Cuba - One Mojito at a Time: So Near, yet so Far

© 2010 Donald E. Smith. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 12/22/2010

ISBN: 9781452075136 (sc)

ISBN: 9781452075143 (e)

ISBN: 9781456716011 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010919591

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to the myriad of smiling faces that I found in the cities, towns and countrysides of Cuba. May those friendly, helpful people find the peace, prosperity and freedom that they so richly deserve. And, may those blessings come fully and quickly.

Acknowledgements

Once again, I’m indebted to my wife, Joy, for giving me the freedom and encouragement to follow my dreams. I’m grateful, also, to our government for permitting me to travel to Cuba as an educator under its restrictive rules and policies. Hopefully, some day, open trade and travel between our two countries will, once again, be a reality. Both countries have much to offer to each other. We share a common history - revolution against tyranny to gain independence. May we share it in peace and harmony.

The Pictures

All of the pictures contained in this book and on the covers were taken by the author using a Sony 35mm. camera and Ektachrome 400 slide film shot at its stated value and, sometimes, pushed to 800 and 1200. Later, the slides were converted to digital format for use in this book.

After my excursions to areas outside of Havana, I had planned to return to the city and take photographs of Greg, Elaine, Jeffrey, Leonard, Claude, Jose, Isabella, Pablo and Yaineris for use in this book. They all played important roles in the making of this book. Due to unforeseen events, I was unable to return to Havana and had to leave the country hurriedly. My apologies to them and to you.

THE OFFICIAL U.S. POLICY ON TRAVEL TO CUBA

Because of our embargo against Cuba, travel to and from Cuba by United States’ citizens is controlled strictly.

Groups and individuals must acquire licenses from the Licensing Division, Office of Foreign Assets Control, U.S. Department of the Treasury. As an educator, I was able to secure a temporary license to pursue my research on life in Cuba.

An additional restriction required my departure to Cuba and my return from Cuba to be via another country. In my case, I departed and returned through Toronto, Canada.

As I sifted through the many policies and restrictions, it became evident that the embargo did not so much prevent travel to and in Cuba as it did to prevent the spending of or giving of United States’ currency. But, as an approved licensee, I was able to do both by not abusing the intent and letter of our policy.

The Cuban Mojito -

a sublime memory-evoking tropical drink

Ernest Hemingway’s favorite drink was the mojito which he, usually, enjoyed at the drink’s birthplace, La Bodeguita Del Medio in Havana.

1 teaspoon powdered sugar

juice from 1 lime

4 fresh mint leaves

1 sprig of mint

2 ounces of white rum

2 ounces of club soda

crushed ice

Place the mint leaves in a long Collins glass. Squeeze the lime juice over them and add the sugar. Gently mash the mint into the juice and sugar with a muddler or the back of a large spoon. Add the ice and rum and stir. Top off with the club soda and stir again. Garnish with the sprig of mint.

Play Perez Prado mambo music and enjoy!

Contents

CUBA - One Mojito At A Time

1. You Can’t Get There From Here

2. La Habana - Part I

3. I Visit Finca Vigia - Hemingway’s Cuban Home

4. La Habana - Part II

5. To The West - Pinar del Rio

6. Varadero - A Tourist Paradise

7. La Habana - Part III - In Which I Meet Pupa

8. Cojimar - A Fishing Village

9. Matanzas - The Venice of Cuba

10. The Bay of Pigs - An American Fiasco

11. Cardenas - The City of Flags, Crabs and Horse-drawn Carriages

12. An Unplanned, Abrupt Adios

13. Final Thoughts - A Retrospective

14. APPENDIX

CUBA - One Mojito At A Time

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So, throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore, dream, discover. Mark Twain

Well, I’m here. It wasn’t easy, but I’m here. Here is the dimly lit, almost deserted international terminal of the Jose Marti Airport nine miles southwest of Havana, Cuba. It’s three o’clock in the morning and I’ve just arrived from Toronto, Canada on Air Cubana. Earlier today, I’d flown from Cleveland, Ohio to Toronto in order to comply with the rules of our government’s embargo against the island nation of Cuba. But, more about that later. For now, I’m very tired and it’s very hot. The terminal’s air conditioning is either non-existent or not working. The thermometer on the wall reads 32 degrees centigrade. I’m too tired to calculate, but I think it’s about 90 degrees fahrenheit. The humidity is stifling.

