Date: Mon, 23 Apr 2001
Subject: Two Weeks in Havana

I am writing from El Capitolio, the incredibly beautiful and ornate domed capitol building of Cuba, which houses the world's third largest indoor sculpture, and Havana's six public internet terminals (actually there are seven more in a library in the basement, but those of us who have accidentally discovered them are trying to keep it quiet).

It is difficult to know where to begin the description of the first two weeks of my two month stay in Havana. Time is playing tricks on me -- I can not believe two weeks have gone by already, yet somehow I feel like I have already had six months worth of experiences.

The place I am staying is really wonderful. I am renting a room in a swanky apartment. It is on Prado, the most beautiful street in Havana, right at the end, just a couple hundred feet from the ocean. The apartment is on the seventh floor, with a big deck and a sweeping view of Havana, from the dome of El Capitolio, across old Havana and the bay, out to El Morro, the 16th century fortress and lighthouse, and the open sea beyond. The best part of the apartment however is the bidet -- truly the greatest invention of western civilization. How they failed to take hold in the US I will never understand. My landlords are two absolutely wonderful sisters, members of the formerly upper class, who have been coping with a classless society for 40 years.

Prado, which I walk the length of every day, is a street and a work of art at the same time. It is a forty foot wide pedestrian walkway, which is a granite (I think) mosaic, lined with shade trees, stretching from the Capitol dome about five city blocks to the ocean. The buildings lining Prado are exquisite, most dating from the 18th and 19th centuries.

Prado ends at El Malecon, Havana's famed seawall and walkway, which stretches for miles and miles. Most evenings I come out to sit on the wall, and watch the sunset. The last week has been very windy, causing really big waves to come in, which smash against the wall, sloshing over onto the road, sending geysers of water 20 or 30 feet up in the air. Children play by the wall, getting soaked, laughing and screaming. Havana is a city of such incredible contrasts. So much of it is so so beautiful, but at the same time there are so many streets where the buildings are literally collapsing. Most people live in really awful housing, though the lucky few live in luxurious places like mine. Some friends of mine are staying in the most incredible mansion I have ever been inside. Of course the owners, once multi-millionaires, now just stay in one corner of the house, huddled around a broken TV, never leaving or doing anything, because they have no money whatsoever -- just a $5,000,000 house that can not be sold.

There is music everywhere, and the people are beautiful. The streets are full of hurried inactivity. Totally different than streets in say New York, where everybody seems to have something very important to do. Most people look and act so joyful, but when you talk to them, many are desperately unhappy, and would do anything to escape to the US. This is not to say that there are not plenty of revolutionary loyalists as well. The lack of money here is absolute, but it is not really poverty per se. You do not see people starving, homeless, or with no access to medical care as you would in other nearby areas of the third world such as Guatemala, Haiti, and the inner cities of the US. Almost everybody you meet here is reasonably well dressed, and quite educated and articulate. However they are unbelievably poor. The average wage in Cuba is around $10 per month. A beer in a bar costs .50 to $3.50, a half-decent pair of shoes maybe $6.00. As you walk the streets in Havana, especially in the touristy areas, you are constantly stopped by people who want to talk. Some are just annoying and want to sell you cigars, ganja, women, etc. But the large majority are really nice and interesting, and want to know and befriend foreigners, though often want you to buy them something to drink and maybe a meal.   Of course there is nothing these people would like more in the world than to befriend a foreigner and treat him/her to a good time, but they just absolutely do not have the cash. The further you get from the main tourist track, the more you encounter the true Cuban spirit of sharing and hospitality. And even in the touristy areas, you are definitely not hassled on the street in the non-stop harassing way that occurs in many developing countries. And begging for pens, candy, money, etc. by children is shockingly non-existent here. I found out why the other day, when two boys did come up and start pestering me for pens and pesos, for the first time ever in Cuba. Five minutes later, a policeman had them by the wrists and was dragging them away. Perhaps to the secret child slave labor camp, or more likely perhaps, home to their parents.

Human rights, in the western philosophical sense of individual liberty, freedom of speech, and ability to vote, are of course non-existent. You can literally get hauled off to jail for saying something negative about the government in a casual conversation. People are stopped and have their id's checked routinely for no particular reason. But unlike in the US, everybody here has the human right to health care, food, a quality education, and a roof.

Havana is not really an expensive city for an American. You can sleep, eat, drink, take taxis etc. for probably about half the cost of the equivalent in the US. It only really gets expensive when you want to go out on the town with your Cuban friends -- the unfortunate reality is you usually have to pay everything for everybody. On the other hand, your friends are always quick to invite you over for a cheap evening at home.

