May 14, 2004
Road Trip from Baracoa to Santiago de Cuba and back home again

Cuba Road Trip Part 2

Wednesday:VERY wonderful breakfast: lots of strong coffee (Cuban coffee beats the grinds off Starbucks), eggs and bread (the usual State-produced airy cardboard, it was the same in every town we were in: regulations had obviously specified that bread, in order to be sold in their bakeries, must contain the least amount of nutritional value and be as crusty and airy as possible in a loaf), mysterious new fruits (I learned about zapotes and guyaba, 2 fruits I had never heard of before) and some amazing guyaba jam.

We met up with the others in their room, then left on foot to see the town. Went to town center and wandered like tourists, I hung out in an artists studio/gallery and talked to the very pleasant young artist working there. Met up with Roberto, much to my surprise, who had biked around until he found our car and stayed by it until we came back - loyal man. He walked with me up to the big cathedral that dominated the town center, which was supposed to have the original cross of Columbus that he planted on Cuban soil. It's not the first time we've heard that. I got accosted by numerous guys trying to sell everything from 'natural' necklaces to near-dead bananas to locally made chocolate and I pretended not to understand. Sometimes it's a struggle, because I want to talk to people and improve my Spanish, but they all seem to want something out of you, so sometimes it's better to play dumb.

We got tired of sightseeing after an hour and decided to leave, escorted once again by Roberto on his bicycle. He was one of the best things about Baracoa - the chocolate, not so much.

The countryside kept changing more and more as we drove and soon we were out of jungle and into desert-like mountains on the right with a crashing surf on our port side. Stopped in Guantanamo Bay for lunch and a look around, and because of it's curious position as the only American-occupied territory in Cuba, being an Army base, go figure! and though we were hoping to see orange-jacketed American troops around, all we saw were tons and tons of Cuban soldiers. They had an army base nearby as well, I suppose to keep an eye on their most feared enemies. They really are convinced that invasion from America is imminent and that they, the Americans, wish them only harm. It became clear as we traveled what a conclusive job the relentless State propaganda had done, and we were saddened.

Downtown Guantanamo, we went into the central market where 30 stands were selling the same vegetables and fruits at the same prices: tomatoes, onions, chilies, pinas, garlic... We made the bad choice of buying some oranges, the only ones we saw, and they turned out to be the most sour things I've ever tasted. They were most likely 'naranjas agria' used for marinades, which I only found out after we tried to eat them, and I can give you a great recipe for Mojo marinade for pork if you're interested.

We found our way to the bakery by following an old man up about 3 blocks, but were unsuccessful in finding a place that would sell meat and cheese. Going back to our car we got attached to some sort of a "crazy" guy who spoke English and had been in Canada he said, but he kept pestering the guys until Maciek, being the Defender of Obtuse Canadians, told him very bluntly to go away. Unfortunately, it happened to be right in the middle of an incoherent, but nice conversation that I was having with him: the guy had been singing me a the only song he knew in English, which was about being found by Jesus!

Being a bit upset that I had lost my "crazy" companion - yes even in Cuba I attract them!, I walked off in a huff while the others were waiting for their pizza (a fortunate find at only 3 pesos), and I found myself walking alone along a street where old and young men were waiting, selling cigarettes, toothpaste, shampoo, and matches and anything else. This young girl got a few whistles. I didn't whistle back. And my independent pride took a dive as I concluded I shouldn't walk alone without my Maciek escort again!

We left and headed for Santiago de Cuba, confident that with our map and Eugenio's arrangements, we could find our lodgings for the night without a problem. We couldn't have been more wrong. Once in the city, the streets proved to be torturous and the signs on the side of the buildings were unintelligible if there were any signs at all, and frequently the 4 names on the sign didn't correspond with anything on the map. I knew where we were supposed to be on the map, but never where we were at the moment. Frustration built as we asked person after person and they would start to tell us a direction before we sped off to the next person.

