Old Havana

I normally don’t believe in time travel but I wish there were such a thing because it would be fascinating to go back in time and see a world long since removed from our planet. Oh wait; come to think of it, I did just that when Sharon and I meandered the cobblestone sidewalks of old Havana a couple of years ago. It was another side of Cuba and Havana and the Cuban people I had never experienced before. Their history (as told directly from the source) is a good example of that.

Their version of the Spanish American War is radically different from ours. Our history books show Rough Rider Teddy Roosevelt leading a charge up Santiago de Cuba’s San Juan Hill in the only major battle of the war. The truth, I found out, is that the Cuban Nationalists had been fighting the Spanish for years. They had been winning that war but American business interests were worried about their investments in sugar cane and wanted assurances the Spanish wouldn’t win the war.

In 1895, Cuban poet and independence leader Jose Marti was killed by Spanish troops during the Battle of Dos Rios, becoming the country’s most revered martyr and a symbol of Cuban patriotism to this day. The United States, egged on by private interests, sent their battleship, the Maine, to Havana Harbor. After the Maine was mysteriously destroyed in Havana Harbor, the United States moved against the Spanish and hence the war.

After the war, Cuba went through a series of corrupt political leaders and dictators. The people remained poor and the economy was propped up mainly by rum, sugar cane and tourism. American business interests continued to play a major role in Cuba’s political intrigue and self-serving interests. Most Americans knew little about this poor country just eighty miles south of Florida. Their only impressions of Cuba came from slick Madison Avenue hucksters.

Following on the huge success of image-making first created by Hawaii and then California in the 20s and 30s, the Cuban powers-to-be painted a romantic picture of their country as a refuge for the rich and famous. Novels by Gramme Green helped the image along.

The 1940’s curtailed much of the tourism trade but Cuba still created its own mystic with old Havana and stalwarts like Earnest Hemmingway who haunted its bars and nightclubs during the war years. Frequent layovers by U.S. Navy ships only helped to advance the image of old Cuba as exciting, morally dangerous and a world apart from prudish America just eighty miles north.

After the war, Cuba remained a poor country still ruled by dictators, the worst of whom was Fulgencio Batista. To prop up the economy and his own bank account, the dictator courted East Coast gangsters to run the casinos and nightclubs in Havana. Never one to miss an opportunity to turn a quick buck, the con men and criminals swept through the business, eliminating the honest businessmen with their own cronies. Gambling flourished and tourism soared.

There was some trickle down benefit for a small but growing middle class. White-collar professionals and businessmen prospered while the poor languished. East coast promoters sensed an opportunity in the growing affluence of America and tried to package Cuban music scene as new, exotic and romantic. The movie ‘Our Man in Havana’ starring Alec Guinness and Maureen O’Hara perpetuated the myth of old Havana as a mysterious and romantic Caribbean hideaway.

Nightclubs, hotels, resorts and casinos were packaged along with ship cruises and a new and novel form of travel; airline travel for the average person. Tourism began to grow by leaps and bounds.

Then it all came to a screeching halt in January of 1959 when Fidel Castro, after a series of battles along the length of the island, finally arrived in Havana. He was first welcomed as a savor and hero of the Cuban people. But very quickly his true intent as a socialist and communist came to the forefront. That is when the time warp began.

It can literally and figurative be said that Cuba stopped growing as a country on that date.  What Sharon and I experienced as we traveled from one city to the next and finally through Havana was a country locked in a time warp. There are generations of Cuban people who have missed the social, cultural, artistic, and political changes other countries have come to expect over time.

There is nothing romantic about a people and a country stuck in limbo with little hope for change on the horizon. The Obama administration tried to open relations with Cuba. The Trump administration slammed that door shut just as quickly.