I look around the depressing building for a restroom and some place to buy a cold drink. A few souvenir and gift booths are open. Cuba is not so different after all.

Moppers are making cursory swipes at the broken-tiled floor with little result. A few bleary-eyed travelers stand zombie-like or lie sprawled across the hard chairs and benches. They look like out-of-work department store mannequins. This, then, is Cuba. The Cuba of Castro and Che. The Cuba of once-bold promises. The Cuba of tight state control and a political foment which lies just below the surface.

But, in fairness, it is, also, the Cuba of smiling, friendly faces, great food and lilting music. It’s the Cuba of pristine, white-powder beaches, tropical jungle and mist covered mountains. It’s the land of great athletes and creative artists. It’s the land of great potential waiting for release.

After my period of reverie, I find a restroom and a vendor selling cold papaya juice. I look around for the bus that will take me to my downtown Havana hotel. During the wait for the bus, I reflect on how and why I came to be here.

"I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life.

I want a peek at the back

Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed grows.

A man gets sick of a rose."

Chapter One

You Can’t Get There From Here

Remember what Bilbo used to say, It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step into the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to. J.R.R. Tolkien in Lord of the Rings

I like to go to places where it’s difficult to go. Cuba is such a place. When our embargo was put into effect, tourist travel to Cuba by U.S. citizens became almost impossible. The word Almost left me a small loophole to try to leap through. As a former educator in the public schools and the university, I was able to take advantage of that loophole. I obtained a temporary license from our Treasury Department to visit Cuba and pursue my interest in all things Cuban, especially their educational system and health care programs. The license came with many caveats and restrictions. I had heard about the ambiance of Cuban prisons and I took great pains to read the rules. I won’t bore you with all of the torturous paperwork and mechanics of making the arrangements. I will just say that the process of getting there, staying there and leaving there does not a vacation make.

Following, is the story of what I remember from perusing the notes that I took while on the trip, the various bits of memorabilia that I kept, and the pictures that I took. The remainder of what will be recorded here is from dredging up the memories that I have stored in my mind since the summer of 2002. I hope that this account is accurate and is a fair and honest representation of what I saw, heard and felt while on the beautiful island of Cuba.

A person who publishes a book appears willfully in public with his pants down. Edna St. Vincent Millay

I left Cleveland’s Hopkins’ Airport in mid-afternoon on my flight to Toronto, Canada’s Pearson Airport. After landing in the domestic terminal, I took a shuttle bus to the international terminal where I awaited my flight on Air Cubana to Havana, Cuba. I had purposely taken an early flight to Toronto so that I wouldn’t feel rushed to make the flight to Cuba. It was much too early. I had almost six hours to wait in Canada before the eleven o’clock flight to see Fidel. As usual, my desire to be punctual had caused the need to sit and wait - and wait

Waiting did give me the opportunity to reflect on why and how I was here, once again, in a foreign airport wondering if my wanderlust were a blessing or an affliction.

As usual, I decided it was a little of both. After many years and many miles of foreign travel, I had, almost, reconciled to the idea that my days of adventure travel were over. My age, family responsibilities and common sense had formed a kind of barrier against harboring additional dreams of going to those exotic lands that, still, beckoned to me.

Common sense was never one of my strong suits, so here I am sitting in a strange airport wondering what the next few weeks will hold for me. Actually, Canada is not so strange, but I do like to fantasize. My first thoughts while sitting amidst the hustle and bustle of a major airport was of home and family. Would my wife and family be fine without my being with them? My past trips had proven that life would go one without me. So, I concentrated on me. Would I be OK? Being in my 70’s, I did have a few, very few, thoughts about my health and safety. I was blessed with relatively good health and I did have a lot of experience with foreign travel. So, I dismissed that worry very quickly. What about the heavy restrictions placed on American visitors by a notoriously repressive regime? Well, I promised myself that I would be cautious about my money exchanges, purchases and photography. Or, not.

