Franklin Blog

Cuba Libra Today
Contents
Disclaimers / Copyright info, Relationship with Armstrong Media Gro... Who I am and What Im doing by Franklin Marquez Preparations for Trip to Cuba Questions I Have About Franklin Marquez American Travel to Cuba Under the New Rules / Exchanging Money My History in Cuba And Being Sent Away This is It: Miami (MIA) to Havana (HAV) First Impressions of Cuba and Havana The Dwelling Unit of Oswardo and His Family The Malecn The Meli Cohiba Hotel Outside the Melia Cohiba The Malecn and Havana Vieja at night Leaving Havana. Arriving in Santiago Oswardo Rooftop Santiago-Learning About The New Employment Changes Looking for the Rooster and Figuring Out what is a line in Cuba Buying Necessities and The Ration System. Communication In Cuba WHERE WE ARE - SANTIAGO DE CUBA, CUBA. Returning to my Roots West of Santiago La Virgen del Cobre, Bayamo East and South of Santiago to Siboney 6 6 7 8 8 9 10 12 14 15 18 20 21 23 25 28 30 31 32 33 36 38
South of Santiago - The Inlet - El Castillo Del Morro The Inlet - The Ferry to Our Cottage The Attack on the Moncada Moncada - Pre-Attack La Granjita Siboney --- The Siboney Farmhouse Moncada Attack July 26, 1953 Moncada Attack The Aftermath Impressions of Santiago Havana Map and Orientation Return to Havana Centro Havana Hotel Deauville Hotel Deauville Photos from 6th Floor pool looking inward. El Morro Havana Vieja Old Havana Morning Havana Vieja El Capitolio Centro Havana Talk on the Streets of Havana Copyright Reminder Talk on the Streets Continued The New Barber Bay of Pigs Anniversary Speech After the Bay of Pigs Speech Cementerio de Cristbal Coln Another Day in Vedado: Jos Mart Anti-Imperialist Plaza More Walks in the Wealthy Areas Playa
40 42 42 44 45 48 50 52 54 54 56 57 58 61 63 64 66 67 67 69 70 71 73 74 75 75
The Working Woman Nearing Trip End Revisit to Centro Habana Return to Casa Particular The Malecn is Angry Today The Prostitutes Bad Fortune Leaving for Home
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Disclaimers / Copyright info, Relationship with Armstrong Media Gro...

Monday, January 17, 2011
All materials contained herein are works of fiction. All names are fictitious and do not reflect any particular person, living or dead. Even my own name is a pen name. However, the blog is a daily explanation of an actual extended trip to Cuba, and the photos are those I actually took. Any stories are fictional, based on experiences, or imagined experiences. The blog and all stories are protected by copyright laws under copyrights owned by, and all work, even if it shows another authors name, is in affiliation with Armstrong Media Group, LLC, which also has the right to publish all works in its name, or the pen name, or any other name.
Who I am and What Im doing by Franklin Marquez

This blog will document my upcoming return to my homeland, Cuba. The first entries include some basic explanation and preparation prior to the trip. I understand that Ill have some difficulty finding Internet to upload my blogs once Im there, but Ill try to do it every few days. I have read that its hard to find a wi-fi spot. They call it wee-fee, because i in Spanish sounds like e. And I understand pcs in hotels and Internet cafes are old and slow. I am a Cuban-born American citizen, traveling to Cuba to visit family, and to learn firsthand what its really like to live there. There are plenty of Cubans in Miami to learn from, but I want to see for myself what its like now, in 2011. I know that Europeans travel to Cuba on vacation, and even Americans travel there, although its illegal according to American law, unless they meet an exception under U.S. law. But my purpose is not about tourism. I am going to talk and learn, and report back to my friends, family and anybody else whos interested. I want to see and hear first-hand what life is like for the Cuban people. I also want to see some particular historic sites, knowing that history is tainted to the current governments position. I will be flying on a charter flight that travels between Miami and Havana every day, authorized by the U.S. government. My trip is legal under U.S. law, because I have family there and the laws have changed, making that permissible. I also had to get a particular visa from Cuba authorizing me to enter. I will arrive in Havana, spend a night there, and, accompanied by a cousin who lives in Havana, travel to Santiago. Then well return to Havana. He may have to return before I do, because he has a job, but I am taking an uncertain amount of time for this trip. I have another cousin in Santiago, but have never had contact with her. I am interested in Santiago, not only because I was born and spent the first seven years of my life there, but because there are interesting historical sites there, where Castro and his men first made a failed attempt to take over the country, seven years before he succeeded. Am I a communist? Some of my friends here in Miami, and even the relatives in Cuba Im going to visit, have said, Why do you want to see places where Castro got his start? Hes a horrible, evil man. Are you communist? No, I absolutely, positively, hate what Castro and his government have done to the Cuban people, so much as I truly know from what Ive read and heard. But Im still interested in what happened, where and how. I know that the Revolution was not good 6
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for the Cuban people. But I still want to be in the places where historical events, good and bad, occurred. PHOTOGRAPHS:
Visa
Affidavit
Preparations for Trip to Cuba Questions I Have

Ive completed my affidavits for the U.S. to show I am traveling under a general license. Ive got my visa. My passport is in order. I have made arrangements via e-mail for my cousin to meet me at the airport. Ive asked a million questions of him via e-mail. I probably sound like an idiot. Whats the difference between the pesos the Cubans earn and use and the convertible pesos tourists use? What kind to I get? How do I know the difference? What kind of hotel should I stay in? Whats a casa particular? Is there violent crime? Will I be watched by the government? Can you drive me around (that was interesting of course not. He explained that Cubans cannot buy or sell cars, and the only way you can generally have
Cuba Libra Today
one is if you inherited it. So of course he has no license and has never driven a car.) Hows the food? (the books I read say its pretty bad). Well, how can that be when the Cuban restaurants in Miami are the most generous, and make the most delicious meals. Answer - in the U.S., restaurants are able to acquire good food to cook not in Cuba. Are the jiniteros (those who try to befriend you and sell you things or convince you to stay in a place, use a prostitute, etc.) real?Are they dangerous? Do I have to be very careful? Do you own your apartment? How much is your rent? (there is no rent and no ownership according to my cousin). Can I travel freely? Should I be careful photographing the destitute people, and the run-down buildings? Etc., Etc. I hope to get all my questions answered.
About Franklin Marquez

I, Franklin Marquez, am a fictional character, based on some real people. I was born in Cuba, but now live in Miami, Florida. I am an attorney, with a general practice. I perform some immigration law and some international law. My fictional life is based upon the lives of numerous Cubans, who are stuck in Cuba, or have been sent away, or left on their own. My mission is to tell my audience what it is really like to live and have lived in Cuba, to have lost everything, and for those captive Cubans still stuck there, to live in complete oppression, loving your country, but hating the circumstances.
American Travel to Cuba Under the New Rules / Exchanging Money

In 2009, the United States government relaxed its rules on travel to Cuba somewhat. American citizens having family in Cuba within three generations of a common ancestor are now able to travel to Cuba under a general license. That means if one has a family member to visit, it is not necessary to apply for a specific license from the U.S. government, or to sneak in illegally from Canada, Cancun, the Bahamas or other countries, as Americans have done for years. The U.S. government has generated a list of approved travel agents. Approved travel agents obtain one or two affidavits from the traveler as to the family relationship. I obtained a photocopy of the affidavits I signed. I also had photographs and information about the family, including a family tree, so I could show that I was truly going legally if challenged. As an attorney in the U.S., I didnt want to take any risk of being accused of breaking any law. There are also restrictions on how much money an American can take into the country. The concept is that our government does not want us spending money unnecessarily in Cuba, which would, in effect, benefit the Cuban government. Cuba has always made it easy for Americans to travel to Cuba. They dont stamp the passports, so that avoids trouble for Americans at home. Now, if you travel legally under the U.S. rules, the approved travel agent in the U.S. arranges the flight, has the affidavit signed, and issues the Cuban visa. There are two types of tourist visas. The general visa requires the traveler to stay in hotels, because Cuba desires tourist money, although it does not want American dollars, per se. There is another form of Visa, which requires an application and approval by the government and is not issued directly by the travel agent, which does not require one to stay in a hotel. Again, Cuba makes it easier to travel there if you stay in a hotel and spend money, than if you dont. Also, Cuba has an approval 8
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process for those who were born in Cuba. Even though I have a U.S. passport and arrived in the U.S. from another country, it still says I was born in Cuba. There is a daily flight to and from Havana on American Airlines. However, if you look on their web site or ask American Airlines itself, you will be told it does not exist. It is a Charter, provided through an organization that seems like a policing agency to unofficially be sure that all travelers meet the rules. ABC Charters in Miami is the company that organizes it. But you check in at an American Airlines desk, and the plane and flight crew are American Airlines. I learned from my cousin that there is a considerable surtax when exchanging American dollars in Cuba. I was told to take Euros or Canadian money. I decided on Canadian it was a better exchange with dollars. It is not legal for an American to use a credit card in Cuba, but I found a travel agent in Havana, who is actually a large company, so its banking is done in Europe. Thus, I was able to pay for hotels, planes, etc. via credit card before leaving home. The U.S. restricts how much money one can spend in Cuba daily, and therefore how much money one can legally take. Currently, its about $180 a day, but the figure changes often. The hotels I have chosen range from $80 a night to $140 a night.
My History in Cuba And Being Sent Away

