My Trip To Cuba - (Part 7)

"People are like stained glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within." Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

As we returned to the road, I glanced for the last time at the beautiful beach we just visited. It slowly faded away in my rear view mirror as did the exuberance of the experience. The next town we were to drive through was Playa Giron or Bay of Pigs as it is commonly known.

My father, as a young teen left school to help his family by working in the sugar cane fields. He would also help his Father, who made charcoal, along with his brothers when he could. As a teenager, he dreamed of freedom and a democratic government. Batista would never offer these freedoms, but during these years someone was gaining popularity. It was Fidel Castro. Fidel promised these things and more and people began supporting him in what would later be known as the Cuban Revolution.

My father, like most at first, was in support of Fidel and ended up working for a key supporter of the revolution. All was well until Castro failed to keep promises and changed his tune by favoring communism. My father and others realized that he was another dictator. My Father, along with many of the farmers and workers in the area would later join with the Brigade 2506 in the Bay of Pigs conflict.

The Brigade 2506 was a CIA-sponsored group of Cuban exiles that were trained in Guatemala to overthrow the Castro regime and bring freedom to the Cuban people. They were all told that on April 17th, 1961 they would, along with US forces, overthrow the government of Fidel Castro.

The US support never came ashore, President Kennedy went back on his word and 72 hours later Fidel Castro fended off the attack. Just writing those words down takes my breath away.

Somehow, Castro had gotten word of the attack and had troops already in position. My Father was captured and put in prison. He escaped prison, not once, but twice and eventually made it here to the United States.  His story is incredible and one that I will begin to write once I'm done with the story of my trip.

Playa Giron is where the final battle took place and a place I had many mixed emotions about going.  As we were approaching Playa Giron, I began noticing tombstones along the road. Upon closer inspection, I noticed these were actually monuments, very large monuments placed by the Cuban government to honor Castro's troops who died fighting for him.

No monuments for the freedom fighters who were either killed in the 72-hour conflict or later killed by firing squad or tortured in prison. Nothing to commemorate them.  








 

As I drove closer to the center of town with these thoughts in my head, I came upon a sign that said "Bay of Pigs, A Victory For Socialism".

The sign to the left says: "Giron, First defeat of the imperialistic Yankees in Latin America"

 

I had thoughts... no, I had visions of destroying the sign and lost in that vision, I wandered into the other lane.  It made me angry, so very angry.  I had just left a beautiful postcard scenery beach and I reflected on that, which helped me focus on the task at hand. I was soon to be face-to-face with family that I had never met and I began to feel a nervous excitement.

Despite the surrounding beauty, I would always feel anger as I drove through this town.

The town of Playa Jiron, the largest I would visit other than Havana, was smaller than I would have thought.  Along the main road, there were people holding signs up advertising the daily special of the restaurant that they ran out of their roadside house. It reminded my of the sign shakers we have in town in the states, only less enthusiastic and no gorilla suits. There were also signs on a few houses that advertised rooms for rent. The Government was allowing citizens to run businesses out of their houses, for a fee of course, and along this street most of the houses were also some sort of business. Most were restaurants and room for rent homes. The houses on the main road were the nicest houses I saw, but once you got away from this small 1/8-mile stretch of road, the scenery changed. Most of the houses away from the main stretch had thatched roofs and looked as if they've never been painted since they were built, if at all.

In the small towns I would visit over the next few days, I seldom saw a car. The only cars I saw were those passing through.  No one in any of these towns seemed to own a car.  I mostly saw people walking on foot with an occasional bicycle or horse-drawn buggy.  I remember my Father talking of walking to Playa Giron during the April 17th conflict, so I knew we had to be close to the small village where my family still lived.


Being close to the ocean, I rolled down the windows to take in the ocean air. It was salty, crisp and very refreshing. There was a steady breeze coming off the ocean and the palm trees danced to an imaginary song as they swayed back and forth.  With the Caribbean blue background and the waves crashing harmoniously against the shore, it was a beautiful sight to see, smell and hear.  I wanted to be a passenger on this stretch of road, so I could daydream and absorb this beauty that I may never see again.  And if Lora were in the car with me, she would tell you that I do drive as if I am the passenger, daydreaming and absorbing the beauty!


As the stretch of road took me away from the beach, we rolled the windows up and drove the short distance back to Cayo Ramona, where an Aunt and several cousins live.  We stopped at my Aunt's home, but she wasn't there, so we decided to continue driving towards Bermejas. On a map there is no name for the small village my family lives in, but it is closest to Bermejas, so that's what we call it.

 
I didn't know exactly what to expect when I arrived at the small village that most of my family lives in.  Even in small towns here in the US, there is usually a gas station, a small grocery store, a blinking red light, train tracks, a church... something.  Something that marks the center of town or something that brings the community together. There was nothing like that here.  The only thing I noticed was a bus stop and a dirt road that left from the two-lane road we traveled on to get there. 


The small village is made up of approximately 20 houses, a small store where rations are distributed and purchases can be made. There was also a bus stop and a small soda stand, for lack of a better word, where sodas and snacks could be purchased.  On occasion, you can get a sandwich or small snack there also.


As I turned down the dirt road headed south, my anticipation grew even more. I glanced at the houses as I drove by and I felt as if I was in a dream. I've wanted and prayed for this moment for so many years and even though my Father wasn't here with me I was supercharged emotionally. I was finally going to meet my family and learn about my Father's upbringing. I would finally be able to put faces with the names that I've heard countless stories about.


I took the fork in the road to the right towards the last set of houses.  We were going to Loli's Dad's house first. I only knew him as Mongo and he is the oldest of my Dad's siblings. As I looked down the road, where the road curved to the right and disappeared into the jungle, I saw a small house with sky blue siding and white horizontal stripes. "That's it!"  Loli said and I slowed to a stop in front of the house.

Upon hearing the car my Uncle, Aunt and a couple of cousins came out.  I think the only times in my life I smiled as big were when I got married and when my children were born. And just like then, my eyes were burning as I fought back tears of joy.  I hugged my Aunt first, then my cousin and made my way to my Uncle.  When Mongo hugged me, I could feel love --the kind of love that you only get from family.  It was as if he didn't want to let go.  It was as if he, like me, had dreamt of this moment and he was trying to make up for all of the years that time had swallowed.  I could see the moisture in their eyes as well and the love I felt was unmeasurable.  There is nothing like family I thought, there is nothing like family!

"Where's your Dad?" they asked and with sadness I informed them that he couldn't get his visa and that he was hoping to come in the near future. Without a phone, there was no way to let them know what had happened.

The kitchen

I took out my camcorder and decided to film as I walked through their home. I stepped through the front door into the small living room and noticed that there was no ceiling. All of the walls were about seven feet tall so the entire house was open from the tops of the walls to the roof. The roof was constructed from local timber and all of the support was round lumber and it looked like bamboo construction. There was a small eating area behind the living room and behind that, I was told, was the kitchen. I eagerly made my way to the back of the house and my heart sank. The kitchen, as they called it, was nothing more than a shelf with an open window.  Outside the window was a vessel for holding water. They had a small table set up with a rice cooker and an electric eye for cooking. A small refrigerator sat in the corner and the other corner had a small washing machine that was like nothing I had seen before.