The guide who eventually led us there commandeered someone's motorbike, just hopped on the back and sped off indicating for us to follow him. It was about 5 minutes of up and down, back alleys and San Francisco style one-way streets, but we did get there. He expected a tip of course, a lesson once again that nothing came for free, and when we gave him a dollar, he wanted another for the driver. It was a bad scene of cross-translated confusion and we got more frustrated even before we turned into the landlady's place where more misinformation and confusion awaited us.

We weren't to stay at THAT place for the night after all, oh no! it was to be another car ride 15 blocks away, and then the price was not what we were quoted, in fact nothing was what we expected and we were caught with the sinking feeling that we were pawns in a gigantic chess game where the rules kept changing dramatically. It was either a choice of jumping back into the car and finding our way to another place to stay or biting the bullet and staying with what we were stuck with. I hope y'all have never had to be in the situation of not getting what you were promised!

Eventually we all get back together and got ourselves fed and sorted and prepared to go out on the town for a night of music and dance and have some FUN! I got a few locations of good Cuban music for that night from Juan our host, an interesting and intelligent man who was a magazine writer and the manager for a Cuban band that had toured all over Europe.

We went to the first spot, one small and un-touristy Casa de Musica, and although it was only a dollar to get in, it was too small for our comfort. The second was harder to find, but before we got there, we were 'found' by some local Cubans who were willing to lead the way to la Casa des Trobas. By then we were tired and only wanted to have a beer, so we sat down in a restaurant where we all (the 5 of us and our four guides) sat for a beer each. It was pleasant, but again came that moment of confusion when we realized that the guides were not going to pay for their drinks ("We don't have any money, Senor!" they pleaded innocently) and we were stuck footing the bill. Another gaffe in guiding.

Finally we got to the point of the evening and we younger 3 went to la Casa des Trobas while Dave and Linda went back to bed, and once we got in the door (and told our persistently still-attentive guides we weren't paying for them to come in with us) it was magical. The music was live and beautiful, a band of about 10 old guys up there rocking it out like salsa had just hit town, just like we imagined.

Maciek and I danced (yes, these kids can MOVE!) on the balcony in full view of the 20 or 30 locals that were hanging out below. Maciek got many approving looks at his catch of a woman. Luke didn't dance, just sat and nursed his beer, but I danced as much as I could and I was frankly glad he was there to deflect those approving looks! After an hour things packed up and we headed out, going in four different directions looking for home. Being wise to the whiles of the guides, we refused one after another and walked around like blind men, but we did get there eventually and tumbled down into bed tired tourists.

Thursday May 13th

The morning's exploration of the city yielded a charming, old core with plenty of pockets to discover. There was the house of the explorer (forgot his name) which is reputed to be the oldest house in the Americas; the Museo del Ron - extolling the history and colorful development of rum; the corner warehouse where a new traditional music band was practicing (photo at right); the Bacardi Museum, named after the original Bacardi family who were Cuban before they ran to the north to successfully merchandise their popular family drink; and a dozen or more potential 'guides' at every street corner waiting to get unwary tourists into a conversation.

We unfortunately did not stay as long as we would have liked to, as we had to get the car back the next morning and we weren't about to spend another night in a casa particular. Driving through the afternoon back to Vita we again got to endure more Maciek pothole dodging and points allotment, though to Luke's regret we didn't actually hit anyone.

Once back in Vita, we decided to visit Rita and Carlos in case they were having us for dinner that night. They were happy to see us and I talked animatedly about our trip in broken Spanish - Maciek being tongue-tied in the effervescent flow of my gilded tongue . To my chagrin, we found out that due to another communication error, I had told them we were coming back on Friday and not Thursday, and they were having dinner for us the next day. Unfortunately, we were planning on leaving the next day, so I told them with regret that we probably wouldn't be able to stay for dinner. They were very sad, they seemed genuinely to like us and want to treat us with all they had.

They were extraordinary examples of a most generous people, who, in spite of poverty and oppression, still smile sunnily and happily offer of what they have. We found that, outside of the bigger cities where there was more contact with outsiders like us from the commercial world, it was a common trait among the Cubans, to be givers and kind helpers of anyone they met. That was the most encouraging sign yet that a cruel system had not the power to shut down the human heart.

(T)