I was born into a wealthy family in Santiago de Cuba, Cuba, near the southern coast, on the eastern side of the island. We lived in an exclusive neighborhood in the highest area of Santiago. Our house was not the most elegant one there, but it was nice. Its hard to remember and relate to something you havent seen since you were very small. When I was seven, rumors swirled that Fidel (we referred to Fidel Castro as to everything bad about the government) was sending kids my age to Russia. My parents and relatives were very alarmed. My parents and my aunt and uncle sent me and my cousin to Spain, on our own, to separate boarding schools. I went to one for boys in Toledo, while my cousin was in a school for girls far away in Madrid. We saw each other occasionally at an aunts condominium unit in Madrid or at another aunts summer home in a little town far away. The schools were related to our Catholic Parish, but it turned out to be a favor because my family didnt have money to pay for my stay there for very long. It was odd that I was with all wealthy kids, who went home to their wealthy families for holidays and such, but I usually was left behind. My cousin had the same experience. Being six and seven years old, we didnt really have too much understanding of what was transpiring. All we knew was that our fathers had left Cuba, had left our mothers and siblings behind, and hoped to make a new life someplace, sometime. My father was a professor. He first began working in the U.S., but he did not speak English, so his paying job was menial labor. Scientists in the U.S. helped him find work in Colombia. Year after year passed, with little information and little idea of the future. When I was thirteen, I learned that I was returning to Latin America to join my father, and that my mother and my younger sister, who was then nine, were also leaving Cuba to join us. I didnt know what country I was going to, but I had heard either Colombia or Venezuela. One of the mean kids at the school said I was going to the jungle, and would live with the monkeys who swung in the trees. I wasnt really sure whether to doubt him. A few days later I arrived in Venezuela, which is another story. But I never saw Cuba again. Ive always been interested. Another cousin and his son escaped by raft some years ago, and now live in Miami. I love to share stories with him about Santiago. Ive read a lot about my birthplace Ive studied it on the Internet. I know theres some
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negativity about it because Castro really got his start as a dictator there its where he had a failed government take-over attempt in the early fifties, and after spending years in prison, its where he returned and gave his victory speech. But its my home, and I am interested in the history even though it didnt turn out well. And Ive always wanted to go. A lot of my friends have visited by the usual illegal stopovers Americans do, but I was always afraid to do that, one because its illegal, and two because I wasnt sure how Cuba looked on Cubans returning. Maybe theyd keep me. I just wanted to visit. So when the government of the U.S. changed the rules and allowed people to visit Cuba, I had my opportunity, and I took it. I researched, and learned where the travel agents were. And now Im almost ready to go. Even though the flight is an American Airlines flight, its a little confusing, because even American Airlines employees who handle Internet and telephone calls from call centers have no idea. Three nights before the flight, an American Airlines employee on the phone told me I had no reservation, and the only flights they had to Cuba involved a stop in Lima, Peru. Fortunately, I found that the charter companys phone number was on the one sheet of paper I had received, and I found that all was well. I was part of their charter.
This is It: Miami (MIA) to Havana (HAV)

Tuesday, February 01, 2011
I arrived at Miami International Airport at four a.m. I had already learned that the concourse was not the normal American Airlines concourse, not even the international one. But it was a special concourse. I found many of the other travelers were already there. They all had huge black duffel bags seemingly filled with supplies for family. Everybody stood in line at the plastic wrapping station to have their bags wrapped for protection. Although I was out of synch because I had a suitcase and no duffel bag, I had mine wrapped too. The people seemed to know what to do and where to go. I was a bit lost. The airline personnel requested a copy of my affidavit, along with the visa. The flight was interesting, partly because Latin Americans often are excited and emotional about flying, and applaud when a plane lands, but this was different. It seemed that most of the passengers were returning or visiting family for the first time in many years. They applauded when the plane took off, and as we flew along the coastline of Cuba approaching Havana, people would say Ay, La Habana. This, of course is shortened to Ay Labana. Some cried. Excitement and emotion infused the cabin. The couple next to me live in Miami, but have returned various times because they have family north of Sancti Spritus, which is in the middle of the county on the southern coast. She told me they rent a car and drive there, but she warned me the same as I already knew, that people who do not know should not drive because there are no street signs, and there are many potholes. The woman told me several times that the palms of her hands were sweating with anticipation of returning to Cuba.
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Cuban Immigration. February 1, 2011 We arrived in the Jose Mart de Havana terminal I learned later that its the national terminal, a much older, uglier building than the international terminal again the difference being that we were a charter. I know that Americans travel to Cuba all the time from other countries, and they probably arent looked at twice. I think the difference was that my flight arrived from Miami, and maybe I look less Cuban than anybody else on the flight. I thought I looked pretty Latin, with dark hair and eyebrows, but my European heritage, which makes my skin pretty light, must be evident. Or maybe it was because I was carrying a suitcase instead of a duffel bag. As other travelers from the plane made their ways to the immigration lines, a short, thin, white-skinned, male guard pulled me aside and interrogated me. He reviewed my passport, which states that I am a United States citizen, but that I was born in Cuba. I had a difficult time understanding him because he and the others wore cloth masks over their noses and mouths, I guess to avoid swine flu. Although I am fluent in Spanish, I had to ask him to repeat himself numerous times. He politely, but thoroughly inquired into everything about my life, including whom I was visiting (since I was traveling on a visa that stated I was visiting family), the details of our common ancestors, my cousins name and address, my occupation, my wifes name, place of birth, and family, and where I would be staying. Fortunately, I had printouts of all my hotel reservations, and my plane flight to Santiago de Cuba along with my cousin, and e-mails with photos of my cousin and his family. He wrote everything down. After about ten or fifteen minutes, he said, Bienvenido a Cuba, and took me to the shortest line for real immigration. Passing through immigration was without further event.
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But, as soon as I exited that door and headed towards the line for the radiation security prior to Customs, a tall, black, male customs officer pulled me out of line. He took me to the front of the line, had me butt in front of everybody else, like I was some reluctant celebrity, and accompanied me as my luggage passed through x-ray. Then the guard told to go get my suitcase, and that he would wait for me. He kept my passport and visa. Twenty minutes later, my suitcase finally tumbled out, the last one I believe. The guard was waiting, tapping my passport against his wrist. He asked me all the same questions the other had asked me, and also asked about how and when Id left Cuba. I explained how my family had sent me to Spain alone when I was seven, and this was my first time returning. He also asked me if I had a U.S. special permit and I explained the general license, which did not involve a written document. He asked if I was carrying any Visa credit card or Mastercard. I said yes, but it was my understanding that I wasnt permitted to use them in Cuba. He asked how much money I had. I said fifteen hundred or so. The U.S. has a limit on how much money one can take to Cuba, being seventy six dollars a day, because our government does not want us supporting the communist government by spending more than necessary. He wrote it all down, and finally said, Bienvenido a Cuba Then he ushered me past the rest of the people, who were having their suitcases weighed in order to pay a tax for excess weight. He said I could skip that line and I was free to leave. Outside was kind of like arriving in a Caribbean port on a cruise ship. A mass of humanity faced the door as I exited. Fortunately, my cousin, Oswardo, recognized me from my Facebook photo as I stood, lost, looking around. He rushed towards me, grabbed my bag, and pulled me through the throng. I also recognized him from his Facebook photos. And I saw the family resemblance. He had arrived at the airport by bus. Cubans call the buses GuaGua (sounds like gWa-gWa). He had to get up early to get a bus and arrive here by 9 a.m.
First Impressions of Cuba and Havana

Wednesday, February 02, 2011
At the airport, Oswardo had already located a taxi driver, who took us to his house because I had provisions for his family in all of my bags. The ride into town wasnt much different from other Latin American countries Ive visited, with many people on the streets, waiting for buses, selling things, walking, standing, waiting. I did see some propaganda, however. See the photos below. I saw kids doing exercises in a schoolyard - which struck me odd since its Saturday. Also like a lot of Latin countries, all the students wear uniforms, and one can easily tell the grade level by the type and color of uniform. I saw all the huge, heavy, old Buicks, Chevrolets, etc, that I expected. I saw men leaning under the hoods, or beneath the cars, coaxing them to continue. I also saw newer cars, mostly smaller, European or far east models. The taxi was a modern car. Then we were in the depths of the city, making our way through narrow streets, the driver honking at people to make them move. The narrow streets, number of people outside, doorways and hallways between buildings, leading to courtyards and other dwelling units, reminded me again of places Ive visited before in South and Central America, and the Caribbean Islands. In fact, I had seen much worse. We moved farther into the older neighborhoods where Oswardo lives, I would call it a slum, but not as bad as many slums Id seen in the U.S. The people did not appear threatening in any way, I did not feel in any danger. I saw a plumbing parts store, with a little sign announcing it. It consisted of a man standing at a make-shift wooden table stuck in the front doorway of a first-floor apartment in an old building. On top of the table were about forty small plumbing pieces, like brass, 12
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metal and plastic fittings and connections for repairs. The stuck-in-the-50's buildings became more and more decrepit as we moved further into the depths of the inner city. People sat, looking solemnly out at the barren streets, surrounded by seemingly, but not actually, abandoned, crumbling, Spanish-style buildings that retained the pillars and faades of the former era, when gambling, nightclubs, and money were the rule.
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The Dwelling Unit of Oswardo and His Family

Thursday, February 03, 2011
Oswardo instructed the driver to stop in front of a typical battered building. Actually, we couldnt have gone any further because the street in front was blocked by a large wooden table and chairs, with about ten men playing dominoes. Two women, being Oswardos wife, holding their young baby, and mother-in-law, stood inside the apartment, behind a thick, metal gate as the front door, locked with a large padlock, talking to two women who were on the door-step outside. The guests said good-bye, his mother unlocked the massive lock, and we entered. In the small living area, three wooden rocking chairs faced a small black-and-white t.v. with rabbit ears. In spite of the security of the front door, the side of the room opened onto a walkway, that seemed to offer no protection at all. Oswardos mother and wife kissed me on the cheek. Their five-year-old son stood shyly in front of me. The three-month-old baby slept in his moms arms. I had brought in my suitcase, carry-on bag, and computer bag, full of provisions for the family, mixed with my clothes. They ushered me to the next room, which was a bedroom, to open them. My wife, Luisa, had loaded me up with gifts, including pens, pencils, scissors, coloring books and useful things like that, clothing for the boy, and multiple sets of clothing for the girl, to keep her dressed like a princess for the next nine months or so. All the girls outfits were in separate baggies, identified by age, from three months to a year. I pulled out packages of army men for the boy, and he ran off to play. Oswardo was embarrassed that I had more stuff to give away than I had clothes. I even left them my carry-on suitcase because the only reason I brought it was to fit all that stuff. Anyway, I have plenty of clothes and now I have one less suitcase to worry about. I also knew that he loved music, so I gave him one of my i-pods and a flash drive, jampacked with Cuban music and old American rock music. Hed never heard Santanas Shaman, and loved it. I had a cafecito with the family, and then the taxi driver drove me to the hotel. Oswardo came along because he wanted to be sure I got there without incident. I insisted he let the taxi driver return him to his home, but he refused, and said hed take the gua-gua.
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The Malecn The Meli Cohiba Hotel

