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.)