Washing Machine

I slowly lowered the camera, I couldn't film this. I couldn't believe that I had family that didn't even have running water in their home. I had a pain in the pit of my stomach for all of the wasted water, food and other things we take for granted in this county. I felt guilty for all of the complaints I've voiced that, after seeing this, I should never have spoken.

They ushered me through the house and we made our way to the back. Behind the house was a small work shop* where my uncle worked as a carpenter. Beyond that, there were a few banana trees then the thick jungle which continues about six miles till the jungle meets the ocean.

 




*As it turned out, the shop is actually the remnants of the house was where my father grew up. There was nothing left of it but a roof, its supports and the dirt floor my father walked on.  

The shop had a homemade table saw with a small router type bit sticking out to the side and another table had some sort of sander with an exposed sanding belt. None of the equipment had any safety features as my uncle pointed out to me with his two half-fingers.

In one corner of the shed was a small area where they would boil water for drinking and bathing. Their drinking water, when available, was delivered by truck and placed in two 55 gallon barrels on the front porch. Behind the shed were three small cages each containing what I thought were large rats. I was wrong, they were Hutia. Hutia is a moderately large rodent that nests in the trees or rocks instead of burrowing into the ground. I guess this is their equivalent to our squirrel. Upon closer inspection, they reminded me of the Nutria.  It is hunted in Cuba and used as a food source, which is against the law in Cuba, by the way, to hunt for your own food supply.  However, my uncle, was apparently a very skilled hunter of Hutia.  My uncle explained to me that Hutia are herbivores and when cooked properly were very tasty.  Everybody there echoed his sentiments and I was hoping I would get to eat some before I had to return home.

Mongo, Caridad, Onelio and Loli

Before I knew it, another Uncle, Onelio, and a few more cousins made their way to me and we went around to the front porch.  I was told to bring the car around the back of the house as to not garner any unwanted attention.  The chairs were brought from inside and placed on the front porch, I was given a cigar and the storytelling began.  I know Eric felt lost, not knowing the language and having difficulties understanding the conversation, he had to be.  But laughter is contagious, and the love shared that day can't be held prisoner by a language barrier.  He felt it, as did I, and I couldn't help but to think of my Father, my wife, my daughter and the rest of my family and how I wish they could be here. 


I thought again of all of the things we take for granted in life and how sometimes our priorities are misplaced.  My family cried as I asked about my Grandparents and what they were like, reflecting on love lost and the void left behind. We laughed as I mentioned our lack of hair in the family and that, at least not in my case, it is not malnutrition at play.  


During the brief moments of silence, I thought about how difficult it must have been for my father to leave his family and the only people he had ever known. To escape with only the glimmering hope of freedom and opportunity awaiting him. 

I puffed on my cigar as I sat in the same rocking chair my father once did, sharing stories the way only a family can do. Listening to stories of my father and his siblings' mischief growing up, absorbing the surrounding scenery and watching Eric trying to communicate with his new family.  Laughing, crying, smiling and building memories - as only a family can do. Because of this day, this moment, my internal light will forever shine brighter.

My Trip To Cuba - (Part 6)

My Trip to Cuba (Part 6)

It's funny how certain things become obsolete over time. I remember when growing up, you could dial 0 and get an operator to help you with your call. Then there was the rise and fall of the VCR, vinyl records and cassette tapes. Anybody remember the 8-track? Watches, thanks to cell phones, are also taking a hit. I don't wear one anymore because I can simply look at my cell phone and check the time. I could have used a watch on this trip, especially Tuesday morning.

I am awakened by a very loud "cock-a-doodle-doo!" this morning. It sounded like it was right outside my open window. It took me a minute to realize I wasn't dreaming. It was pitch black outside and as I searched for my nightstand, I realized I wasn't at home. I briefly wished I was wearing a watch.  I still kept my phone charged even though there was no service, but I was using it as a camera and a clock. I fumbled for my phone, and once I found it, pushed the button to see what time it was: 2:13 a.m.! "What the heck!"  This rooster must be drunk, or has come from a different time zone. And what is a rooster doing in the city of Havana anyways?  I quickly stopped my brain from asking too many questions.  If I kept that up, I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep from pondering all of the questions that come to mind when you're awakened by a confused rooster at 2:13 in the morning.

I awake later that morning to the whirring of two fans running and the occasional clicking as one of the fans changed direction. I picture it sweeping across the bed, like a lawn sprinkler then stopping and reversing it's direction. I lay in bed and kept my eyes closed defiantly as to not surrender to the dawn of the new day. It was useless, the excitement of the day quickly dissipated the sleepiness I was feeling.  The fans sufficed for our stay although it was a little hot when we first went to sleep.  Being April, I began to wonder how brutal the summers were here with no air conditioning. ,I didn't see a single air conditioning unit anywhere. ,I know some people had them, I just didn't see any. Enrique had a window unit on the floor of the living room but it was a 220 volt unit and there wasn't 220 anywhere in his house. ,He bought it, of course, on the black market a couple of years earlier. ,He was hoping to save to get a permit to run the proper voltage to his house and install the unit.  The humidity in July and August must be unbearable. I lived in Miami for a few years and the humidity there was stifling, like walking into a large oven when you went outside. I imagine it's worse in Cuba.

Breakfast consisted of some leftover bread from yesterday, some guava paste that I had bought, a single fried egg, and of course, coffee.  Over breakfast, Loli talked of a restaurant that is about 2 hours away on our three and a half hour drive to the small village west of Bermejas, where the rest of my family lives. She explained to me that it is actually a house that has a small seating area in front of it, where they serve home cooked meals. I had visions of Anthony Bourdain and me sitting down to enjoy a meal prepared in one of the most remote locations on the island.  He did a show about Cuba a couple of years ago. In his opening dialogue, he explained that he was only able to go where the government allowed him to go.  I wished I could drag him along with me to write about the real Cuba, the Cuba that the government doesn't want you to see.  I have a feeling it would be a real eye opener for many.

After breakfast, we gathered our suitcases and some fishing gear I had brought along and headed towards the rental car.  As we walked out through Loli's back yard, I looked down and there was Enrique's Pigeon. "See!" Enrique said, "They always come back."  I wonder why, I thought to myself.  If I could fly I'd end up in a palm tree by the beach for sure. 
I remember hoping the car was still there in one piece as we made our way through the narrow alleys and sidewalk out to the street where the car was waiting for us. 
As I turned a corner, there was a gentleman hitting a piece of cement with a hammer trying to get to the piece of metal rebarb that was encased inside of it. Enrique asked his neighbor what he was doing and the gentleman looked up at him and said "I need the piece of metal in here so I can make a part for my car."  Crazy, I thought, the ingenuity that grows out of desperation.