Friday, February 04, 2011
We left Oswardos and drove through the inner city neighborhoods again, towards the ocean. Havana Viejo, where tourists visit, was to the right, and we would not be visiting that area now. My travel agent, who lives and works in Havana, suggested that I try an upscale hotel for this first visit to Havana. I am leaving with Oswardo to Santiago de Cuba, which is on the southeastern shore of the island. After we spend some time in Santiago, well be returning to Havana, and Ill stay mid-town. You probably know the Meli is a European chain. There is another Meli in Havana. All the other hotels I know of are government owned and operated. Since Meli is a chain, it is owned partly by its owners, and partly by the Cuban government. So its a little nicer. The nightly price is $170, vs. less than $100 a night for the other Havana hotel where Ill stay when I return.
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The taxi driver reached the water, and turned left on the Malecn, a walkway running throughout the city, bounded on one side by a four-lane road, and on the other by a wall and the sea. I knew about the Malecn, from books, videos, movies and the Weather Channel, which always showed waves crashing into and over the walls when a storm was coming. I learned that that happens even when theres not a storm on the way. It was actually a rough day today. The middle photo on the top of the page shows the Malecn, looking north from mid-town, towards the Meli Cohiba. In that photo, you can see another famous hotel, which just celebrated it's 100th birthday a few weeks ago. It's the Hotel Nacional, light tan, with two towers, towards the right of the picture.
All the guidebooks describe the Malecn as a safe place to walk, although you might get hustled. I have not seen how it is in the tourist areas yet. My cousin insisted that I could not walk on the Malecn, because it was unsafe, and if I did not honor his advice, I needed to not take any money. The Malecn in this area was basically deserted. The only people on it were a few locals and school children. We drove west, passed through Vedado, a more upscale area of town, and arrived at a fancy, dancy five-star hotel, the Meli Cohiba, like an oasis in a blistering dessert. Well learn more about Vedado when we return to Havana. Other buildings on the water in the Vedado area are not fancy, but I hear there are magnificent ones a little bit to the south. The lobby and pool area of the hotel may be five-star, but the rooms and hallways reflect some lack of maintenance.
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Oswardo came in with me to check in. I had forgotten to exchange money at the airport, so we had to get change to pay the taxista. Oswardo told me this was his first time ever entering any hotel. Only a year ago, Cubans were not permitted in hotels or their restaurants at all. Now, they were allowed in the lobby areas, but not the rooms, unless they were officially registered as guests.
The pool of the Meli Cohiba is on the second floor, large and beautiful, cool and windy. A number of tourists, mostly European, it seemed, sunbathed and swam. There is a nice, shady area, protected from the sun by a framework covered with light, blowing cloth. I ate grilled seabass, and grilled vegetables at the pool-side restaurant. It was great.
As I eat at the pool area of the Hotel Meli Cohiba, a couple is seated at the table next to me. He is an older American or European white man. She is a young, voluptuous, (a little chunky) dark-skinned Spanish-speaking woman who knows very little English. They seem to be arguing somewhat, like a couple doing a business deal, who dont really know each other very well. The most interesting thing is the great amount of impressive gold or gold-looking bangles, chains and other jewelry she is wearing. I dont know if she got it today, if this is how she always dresses or what. Anyway, when they got up to pay, I was surprised to see that she presented the room key. I imagine shes Cuban, so she would have to be registered in order to go to a room.
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Outside the Melia Cohiba

Saturday, February 05, 2011
Dont bring American dollars to Cuba. As a revenge tactic, Cuba charges a significant penalty to exchange American dollars. We had decided that the best exchange rate in the U.S. was Canadian dollars, instead of Euros. There is no penalty for exchanging any currency other than dollars. It was a good exchange. I had a lot of trouble trying to understand dual monetary system while studying travel books at home. Cuban pesos are issued by the government to Cubans, to buy their staples, and would never be given in exchange for foreign money. Of course, a common hustle is to convince foreigners to exchange their money, and the trickster gives them pesos instead of CUC, which is worth about 1/10th of the CUC.
The first of the following is 3 Pesos Cubanos. The second is 3 Pesos Convertibles, worth at least ten times more than the first. Cuban workers earn Pesos Cubanos, and that is the only money used in the stores where one buys necessities. Tourists only use Pesos convertibles. Cubans who can get their hands on CUC have a great advantage. After downing a cortado (a caf (espresso) with a little milk), I found that my room still wasnt ready. The hotel let me change clothes in the health club, which has a mediocre gym with sauna, and massages. The hotel has European electric outlets, which I wasnt expecting, but I guess its because its a European chain. Everything was 220 v. The clock in the room was plugged into a converter so unplugged the clock and plugged in my 18
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computer. But my laptop can handle 220 v anyway. In the lobby, one can buy two-hour blocks of Internet time wi-fi. They call it wee fee since thats how the letter i is pronounced. It works pretty well, but many sites I would normally use are blocked.
Even though Oswardo had warned me not to venture onto the streets outside, I did. I went out to walk the Malecn. There werent many people. I took some photos, of old cars, and some unattractive nearby residential buildings. Nobody tried to push anything on me. A few said hello. People are friendly. Nothing was frightening, and I thought Oswardo was overly cautious, probably because my wife, Luisa, told him to watch out for me like Im a naive American who is likely to be murdered. Ive read there is very little violent crime in Cuba. The biggest danger is being tricked. The so-called jiniteros and jiniteras, which basically means hustlers of all types, will befriend you, convince you to go to a hotel, casa particular, or restaurant, or use a particular taxi, for which they will get a kick-back. Or maybe theyll convince you to meet a prostitute or exchange money, and theyll convince unsuspecting travelers to exchange foreign money for pesos cubanos. But nobody bothered me.
Next door to the hotel is a three-story shopping center with a number of stores, including a grocery store, an electronics store, clothing and shoe stores, etc. I went into the center because I saw a trolley dropping off tourists. It was nice. I learned later that this is a facility at which CUC only would be used not moneda nacional. Most Cubans wouldnt be able to afford to shop here, with only government-issued money. The only way they could afford something like this would be to earn CUC from extra work, like driving a taxi or other work related to the tourist trade, or receive money from family or friends outside the country. I am far away from central Havana, and, near embassies and other dwellings of foreigners, and they would have money to spend. But it really doesnt seem much different from any shopping center in a large city in a Latin country.
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There was no fresh produce at all in the grocery store. The one striking thing is that there are a lot of empty shelves and empty freezers. A woman sat on a stool, guarding the wine section. The meat looked good. There was a pretty vast variety in spite of the empty shelves. In the electronics store, they had a pretty good supply of name brands, but I didnt see any prices. Everything had a sign saying whether it had a six-month or longer warranty, but no prices. There was a wedding reception at the hotel in the evening, and it made me wonder who can afford that.
The Malecn and Havana Vieja at night

Sunday, February 06, 2011
In the evening, despite the warnings from Oswardo, which I didnt believe anyway, I just had to get out again and walk on the Malecn. It was rather quiet in the area around my hotel. I was not attacked by jinitros. I felt no danger. Fortunately, it was light enough to see that the manholes had no covers. I stood, facing the water, thinking that 90 miles straight was Key West.
I got a cab and asked to be taken to Havana Vieja, just so I could look around. It was a good twenty five minutes from the hotel, eastward and southward on the other side of Centro Habana. I told the driver I wanted to look around and wanted to find something to eat. I really thought hed drop me somewhere on El Prado, a wide walkway separating
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Havana Vieja from the Center. I thought El Prado was like Las Ramblas in Barcelona. But apparently since its a weeknight, theres not really a place to just walk around, choose a restaurant, and feel safe. In asking him to take me to food, Id violated another of Oswardos strict rules. The driver stopped in front of a beat-up building with no sign, and nothing to indicate there was any open business inside. I wondered if I was going to be robbed.
But there were two other taxi drivers taking others up stairs, so I decided it was okay. The worst that would happen would be that the food would cost too much, and perhaps be bad, because he was going to get a kickback. Four flights up, an open area led to an elegant and nicely decorated restaurant. He spoke to the hostess, and it was clear he made a deal for a kickback. But I didnt really care. The food turned out to be good.
He waited for me. After eating, I asked him to drive me into Havana Vieja Old Havana and drop me off. Thats what Id been looking for on El Prado. I walked through some of the tourist-occupied streets. A couple of women tried to befriend me and convince me to go to a private house a casa particular with them. They hinted at a party, which apparently would have involved sex, but I didnt ask for details, and I told them I wasnt interested. The streets and buildings were nicely renovated. Cars are not permitted on the streets. Plenty of tourists were out walking. I felt no danger.
Leaving Havana. Arriving in Santiago

Monday, February 07, 2011
Oswardo took the gua gua to my hotel to pick me up, arriving at 6 a.m. We took a cab to the airport, driving through part of Vedado on the way, and flew on a four prop plane to Santiago de Cuba. Its on the southeastern side of Cuba, whereas Havana is on the
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northwestern coast. I had thought of going by bus, but had learned that it was a fifteenhour, horrendous trip. Although Cubans may not get a ticket, foreigners would have much better luck. I had also been warned not to try to rent a car, or even hire a driver under any circumstances. Apparently the roads are awful, and completely unmarked.
From the air, the view of the countryside enroute to Santiago was nice. There was plenty of open green vacant land. As we neared Santiago and the coast, the Sierra Maestra mountain range came into view, and beyond it, bright blue water. Santiago is near Guantanamo, which most Americans know from its famed U.S. military post and prison full of terrorists. But actually Guantanamo is further southeast, so the plane did not fly over it. The city of Guantanamo is a regular Cuban city, inland from the shore on which the U.S. post sits. Id studied Santiago in Google Earth, so I recognized the Santiago harbor from the air. It was quite distinguishable, as the channel enters in a narrow strait between a fort and a rocky shore, and then twists and circumvents peninsulas and islands. The city of Santiago stands on a hill facing the mountain range, as opposed to facing the inlet.
The Casa Granda Hotel is small and historic. It sits directly on Plaza de Czpedes. Our room is the one with the open window, overlooking the plaza. A cathedral is to the left. A bank and a museum are at the opposite side of the plaza. To the right is the Auntamente, where Castro made his first speech to announce that he and his followers had taken power on January 1, 1959. I wanted to come to Santiago to get the feel of my roots. This is where I was born and lived for the first six years of my life. This city is also where many aspects of the revolution occurred. The Sierra Madre is where Castro and Che Guevara camped and planned, after coming ashore in Granma to the west of the mountain range. And Santiago is where Castro and his men failed in a previous attempt which resulted in years in prison. Dont think I am in favor of what Castro and Guevara did. They took over the 22
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country, after promising hope to rid us of Batista and the other dictators before him. So the country supported Castro. But the historic value of Santiago and what occurred here is interesting.
We went up to the hotels roof-top restaurant. It has a magnificent view of the harbor, probably the only view from that height and angle. The food was pretty bad, but oh, well. My guide books warned me that Cuban food was not great, and I certainly didnt have any wonderful food in Havana, I shouldnt have expected much. Since almost everything is 100% government owned, and the people make such a small amount of money, and the meat and other foods brought into the country are inferior, theres not much hope for a delicious meal. One can generally find better, more creative, cooking in a casa particular. But the view made the tasteless lunch unimportant. I did have a great espresso.
Oswardo
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I had a lot of time to talk to Oswardo on the flight to Santiago and hanging out in the hotel room at the Casa Granda in Santiago. We went to the rooftop restaurant at the hotel and ate a pretty awful sandwich. I had a great cortadito (espresso with a little cream). We found a pretty decent tourist dinner restaurant. (no Cubans would be able to afford it with legally earned money. We ate breakfast the first morning at the rooftop restaurant. I learned quite a few things, but he learned a lot more. Traveling with him is kind of like what i've always imagined it's like to bring a child from a third world country to the United States. Some facts. He is 25, married to a physician, and has two young children. He is a student, and he works. This is the second time in his life that he has entered a hotel. The first time was a couple of days ago in Havana. This is the first time in his life that he has entered a hotel room. Thus, he's never seen an electronic hotel door key and had to whisper to me that i needed to teach him what do do. He'd never seen a color t.v. and had never seen anything but propaganda --- Castro walking in the sugar canes. So he's glued to VH1. (he does regularly use the Internet because of his job, so he knows a lot more than many other people) He loves music, latin, old and new rock. I had loaded up an ipod and flash drive with music and brought it to him.
His favorite music that is new to him is Santana's Shaman. He has never had bacon in his life, and went crazy eating only that at breakfast. It is illegal for Cubans to buy, cook, or be in possession of beef or other meat, although they can have a couple of ounces a month if there is a child under 5 in the home. He would like to escape Cuba, to join his father in Venezuela, but the rules to do so are complicated. He has inquired in the Venezuelan embassy and with Cuban government 24
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officials, and he knows the rules, but he has to have a considerable sum of money deposited in a Cuban bank for six months before applying for an exit visa, much, much more than anybody in Cuba can earn legally. I'm not showing his photo, in order to protect him in case anybody thinks anything of what I write here.
Rooftop Santiago-Learning About The New Employment Changes