So I’m sitting in the Hotel Ambos Mundos where Hemingway hung out when he was in Havana. The tourists are all here along with some locals, all soaking up the ambiance and fading memories that match the framed pictures of the old man on the walls. I’m imaging what it was like back then for him; heavy drinking, womanizing, political intrigue and pressing demands from New York publishers.

I’m wondering how it got to be this crazy for this poor Caribbean country. A country literally and figurative stuck in time. Horse and carriage competing for space with cars and trucks.

For those in the know and with the cash, there are amenities galore. There are charming restaurants tucked away in narrow back streets that open up to wonderful courtyards. The people there are very friendly. The food is great and relatively cheap...if you can afford it.

The Cuban children are beautiful, energetic, and alive with life. This is the only life they know and their parents must dread the time they will begin to realize what the real world outside of their shores is really like. The internet is closely monitored and regulated.

The music of Cuba is alive with African drum beats, gyrating sweating bodies and an energy that is almost palatable. It hasn’t changed for hundreds of years. It’s just been in remission since the fifties.

At the Hotel Ambos Mundos, pictures of the old man are everywhere. This is supposed to be Cuba’s version of ‘Sloppy Joe’s’ straight out of Key West. In reality, it is a tourist trap that has managed to keep a little of the original ambiance of the times. They’re charging five dollars American to go upstairs and wander around the hotel room where Hemingway supposedly drank and slept and misbehaved when he was in town.

Now I’m standing outside, watching it all go down. Cuba has done a good job of retaining its past, reclaiming its history and pretending it has a future. Some things haven’t changed for over fifty years. I’m trying to take in the sounds and smells and sights from a writer’s perspective. There are a hundred million stories here. I just have to find them and see if they translate into something my audience might find interesting.

In the meantime, the beer is cold, the air is warm and the girls are all pretty. What more could Ernest and I wish for.

A Metaphor for Stew

Cubans like to describe their fellow countrymen as stew. By that they mean their heritage is a rich cornucopia of African, Spanish, Caribbean and native influences. Originally inhabited by three tribes, Cuba saw its early natives decimated and destroyed by outside Spanish, French and English rule. It wasn’t until the early-nineteen hundreds that Cuba finally wrestled away control from the Spanish and began its long and very rocky road toward democracy.

While strolling San Juan Hill, I came across a plaque that proclaimed it the Cuban-Spanish-American War. It turns out there was a Cuban Army fighting the Spanish long before American business interests on the island forced our government to send in Teddy Roosevelt and his rough riders. Somehow our own history books glossed over the fact that American commercial interests  dictated much of what the local government did and didn’t do for its people. Naturally the Cuban people take issue with our version of Teddy and company winning the war sans their support.

American business expansion including a sizeable investment from the mob came to a screeching halt when a former law student decided he’s had enough of their farmer turned general turned dictator. In the mid-fifties Fidel Castro turned tables on dictator Batista and stopped the clock for all intents and purposes. Cuba has been locked in a time warp ever since Fidel embraced socialism in lieu of capitalism.

The average income for a Cuban family is roughly $20.00 per month. Even with free food rations, free education and free health care, there is little incentive for the average Cuban to work hard. As the poor step-child to the kremlin for more than fifty years, it was only the collapse of Mother Russia that shook Cuba out of his sheltered existence and forced it to face the harsh economic reality of the modern-day world.

The first factor contributing to the GDP are health care services. This comes in at seventy-three percent of GDP. Cuba has been farming out its doctors, psychologists, nurses and other health care professionals to Central and South American countries for years. Tourism ranked second in GDP at twenty-two percent with the government poking its financial fingers into everything from hotels, cigar sales, and rum sales to the Tropicana Cabaret.

It has only been in the last several years that the government has reluctantly pried open the tight squeaky doors of capitalism and free enterprise to outside interests. But with fifty to seventy-five percent of the population working for the government, it leaves little incentive for outside work. Add to that the fact that (per Western Union) Sixty-Two percent of the population receives remittances from relatives in the United States and the concept of hard work equals success is a difficult one to embrace.