Honestly, I was a little nervous about driving in Havana. The person I rented the car from gave me a certification with his name on it and told me if I were to get pulled over to tell the police that I am his cousin visiting from the states and that I have permission to drive his car. Under no circumstances was I to mention that I was renting the car.  On the previous test drive through Havana, I drove upon a rear end collision and there was a passenger being loaded in an ambulance. I asked Enrique about insurance requirements in Cuba and he said there aren't any.  He further explained to me that a nephew of his was just in a bad accident and is still hospitalized requiring back surgery.  His nephew, who was fortunate enough to have a job, would certainly lose his job - not to mention his car was totaled. A wreck in Cuba could be catastrophic to a family.  "Great!" I thought, "one more thing to worry about."

We loaded up the car and the first thing I was asked was to turn on some music and turn on the air conditioner. Two things we take for granted that is a luxury to many Cubans, riding in a car with the air conditioning on and some tunes on the radio.  As I drove through the city streets, feeling like a teenage driver in a drivers ed class, I tried to take in the moments. Never did I think I would be doing this and to have my son along made it that much better. I started turning onto the on-ramp for the highway and I noticed more people than ever. The entrance to the highway was littered with people and animals. Many of the people had money in their hands or signs with money waving to us as we drove by. There were hitchhikers everywhere. Loli explained that these people are needing rides and are holding out money, hoping somebody will stop and pick them up. Under every bridge or shady spot along our drive were hitchhikers waving money just trying to get a ride.

As I entered the highway, called Autopista National, I didn't see a single car anywhere. The highway had 3 lanes on each side but they were all in need of repair. There were huge pot holes and sections that looked like they had forgotten to put asphalt down.
I accelerated and found a lane with the least amount of damage. As I drove with Havana to our backs, the view quickly changed. Houses became less sparse and pretty soon there was nothing but countryside and farms. Most of the land seemed unused. Occasionally, I would see some land that was being used for farming, but much of the land surrounding it seemed untouched.

Enrique said that even though they have more people farming, production is down. He said basically, there is no incentive to produce more. You aren't rewarded financially or even given more if you work or produce more so people have become lazy and only do the bare minimum. As a result, Cuba imports an estimated 80% of the food it's people consume. It's hard to believe that an area with such possibilities is handcuffed by the greediness of a Socialistic Dictator.

I continued driving and while avoiding pot holes, I tried to take in as much of the scenery as possible. I was worried about a flat tire since there would be no way to replace or repair a tire if we had one. I could picture me standing out by the road waving money with a tire in one hand trying to hitch a ride to the next town. That would make for a bad day. No AAA here.

After a couple of hours, Loli said to look to the left for a farm house that had a restaurant inside. We found the mile marker we were looking for and I pulled into the median. The restaurant was no longer there, only the charred remains of posts that previously supported the structure and a section of counter. The posts had been painted various colors but their ends were ashen like those of a cigar. The trees that previously surrounded the restaurant were burnt and mangled. It was an ugly contrast to the surrounding trees, flowers and buildings that made up the remaining homestead. I decided to pull in anyway and see if by chance they were still serving food.

There were about a half dozen tables and various chairs set about the yard and it appeared they were still open. Being a foodie, I eagerly exited the vehicle and grabbed a seat. The waitress, the farmers daughter, came and got our drink order and told us what they had. There were only two choices, pork chops or chicken. As I was deciding which one, I felt something walk across my feet and looked down to see a chicken walking past. Thinking of the rooster this morning and the chicken that just crossed my path were an omen I quickly said "I'll have the pork chops!"

One thing you get used to in Cuba is hearing "No hay" or "we don't have it." There wasn't a menu much less a list of side items. All plates came with sides of moros, (cuban rice and beans) and salad. They also had a few soft drink choices.  The food was fantastic. The meat and salad were on one plate and another plate came loaded with moros. I couldn't eat it all. The pork chops were lightly seasoned and cooked to perfection and the moros were fantastic. They were flavorful with a hint of garlic, onion and pork.  The salad comes without dressing and is eaten that way.  If you were to ask for dressing, you would here "no hay."  I ate and watched some workers and the owner trying to rebuild the burnt down restaurant.

Being a fireman, I had to ask the owner what had happened to start the fire. He said he was awaken by the fire one early morning and by the time he got outside it was too late. He didn't know what started the fire. He also talked about wanting to expand his menu to include pizzas and burgers, but the government wouldn't allow him to serve those items. Shortly after his request was denied, his restaurant burned down. 

I noticed he had some sort of welder with two wires that ran off of it. He was attaching two wires to a bundle of wires that ran across the tree next to our table. After a closer inspection, I noticed that these wires provided electricity to the farm house but two of them had bare spots on them and that is where he attached his wires from his welder.  In the video below, you will notice the man explaining how they use the wires for electricity that I'm referring to, along with some of the Cuban workers who were helping to restore the restaurant's tin roof.

After a few days, I noticed this use of wiring was very common. In some houses, they didn't have a typical light switch, they would just disconnect the wire and reconnect it when they wanted the light back on.  I had to remember not to go reaching for light switches in the dark.

Feeling full and in need of a nap, we loaded back up in the car and continued our journey. I don't think I saw more than 20 cars our entire drive down the highway. The only one that stood out was a BMW that flew by us doing well over 100 miles per hour.  "Maybe it was Jay Z and Beyonce!"  I thought later.

The roads are so void of cars that some farmers spread rice out on the highways for it to dry before they package it I was told later that day.  As we got closer to the coast, the drive reminded me of driving on US1 or Card Sound Road to the Florida Keys. I decided that I would stop at the next open area of beach, take some pictures and take in the scenery. We came upon an area called "Los Trailers," - yep, exactly like it sounds.  It was a small area with maybe 15 houses on it and a couple of old trailers.

There was a small cove here that had a little beach area. The view was beautiful. The water was a few different shades of turquoise. The water on one side of the cove was a darker blue and was lightly splashing against dark coral rock and mangroves. There were a variety of trees with their leaves having many different shades of green. There were some trees with green leaves, but were speckled with red leaves which the contrast made the scenery even more stunning.  On the beach area, the sand was light grey and the water was crystal clear. I looked out across the water and it was deserted except for a lone sailboat barely visible in the horizon. There were hardly any waves to speak of, the water was so tranquil, it was mesmerizing. I quickly grabbed my fishing gear and made my way to the beach. I felt like I did as a kid when the family was going to the beach. That excitement you feel in the pit of your stomach, I couldn't walk there quickly enough.