Saturday, February 12, 2011
The first morning at Hotel Casa Granda, we ate breakfast at the rooftop restaurant I mentioned. Oswardo crammed several helpings of bacon into his mouth and drank soft drinks. I said, "You may be in your twenties, but that will kill you." He said, "I've never tasted anything so good. I don't care if it kills me." We hung out in the restaurant for a while in the late morning, after breakfast. i had a few good espressos. As I mentioned, virtually every business is government owned, including the hotel and restaurants. Thus, you don't get a lot of enthusiasm from the workers. There are a few guests in the hotel, but not many. They seem to be European. I don't think they tip much. I did tip, but couldn't tell if it was appreciated, unusual, normal or what. "Que pasa with this firing of government workers and thinking they can create
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businesses," I asked. "Is it true? Can any of them really create a business, never having had any experience?" "It's true and it's horrible," he said. "You may think that the ridiculous sum we receive each month for working is nothing, but it's all we have. And with that money, we buy our necessities, at a big discount. If people aren't working, they don't get Pesos Cubanos. If they work a job where they get CUC, then they have to exchange it, at a fee, to use it in the stores where we buy rice, sugar, coffee, soap, toothpaste, etc. We cant buy those things with CUC, and we can't buy them in any other type of store. Of course, these people who are now unemployed, for the most part arent making CUC either, unless theyre working with tourists, or doing something illegal." "Has it happened to anybody you know?" "Oh, yeah. Bad to worse. You know about casas particulares, right? I showed you a couple as we drove through Havana. Those are places that are licensed to serve food or rent rooms. At least some Cubans have done business like that for quite a while. Others break their houses and apartments into smaller areas or use the old cars they inherited from their grandparents as taxis. But those activities are often not licensed and illegal. Now, under the new rules, people can open barber shops, shoe repair shops, work as independent parking attendants, outdoor refreshment salespersons, and other things they refer to as 'independent businesses.' How in the world somebody could suddenly create and manage such a business, and make money, immediately, is impossible." We sat silently for a few. "Hay Cuba," he said, shaking his head. "Stuck in the past --- no present ---- no future." "The first wave of firings got three of my friends. The government started out firing 150,000 workers the first day. They plan half a million this year. One friend worked in the office of agriculture. He has a college degree in finance, but it's the only work he's ever had. Another an older man in my building, was dismissed from a sugar plant. You know, sugar is not nearly as big an industry as it once was. All the money is spent on getting European and Canadian tourists to come." "What are your friends who got fired doing now?" "Nothing. Depressed, destitute, confused." "Is there any training for how to create a business?" "No. Nothing." "It makes no sense. What is the government trying to achieve? Show that they they have decided to try capitalism, and then watch it fail, so they can say socialism is better?" He shrugged. "There's never any logic in this country. It's impossible to explain." We stood and looked down at the city, reviewing the guidebooks I'd bought in London last year. You can't find Cuban guide books in the U.S. "O.k., he said, there's a museum over there between the government building and the bank. He pointed towards the back and side of the restaurant. Down there is an art museum -- Emilio Bacard Moreau. The book says it was created by .Bacard in 1899 --- built as a library and museum. Lets walk 26
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around there.
"Alright. What happened with the old Bacard rum distillery? I thought they gave tours." He called a worker and asked her. "It's down on the water, over there. But now they just make Havana Club. I don't think there are tours now."
We walked to the other side and looked down. I said, That should be the famous Casa de la Trova, where musicians play concerts constantly. Weve got to go there. The book says it grew out of the old itinerant musicians, who became known from here in Santiago de Cuba.
Back at the front, we looked down at the park in front of the hotel. Not many people were there. Below the park, going down towards the harbor, the buildings looked decrepit. The water of the bay was blue. I said, "Ive tried to understand the layout of the harbor and the inlet. I was thinking you couldn't see the inlet or that populate island, Cayo Smith, from here, but now I understand it's true." Instead, beyond the water stood sugar refineries and the Sierra Maestra Mountain range.
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Looking for the Rooster and Figuring Out what is a line in Cuba
We went around to a few museums, and then stood outside Casa de la Trova, feeling the rhythm of great music. The side wall was open, so you could participate from the street. The streets are small and quaint. Santiago has an entirely different flavor from Havana. I can feel the difference even though I didn't se much of Havana before we came here. It's probably just big city vs. small town. But Santiago is actually the second largest city in Cuba. Still, you don't see roving police. You do see older, white foreign men with young girls. The people here, in general, are darker skinned.
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I left Oswardo in the room mesmerized by music on VH1, and went to the bank to exchange some Canadian Dollars for CUC. Oswardo was so paranoid about my going out on my own. I still don't get the fear. There does not appear to be any danger. I asked in the lobby how to get to the bank. HE said, "Go to El Gallo," and he pointed towards the water and east, on the other side of the government building. I crossed the square and walked down the street. I speak Spanish, so I know what El Gallo is. It means the rooster. But I didn't know specifically what I was looking for -- a street by that name, a fried chicken restaurant, a bank named that. I didn't know. I walked and walked, looking for something saying El Gallo. I didn't see anything. After several blocks, I walked into a business and asked, "I can't find the bank." He said, "El Gallo," and pointed back the other way. So I walked back up, and then I saw this giant white rooster with the comb painted bright red. I don't know how I missed it. And it was advertising a small restaurant of sorts. Up some elegant stairs was the bank. I walked in. It looked like any large, old bank, with terrazzo flooring. There were tellers at counters. A lot of people sat in plump leather couches, and leather chairs and stood around the lobby. There seemed to be a place that looked like where a line would be, so I stood there. But I felt uncomfortable. Like I was doing something wrong. But I stood, looked around, asked myself what was the matter with this situation. A man walked in. He said, "Quien es el ultimo?" "Who is last?" Somebody raised a hand or a finger. He nodded and stood off the side. I started moving away from my imaginary line, thinking i was starting to get it. An older woman entered, said, "Quien es el ultimo?", got the sign from somebody who also said "yo", meaning I. I was chagrined. I walked over the woman and asked, "Am I supposed to ask if you are last and then I am after you?" She said yes. I had lost a bunch of places in line, but I was more embarrassed than
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impatient. The next person walked in and said "Quien es el ultimo." I raised a finger, and said, "Yo." Later a woman came in and said "Quien es el ultimo por los escritorios de negocios." I came to understand there was a separate system and unwritten line for attending the business desks where people brought business deposits. It was all very interesting. I walked back to the hotel and, from the park could see our room, since we'd pulled the wooden shutters open so we could gaze out at the park.
Buying Necessities and The Ration System.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011
We went out for a walk around Santiago, carrying a guidebook and a map. We'd actually gone quite a ways the previous night when we found the restaurant where we ate. So we trekked that way again. I carried my laptop so we could go to the MeliaSantiago is a pleasant, quiet, peaceful little city. The tiny, cobblestone, brick and asphalt streets wind this way and that. The street where the Hotel Casa Granda sits is quite a bit higher than the harbor. We walked up hill farther. I asked, "Tell me about the ration book. About what you buy, what it costs. What this book means?" "I'll show you a ration book when we get back to Havana. You already know about what we make and where we buy. I'll show you the kind of store where we buy things. We can only buy in those stores. But the ration book tells how many people in the household, and their ages. Each item is calculated as to what we are allowed, and then marked off as to what we buy. If we hit the number for an item, we can't buy any more till the following month." We rounded a corner, and he said, "Here's a bodeguita. Let's look." On the shelves were oil (aceite), sugar (azucar), rice (arroz), cigarettes and matches, sold in cartons or individually, and soy, which is the Cuban meat.
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We walked on. He said, "Alright, here are some examples of what the ration book will allow a Cuban to buy in a month: We get an enormous amount of sugar, I guess because there's plenty and they figure it will give us energy. We get four pounds per month per person. Ridiculous. We get some ounces of beans, a small bottle of oil for five persons in my family, a pack of coffee per adult, three boxes of matches, a half pound of crackers, but they never have any, one small tube of toothpaste for the family, two packets of salt every two months, virtually unlimited soy, one pound of beef per month for each child under five, soap, shampoo, rice, paper products, powdered milk, eggs, etc. are also rationed. Every now and then they have hot dogs. Who knows what it's made of. We can have six a month if they have any." "Wait, here's a pharmacy."
"Remember, I said it's illegal to have meat, unless your ration book allows it because you have a child under five in the home. Here's a meat market, in case somebody would like to buy some. But there rarely is any anyway."
Communication In Cuba
There's one word for communication in Cuba --- Difficult. Although I have seen a few people using cell phones, they are not at all ubiquitous like in the U.S. I brought my iphone with me, partly because I was using it when I left the U.S. and wanted to use it when I return. But I did not plan to use it here. Last night, we found a Mela in Santiago, like the one I stayed at in Havana. you could buy wi-fi for $20, so I was able to get on. do have my laptop with Skype, but had difficulty last night.
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So today, Oswardo and I went out again (because we failed yesterday) to try to get access so I could call home. In the same block as the hotel, there is a internet / phone access business. It has four enclosed phone booths inside, and three ancient computers with giant monitors and worn out, white, wired keyboards. You can stick a USB flash drive into the slot, but it has few programs, is slow, and many typical e-mail services are blocked. I bought a telephone card to call home. We tried, and tried to use it in the phone booths, but it wouldn't work. The workers tried to help us, but couldn't figure out what was wrong either. They said there was another company a few blocks away, and we could try that. We rushed over there. At first the workers couldn't figure it out either. Finally, somebody said that the cards are old, and thus they don't have area codes created within the last 10 years. The card we had purchased had a built-in chip. We needed to exchange it for one where you dial in numbers. We tried to exchange it there. They said they didn't have any of the right kind of card. We rushed back to the other place. They didn't have the right card either. But fortunately, they bought back the $30 useless card I'd bought. I carried my Garmin Nuvi to Cuba because I've used it in a lot of countries. You can usually at least see where you are in a country, see topographic items and water bodies, and even major highways. Oswardo said, "Don't carry that or your I-phone on the street. It's illegal to use gps in Cuba." Of course, I never listen, so when I was alone, I turned on the Garmin. Well, somehow or other, Cuba has blocked the gps transmission. The Garmin showed nothing --- no ocean, no land, nothing. Interestingly, I asked him the other day about where Castro actually lives, and he said everybody he lives somewhere near Siboney, which is near Santiago. The people believe it's some private, hidden compound. The government of Cuba regularly takes great efforts to block communication. The blogs of anti-government Cubans are blocked. Facebook is often blocked. Yahoo and other sites offering communication are often blocked. Some Cubans manage to get e-mail addresses hosted in other countries. As fast as people figure out ways around it, the government blocks them. We walked back to the Mela - a good half an hour up hill, and tried again to communicate via Skype. The good thing is that I uploaded blogs. Americans can't use credit cards in Cuba. I found the travel agent I used because I saw that making reservations on line for two hotels I'd searched, used the same service. So I called the company. It worked out very well. And it turned out that they are headquartered in another country, so I was able to pay for my rooms and in-country plane fare via credit card.
WHERE WE ARE - SANTIAGO DE CUBA, CUBA.