Wandering the rough cobble-stone streets of Old Town, Havana, Sharon and I were transported back to 1955 with American cars streaming down the boulevards and the grand facades of marvelous old buildings. But a closer look beyond the façade and one can see the crumbling guts of those buildings and blue smoke belching out of worn piston rings and antiquated automobile engines.

Every town seems to have its collection of wonderful old mansion and grand buildings now run by the government. They are the sad reminders of what the country once was. Castro’s purge was quick and effective. Capitalists and anyone opposed to the regime had barely weeks to leave the island. They left behind businesses, homes and a way of life that had eluded the masses.

Yet in their quest to help the people, the new government sucked the economic life out of the country. Replacing business owners with farmers to manage a plant only invites total collapse. Kicking the middle and upper class out of town only exasperates the problem of poverty and economic ruin. The rich got booted out of town but they took with them the means by which so many others might hope to climb the ladder of success. Then Mother Russia came along and the incentive for change and advancement totally disappeared.

For anyone worried about Cuba changing into a ‘Starbucks on every corner’ there is no rush. Even if KFC and that coffee giant were to plant their flags of capitalism in Old Town, Havana it would only be the tourists who could afford a cup of Joe and a chicken leg.

Pay-to-pee is still a common day occurrence everyplace a tourist might go. That and the absence of toilet seats makes one want to control bodily functions until a safe haven can be found. In fact, we were all advised to bring our own toilet paper when off the ship and they weren’t kidding.

At the National Museum of Art, Sharon was handed three sheets (and it wasn’t double-ply) then had to pay for the privilege. I encountered the same thing in Peru when I went there on a film shoot but that was in the mid-eighties and the country was still fighting the Shining Path.

In time, Cuba will evolve and embrace capitalism to a greater degree. The people there are adamant about retaining their cultural traditions and history. I admire them for that. The idea that one might travel to a foreign country and not find a Starbucks on every street corner is a pretty empowering image. I hope they can do it.

Big Ship, Little Ship

In the competitive world of ocean cruising there are big ships and there are little ships. Our ship was supposedly a little ship. Friends who have done a lot of ocean cruising said the Celestyal Crystal was one of the smallest ships they’d been on.  It had a capacity of one thousand passengers but only carried a little over six hundred on our cruise. That would be about five hundred and fifty over-capacity to my liking.

Cruising, I think, is a lot like road-tripping. People either love it or can leave it…to someone else. Perhaps it’s a cultural thing. Most of the folks we talked to recently love the idea of sailing off into the horizon and visiting foreign ports of call. They can rattle off a tally of exotic destinations and fascinating harbors right out of some adventure novel. Their enthusiasm reminded me of the river boat fanatics we met several years ago, on our own European river cruises.

No surprise then that the ocean cruise line industry has grown by leaps and splashes. Worldwide, the industry has experienced an annual compound growth rate of 6.55% from 1990 to the present. This growth has been driven in most part by new builds, more local ports, more destinations and new on-board/on-shore activities. Of course, they never mention the up-charges that can match the airline industry one irritating point per point.

From 2015 to 2017, twenty-one new ships have been launched. Disney got into the game several years ago and there’s even a new Titanic II (I kid you not!) now plying the Seven seas. Most can hold from two thousand to four thousand passengers on one cruise. I can’t imagine!

Recently Sharon and I spent ten days onboard the Celestyal Crystal. It’s one of the smaller cruise ships that ply the Caribbean waters during the winter months. In the summer months, it returns to its native Greece and circles the islands there.

We left Montego Bay, Jamaica and circled the island of Cuba, stopping at several cities including Havana, Santiago de Cuba, and Cienfuegos.

Our friends had found this cruise/tour package and enlisted some thirty-nine of their closest friends to come along. Most were from Palm Springs but others came from as far away as Minnesota, Maine, Nevada and beyond.