To say that I love fishing would be an understatement. My wife knew this when she met me and she will be happy to tell you of all the times during our marriage that I "let her" catch more fish than me.  We even went fishing on our honeymoon.  As I tied the jig to my fishing rod, I looked up and noticed my son was already about 60 yards out and Loli, in jeans and a shirt, was frolicking in the water with the smile and enthusiasm of a 6-year old kid. I grabbed the fishing rod and made my way out to where my son was.  It was still very shallow considering how far out we were, but I could tell that another 20 yards in either direction and it would be over our heads. The sand gave way to grass, which was great for fishing, but not so much for swimming. Further to our left, where the water was deeper and there was no beach, I saw a fish jump out of the water. I only made about 3 or 4 casts before my son asked for the fishing rod. I handed it to him and laid back in the water and took it all in again. Normally, I wouldn't give my fishing rod to anyone, but the beauty of this place was more important to me. I wanted to enjoy this in a way that I would never forget it. I wanted it permanently imprinted in my memory so I could recall it in moments of stress or insomnia. I took a few steps back and watched my son fishing, Loli playing in the water like a child, Enrique laughing at Loli and my soul was full. This is what life is about. Moments like this when, unexpectedly, beauty in all of its forms smiles upon your soul. The sound of laughter, the sound of the water, the clicking of the fishing reel, birds singing, the smiles on all of our faces. It was as if God made this moment just for me. 

I wanted to stay in this place forever, but we had to get going. I had so much family to meet this day and I couldn't wait to see their faces.  As I got back into the car with the smile of a child at an all you can eat ice cream buffet, I said a little thank you to God as I drove away. 

My Trip to Cuba - (Part 5)

I awaken, like I always do, around 6:20 a.m. It takes me a minute to realize where I am. It's Monday and the memories of yesterday's journey to Havana are fresh on my mind. Visions of what I saw are blinking through my mind like a slide show. The bright Caribbean colors of the buildings, the walkways full of European tourists and the restaurant peddlers with menu in hand asking you to come inside and eat. 

As the fog clears from my head, I begin to run through a checklist of things that must be done today to prepare for tomorrow's trip to Bermejas, where I will see the rest of the Aunts, Uncles and Cousins that I've never met. I've got to pay for the rental car, exchange some money and pack for the remainder of the week. Hopefully, I will need to pick my father up at the airport.

As the sun begins to warm the morning air, I realize I am the only one awake. I make my way to the back patio and listen to the birds and the rest of Havana come to life. With the exception of the colors from Loli's little oasis of flowering plants and trees, the view here is a dull contrast to that of the tourist areas. The expected sounds of buses, horns honking, mopeds buzzing around are absent. Instead I hear very little. The workers next door are talking about the day's work ahead. I hear various songbirds from surrounding patios and Enrique's pigeons are stirring about. The blind one is walking around his cage in circles pausing occasionally to tilt his head back. The pigeon reminds me of Eddie Murphy when he was imitates Stevie Wonder. I smile at the thought.

I wonder how different it is for a man born in this place. What are his thoughts as he wakes? I imagine it's more on the basic needs of food, will the water be on today or finding work to make money. The things we worry about on a daily basis, what do I wear today, is there going to be traffic, am I going to have to work late today, are made smaller at the realization that most of the people here would love to have those problems if only given the opportunity.

I begin to smell coffee brewing and I know that Loli is awake. I make my way back inside and wake Eric up so we can get an early start. Eric's morning routine has been drastically altered. With no internet there is no reason to glance at his phone to see tweets, texts, Facebook or Instagram posts that had been updated during the night, no reason to stay in bed.

As Eric was getting ready and Loli was preparing the black beans for tonight's dinner, I started thinking about some billboards and signs I had seen the day before as we were making our way around Havana. All of them appeared to be directed towards the US. Most said "Free the Cuban Five" or "Stop the injustice, release the five now!" I asked Loli about it and she explained:

The Cuban Five, also known as the Miami Five (Gerardo Hernández, Antonio Guerrero, Ramón Labañino, Fernando González, and René González) are five Cuban officers convicted in Miami of conspiracy to commit espionage, conspiracy to commit murder, acting as an agent of foreign government and other illegal activities in the United States. The Five were in the United States to observe and infiltrate the U.S. Southern Command and the Cuban-American groups Alpha 66, the F4 Commandos, the Cuban American National Foundation, and Brothers to the Rescue. They were part of "La Red Avispa", or the Wasp Network. At their trial, evidence was presented that the Five infiltrated the Miami-based Cuban exile group, Brothers to the Rescue, obtained employment at the Key West Naval Air Station in order to send the Cuban government reports about the base, and had attempted to penetrate the Miami facility of U.S. Southern Command. On February 24, 1996, two Brothers to the Rescue aircraft were shot down by Cuban military jets in international airspace while flying away from Cuban airspace, killing the four U.S. citizens aboard.

For their part, Cuba acknowledged, after denying the fact for nearly three years, that the five men were intelligence agents, but says they were spying on Miami's Cuban exile community, not the U.S. government. Cuba contends that the men were sent to South Florida in the wake of several terrorist bombings in Havana masterminded by anti-communist militant Luis Posada Carriles, a former Central Intelligence Agency operative. The Five appealed their convictions and the alleged lack of fairness in their trial has received substantial international criticism. A three-judge panel of the 11th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in Atlanta overturned their convictions in 2005, citing the "prejudices" of Miami’s anti-Castro Cubans, but the full court later reversed the five's bid for a new trial and reinstated the original convictions. In June 2009, the U.S. Supreme Court declined to review the case. In Cuba, the Five are viewed by the government as national heroes and portrayed as having sacrificed their liberty in the defense of their country. (Thanks, Wikipedia!)

It's obvious that the propaganda machine in Cuba is alive and kicking. Over breakfast, we talked about our trip and what it was like where we were headed, about how my family has lived in Bermejas since their arrival from the Canary Islands. I was looking forward to this part of my journey - to walk the soil my Father had as a child and a young soldier during the Bay of Pigs.

As we talked about family and how different our lives are on a day-to-day basis, I began to miss my wife even more. It was strange not getting a text or a call from her. Every morning, when I arrive at the Fire station, I get a text telling me that she loves me and to be safe. In Cuba, there was no internet or any other means of communication available to me, nor is it available to most of the country. I asked if it was possible for me to call home. Enrique and Loli told me that I could buy a calling card for twenty dollars that would allow me to talk for about four minutes. There was a lady down the street that sold them out of her home. If it wasn't for the black market in Cuba, I don't know what I would have done.

In Cuba, they have two currencies: the CUP, or cuban peso, which is for residents and has no value outside of Cuba, and for tourists, they have CUC or Cuban convertible peso. I needed to exchange some money, so I gave Enrique some to exchange for me. On the black market, they were paying 9 CUC more per 100 US dollars then they were at the exchange centers. It seems the black market is where a majority of business is done.

As Enrique left to buy the calling card and exchange some money, he let his one good pigeon go free. I looked questionably, but before I could ask, he said "Don't worry, he always comes back."

I was admiring their little backyard. Most people didn't have a back yard and few had the flowers and plants that Loli had. It was a little haven from the old crumbling city that I had seen in the non-tourist parts the day before. There weren't any plans for today other than to get the rental car (also rented on the black market) and spend time relaxing at Loli's house.