I had meant to show maps of Cuba when we traveled across country, but the maps did not post, so I am posting them now. The first map shows Havana in relation to Santiago. Havana is in the north west area of the island. It's the part that's 90 miles from Key West.
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Santiago is far away, and there are mountains enroute. As you can see from the map, it's in the souteastern area, just west of Guantanamo, where the U.S. military base is. I had initially thought I could rent a car, get a driver or take a bus. But I was strongly discouraged from doing so. And the bus ride is ten hours. There was a deadly plane accident a few months ago on exactly the same flight and airline we flew down on. Later I will be describing a famous, failed attack by Fidel Castro in 1953, where he and a hundred others drove all night from Havana to Santiago. We will be traveling to some of the towns that they drove through.
The second map shows what Santiago looks like. I've mentioned that the city faces southwest, towards the Sierra Maestra mountain range. Although it sits on a harbor, the inlet to the sea is not visible from the city. Tomorrow, we travel to my old neighborhood, Vista Allegre.
Returning to my Roots
As I mentioned, Oswardo is a second cousin to me. I also have a first cousin in Santiago, with whom I've never spoken. She and Oswardo are from other branches, so they are not related to each other. I know of her, because her brother and his son escaped to Miami twenty years ago by raft. We've always believed that she was happy in Cuba and had no intention to leave. Americans, and Cuban Americans cannot understand why somebody would want to stay. She is a professor, but that means she makes about $5 a month more than anybody else. Oswardo said, "If she wants to stay, she must be communist. I'm not sure I want to go with you." "Come on," I said. "I want to meet her."
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The neighborhood of Vista Alegre was one of the most elegant and high class neighborhoods of Santiago when I was young, although I don't remember much. I have read about it in guide books, but was not sure what to expect. I wanted to find the home where I lived. We tried several times to call my cousin before we went, but either we had the phone number wrong, failed to put in a code or something else. One time, a woman answered said we had the wrong number. Actually, I thought maybe it was her and she just didn't want to talk to me. We found a taxi driver and arranged for him to show us around a bit and then take us up to Vista Alegre. He had a mid-50's blue chevy, with no suspension. But it was large and comfortable, with leather seats. Inside, there were no door knobs, but window knobs served in their places. He took us down hill first, through the beat-up neighborhoods between the hotel and the harbor, then right (west), past the old Bacard distillery, to a historic cemetery (Santa Ifigenia Cemetery) where Jos Mart supposedly is buried, and then back up along the west side of town. We passed through streets we've been walking, and finally arrived in a neighborhood, which turned out to be Vista Alegre. A white statue stood in a park at the entrance. All the streets are numbered, but they don't say street and avenue or anything like that, and there's nothing telling which go east / west, and which go north / south. The corner of 5th and 7th and the corner of 7th and 5th -- well there's no difference. So the taxi driver tried to figure it out, got lost, asked directions from people on the street. Eventually, we found a corner we thought was near my home, and tried to figure out which little wooden houses were the rental houses my grandmother used to own. We learned later that we were on the east /west street instead of the north / south street. I had remembered, and had always been told that there was a huge mango tree on the street outside my home, and that it produced delicious fruit. We found the tree. At first, I didn't recognize the home, because it was not in good repair, and the side area that led to servant's quarters, was now occupied by a home. But finally I recognized it. Then we tried to find the home of a cousin from Miami, but got totally confused. Finally, we searched for the home of my cousin who still lives in the neighborhood. We found it, knocked on the door, and met. This cousin is a professor, as I said, and her husband is a professional. Since they have advanced college degrees and prestigious jobs, they do make more than others, but only about $5 each a month. They live in the same home the family lived in when we were children. It's a nine bedroom house. It doesn't look like it has that many rooms, because it's narrow on the street, but it's deep. Although Cubans don't have to pay rent, mortgage payments, etc., they don't make enough to pay the expenses, so the cousin in Miami sends them money. But they do seem happy with their lives. I could see Oswardo glancing around wide-eyed, because Santiago is nothing like Havana, and this neighborhood and home are nothing like the slum and beat up apartment where Oswardo lives with his mother, wife and two young children. The cousin was gracious, and she didn't say anything to indicate she's communist. The sun was setting, but when the taxi came back to get us, we and the cousin went for a ride to see the neighborhood. She took us to the Miami cousin's house, but it was too dark for photos, then back to my home, and other places of interest. What we discovered was that she could say where we did different things, but I had no recollection. We came to the conclusion that these memories have stuck with her because she is still there, and sees the same places all the time, whereas I was whisked away at the age of six. I have flickers of memory.
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Taxi Below are some nice and beat up houses in Vista Alegre, including a communist party house.
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Map of Vista Alegre (click here to enlarge)
West of Santiago La Virgen del Cobre, Bayamo

Yesterday, we went outside Santiago. The purpose was to try to find my grandmothers former ranch in Bayamo. I have heard of Bayamo, because some of the revolutionaries in an attack against the government in 1953 stopped in Bayamo on the route between Havana and Santiago, and they tried to take over a military post there at the same time they attempted to take the Moncada in Santiago. Im going to explain all about that attack in a couple of days, because we are going to view the Santiago areas where it happened. We asked the doorman at our hotel if he knew of somebody we could hire to drive us for the day, for a trip considerably outside of town. We talked to the man who drove us to Vista Allegre yesterday, but he said his 50 something Chevy couldnt make such a trip. We were introduced to a dark skinned man named Angel. He drove an old, beat-up Toyota. We made a deal and left. We drove down towards the water, and then back up on the east side of town. The foothills of the Sierra Maestra are visible, and we were going in that direction, but we never had to climb into mountains, do switchbacks, or anything like that. When we were about forty five minutes west of Santiago, Oswardo said we needed to stop at the Basilica of theVirgen de la Caridad (Virgin of Charity) in the mining town of Cobre. I have heard female family members pray to la Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre all my life. Her shrine is the most important religious site on the entire island. I knew the story. She supposedly helped three lost sailors many years ago. When you fly, she supposedly carries the wings. A lot of sports figures and Castro himself have left gifts for her and thanked her for her help. If readers are interested, you can go to this link. The church was pretty impressive. A yellow Basilica standing on a hill. As we drove up the hill and to the parking area in the rear, we saw a monastery and another building. I heard that Castro had hidden here in 1958 just before making his final jaunt into Santiago as he finally prevailed in taking control of Cuba. We went inside, and I took photos of the Virgen for my relatives. There were glass enclosed cases full of Olympic medals, sports trophies and other memorabilia given to la Cobre as thanks for helping them. Then we were on the road again, enroute to Bayamo. We passed through small towns and villages, saw people in front of little homes and shacks, and then traveled up and down hills watching the countryside fly by. In one little town, we saw a sophisticated taxi service of enclosed horse-drawn buggies, labeled as to their routes. Finally, we arrived in Bayamo. Its a quaint little town. We found our way to the large park in the center, drove around till we found a parking space and got out. We asked the first
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person we saw whether he was a long-time resident, and could tell us anything about my grandmother. He said no, But you have parked one house away from the town historian. He pointed next door. We looked at him. He said, Its o.k. Go knock on the door. So Oswardo and I went and knocked on the door. A woman answered. She said El Senior was sitting in the living room, and we could enter and talk to him. The home seemed nice enough. It seemed there were a lot of rooms in the back, or at least a lot people living there because three or four popped their heads in at different times. Unfortunately our knowledge of the facts and who was actually related to whom and how was not great. We are guys, you know. But we tried to find out. The man was sitting in a wicker rocker on a bare terrazzo floor. He was blind, and his eyes appeared sealed shut. He looked about 90. He and the woman were Caucasian. Angel stayed outside, either because he is a driver, or because he is Black, and so didnt want to impose. There is racism in Cuba, but dark-skinned, apparently African ancestry people seem to be the majority in Santiago. Caucasions seem to be the majority in Bayamo and Havana. We mentioned my grandmothers name and he began asking questions about her extended family, her husband, etc. He said the husband of the woman he thought she was worked in a particular business, but we couldnt confirm or deny whether it was the right family. We werent sure whether the farm was from our grandfather, with his last name, or our grandmothers, with her maiden name. He said there were fincas on the highway to the south and east of town, and maybe the name we were giving was familiar to him, but he wasnt sure. Finally , he said, I think you are related to such and such family. You should go talk to them. A family member of the man, a woman of forty or so, said she was going back to work and would direct us to the home of the other family. We werent so sure we were related, since our knowledge of the facts was so poor, but we went. It would have been nice if wed been in the U.S., and could have just picked up a phone and called home to get answers to questions. We walked across the large square in the middle of town and down a street a few blocks away. The houses looked like small, stucco, not-badly-maintained fifties style homes in Miami. Bayamo didnt feel anything like Havana, and not even like Santiago. In Santiago, all we had seen was packed-together group living, and my old neighborhood, Vista Allegre. Here we saw neither combined housing nor elegant separate housing. The woman delivered us to the front door of a home, and a woman answered the door. The woman explained who we were and left. The resident of the home invited us into her home, including Angel, and explained that her husband would be back in a few. We sat in wooden / wicker rocking chairs in the small Miami-style living room. She offered us coffee. We declined. Another family member, a woman in her late twenties I suppose, came in. They asked us questions to try to figure out if I was related to her husband. We did not come to a conclusion. We exchanged contact information. The husband didnt return. We left. We walked through town and found a small CUC oriented pizza restaurant and had lunch. I became ill, I imagine from something I ate yesterday. I will spare you the details, but this is a good time to explain that I never saw a toilet seat in Cuba, and never saw toilet paper, other than in a hotel. This restaurant was no different. I managed to avoid telling my travelling companions that I was under the weather until we were about forty five minutes along a two-lane highway in the countryside. I got the sweats, squirmed, looked for a rest area, realized there was no hope, and suddenly said, Stop. I dont feel well. Please, I have to get out. Im going to spare you the details again, except that I have to tell the funny part of this little story. I grabbed my computer bag and ran down downhill and back towards Bayamo below the road, looking for some privacy. Finally, I found a culvert under the highway.
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I was propped, my back leaning against the wall of the culvert, trying to get presentable, using everything in my bag that was usable, including pages of my guide book, mouthwash, hand cleaner, etc. when a man on horseback directing three cows, arrived, because this culvert apparently was their route home on the other side of the highway. The man saw me, and turned away, but the cows decided to continue home to dinner. So here I was, completely helpless, embarrassed, exposed, and the cows decided to investigate. From my vantage point, they were huge, towering over me. I said to myself I was glad they werent bulls, but they were gigantic. They began nuzzling, lipping and bopping my head. One licked my neck. One bumped me so hard I almost fell over. Then I guess they decide my hair wasnt hay, and they left me. We got back to Santiago an hour or so later, and Im glad to say my illness didnt last too much longer and the cows did me no damage. La Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre
The taxis enroute to Bayamo
East and South of Santiago to Siboney

