CLINTON ST. QUARTERLY painted since the Revolution, furniture and bedding were decrepit. After check-in, we were ushered into the hotel’s night club. The floor show was a bit “ campesino” — kind of a Cuban Hee-Haw. Meanwhile, a delicious ham steak, '/z-inch thick with trimmings, the first of a week of mind and stomach boggling meals that left me about 10 pounds heavier than when I arrived. Knowing about the general meat shortage, I did feel a little guilty about eating all that luscious pork, beef and chicken. My overwhelmed palate, and the understanding that my dollars could help provide massive quantities of otherwise unobtainable animal feed (or machinery) helped assuage this. The next morning, we were off for a guided tour of Old Havana, a classic and often beautiful colonial city, largely preserved from the ravages of highrise urbanization. It seems in good repair and is unexpectedly clean for a Third World city. Our tour took us to the former Capitol building, now a museum. It is an exact replica of the US Capitol in Washington, a stunning reminder of Cuba’s former quasi-colonial status. We then Revolution, visited the Plaza de la where Fidel gives his major speeches. On the opposite side of the square was a 15 story building covered on one side with that famous red and blue __—■ CIGARS • • • Che Guevara. Eddie our guide told us that it was forbidden to photograph the building as it was the headquarters of the Security Service. We took pictures of the allowable buildings and turned and snapped it anyway. Nothing happened, but somehow, that part of my roll of film never came out. Havana is a lively place. The people are extremely friendly, and seem to hold no grudge against Americans for the actions of our government against theirs, the attempts on Fidel’s life, or for the very real personal privation caused by the interruption of commerce with the U.S. They are intelligent and well educated, with a literacy rate of almost 100%. We found that when in a large group and faced by foreigners, Cubans tended to be quite doctrinaire. In our public sessions, they never showed disagreement with each other or with government policies. Face-to- face their responses were far more varied and flexible. At the school where they train their diplomats, we especially noticed this difference. The students were embarrassed when their American counterparts asked them to justify Cuban military support of the Ethiopian regime against Eritrean rebels — the same rebels who only a few years before had trained in Cuba. Yet they remain amazingly security conscious. After a briefing at the Health Ministry, a fellow student and I were stopped in our tracks by an unbelievable sight — a timeclock. We translated the warnings against tardiness and were trying to figure out the length of the work week, when an alert worker dragged us into the building security office. Under large “ Committee for the Defense of the Revolution” signs we were interrogated as if we were downed U-2 pilots. Finally managing to convince them that we were not spies out to steal the secrets of bureaucratic productivity, we were released. The most popular show in town, (a two hour wait in line) was a multimedia exhibition celebrating the 20th Anniversary of the Security Services, the Cuban KGB. It featured videotapes of exiles (called Gusanos, Worms) being taken prisoner at the Bay of Pigs, an American bazooka reputedly used in an attempt on Fidel’s life, counterfeit money, various exhortations to visit beautiful Miami, and even stranger stuff like exploding cigars. In the center of the floor, trod upon by all was the broken seal of the U.S. CIA. Though we received some curious glances, no one vented their rage on us. Walking about. 1 didn’t see any cops. There were sometimes one or two, without guns, at the end of our hotel’s driveway, but they were there to discourage black market transactions — which went on anyway. Equally rare was the military. This is vastly different from many other - L- a- ti- n- --A -- m-e- r ican ___U ___F ___n _ f C H E * ® W O S E G B E A T o r other Third World countries where machine guns are nearly as common as newsstands. Cubans like to dress up. Women’s wardrobes though limited are extremely colorful. Lots of plainly cut blouses in outrageous pinks and purples, mixed with off-brown pedal pushers. They must be tired of Romanian doubleknits and other East-bloc Couture for I heard a lot of requests for the shirt off my back, not to mention for blue jeans. My prize possession is a Universidad de Havana tee- shirt I traded one night for a Gaines- Burger shirt I knew would be a hit. It seems that anyone, Cuban or foreigner, can go anywhere, day or night. The greatest restriction or movement was the severe lack of taxicabs, called “ Las Incapturables.” The dirt cheap bus system, which runs frequently during the day, is somewhat spotty at night. Besides the routes are pretty confusing so I did a lot of walking. The ration system is the most pervasive aspect of life in Cuba. Cubans may purchase only 2 shirts, a pair of pants and a pair of low-grade shoes per year. The system covers almost everything, including food. Though there are few goods, there is plenty of money, especially for young people living at home or for couples with two incomes. In a free market system this would cause rapid inflation; there the prices are fixed and at least everyone can afford to buy their allocation. They have their own “ free market,” where