Going out in Havana is quite an experience. There is an absolutely incredible nightlife, with incredible bands, often world famous, playing every night in at least a couple dozen different clubs. But there is no paper that lists what is going on, so if you don't hear about some show via word of mouth, you just have to call every club individually. And either the line is busy, nobody answers, or the person gives you incorrect information. Despite the utter lack of information, in the last two weeks I have managed to see Los Van Van, Anacaona, Oscar Valdes (Chucho's brother), a Changuito and Tata Guines joint performance, Carlos Manuel, and Clave y Guaguanco. Buena Vista Social Cub does not seem to be in town, but oddly enough, via the internet in Havana, I bought tickets to see them in Seattle in July.

Of course for a foreign male, the most mind-boggling part of going out at night in Havana (or walking around during the day for that matter) is the women. These are truly the most beautiful women in the world, dressed so incredibly sexily, moving their bodies in ways we in the US have never imagined. And of course many of them dream of having a rich and exotic foreign boyfriend (or the big score, a husband). Prostitution is incredibly rampant, yet at the same time such a nebulous hard-to-define thing here. Is a woman who prefers to date foreigners who can afford to take her out and give her presents a hooker? Probably no more so than a woman in the US who prefers to date millionaires. If she goes out to the clubs every night solely to try to go home with any foreign guy she can snare, then of course she is. The jineteras (Spanish for jockeys) are women who fall in between -- they certainly do not consider themselves prostitutes, but they do make their living by dating foreigners. But how do you tell the difference? Does it really matter? Is it better to go with a pro who knows the score than with a sweet innocent Cubana who is going to fall madly in love with you and get her heart broken? In any case, in my confusion am finding it remarkably easy to resist the chicas so far. I do love talking, flirting, dancing (which often is indistinguishable from receiving a vertical lap dance) with the young ladies, but they sometimes do get quite annoyed with me when I won't take them home afterwards. I guess I need to get better at telling them no, but refusing sex from unbelievably hot young women is just not something I have had that much practice at.

The purpose of my two months in Cuba however, despite what some of my friends seem to think, is not in fact an in-depth study of the political economics of the psycho-sexual dynamics of xeno-Cubana relations, but in fact to intensively study folkloric percussion and salsa dance. The percussion lessons are going very well, despite the fact that my teacher seems to have watched the Seinfeld "Soup-Nazi" episode too many times. Having brought a video camera with me has been a tremendous help in practicing what I have been taught. As well as learning some really cool stuff (especially a weird-ass four conga combination of guaguanco with guarapachangueo) I think I have started to make some real breakthroughs in my ability to learn rhythms by ear. Of course Miki, my teacher, just can not believe how incredibly long it takes me to get stuff, and threatens to kill me several times each lesson.

The salsa is coming too, but very slowly. The cuban style is not as different as I had heard it would be, so the LA salsa I studied in Seattle is helping rather than hurting (which is not to say you can come to Havana and lead LA style salsa without confusing the hell out of your partners). But the standards of dance are just so high here it is hard not to feel totally inadequate. Everybody has been salsa dancing their entire lives. I feel like a complete dork trying to get my body to shimmy like a Cuban's.

In general, the situation in Cuba has noticably improved since the first time I was here, almost a year and a half ago. People seem to be a bit less desperate, the hustlers are less annoying, there is much more cheaper food available, more of the old cars have been restored, and the police are hassling Cubans who befriend tourists much less.

Anyway, this first missive has been mostly about generalities of life in Havana. I have hardly touched the huge laundry list of interesting, wonderful, and occasionally negative experiences I have had. Maybe next time. Hope all is well in [your locale here]. I look forward to hearing from you -- you can get your very own personalized response if you write me!

Date: Sat, 02 Jun 2001
Subject: Cuba Wrap-up

Eight weeks and four pairs of sunglasses after I left home, I am in a cybercafe in Madrid -- I can not believe I have finally found a country where people who like anchovies are not made to feel like freakish outcasts. No longer does the speed of my internet connection make sending each individual message feel like passing a kidney stone. But I will save that for a possible future Spain travelogue. This message is about Cuba. I had hoped to write this wrap-up before I left the country, but I think it is actually better to do it here, from not-Cuba, where I am already missing the great things about the country, and forgetting the bad.