I'm not sure if it's just me or if it's a conditioning from my lifestyle, but unless I'm hunting or fishing, I need some sort of noise, usually music, going on in the background. I wanted to play some of the music on my phone for Loli, especially a song my son recorded, and I began to see if I could. I was curious as to how far the marketing cloud that is music these days has spread. They kept calling my son Justin Beiber, so I knew that some of it penetrates their lives. I found an old set of speakers that had a plug that looked like it would fit my phone and when I plugged it in, they worked! Well, one of the speakers worked as long as you didn't turn it up too loud. Various songs played in the background as Loli and I talked about life in Cuba and the family members I was about to meet. She only recognized a few artists -- Adele was her favorite. She knew of Mariah, Beyonce and other international stars and I was quite surprised as to how far the promotion of artists went.

Enrique returned and I quickly asked about calling my wife. He showed me how to use the card and I made the call. When my wife answered, I could tell she was very surprised, likely fighting back a few tears of joy and relief. I didn't know if we would be able to talk or not, but I was very relieved to hear her voice. It filled my heart with joy to speak to her. My emotional tank was on low with all of the stress from the past few days. So many unknowns for my son and I, so many discoveries, unfamiliar areas and people and worries. Just talking to her gave me a renewed energy - my tank and heart were full.

Unfortunately, my Father wasn't going to be able to make it, she told me. He couldn't get his visa in time to make the trip. It crushed me when I heard the news. I wanted to hear him tell me stories of my grandparents, of his brothers, sisters and other family members as we all sat around together, with them all laughing and smiling as they were recalling the memories as if it was only a short time ago. I wanted to create new memories with them all. My Father, Son and I becoming a part of some new story that would be spoken long after we left, bringing smiles to everyone's faces as if we were still there, still a part of their everyday life. But it wasn't meant to be. I worried for my Father as I know how bad he wanted to be here, to share in this with me and his grandson. The dissapointment he must be feeling was a burden I wanted to carry, but only God knows why these things happen. I hoped and prayed that I would get an answer to that question before my trip was over.

I told my wife not to worry that we were in good hands, that Loli and Enrique were taking great care of us. As we were saying our goodbyes, the words "I Love You" just didn't seem like enough. I wanted to reach through the phone to hug her tightly, to let her know that I was going to be okay. I sadly hung up the phone and shared the news about my father with everyone.

I went through a mixture of emotions. I stayed mad, upset for a few hours afterwards. As I picked up the rental car, the owner of the car must have thought I didn't trust him. He was cautious with his words and was very concerned with my happiness during the transaction. He didn't even bother counting the money as I handed it to him. Fifty dollars a day plus a two hundred dollar refundable deposit. "Not bad for a 2002 Hyundai," I thought.

As the day winded down, we had a fantastic meal of black beans, rice and an assortment of vegetables and some fresh cuban bread. After dinner, we had some guava and Cuban coffee. There is nothing like a good meal to cheer you up!

There was a small tube television and we turned it on to watch the news. As it turns out, there is only one news program in Cuba on the channel Cubavision. The news is goverment-run and is just another cog in the communist propaganda machine that is visible here. One noticeable difference in Cuba is the lack of commercials. The only break in the news program and the comedy show that followed were commercials promoting government-run programs, upcoming events or the channel itself. The impression that Cubans have of the United States isn't very good. But, if the only impression you had of our country was what you saw on our news, what would your impression be?

With the day nearing an end, and everything ready for tomorrow, I went to bed with a heavy heart - a mixture of emotions stirring in my mind. I was happy to have spoken to my wife, sad for the news of my father. My Son and I were traveling to a very remote part of the Island with many more unknowns. As I lay there, I began to realize that I shouldn't let the circumstances affect the rest of the trip. I was still going to meet my family like I had dreamed of, I was still going to see where my Father grew up. The last thing I should do is let this unfortunate event dictate my mood. With those thoughts and my wife's voice in my head, I fell asleep.

My Trip to Cuba - (Part 4) Havana

Helen Keller wrote "Many experiences lose their poignancy and importance is lost with the excitement of new discoveries."  This rang so true during my trip.  Everyday, I was learning something new, discovering something new and experiencing something for the first time.  As I reflect on my trip and attempt to put it into words, I hope its significance isn't lost, that its impact isn't watered down and that somehow, I do the experience an unfortunate injustice.  It was life-changing and I don't think I can express it any better than that, life-changing.

When I first arrived I felt out of place, like a tourist. But like a winter's snow on a warm spring morning, those feelings slowly melted away. I started to realize that this city and this country were a part of my heritage.  It helped to shape and mold my Father into the man he is; therefore, having an eternal influence on who I am as a person - a husband and a father.

I constantly worried for Eric.  What would happen if we were split up somehow and I couldn't find him?  Eric spoke very limited Spanish and, with no cell service, there was no Find My Friends app to be used.  We carried the address to the US Embassy, along with our passport and drivers license, with us everywhere, but, I had to have a backup plan. There was a church close to Loli's house.  Its steeple stood taller than the surrounding buildings and served as a lighthouse of sorts for me to gather my bearings while we were there.  I told him if we were to get separated in this area of Havana to look for that steeple, go to the church and we would meet there.  But, where we were headed was different.  We were going to the main tourist areas of the city and, in my mind, had a larger possibility of kidnapping or some other crime.  Visions of the movie Taken ran through my mind and I couldn't prepare for every scenario that I imagined.  There were many prayers for Eric during our trip, but especially on this day.

Inside the Guagua (Public Bus in Cuba)

We were unable to procure a vehicle for our visit to Havana, especially one that would fit all 6 of us, so we had to take the "guagua," or public transportation bus.  In other countries, the guagua is a small bus, but in Cuba, it is a large bus, packed to standing room only.  Apparently, the bus is for citizens only.  Enrique told us not to speak when we got on the bus, that he would handle it.  I saw him hand the driver some money and then he quickly ushered us towards the back of the bus.

Adding to my anxiety was the fact that every important thing we had was in a small backpack that we carried around with us.  All of our money, our passports and our return flight tickets.  It would have been easier to carry everything in something else.  I was told a fanny pack would be the best thing, but I just couldn't bring myself to buy one, much less use it.  I had visions of my Miami Dolphins-striped Zubaz along with my black fanny pack I used to wear in the 80s.  I had to quickly think of something else so that vision wouldn't haunt me any longer. I had thought about purchasing a satchel, but I just couldn't shake the video footage of Mr. Chow from The Hangover saying "It's a purse, kay!"  There were no ATM machines anywhere, so if I lost this money, we were in big trouble.  I had split the money into 3 - giving 1/3 to Eric, keeping one myself and leaving the other in our suitcases back at Loli's house.



Havana is the largest city in Cuba and most populous, spanning over 280 square miles with 2.1 million people.  Havana can be described as three cities in one -- Old Havana, Vedado and the newer suburban districts.  Cuba had welcomed more than one million tourists in 2012, mostly European.  Since it would be impossible to see it all in one day, I decided we should start in the tourist district and work our way around from there.