excess items are sold for several times- their ration price, and non-rationed goods are purveyed. LP records were about $10 — a fair amount of money, but not out of reach. The main outlets for all the extra cash are entertainment, alcohol and restaurant food, unrationed and relatively inexpensive. Eating places abound in Havana, ranging from the Bodeguita del Medio, where Hemingway (still a legendary figure in Havana) ate Turtle Steaks, plethora of pizza places which out a respectable Neapolitlan product. Bars are as ubiquitious as in to a turn style New Orleans or San Francisco. They seemed to be popular at all hours. Mostly, the locals drink beer, but Cuba’s famous rum is still popular. The bar where the daquiri was invented is almost ______ — a national shrine. A highlight of our tour was a visit to the world-famous Tropicana, a gigantic outdoor nightclub. Now considered the symbol of Las Vegas, where it was taken by the mobsters after they were kicked out of Cuba, this decadent pageantry is at the top of most people’s list of things to do — a focus of national cultural pride. It had been closed down for a time after the Revolution, but was brought back due to popular outcry, with the only concession to ideology being the addition of a couple of folk numbers. The vast majority of the audience was Cuban workers enjoying bonus for high productivity or party loyalty. Fun, but I was more interested in hearing the evolved forms of local music. I finally stumbled onto the Club Rio which had been reopened through the efforts of the bartenders, waiters and cooks. The band was incredible, mixing Eddie Palmieri style Puerto Rican Salsa with a sort of jazzrock. A later set had us dancing our asses off to Parliamentlike funk. ne of the waiters addressed us in English. He had lived fifteen years in “ the States” working as a jockey. He had returned to Havana in 1957 and though eligible for U.S. citizenship, decided to stay after the Revolution. After closing, he offered us a ride home in his ’56 Ford. Wonderful dinosaur. In the solitude of his car he spoke freely with us. He was basically happy with his life and his job. Times had been pretty hard during the first years of the U.S. boycott. There had not been enough food. He had gone to the country to buy a chicken for his family and just barely escaped being caught with it by the militia. They might well have shot him. The farmer who sold it could also have been shot or imprisoned. The general climate had been one of militant paranoia. Things have been improving in recent years. He had a nice apartment and a young girlfriend. Although gas was expensive ($2.00 a gallon) and the ration is only 10 gallons a month, the car which he’s always had is a real luxury. (The government did not expropriate any personal movable property.) “ How much do you think this car is worth here?” hundred in the States,” 1 “ maybe six hundred if it decent shape.” “ I could sell “ Two replied, was in this car tomorrow for six thousand dollars.” He griped that no car imports were allowed, except for a few for favored party members of technocrats, who also got a more liberal gas allowance. Still he was more enraged over the lack of spare parts. “ If a piston breaks, you have to get someone to make you one.” Despite all this, he said, “ 1 would rather live here, though I’d like to come and visit the States again.” Our last night in Havana we stumbled (drunkenly) into the lounge of the Hotel Capri and heard at last some beautiful Charanga — sweet melding of jazz and salsa, featuring flutes and violins. When we left at 5 AM, the band was still playing. Our heads were still nodding to that Latin beat two hours later while we made our way to the airport. The fly-by-night Bahamian charter company that had brought us only a week ago had lost their landing rights, something connected with a fishing dispute. We had to wait half the day in the airport until a suitable replacement could be found to take us. While we were waiting, our Interplanner coordinator told us the truth about our guide Eddie. A handsome young black man he was our translator and constant companion. Hip and friendly, he was the heart-throb of many of the women in the group and romanced a couple. Eddie was in fact, as some had guessed, an agent of the Cuban KGB. Back in Miami, we played “ what- is-this?” with customs agents who ground their teeth furiously over our quite legal personal imports of Cuban cigars, twelve year old Anejo rum and collections of books and posters. Using the excuse of Dept, of Agriculture soil quality protection, they confiscated the hermetically sealed plastic packets and sand from ' the Bay of Pigs, clearly labeled in homage to its defenders. That week in Cuba really impressed me. People seemed to be content, working together for the common benefit, despite shortages, censorship, political disagreement and personal frustration. There were political posters everywhere, but 1did not see pictures of Fidel plastered all over the place, as is the case for other Third World strongmen. I did meet some people who wanted to emigrate to the US, but they seemed much less enthusiastic when suggested Venezuela, or any other Latin American country. To me, the Cuban Revolution appeared to be working, and distinctively Cuban. Contrary to those cold, drab images of Eastern Europe, Cuba seemed to be like one big Community party. 1had a helluva t im e .H a 23
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