Before I start, I think a caveat is in order. This essay is merely my personal impression of the Cuba that I have seen. I have spent three months of my life there (one month my first trip, two months this time), and read maybe ten books on the country, and countless hundreds of internet discussions, but I do not claim to truly understand Cuba at all. I have not even figured out how to properly cross a busy street in Havana yet (though I did manage to make it my entire seven weeks without falling into any of the countless random open holes in the sidewalks or even stepping in any of the ubiquitous dog-shit). I am not talking about the "real" Cuba here, if there is such a thing. I am talking about the Cuba that I, as a short-time resident/tourist, with basic conversational Spanish, spending time almost exclusively in the most central, touristed parts of Havana have experienced.

Also, it is important to bear in mind that pretty much everything you have ever heard or will hear about Cuba is absolutely true. Everything the right-wing nuts in Miami say about the incredible oppression, human rights abuses, and poverty in Cuba is true. Everything the lefty Castro apologists say about the incredible accomplishments of the Cuban revolution in healthcare, education, eliminating racism, and providing food and shelter is true. Everything I say about the large majority of single young women I met in Cuba being interested in finding a foreign boyfriend is true. Everything other people on the Seattle Cuba-phile list said about my statement being ridiculous and offensive because the vast majority of women in Cuba (whom I did not meet) are not hunting foreign boyfriends is true. Everything everybody who has ever visited Cuba says about the people being the most warm-hearted and friendly, and easy to make friends with on the face of the earth is true. Everything you hear about how when you are in the highly touristed areas of Cuba, there is a constant barrage of people stopping you to talk to them and wanting to be your friend immediately, and then as your friend, quickly asking you a) to buy cigars and/or marijuana or b) to buy them a drink or c) to give them a dollar, is absolutely true. It is true that hanging around touristy areas with a cigar in your mouth looking picturesque, and asking foreigners for $1 when they take your picture, is a much much higher paying line of work in Cuba than say, being a brain surgeon (for that matter, so is being a bathroom cleaner/attendant in a tourist restaurant).

The only thing you are likely to hear about Cuba that is not true is that the US embargo is doing anything productive at all other than making Cuba a refuge for Europeans who do not like being around annoying American tourists. The truth is that the embargo is torturing the Cuban people, and merely gives Castro a handy excuse for all the problems with the Cuban economy.

Anyway, back to the travelogue. Since during this trip I was in the same place the entire time (except for two quick days scuba diving on the Isla de Juventud (well technically one day diving and one day watching the rain fall)) doing pretty close to the same thing every day (four to eight hours of percussion and salsa dance lessons and practice), my time in Cuba does not really lend itself to a chronological travelogue format. And I really can not imagine at this point going back through my journal and trying to construct any kind of blow by blow description of what I did, but I guess a few highlights are in order (though in no particular order).

A disaster of epic proportion occured early in my trip -- the maid at the apartment where I stayed (who the landlords consider sweet and trustworthy, but not terribly skilled at her job) was doing my laundry, and a new shirt I bought for the trip apparently ran, and stained my other nice long sleeve blue shirt with red. She tried to use bleach to get the red out, which worked, but left huge white blotches all over the shirt, ruining it. For me, it was just one of those small problems that occur when traveling that you simply do not let bother you. Even though it is quite a nice shirt, I could buy another presentable shirt in Cuba for $5. For the maid, it was an unprecedented crisis, and she was terribly upset and crying etc. If she knew that a shirt like that actually costs $75, or more than 6 months average wages for a Cuban (say the equivalent of $10,000 in the US) she would *really* be upset. Though I was skeptical, she took the shirt to her mother, to try and dye it blue again. When I got the shirt back, the light blue dye had somehow turned the shirt into a very interesting shade of purple. Kind of blueberry ice cream colored. She was once more upset, ashamed, near hysterical, etc. though I actually liked the new color better than the old, which was pretty dull. Unfortunately I only got to wear it once, because when she washed it the next time and started to iron it, the fabric disintegrated where it had been damaged by the bleach.

Though anything I say on the topic is bound to offend certain of my readers, I return to the topic of Cuban women. Despite the gorgeous women throwing themselves at me constantly, and my reputation for promiscuity, I was extremely reluctant to get involved with any Cubanas at first, primarily due to not wanting to sleep with somebody who was interested in me only for my money. I felt like the main character in that Twilight Zone episode where the petty-crook dies and wakes up in a place where he can have everything he wants -- rob every bank and get away with it, sleep with any woman he likes, etc. But he very quickly tires of it, and says to his guide that this heaven place is not all it is cracked up to be, and the guide replies "What makes you think you are in heaven? Bwah-hah-hah-hah". Or perhaps a better TV analogy is "Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire?". Also, I had often heard of a phenomena where when there is somebody really special in your life you literally have no desire to have sex with anybody else. I had always thought it was an urban legend, like the chihuaha who turns out to be a giant rat, but I actually experienced this feeling myself! It lasted for a solid three weeks. However, after much prompting from my lover in Seattle, who thought I was being absolutely ridiculous, one day I decided I was ready.