Once we arrived, we pushed our way out of the guagua and stepped onto the streets of Havana.  We were close to El Capitolio and the sounds of the city were the first thing that caught my attention -- the noises of old cars whizzing by, horse-drawn carriages and distant music filled the air.  

It's difficult to make out in the pictures below, but the picture on the left is of the Capitol the day we saw it.  It is in horrible condition and the dome is "being restored."  If you look closely, you can see the scaffolding surrounding it.  The scaffolding is meant to serve as a symbol of hope - a hope that buildings such as these aren't lost forever, that maybe one day they can be seen in their glory by the rest of the world - a free world - but we were told that no one has seen any work being done in some time.

The Capitol's beauty is scarred by years of neglect.  The building is in such bad shape that it has been deserted by the government and it is also closed to the public.  As we walked around it, we were overwhelmed by the smell of urine at every corner.  It was saddening.  The picture on the right is the picture I found on the Internet - the "image" the Cuban government wants you to see.   

Photo I took of Capitol Building

Internet Photo of Capitol

Since it is closed to the public, we were unable to go inside, but I found this picture of the interior salon.  It was inspired by the Panthean in Paris and was constructed in the United States.

The inside of the main hall under the cupola is dominated by the huge Statue of the Republic (La Estatua de la República). The statue was cast in bronze in Rome in three pieces and assembled inside the building after its arrival in Cuba.  It is covered with 22-carat (92%) gold leaf and weighs 49 tons.














There is a diamond embedded in the floor in the center of the main hall, Enrique told us.  It is a replica 25-carat (5 g) diamond, which marks the Kilometre centre for Cuba. The original diamond, said to have belonged to Tsar Nicholas II of Russia and sold to the Cuban state by a Turkish merchant, was stolen on March 25, 1946, and, mysteriously, returned to the President, Ramon Grau San Martin, on June 2, 1946.  In 1973, dictator Fidel Castro had it removed from the floor and replaced by a replica.  Its whereabouts today remain unknown, but it is assumed to be in Castro's coffers. (Thank you, Wikipedia!)

Across from the Capitolio was a large shopping area - a mall of sorts, only all of the stores were on the lower levels of three- and four-story buildings with the upper floors serving as housing.  There are no dryers in Cuba; therefore, every balcony had clothes lines draped across it, many with clothes drying.

We entered one of the main tourist areas in Havana. All of the buildings were brightly painted and the road between them was narrow, not really wide enough to drive through and, judging by the foot traffic, I don't think they were open to automobile traffic.  Welcome to Old Havana!

Old Havana

Old Havana

In front of me was the famous Floridita, Ernest Hemingway's favorite bar.  Floridita, which opened in 1817, is credited with the invention of the Daiquiri in the 1930's. When you hear the name Old Havana you would think that this is the part of town that is run down and falling apart, but it isn't. This is the main tourist area of Havana and it is obvious by all of the small shops, hotels and foreign tourists.    

As we walked passed Floridita, we heard a scream that immediately caught our attention. We didn't notice anything unusual, so I just chalked it up to someone scaring a friend or spouse.  The memory of this makes me smile because I think of all of the times I have hidden around a corner, waiting for my unsuspecting wife or son to walk by, or doing the same at the firehouse, just so I can scare them. (Good times!)  We heard another scream and then we noticed these statues along the sidewalk! Everyone was taking pictures and I also filmed one of them to capture the memory.

                                            

We then perused several shops and bought a few keepsakes to take back home because I knew we might not ever have a chance to come back.  With the cleanliness of the area and all of the different languages being spoken, I didn't feel like I was in Cuba, but somewhere else completely.  This could easily have been the French Quarter in New Orleans or a city in Spain. 

In front of every restaurant, someone was holding a menu for us to look at and every hotel had a doorman that greeted us with a smile.  Couples were holding hands, Cuban music was billowing out of every bar and keepsakes were being sold on every corner.  It was easy to forget, and hard to believe for that matter, that just a few blocks away the city was literally falling apart.

We were getting hungry, so we decided to eat at this little restaurant with some outdoor tables.  It was obvious that everyone was tourists and my best guess was that they were all European.  Pitchers of Sangria were on most tables with an occasional Cristal beer here and there. We grabbed a table and placed our orders.  Eric ordered Arroz con Pollo (chicken and rice).  Chicken and rice is a traditional Cuban meal, cooked with whole pieces of chicken, olives, garlic, bay leaves and saffron which gives it a nice yellow color as well as great taste.  I ordered black beans, rice and steak.  Alex and David ordered Spaghetti.  Immediately, I thought "What?  Spaghetti?  Are you kidding me?"  But, as in most cases, two things the kids love to eat are spaghetti and pizzas.  However, the pizzas in Cuba are nothing like what we are accustomed to in the US.  They are all personal-sized, a little smaller than a piece of pita bread, and have what looks like watered down sauce, along with very little cheese.  Papa John would have a fit!  These kids love it and since they don't know any difference, I wasn't going to ruin it for them by critiquing their food choices.  We all ate our meals and between bites, I enjoyed people-watching and checking out the surrounding buildings.

After lunch, we continued walking down the narrow street which led to a large courtyard that surrounded a large statue with a water fountain in the center.  Every building in the courtyard had been completely restored and each had a before and after picture posted on it.  Enrique explained to me that we had entered what is now known as the "Old Square."  Originally built in the 17th century (along with four other squares), Old Square served as a military nerve center where  bull fights, fiestas and executions were held and witnessed by Cuba's wealthiest citizens from their balconies.  Each building was unique and all were beautiful.  Each had incredible hand-crafted, stained glass and detailed woodwork.  I could have spent an hour on each building just admiring the architecture and craftsmanship. 

Panoramic View of Old Square

As I reflected back to memories of my father telling me of the executions on these same squares during the Bay of Pigs, I was quickly brought back to reality by some great music.  Someone was playing the flute like nothing I have ever heard.  We made our way down to the establishment. I was distracted at first by these tall (nearly four feet) containers of beer on the tables, but luckily, I was able to capture the last part of the song.  We bought some fresh coconut ice cream that was served in half of a coconut shell, then sat and listened to the music, admiring the architecture and taking in the sights and sounds of the people and the square. 

When we finished our ice cream, we decided to walk towards El Malecon - a 4-mile stretch of boardwalk, seawall and roadway along the coast in Havana.  Enrique took us on a different route so we could see the other parts of Havana - the "non-tourist areas." It was only a couple of blocks away and it was like someone had flipped a switch.  We couldn't believe the difference.  The streets were in horrible condition.  What was once a beautiful cobblestone street had been reduced to a road, riddled with large holes with exposed water lines and the familiar odor of raw sewage.  Although some of the buildings were abandoned, they were in such horrible shape that metal supports surrounded them to stop them from collapsing and potentially injuring pedestrians. 

In this video, you can see just how bad the road and buildings are.

