boys are readily available for a modest price. They can be easily picked out of the crowd by their provocative dress. Sexual tourism abounds and thrives in Havana. You see many older men with young girls at the exclusive Havana Beach Club, in what looks at first like an innocent father-daughter day at the beach until some open fondling begins. The Eagle expressed his outrage to me, "I wonder how those SOB's would feel if it was them who had to pimp off their daughters to make lunch." All this steamy sexuality comes to mind at once when you inhale the aroma of the mariposa, Cuba's national flower, at once full of sensual fragrance and decay.
The 4th of July weekend began Friday night at the eagle's house during a tropical rain storm, our much appreciated gifts of vintage Bordeaux and some fine cheese were savored with good friends. Such delicacies are difficult to get at a post like Havana and diplomats bring pallets of food to supplement the scarce local products. However, Fabulous reluctantly admitted the mangos were delicious, even better than in Brazil.
The next morning we all headed to the beach. Since our visas were only good for the Havana city limits, we went to the furthest beach we could visit, which was reserved for foreigners and Cuban officialdom. The one notable exception was the large facility for Chernobyl children. For many years the Cuban government has invited children with various degrees of radiation-related illnesses, to frolic in the sun and receive treatments from hair growth to bone-marrow transplants. Near us, a group of four teenaged Ukrainian girls gaily chatted in their microscopic bikinis, revealing the massive pigment damage caused by radiation. Since I am fluent in both Russian and Ukrainian, I politely came over and introduced my self. I asked them if they were here on vacation and they nervously replied that they were here for medical treatment. It was the Eagle who mentioned to me the pigment discoloration and showed me an article on how over 30,000 kids affected by the Chernobyl disaster had been treated in Cuba. Apparently, there is an astounding degree of high quality medical care available to these children and Cubans alike.
Later that afternoon, an impromptu party was held at the Deputy-Chief-of-Mission's residence featuring the band imported from the States, Terrance Simeon and the Zytago Experience. This was a little pre July 4th party for musicians to jam. I was invited to play some blues harmonica with the band and unexpectedly to all, broke into some singing to great applause from the contingent of U.S. government workers and Cuban musicians. I was surprised to learn of the wide range of musicians, from unofficial songwriters who were not allowed to record or distribute their work in Cuba, to some of the outstanding players of the legendary Cuban jazz-fusion band, Irakere. Since my main instrument is saxophone, a tenor saxophone was lent to me and the Afro-Cuban/ Lafayette, Louisiana musicians lit into a few jazz standards accompanied with the insistent Cuban beat.
Fabulous is used to the attention I get after a performance and kidded me good-naturedly, that the Cuban waitress kept handing her hors d'ourves and before she could bite them, said, "It's for him." It was an evening of great music, cold Cuban beer, and good cigars.
The next day, the Eagle and his wife invited an amazing local artist, Bonfill, to the house to show some of his paintings and have lunch. His paintings were naive fantasies with many references to "santaria", that unique Cuban belief system that is a blend of West African Yoruba gods and Catholicism. The cigar lover in me chose a large painting of woman working in a tobacco-curing house and Fabulous chose a surreal seascape full of strange tentecaled nude women and Santaria symbols. Bonfill was quite taken with Fabulous and wrote her a poem, which he gave her as a present as well as a small canvas. I guess I'm not the only one who gets special attention.
The night of the 4th, we went to a celebration of our independence at the Residence, the beautiful home built for FDR during World War II, as a possible refuge in case of an emergency evacuation. Our host was the tough-minded Chief-of-Mission (the Ambassador), the Honorable James Cason, portrayed in Cuban propaganda cartoons as an evil wizard, Cabo Cason. Ambassador Cason relishes this depiction with good humor, presenting the male guests with a hand-rolled cigar with a band bearing the image of the little evil wizard and the words "Cabo Cason". To go a along with the Cajun music, the food had a New Orleans feel. Grilled andui sausage, shrimp etouffe, and jambalaya were on the menu.
The centerpiece of the celebration was a tough speech by the Ambassador against the Castro regime and their human rights record. He then unveiled a 40ft replica of the Statue of Liberty with the number 75which is well known as standing for the 75 known political prisoners in Cuban jails. America's Cuban policy is inextricably bound to South Florida politics.
What is the reason for the embargo? Could it be the Cuban Missile Crisis of over 40 years ago? Could it be for Cuba's once close ties to the now defunct USSR? Surely it is not because Castro is a ruthless dictator and totalitarian. We could all come up with a list headed by Saudi Arabia and China. As my wife pointed out to me, it's not the mighty U.S. Embargo that is holding the country down but the difficulty in having joint ventures with the Cuban government. According to the Eagle, all entities doing business in Cuba must give 60% of the profit to the government. Many enterprises have risen and foundered under this restriction, but many Spanish, Canadian, British and other European ventures are still in operation.
With America's economic difficulties we should think of how many computers, servers, cars, food and other products can and will be bought just 90 miles from our shores. Why the embargo? I have to go with an air guitar serenade for South Florida.
The next few days were spent enjoying Old Havana with some daiquiris at La Floridita (a Hemmingway hangout), getting the paperwork done to take out our artwork, an extravagant show at the famous Tropicana and a farewell dinner at a restaurant where the film, "Strawberries and Chocolate" was shot. On our last night, warnings of hurricane Denis were being broadcast. Fidel took over the airways and in a strange 6-hour marathon broadcast; he spoke extemporaneously on hurricane preparations, and anything else that came to mind. This was a powerful example of the cult of personality that holds sway over the island. This was all that was on the Cuban airwaves as we packed for our 1:00 pm flight out of Havana the next day.
That morning, we were called by the air charter company and told that the hurricane had already hit the southern portion of the island and our flight had moved to 11:00 am and would be our last chance to leave the city before the storm. The Eagle called us soon after and said that we needed to make a mad dash to the airport to make our flight. With our bags in tow and my last Hoyo de Monterey in my pocket to smoke at the airport, once again we drove past the invisible violin player, but this time I had a greater understanding of its meaning and the irony that was attached to it.