Friday, February 25, 2011
I've had communication problems each day, so I've gotten behind. I've written several entries, which I will post to pop up on different days. A couple of days ago, we took this trip to Siboney, and then around the inlet, and back into town. This blog is just about the first leg, to Siboney. On the map below, you can see a highway going to the east - right, 38
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and then southerly. Its called "Carretera de Siboney", or Siboney Highway. You can see the town and beach of Siboney at the bottom right. Then we will continue over to the inlet to the left and back into town from there.
I had a number of reasons to want to explore the area of Siboney and the inlet. 1. I vaguely remember going to Siboney Beach with my cousins as a child, 2. I wanted to see Ciudamar, the club on the water by the inlet where we were members when I was young, 3. I wanted to see the area where we had our cottage, behind Cayo Smith, across from Ciudamar, 4. I wanted to see the Siboney farmhouse where Castro and his followers staged the failed attack on the Moncada in 1953. We left town in Angels car in the morning, driving along the Siboney Highway towards the town of Siboney and Siboney Beach. Its a two lane paved road now, although it was a dirt road in 1953, when Castro and 150 followers drove the same road. After about fifteen minutes, we came to the Siboney Farmhouse. Its a museum now. I will address the Siboney farmhouse in a separate blog. An hour later, we continued towards the beach. In another 15 minutes we, we arrived at Siboney. The town is very tiny. There are some public bathrooms / changing rooms, right at the entrance to the beach. Oswardo and I changed into bathing suits and walked down to the beach. Angel didnt participate.
The water was warm. The waves rolled up and dumped hard, pushing us down. The bottom was littered with multiple large, round stones, which clanked against each other making eerie noises underwater. They were hard on the feet.
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I cant say I really remembered being here with my family at the age of five. Its kind of aggravating to have heard my cousin say she remembers doing this and that with me, and I seem to have blocked it al out. I guess thats a defense mechanism at having been sent away like I was. I want to reminisce to pull up fond memories to remember my father and mother laughing --- maybe making sandcastles with me, bouncing in these waves. I looked around the beach to see if there were children, wondering if they even make sandcastles in Cuba, or if thats an American thing. The beach was pretty vacant. But it was nice. We only swam about fifteen minutes or so, then dried, threw on t-shirts and went to find Angel. There were several outdoor eating establishments right on the beach, with plastic tables and chairs on the sane. We had fresh grilled fish, vegetables and rice. It was really quite good. Then we changed back to our other clothes (there were no showers in the bath houses, so we were all salty.) We piled back into the car and took off.
South of Santiago - The Inlet - El Castillo Del Morro

Sunday, February 27, 2011
When we left Siboney, we had to backtrack, because a military base lies to the west of Siboney. Cubans say this may be where Castro actually lives. We passed the airport where we had flown in and made our way to the inlet. The Castillo del Morro, a fort built in the 1600s, stands on the inlet guarding Santiago from sea attacks.
We went in. I dont know if I explained the money dichotomy we face in museums. Whatever is the entrance charge in CUC, the same charge applies for Oswardo in pesos 40
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cubanos. So, if a museum charges me 1 CUC, a dollar, it charges him 1 peso, ten cents. And they get very upset if he doesnt have pesos. They normally wont accept 10 centavos CUC, the equivalent amount of money. And he wont let me pay 1 CUC if he can get in for 1 peso. So he goes around looking for people, trying to get somebody to exchange a CUC for pesos. The views are beautiful. From here, we could see the coastline to the west, and the Sierra Maestra foothills.
We could see an island that is a town in itself. When I was a child, it was known as Cayo Smith. Later it was renamed Cayo Granma, named after the boat by which Castro and his band of revolutionaries arrived in Cuba, in a town on the opposite side of the mountains. That town is now called Granma. The government newspaper is called El Granma. The island is completely occupied by homes, with a large church on the high point in the middle. Just like when i was a kid, a ferry crosses the river to the island regularly. People line up with their provisions, like large gas canisters, etc. The ferry stops at several places around the island, including the area to the south where my family had its cottage, above the La of La Socapa on the map. The ferry is near Ciudamar, which you can also see on the map. That was the private club, with a pool and beach, of which we were members when I was young.
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The Inlet - The Ferry to Our Cottage

After taking lots of great photos from El Morro, we continued up the road and stopped at the Ferry docks. About ten people or so stood and sat on walls on the road waiting for the ferry. We saw it round Cayo Smith and stop at the stop where our cottage was. I was remembering a bit. Playing on the beach at the bottom of the hill below the cottage was fun. I recall my father telling me that it was there that he first met and immediately fell in love with my mother. An old man shuffled up pulling driftwood. Angel knew him. He asked Angel about his family. He said he was taking the wood to a store a mile or so away to trade it in for a cigarette. I took some photos of Cayo Smith (I refuse to call it by its new name). School kids had been released for the day and walked along in their uniforms. The ferry arrived. People loaded up their gas canisters and other provisions. We joined them. I felt that they looked at the three of us like we were something unusual. i paid for Angel to join us. We didn't get off the ferry until it reached the cottage area. I couldn't help crying a bit when i saw it, both because i was getting a nostalgic feeling, and because it was in disrepair. We climbed the hill and walked around the now tiny looking building. The home seemed to be occupied by somebody, but it was beaten up by time and the elements. When the ferry came back, we boarded.
The Attack on the Moncada

Thursday, March 10, 2011
General Information I have searched and searched for more information about the Moncada attack. This was the attack by which Castro and his followers attempted to take over Cuba in 1953, but failed. I visited the two museums a few days ago with Oswardo, but he kept squirming 42
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because he felt that learning about it was somehow pro-Castro. So I have left him mesmerized by the t.v. in the hotel room, and went out on my own, intending to learn more. I had taken photographs of the depictions on the walls of the museums. I walked the streets looking for book-sellers. Most of the book vendors I found sold rag-eared used copies of Marxist / communist / pro-Castro books. But I found this odd black and white bound volume entitled simply, Moncada.
The cover is a close up of the front wall, with bullet holes. It had a lot of the same photos I got off the walls in the museums, but some others. It describes the attack in detail. It does not appear to be pro-Castro or anti-Castro. I have pieced together this story from the book, the museums and whatever else I could find. The book covers early history, and the attack. It has a great, great number of photographs. Fidel Castro and his brother, Raul, had been trying for years to figure out how to take control away from the dictator, Batista. He had come up with this grand scheme to do it. Describing it now sounds rather like a silly idea concocted by some school-kids, which was bound to fail. Thats also the way a lot of followers found it. There were many cells of young revolutionaries in various cities, some connected with universities, and others consisting of laborers. Most were in Havana. Most were males, but there were two women among the group. There were several attorneys, including Fidel Castro and one of the women. A previous coup attempt in Havana had failed, so he believed he could do better in a distant area that wasnt so prepared. But Santiago was the second-largest city of Cuba. Castro had lived part of his early life near Santiago --- not happy times. Hed been sent to private schools, but was viewed as an outsider, because the family money was not deemed to have been honorably earned or inherited. But he did know Santiago. So Fidels plan was to attack the military post within the city limits of Santiago called the Moncada, and another military post in Bayamo, a couple of hours west of Santiago, on the other side of the Sierra Madre range. The Moncada was fairly far above the harbor, within a short distance from our neighborhood of Vista Alegre, and not far from the Hotel Rex. The Moncada was a military garrison, which contained administrative buildings, army barracks, a military hospital, guard posts, and a parade ground. It had a history dating back many years, when it was a wooden structure, but hadnt been used for any significant military action in years. Just outside its boundaries were the courthouse, and across the street was a nonmilitary hospital.
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Castro and his followers believed if they took over the military bases in these two cities, Santiago being the second largest city in Cuba, he could initiate a coup to overturn the coup that had occurred just months before, which placed the hated Batista back into power. Batista had been the elected president previously before he was replaced by Grau, who was then replaced by Pro. I took this photo on a street in Havana my first day there, of an old graffiti against Batista. It says Down with Batista Assassin.
Moncada - Pre-Attack
Dissidents left Havana and other areas in multiple cars, and some traveled by train. They brought rifles, pistols, ammunition, uniforms, and other heavy and bulky supplies. I learned of about five house addresses where different groups were housed, but in town, the headquarters was the Hotel Rex. Weve been walking right by the Hotel Rex every night on our way to the Hotel Meli to use the Internet.
Ultimately, everybody would travel to the Siboney Farmhouse, which was to be the staging point for the final coordination of the attack. As I mentioned in another blog, I was particularly interested because my uncle was a participant in the attack, and was killed by Batistas police. My father was also present, although he was trying to get my uncle away. My father ended up in prison as a revolutionary although he was not one. I found a list of who stayed at the Hotel Rex, and a copy of the receipt of what they ate the night before. I wondered if my father and Uncle had been here that fateful night.
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The receipt says they ordered 20 chicken and rice, 20 salads, 20 plantains, 20 bread and butter, 12 coffees, 27 mineral water, 3 Hatuey Malt, 4 pastries. I cannot read the rest. The date is July 25, 1953. I also saw copies of rental receipts for cars, etc. I learned that some cars broke down on the way from Havana. Some dissidents came to realize the flaws in the plan, and abandoned it before arriving. Others became disheartened after arriving, and more cars broke down enroute to the Moncada. I also learned that the reason a lot of the men were unhappy was that there was a shortage of weapons and ammunition, and many of the uniforms did not fit at all.
La Granjita Siboney --- The Siboney Farmhouse