After more reflections, I sat back and watched the flow of humanity as it went by going to and coming from wherever it is that humans travel. We are a restless lot. We have trouble establishing our nests and staying in them once established. But, enough philosophy. I was hungry. I went to look for something other than the ubiquitous hamburger and coke.

I settled for a bowl of vegetable soup and a cup of coffee. After eating, I found a seat near the gate from where the Air Cubana flight would depart and, again, watched the never-ending flow of passengers walking by. Tiring of this, I found a pay phone booth that accepted credit card calls and called my wife. I wasn’t certain if or when I’d be able to call from Cuba, so I wanted to tell her I’d arrived in Canada safely and would be leaving for Cuba in about two hours. When I am about to depart for foreign countries, I always get nostalgic and a little remorseful. Just admit it! I get downright lonely and I begin to second-guess my reasons for leaving home and family. But, when I call, I have trouble articulating those thoughts and just give a factual report of where I am, what I’m doing and what I plan to do. I don’t do emotional very well.

I leave the phone booth and check the departure board to confirm the time and gate. I make a stop at the restroom. I almost forget my carry-on and camera bag when I leave the facility. I decide to walk the length of the huge terminal to get some exercise to off-set the time I’ll spend in flight. I’m not an especially nervous person, but , now, I feel nervous. Maybe, my age is becoming a factor. In previous years, I’d gone to much more dangerous and exotic places without feeling anxious. What if I, inadvertantly, broke one of Cuba’s many laws? What if Castro’s secret police caught me in an attempt to circumvent the laws against photography or currency exchanges? What if I were imprisoned and held without trial until our two governments reconciled their differences? I stopped my walking and entered a bar where I drank an icy mug of good Canadian beer. I felt better.

It was time now to sit at the gate and await departure. I had, already, checked in at the ticket counter, checked on one large piece of luggage and received my seat assignment. The flight on Air Cubana would be on a two-engine, medium size jet of Russian origin. I had checked all of this on the internet before leaving home. It would be non-stop to Havana and take about three and a half to four hours depending on the weather and air traffic. I should be in Cuba about three o’clock in the morning.

The public address system announced that the flight to Havana was ready to load. I picked up my carry-on and camera bag and got into line. The line was long and it looked like it would be a full flight. It looked like a lot of Canadian families were going to Cuba on vacation. Parents were bleary-eyed, small children were wide-eyed, older children looked bored and resigned, and babies just cried. A few business men with briefcases and laptops were scatttered among the crowd. And, then, there was me. I settled into my fifth row window seat, turned on the air jet, buckled up and waited. And, waited. Why is it that flights can’t depart on time or even close to being on time? Finally, 20 minutes late, we taxied down to our take-off spot. The engines roared and I was off to another adventure.

I amused myself by playing the arm rest game with the stodgy business man seated next to me. I put my arm over the whole area of my left arm rest. I felt his arm pushing on mine in a tentative fashion in order to claim a portion of the rest for himself. I pushed back gently at first and more firmly as I felt more pressure from him. I held my place. It served him right. I had tried to begin a conversation and he had ignored me.

About an hour into the flight, we were served a choice of beverages and some hard, wrapped candy. El cheapos!!

I looked out my window into nothing. It was pitch black and cloudy. I knew our route and I spent most of the time trying to decide where we were as we left Canada and followed the Atlantic coast of the U.S. on our journey southward. The young children and the babies raised a chorus of complaints about this abnormal disruption of their sleep patterns. About two o’clock, I saw some glimmers of light from some larger cities. At almost three o’clock, I felt the engines slow down as we began a slow descent. The sleepy occupants of the crowded cabin began to stir in anticipation of our arrival in Cuba. Announcements in both English and Spanish gave us instructions as to what to do in preparation for landing and departure. As usual, they were mostly ignored.

My next- seat companion had conceded the arm rest to me and had fallen asleep. I nudged him gently and told him we were about to land. He just looked at me without saying anything. I should have complained about his cheap cologne and body odor.

It was light enough to see the ground below us. We circled over Havana before beginning our final approach. From above, Havana