I used to think Sharon and I wouldn’t consider a cruise because of Sharon’s issues with motion sickness. Now I realize another more subtle reason is my distain for large crowds, the herd mentality among tour directors and pushy people jostling for my early morning coffee. I’ve come realize the more sedate, relaxed atmosphere of a European river cruise (Max. capacity 125) is more to my liking.

Like the airlines, cruise ships love to play the up-charge game. If it’s for sale, they’ll find a way to wiggle even more cash out of it. I can’t complain too much though. At least our ship had toilet seats in the cabin bathroom along with toilet paper. That was a far cry from the ninety-nine percent of lavatories in many of the Cuban sites we visited. We were warned to bring our own paper and they meant it.

Despite my alter-ego cowboy self, I don’t much fancy herding cattle. With a passenger load that size, herding cats would have been a more apt description the the crowd control and maneuver-ing that went on at every tourist stop.

The crowds varied but most were in their sixties and seventies with a sizable number nudging even higher. They came in every size and shape and color; their outfits that is. One woman in particular caught my eye. She wore a large blue bonnet that ringed her face and reminded me of the blinders that draft animals used to wear.

She prowled the early morning breakfast area, darting in and out of the main cafeteria, several eating areas, the aft-deck, the forward deck and then back again. It was like she was casing the place so she could come back later and steal a dirty plate or two. Then she disappeared and I got distracted by the pastry kiosk.

Santiago de Cuba was our first stop. It’s the capitol of the island’s ‘Wild East’ and it’s glittering cultural nerve center. We went to their African Cultural Center and enjoyed native dances and songs. Fidel Castro plotted his revolution on this eastern end of the island. After his first coup failed he went to Mexico for two years then returned and hid in the mountains nearby to begin again.

We spent two days in Havana. The capitol city of four million inhabitants is bustling with antique cars, horse-drawn carriages, crumbling buildings and fabulous architecture. The old city center, where we spent a lot of time, comprises a mix of Baroque and neoclassical monuments and a homogeneous ensemble of privates houses with arcades, balconies, wrought-iron gates, and internal courtyards.

For the most part, their classic cars are now taxies.

We were taken to several of Earnest Hemmingway’s hideaways whether he really drank there or not. One hotel in particular was his favorite when he was in town. There are large photographs of him adorning the walls and for a couple of pesos, they’ll even take you upstairs to see his room.

The reconstructed plazas that now sport outdoor bars and restaurants and hordes of kids circling.

The back alleys and walkways took us past gutted-out buildings whose facades hid decades of commerce and living before time and communism scratched away at their livelihood and existence. The government, we were told, is trying to save and restore as many of these wonderful buildings as their thin reclamation budgets will allow.

Our last stop was Cienfuegos. This ‘Pearl of the South’ is a 19^th century planned city and a UNESCO World Heritage site. It sits at the heart of the country’s sugar cane, mango, tobacco, and coffee production area.

We visited the home/gallery of world-famed artist Santiago Hermes Martinez and watched a group of his art students perform a dance.

Then we went to a school for challenged students whose art work was outstanding.

Back in the fifties the harbor and Back Bay of this quaint town was a welcoming haven for American mobsters who had big plans for hotels and casinos before that rebel with a beard dashed their hopes of creating a new Miami outside of Havana.

I saw the lady in the blue bonnet again near the end of our tour.

Turns out she was another group leader which explained her motherly instincts that first morning I saw her hovering in the breakfast area. She seemed quite good at herding, hustling, and controlling her group of fellow tourists.

I must admit the aft-deck did provide me with a welcome respite from the cramped quarters of our cabin and a chance to recharge my mind. I worked on my speech for the Rosemount Writers Conference in March, touched-up ‘Club 210’ and outlined a dozen or more blog treatments this cruise had generated.

In the future, I’ll probably settle for more river cruises instead of ocean roulette but the sunsets aren’t nearly as spectacular.