Monday, March 14, 2011
The Fidelistas rented a farmhouse outside Santiago as the headquarters to prepare for the attack. The owners called it Villa Blanca, but the conspirators dubbed it La Granjita (little farmhouse), or La Granjita Siboney. The Siboney farmhouse was on the Siboney Highway, a little two lane dirt road leading from the City, along the eastern boundary, to a tiny beach-front village called Siboney. We occasionally went to the beach of Siboney when I was young, although we usually went to the private club called Ciudamar, on the inlet. When I returned for my second visit to the Siboney farmhouse, I stood outside, looking at the white-washed cabin, pitched red tile roof, red framing around the front door, and a white tiled porch also framed at the top front with red. It would have been nighttime when my father and uncle were here. I imagined the tiny place jammed with revolutionaries. Melba Hernandez and Haydee Santamaria would be there, as would Haydees brother, Abel. Below are photos from the Moncada book showing what it was like then, and photos I took of what it is like now
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Siboney Farmhouse Then
Photo inside outside siboney farmhouse
Photo front of Siboney Farmhouse Now
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Photo inside Siboney Farmhouse now According to everything Ive read, the bullet holes in the front of the building were not the result of an active attack or battle. Batistas soldiers brought the dead bodies of some dissidents back to the house after the attack and placed them in the yard. Then the soldiers shot up the house as part of a plan to show that the government had found out about it in advance. On the right side of the house, the museum creators had recreated a wooden structure, which was supposedly a fake chicken coop, to shield cars from view. I couldnt figure out exactly how many of these there were and where. I found an old photograph in the book Id bought, and I think maybe its a much longer structure, covering the entire north side. The replica would hide only three cars, and one in the back yard wouldnt serve its purpose. But I did find another old photo in the book of a simple small fake chicken coop. The fake cistern was between the house and the northern chicken coop. This was where the guns were kept.
chicken coop replica
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Photo Cistern Replica My father was always hesitant to discuss anything about the Moncada attack, probably much like a soldier not wanting to relive what happened in war. But what I did glean over the years was that my father and his friend just showed up and walked in, thinking theyd find my uncle and take him away. He said the walls were plastered with drawings of the highway to Santiago, the streets of Santiago, the streets around the Moncada, and the Moncada itself. The drawings showed the barracks, military hospital, officers homes and the officers club. The revolutionaries immediately recognized that my father was not a follower of the movement, and in fact had made the same determination about my uncle. So they were locked up, in a small loft area within one of the chicken coops. From there, they watched through slits in the boards as men would come out, go back in, and argue with each other. They saw the rifles be pulled from the cistern and taken in to divvy up. They heard the roar and hum of voices, the shuffling and heavy footsteps on the tiled floors inside the farmhouse. Later, they saw all the men come out, as Fidel climbed up on a barrel and issued a final, non-inspiring speech, and everybody piled into cars and sped out, leaving a huge cloud of dust swirling over and into their temporary prison.
Moncada Attack July 26, 1953

Sunday, March 20, 2011
In the pre-dawn hours of July 26, 1953, the revolutionaries donned fake army uniforms as part of a ruse by which the Fidelistas would trick the real soldiers posted to protect the Moncada. The attack was planned during the annual week-long Carnavl, during which the people celebrated their patron saint, and partied, danced and drank in the streets. The idea was that the revolutionaries would take over early in the morning while the revelers, including all the soldiers, they hoped, were sleeping off the party. The fake soldiers would just take over and nobody would know the difference. The cars, each occupied by five or more men, dressed in fake uniforms, five or six men in each car. The routes and attack points for each group of dissidents were meticulously planned by Fidel Castro and the other leaders. But they didnt count on more cars breaking down, drivers getting lost and carloads getting cold feet (or coming to their senses). I have read that they obtained old used uniforms, but also that they had a group of women sewing uniforms from a similar material. I took photos of the uniforms in the museums, and Im still not sure which is true. But the fake uniforms certainly do look 48
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different. The dark stains on the fake uniforms are said to be blood.
The Real Uniform
The Fake Uniform The Moncada was and is a two-story concrete block structure, now painted yellow, with narrow concrete steps leading to the second floor, which contained administrative offices and other facilities. It faced the parade grounds. On the opposite side of the parade grounds were the guard towers. The dissidents rushed into the wrong rooms, and made numerous mistakes. Guards from the towers shot at them. Many were killed on the parade grounds. Many more were captured, in the Moncada barracks, the hospital and the courthouse. Even though all were captured or killed before dawn, gunshots could be heard until late morning. It is said that these later gunshots were the killing of unarmed dissidents long after the battle was over. As I mentioned in the blog about the Siboney Farmhouse, Batistas men placed dead dissidents in various places and indicated they were all killed in heated battle. Even though Fidel Castro and his people have perhaps distorted some aspects of the battle to make him look better, it appears that this is true. The Moncada is now a school and a museum. I took the photos there. The bullet holes in the Moncada are real, and from the soldiers shooting at the dissidents.
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The Front of Moncada
Parade Ground / Guard Tower and students
Moncada Attack The Aftermath

Sunday, March 20, 2011
The attack on the Moncada was a fiasco, as was the simultaneous attack in Bayamo. As Ive mentioned in other articles, dissidents got lost, abandoned the plan, and made mistakes. They entered the wrong side, wrong floor and wrong rooms of the Moncada, and thus did not surprise sleeping soldiers. The entire expected ruse was no ruse at all. Dissidents who didnt run off were arrested or killed. Quite a few who were arrested were later killed. Dissidents were shot to death for hours after the attack ended. A mass trial of over 100 dissidents was officiated by three magistrates in the courthouse adjacent to the Moncada. Those who were recovering in the hospital were not tried at the same time. The trial of Castro and two others was held after the main trial. But Castro and others were witnesses in the first defendants trials.
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Depiction of the Moncada, hospital and courthouse. Photographed in the Siboney Farmhouse museum The mass trial went on for days. Castro interrupted the trial immediately, stating he wished to represent himself. At first he was told to wait his turn, but he kept interrupting. Castro and two others were permitted to represent themselves, and, as they were lawyers, they were even permitted to wear lawyers robes provided by the local Bar Association.
Mabel Sanchez and Haydee SantaMaria during the trial. Photographed in the Moncada museum Castro explained to the other defendants that they needed to turn the trial into a tribunal condemning the atrocities of Batista. The three magistrates who officiated over the tribunal ruled that no political statements could be made. People distributed leaflets condemning the Batista government. Fidel stated that the Communist Party was not involved in the attack. He lied repeatedly, and protected other defendants and unindicted conspirators. When asked who was the leader of the attack on the Moncada, Fidel Castro stated that the intellectual author was Mart, a long-dead historical figure who was deemed a savior of Cuba, along with other South American countries. Castro was questioned on the stand by all twenty-four defense attorneys, and he did not admit that any of the defendants was involved. Hayde SantaMaria testified that she was only in Santiago to meet her brother, Abel, and that she had not been aware of the attack when shed left Havana. She said she learned of it while she was at the farmhouse, and went along to be a nurse. Ultimately, all but nineteen were convicted. In the final trial that included Castro and two others, Fidel
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Castro represented himself with flowery oratory and speeches of the wrongs committed by the government. He presented a two-hour speech, entitled History will Absolve Me. The trial took only a six hours. Everybody alleged innocence. Most, including Fidel Castro, were sentenced to El Presidio Modelo, on La Isla de Pinos. Many were pardoned and freed a few months later, and he was released after two years, enabling him to later succeed in routing Batista and taking over.
Castro and others leaving prison in 1955 I have learned of a magnificent book that debunks the myths of other books and political propaganda about the Moncada attack. It is called The Moncada Attack, Birth of the Cuban Revolution, and is written by Antonio Rafael de la Cova. It is published in English by University of South Carolina in 2007. The book follows every single person, with incredible detail received from over 150 interviews with various people involved in the attack, the proceedings, etc. on both sides of the action.
Impressions of Santiago
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
We are leaving Santiago and returning to Havana tomorrow. Ive developed some general impressions of Santiago. Bottom line --- Im not sure I would know its part of a communist country if I didnt already know, and if Oswaldo had not pointed everything out 52
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to me. Here are some general observations and thoughts. 1. The places where Cubans buy prepared food are just forlorn concrete boxes from the outside. I wouldnt know they were food service establishments if Oswardo hadnt point them out to me. We passed one every night, which he told me was a government food service establishment at which one pays with pesos Cubanos. There was always a line outside. He didnt take me in. We ate in two three restaurants in which one pays with CUC, including the one I showed photos of, another general restaurant and a casual pizza joint. There were Cubans in the pizza joint. The food wasnt good, but Ive had plenty of mediocre food in the U.S. and throughout the world. 2. The stores really are bad. I showed photos of them. But again, I wouldnt have known to enter if Oswardo hadnt taken me in. So tourists wouldnt see them. 3. I was not accosted by any jinetero, except for one annoying one. He attached himself to us every time we exited the hotel. But all he tried to do was convince us to use a particular taxi. We intentionally ignored him. 4. If prostitutes walk the streets, I didnt see them, even though we walked and walked, day and night. The one young prostitute in the hotel was a sad case, but no sadder than a young girl looking for money in many places in the world. 5. The people did not complain about their lives. 6. My cousin who lives in Santiago remains in the same nine-bedroom home she grew up in. She is a professor. Her daughter and she were elegant, nicely dressed, and looked like any normal mother and daughter. They did not complain about money. If I didnt know that her brother sends her money to help out, I wouldnt have known it. 7. Driving through the countryside, we did not see the kind of poverty I have seen in many countries around the world. 8. Families played in the squares and parks, and seemed normal. The only thing that stuck out was the lack of toys like one would see in the U.S. 9. I felt no danger anywhere. The people are nice. Even the poor neighborhoods did not cause any fear. 10. I felt no threat of government intrusion or that they could be watching me. Some final photos of Santiago: [Im not going to label them] I believe that Havana will be much different, but like a big city with a large ghetto area vs. a small town. Well see.
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Havana Map and Orientation