That same day I met R. (Yes, Cuba really is an oppressive police state, so it just seems better not to use Cubanīs real names, since you never know how far something will travel on the net), a 30 year old gastronomist/professional salsa dancer-teacher-singer, twice divorced mother of two. She stopped me to introduce herself on the street, because she had seen me at least three different times in the local clubs. We started seeing each other, and due to her utter inability to comprehend the concept of casual dating (let alone polyamory), we somehow ended up in an exclusive relationship for my remaining four weeks in Cuba.

From the very first day, I explained over and over again that this was not going to be a serious relationship with any kind of future. However, as I predicted in my first travelogue, when you get involved with a Cuban woman who is not a jinetera (i.e. professional foreigner-dater, not quite prostitute) they typically fall head over heels in love (or convince themselves they are) complete with fantasies of marriage and escape from the country, etc. (ummh, not to generalize about all the non-jineteras in Cuba of course, just all of them that I personally know, or have heard of, who have gotten involved with foreign men). Though I am deeply fond of R, and we had an absolutely wonderful time together, it was really uncomfortable to be in a such an imbalanced relationship.

I do not believe I have addressed the topic of weather yet. For the most part, the weather ranged from hot and humid to unbelievably hot and humid, to unbelievably fucking hot and humid. April is the last month of the dry season, May the the first month of the wet, so I was there for the transition, which was quite pronounced. One evening in late April, walking home after a salsa lesson, the atmosphere was surreal. The humidity was just incredible, it was like being in a steam bath. It was dark, but there were constant flashes of light in the sky from distant lightning (no thunder). A very moody, intense environment. While I was eating dinner in a restaurant about four blocks from home, the skies opened up. It was raining harder than I think I have ever seen in my life, with strong winds, and tremendous thunder and lightning. Because of the way the buildings overhang the sidewalk, I could walk home out of the rain, except for darting across just three streets, which left me completely soaked. When I got home, the apartment, on the seventh floor, was full of water. Since we are so close to the ocean, and so high up, we get the full force of the wind. Though it is definitely one of the better apartment buildings in Havana, the windows are very very old, and not sealed properly, so the intense gusts of wind and rain had blown gallons of water right through them. The ladies of the house were in a tizzy, they said they had never seen it so bad. I was just exhilarated, because of the intensity of the weather. Unfortunately, by the time I got settled, and ready to change into a bathing suit and goretex parka to go back out to the Malecon to experience the storm right on the ocean, the worst of it had passed, and it was just drizzling.

I do not believe I have addressed the topic of almost every house in Havana, from unbelievably spectacular mansion to most hideous collapsing slum, having on the living room wall a prominent tacky rug, usually with a picture of a tiger, or some other other large cat of prey, but sometimes dogs playing poker.

Speaking of collapsing houses, one day the building next door to mine lost a fifth floor balcony, sending hundreds of pounds of concrete to the street below. Luckily nobody was injured. Speaking of injuries, I saw a young woman get grazed by a car. The driver stopped and talked to her, and then she limped into his car and they drove off. The whole transaction took literally 20 seconds at most. My assumption is that the driver wanted to get the hell out of there before the police showed up, but of course was not going to commit a hit and run, so took the victim with him.

If Bush really wanted the people of Cuba to rise up in revolt, he would have to cut off the supply of spandex clothing. And if he really wants to catch Americans who have illegally been to Cuba, he should analyze the returning travelerīs blood for pork-fat content.

I spent a couple hours one evening with a 22 year old drop dead gorgeous, statuesque blonde Cuban prostitute, interviewing her on what her life is like. It was a very very interesting conversation. She goes out once or twice a week, usually finds somebody, basically will go with anybody who has the cash ($30), prefers Americans and Mexicans, finds Italians to be rude and gross (I have heard this from a number of Cubans), usually, but definitely not always, actually enjoys the sex. Even though she makes about $150 to $200 per month this way, she still goes to her job at a restaurant for $5 per month to avoid boredom. She definitely does not have self esteem issues, and she claims her family does not mind, and that in general there is no shame from society for this line of work.