 

Away from the tourist areas, Havana was a different city. Gone were the freshly restored and manicured buildings. They were replaced by run-down, bedraggled buildings with little resemblence of their former beauty.

We came upon a fire station. Being a firefighter, I had to stop and see if they would give me a tour.  Camcorder in hand, an on-duty firefighter greeted us and and agreed to give me a tour, but told me that I could not film anything here because it was a military establishment.  Unbeknownst to this gentlemen, I left the camera on and recorded anyway, but what I recorded isn't worth posting.  They had a lot of equipment at this station, including tankers, because there very few fire hydrants in Havana and the ones they do have seldom work.  Most of the equipment is outdated and would be used in the US as a reserve unit, at best.  The only new equipment they had was a command bus.  It looked quite impressive from the outside, but I was not allowed to see inside of it.  We exchanged a few stories and he acknowledged my tales with "Yes, we know, we all watch Chicago Fire."  "Oh boy!"  was all I could think. I really hoped that was not how they perceived firefighters in the US.

As I was talking to one of the drivers, he asked me what I earned per week.  I told him we got paid every two weeks, but when I told him the amount, he told me to take the first digit off [my bi-weekly pay] and that was more than he makes all year!!  It is still crazy to think that they survive on less than $400.00 a year.

My Trip to Cuba – (Part 3) Havana

As we were making preparations to visit Havana, a couple of cousins decided to stop by.  They were close to my son's age and came over as soon as they heard we had arrived.  One of them was named David and the other was Alex. There is always that awkwardness you feel when meeting someone for the first time, part from anticipation, part from excitement and part from sadness.  Sadness that it took so long for this to happen.  However, immediately after meeting Alex, the awkwardness was quickly forgotten!

Alex was trying to learn English and attempted to communicate with both of us.  My son, having struggled in Spanish I and Spanish II in high school (go figure!), was trying his best to speak Spanish.  It was actually quite comical.  When Eric couldn’t understand Alex or David, he would ask them,  "¿Que?" (Spanish for "what?"), and when David or Alex didn’t understand Eric, they would ask him "What?"  Only it sounded like "Hwhat?"  Every few minutes, Eric would ask “Dad, how do you say this?” or Alex would ask me  "¿Como se dice _____?"  Needless to say, I was the translator for most of their early conversations.

One moment in particular, Eric called, “Hey dad, come here!”  So I drank my last bit of coffee (Man, this stuff is addictive!) and made my way outside.  He wanted me to translate what Alex was telling him.  

"Tu hijo se parece a Yusten Beever." 

I laughed, "Eric, he said you look like Justin Bieber." 

We both got a laugh out of that, but I’m not sure Eric really thought it was funny!

They tried their best to communicate, but most of the time, all I would hear was Eric's  "¿Que?" and Alex's "Hwhat?"  Back and forth, until they would give up and call me to translate.  (I still smile at the memory!)

 Eric (My Son), Alex and David

Being that Alex and David were close to Eric’s age, I asked them if they were planning on going to college and what they would study.  David tilted his head and said, "College?  We don’t get to go to college."  They explained to me that you only go to college if the government picks you to go. "Oh, you’ve got to love socialism!"  I thought to myself. 

Photo I took of Morro Castle

Before we left for Cuba, my father had told me there were a few places that we must see.  One of them was the Morro Castle. “Morro,” in Spanish, means a rock which is very visible from the sea and, therefore, serves as a navigational landmark.  I had seen a few pictures of this fortress, but couldn’t wait to see it in person.

Built in 1589 when Cuba was under the control of Spain, Morro Castle is a beautiful fortress that guarded the entrance into Havana Bay.  It still dominates the port entrance and can be seen from miles away.  Since Cuba was the main port for goods going to the new world and back to Europe, it was built to protect the city of Havana, along with a large wall which completely surrounded the city.

                                                                                                            

Night after night, at 9 o’clock sharp, the guards would fire a cannon to warn citizens that the gates would be closing.  They would also raise a chain that spanned the entire entrance to the bay to prohibit ships from coming in or leaving.  It was a warning to everybody that it was time to take refuge behind the thick walls and avoid walking in the forests of exuberant vegetation surrounding the city.   

But as the city grew, it stretched beyond the walls and, although most of the wall has been destroyed, parts of it and the huge doors still remain today. Also remaining, is the 9 o’clock tradition of firing the cannon, which many Cubans use to set their clocks.  As part of the ceremony, guards dress in authentic Spanish uniforms, like those worn during colonial times, and march towards the cannon to fire it.  Loli and Enrique asked if I wanted to see this ceremony and I jumped at the chance. 

I wish we had gotten there earlier because I would have loved to have seen the entire fort.  I couldn’t believe how big it was.  There were two very large sets of doors with a drawbridge mechanism that looked as if it may still work.  There was even a dry mote around the entrance.  This would be a great location to film the HBO series Game of Thrones.  

I was only able to step inside one of the smaller museums, where I saw a catapult and some other perfectly preserved ancient war artifacts -- some with horse drawn carriages.  It was like taking a step back in time.  I didn’t get to see the barracks, which were four stories high, the underwater archeology exhibition or the huge lighthouse.  We only saw a small portion of the exhibits.  Maybe on our next visit, we can spend more time there. 

  Morro Castle

It was close to 9 and we had to get in a position to see the ceremony.  I honestly attempted to film the ceremony, but when the cannon went off, I almost peed in my pants!  I jumped!!  And yes, I’m man enough to admit it!  At least I can say I didn’t scream like the man in front of me!  I wonder how many people leave the ceremony with chest pains.  I didn't know what to expect, but I never expected it to be so incredibly loud.  I failed at videoing it, so I found the following video where you can watch the ceremony. 

Afterward, I stood on the wall overlooking the bay and the city of Havana.  It was a beautiful sight - seeing the city breathing and moving and the lights reflecting off of the water.  As I looked to my right, a huge Cuban flag was swaying in the breeze.  I could see why so many Cuban exiles miss this place, miss its potential, its possibilities.  You can’t help but feel sad for the people and their struggles, when they could have so much more if not for its dictatorship and its oppressiveness.

We left to return to Loli’s home and were making plans on going to Havana the following day to see the old Havana as well as the new Havana, where all the tourists go.  I wanted to see the contrast between the two, to see the places where Ernest Hemingway walked and was inspired to write about and to also put my finger on the pulse of the city.  But for now, more importantly, I wondered if we would get back home in time for some more coffee?

The next morning, I was awakened by a sound I didn't expect to hear in a city of over 2 million people.  A rooster.  That's right, a rooster.  It took me a minute to realize where I was -- I thought I might be in a dream or having a caffeine hangover.  I cleared the cobwebs from my brain and decided to get up and go outside and listen to the city wake up.  The sun was just coming up over the roof tops and the love birds were singing, greeting me as I walked outside.  

I looked around and noticed that all of the houses had tanks on their roofs.  Some had tanks made out of cement and others had 55 gallon drums up there and each one had pipes, one high and one low, connected to it which ran into the home.  I thought it was kind of weird, so I decided to investigate. 

As it turns out, there is no constant running water system in Havana.  On average, they turn the water on every other day for an hour or two.  The tanks are filled when the water is turned on in order to have water when the supply is off, which can be up to 2 days or more at a time.  The tanks are on the roof so that gravity can provide the needed pressure for the water to flow inside the home.  As a plumber, I was intrigued at the idea of installing a good water system in this old city, but I could only imagine what an undertaking that would be.  

I was warned not to drink the water, so before leaving Atlanta, I purchased a water purifier. There were many areas where sewer pipes were open and the water lines ran into the same ditch, which causes cross contamination.  This is quite possibly the reason there is currently cholera outbreaks in Cuba - many of which have resulted in death.

I was constantly treating my drinking water with a UV light as seen in the photo to the left.  I was also warned that if I bought bottled water in Cuba and the top appeared to be tampered with or looked as if it may have been previously opened, I needed to ask for another one.  You want a new bottle every time!  

     

While I was sitting outside, I heard some commotion coming from the house next door.  The neighbors were apparently building a home.  They had some crude forms installed and the cement that had been poured the day before was now dry.  An elderly gentleman, who looked to be at least 70 years old, had a cigar in his mouth and was digging a trench to install a drain pipe for a toilet, before the slab was poured.  He didn't have a shovel.  He only had an old pick and a metal pot that he was using to get the dirt out of the ditch.  Man, the things we take for granted!  I complain when I have to use a shovel.  I hate those things!   But,  Wow!  I see that it can always be worse.


Eventually, helpers arrived, the radio was turned on and music began booming through the city.  "They obviously don't care whose asleep," I mumbled.  The song that played was a classic Cuban song I have enjoyed listening to most of my life, only this time I was actually there, appreciating it in a totally new way!  I stayed outside for a little while and watched and listened to Havana awake.  I watched him work -- I say 'him' because the other four "helpers" sat around a table playing dominoes, while 'he' installed the drain pipe.  Was that rum they were drinking?  I couldn't tell. The classic Cuban song finished and Daddy Yankee came on.  "Cool!  I haven't heard that song in a while!"  I thought to myself, when suddenly, I heard Loli calling...

"Hola!  ¿Quieres cafecito?  ("Hey, you want some coffee?") 

 Actually, all I heard was, "Hey, you want..." before I blurted out, "Yes!!!"  I saw her opening the bag before she even asked and, at the sight of that, my right arm started twitching and my shoulder was itching.  Again, visions of the great Cornholio filled my mind!

Eric was waking up and the possibilities and excitement of the day had me anxious.  About an hour and 10 more Daddy Yankee songs later(!!!), I was ready to kill somebody!  I was secretly planning a way to kill any Reggaeton musician!  "Death to Reggaeton!"  ran through my mind when mercifully, the song ended and then a classic rock song came on.  "Thank you, Lord!"  I whispered to myself.

"You think they like Daddy Yankee here?" Eric asked. 

"Either that... or they are torturing prisoners!" I replied.

As we finished our coffee, Enrique asked us if we wanted to go "chopping."  Actually, he was saying "shopping" in English, but with his heavy Cuban accent, it sounded like chopping.  "Sure!" we both said.  He explained to us that only on certain days, locals are allowed to sell goods or food items for money.  Normally, you would go to your assigned store on an assigned day and pick up your rations for the month.  (More on the rations later in this post.)

As we walked through the streets, there were people selling items out of wheelbarrows in front of their homes or in carts on the street corner.  At the next block, there was a small open air market, similar to a small farmer's market with local produce, some spices and other items.  Enrique grabbed some beets, green beans, dry black beans, potatoes, red peppers and some tomatoes.  Each time, he bargained with the merchant and had enough money left over to buy a head of cabbage.

We walked a little further to a small store where they sold about 20-30 miscellaneous items - shaving cream, toothpaste, razors, etc.  I bought some shaving cream and a pack of toilet paper.  I wasn't about to chance not having any ever again!

Enrique further explained to me that the government has allowed these people to sell goods on certain days hoping it would curtail the black market that is so prevalent in Cuba.  Of course, in order for them to sell goods, they must buy a license and pay certain fees, but at least the opportunity was there.


The average salary in Cuba is $10.00 per month. No, that isn't a typo, $10.00 per month. There isn't much you can buy unless you sell goods on the black market to make the extra money needed to purchase food or other goods on those "legal" shopping days.  It's crazy!  Everybody sells something to get by and better provide for their families. 

For example, if they worked at a gas station, they would sell gas on the side.  If they produced honey, after meeting the government quota, they would sell or barter the extra.  (If they do not meet the quota, the amount is deducted from their salary.)  Getting caught would certainly mean jail time, but Cubans must do what they can to make ends meet. 

On the way back from the market, Eric pointed out an elderly man who was scooping rice out of a dumpster into a container.  There were countless flies buzzing around his head and bugs crawling all through the rice as he scooped it into his small bucket.  In Cuba, the elderly struggle to make it on what is rationed to them, unless they have family to help them.  They are unable to produce anything to sell on the black market, so they end up either begging for food or digging through garbage like this man was.  I know there are homeless people in all countries, but here, it appears that they don't have a choice.  They are just victims of circumstance.

I mentioned rationing.  Below is a photo I took of a monthly ration booklet.  A family of 3 receives the following PER MONTH:

Monthly Ration Booklet

Bag of Coffee

• 30 small eggs (10 per person/per month)
• 3 kilos of beans (about 7 lbs.)
• 1-1/2 liters of oil
• 15 kilos of rice (roughly 33 lbs.)
• 3 packs of coffee  (small bags - see photo for size comparison)
• 12 kilos of Raw and Refined Sugar
• 3 kilos of grains
• 1 loaf of bread

Women receive 1 pack of feminine pads every 90 days and that is only if any is still available at their turn in line.  They may randomly get certain items like soap, toothpaste, etc., otherwise, if it isn't available during the monthly rationing pick-up, they will have to look for it on the black market.


Condiments and spices are also luxuries in Cuba.  There's no butter, mayonnaise or ketchup in any refrigerator.  However, later in my trip, I purchased some mayonnaise and it was eaten on bread with nothing else.  They eat it like we would butter.  

They also don't receive any milk.  The only people that are rationed milk are children less than 7 years old and those over 80.

After reviewing the ration booklet, I understood what a sacrifice they were making just to have us stay at their house.  Every meal I ate, I did so knowing that they were truly going without for Eric and me.  We both realized just how fortunate we are with all of the food available to us in the United States.

After our morning shopping was over, we returned to Loli's house, had a small breakfast and began to prepare for our trip through Havana.



(SIDE NOTE:  Yesterday, May 14, 2013, my cousin, Loli, who met Eric and I at the airport and allowed us to stay a few days in her home in Havana, arrived in the United States for the first time ever for a few week's stay.  I am thrilled for her opportunity to come and will love seeing her.)