Wednesday, March 23, 2011
This is a map of Havana from Google maps. We are going to see a lot of these areas, so I decide to put the map up first. My hotel for the rest of my stay is the Hotel Deauville, on the water, right where the words say Centro Havana. Inland of the hotel is the most decrepit part of the city, and I'll show photos of it, including a lot from the upper floors of the hotel. To the right is the bay (Bahia de la Havana). The rennovated downtown areas that the tourists see is near the widest part of the bay. At the mouth of the inlet, on the right side, is another fort (Morro). We'll go there, and I understand there are great views from there. Past it, Havana del Este, is where there are beachfront hotels, etc. We won't be going there, because that's only a tourist area and I'm not here for tourism. Also, Cubans arent really welcome there, so even if Oswardo could go, he doesnt want to. The hotel I stayed in the first night before we went to Santiago is way to the left, on the water near where it says Plaza de la Revolucion The neighborhoods are much nicer there than in the Centro. This is because foreigners are allowed to own condos, there are the old Casino hotels, and all the embassies and similar buildings are that way.
Return to Havana Centro Havana Hotel Deauville

When we got back from Santiago, and drove in from the airport, it was about 4 in the afternoon. The cab took me to the hotel. It took some time for me to convince Oswardo to let the cab take him home instead of walking. He gets so worried about my paying money. I had given him a carryon suitcase because Id brought a lot of clothes for the kids and provisions from the U.S. Hed used it on our trip to Santiago. Of course hed never had a need for a suitcase. Id left tips for the maids in the hotel every day, probably unheard of, and theyd left soap, shampoo, conditioner and hand cream every day. Id crammed it all into the little suitcase. He was embarrassed, but also admitted it was enough to get them by for months. I told him Id have another supply by the time I left Havana. I am staying at the Hotel (also called Hotetur) Deauville. This hotel is a lot different from 54
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the others I stayed in. The first night was five star (by Cuban standards). The next four nights were four star (by their standards). This is 2 and a half. Actually, I am here because the well-known fancy hotels were all booked. I remember when I saw the price, which was less than half what I paid for the Meli, I asked my travel agent, who is in Havana, and who I found by following the reservation links from the bigger hotels, if she was sure it was o.k. She said yes. Im going to show a lot of photos of the hotel, from outside on the Malecn, from my rooms balcony and from the pool area, because it really provides an understanding and feel of Havana. The tall blue building in the photo is the hotel. Im on the 10th floor, overlooking the water. The pool area is in the back on the 6th floor. Tomorrow Ill show photos looking inland Centro Habana
Hotel Deauville From the Outside
From my balcony looking east towards the inlet along the Malecn
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On the street looking east towards the inlet along the Malecn
Renovated buildings near the hotel
Hotel Deauville Photos from 6th Floor pool looking inward.

Im still taking photos from the Hotel Deauville, and thats all Im showing today. The beat up buildings are the outskirts of the desolate areas. Youll notice the crumbling, formerly beautiful archicture. In the distance to the left, the building that looks like the U.S. Capitol, is called the Capitolio and is their Congress. Now its just a museum, and well visit it someday.
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El Morro
I got up early this morning, like every morning, ate breakfast and downed a few Cortados - espresso with a touch of milk. I also organized all my photos. Oswardo had to work in the morning, so he came to the hotel about noon. While Oswardo and I walked the streets to the east towards the inlet and past one of the casa particulares where hed suggested I eat last night, he asked me whether I had complied with or violated his strict rules, and I made my confessions. He didnt put me on restriction. He did give me a concerned fatherly look. I even confessed the part about letting a taxi driver take me to a chosen restaurant, and letting hookers ask me a question, but he was happy with my responses. At El Prado, we found a cab to take us through the tunnel to the other side of the inlet. Across the inlet is a castle and fort in a park called Parque Historico Militar El Morro La Cabana. It consists of a fort right on the inlet, which is a common view of Havana, and up the hill and behind it a huge city of a fort called La Cabana. We took photos at El Morro, but didnt enter because the lighthouse was closed. Then we walked about a mile uphill to La Cabana, with its buildings, streets, living quarters, etc. We went in and saw old weapons and outside I took more photos. Then we walked back again to El Morro and found a taxi. It dropped us back on El Prado.
El Morro
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Looking across at the little fort on the other side, in the back with two towers is Hotel Nacional
Looking Across Into Havana Viejo
Havana Vieja Old Havana Morning

Monday, April 04, 2011
Today, its time to officially visit Havana Vieja, during the daytime, with Oswardo. I mentioned that I came here the other night without him. We walked up east of the hotel and then turned right, inland, along El Prado. He pointed out a number of buildings many more than I can remember. I took photo after photo. Everything around here is in pretty good condition, although there are beat-up apartment buildings, sometimes next door to beautifully restored buildings and unsavory neighborhoods right behind them.
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El Prado Then
El Prado Now A young girl walked up to a building. She whistled. An old lady lowered a cloth sack tied to a rope hanging over a pole. The girl put a package into the sack and the woman pulled it up. Some balconies had plants some had make-shift shade contraptions many had drying clothes.We saw one of the hotels where the gangsters hung out, and some other places where Meyer Lansky stayed until Castros so-called morality police made them all leave We walked down Obispa and OReilly to the water, saw the forts and other fortifications from all angles, saw a home from the 1500s with a tree thats supposed to be as old as the house, and a mausoleum of the owners in the yard, saw a square like a flea market, at which most of the products were pro Castro, Ch, socialism books like a million of them. I asked about whether the money in the 50's was the same as now, and a man showed me bills and offered to sell them to me for $12. It seems they were still pesos, just with different presidents.
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Old House We went into the Ambos Mundos hotel, because I told Oswardo I had read in the book that room 511 was a museum of Hemingway because he always stayed there, and we needed to photograph the bar on the 6th floor roof and the lobby because he always drank there. The museum was nice.It had his typewriter with some things hed written in the middle of the room. The table was adjustable, since he often wrote standing up, due to his bad back. He had a beautiful view out his corner window. The bed and other things were original. They had his hat and boots. Photographs of all his wives and well-known mistresses were on the walls. A couple of magazines opened to his stories were on the bed. We photographed the bars inside and on the roof, and the city from the rooftop.
Market
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Hotel Ambos Mundos
View from Hemingways Room now a museum We saw a multitude of important buildings, which I photographed. We went into a fort, but this fort is on the same side of the river as the city. El Morro and the other fort are across the river, in Havana del Este - East Havana.
Havana Vieja
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Park across from Hotel Inglaterra where resident "discuss" sports
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Plaza Vieja
El Capitolio
Friday, April 08, 2011
After walking and walking through the streets of Havana Vieja, and eating lunch in a kind of nice restaurant with a live band, a beggar harassing us, and a long, long wait for food because the cooking gas was not working properly, we arrived at El Capitolio, the former government and congressional building that is now a museum.
El Capitolio Fro the Outside It was used prior to Batista and Castro. It has large gathering halls with Italian marble floors and fancy chandeliers. There is a room of mirrors, and a congressional assembly room with leather chairs, desks, etc. Today, we had money troubles because Oswardo still has no pesos Cubanos. I finally realized today that there are money exchange places for foreigners, and there are money exchange places where Cubans can exchange CUC for pesos Cubanos and vice versa. There were long lines at those. I would pay usually 1 or 2 CUC to enter a museum, and one or two cus if I wanted to take photographs in some museums. Usually, the same number of CUC I would pay would be what he would pay in pesos Cubanos. So if I paid two CUC (about 2 dollarsish), he would pay 2 pesos, about 20 cents. If he didnt have pesos throughout Santiago and in some places here, he would take about 20 centavos from my change and they would let him in, figuring 20 centavos is about 2 pesos. But the presidential palaces wouldnt accept CUC for him. And he wouldnt let me pay 2 CUC for him to get in. So he would go around to one Cuban after another to see if he could find somebody to exchange money with him.
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Centro Havana
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Today, we entered Centro Havana. This is an area the tourists dont see. Its basically slums. You can see and feel the former beauty, but like the cars, the buildings have been untouched since the 50s. My hotel is actually in Centro Habana, but its on the water, on a well-traveled street. The Cuban people live in the depths of this city, in crumbling, dilapidated buildings. I asked how it is that the people are chosen to live in this neighborhood if everybody theoretically makes almost the same amount of money. That is how is a person deemed to be poor enough to be in the poorest neighborhood if everybodys income is basically the same. He explained again, as hed said in Santiago, that places to live were allocated at the time of the revolution when they were expropriated basically to where people already resided. There are no new properties in Havana. So if a parent or parents live in a place, and their children grow up, they cant really leave. They have to live in the same place. Occupants often separate bedrooms or parts of rooms into rental units for others. Renters may be Cubans from other provinces who have come to Havana to work, legally or illegally
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usually illegally. A single room may be ones entire dwelling unit, including bathroom area and kitchen area. The bedroom may be a piece of weak plywood stuck into a wall. He told me that if one even changes address in the city, one must get permission. I told him I had seen police heavily investigating the identification of some males, who I did not believe were prostitutes, and I didnt think anybody from another country would be escaping to Cuba - so what was that all about. He said one can go from Havana elsewhere - like he went to Santiago with me but because of the housing shortage and reasons that one might want to come here there are big restrictions. And if somebody is found with their national id card saying they live in another province, they will be deported back to that province. When Oswardo got married, and his wife came from Guantamo to live, she had to get permission, which took a couple of months. Technically, if she was here before the permission came through, it would be illegal. But they all live in the small, one- bedroom apartment that was allocated to his mother in 1959. He asked me if I knew what a Cuba Libre is. I said yes, its a drink with Coca Cola, rum and a few drops of lime juice he said here they dont have Coca Cola, so they use TropiCola. They dont call it Cuba Libre, because Cuba is not free. So they call it La Mentira - the lie.
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Talk on the Streets of Havana

I had the opportunity to talk to some people on the streets, since Oswardo was busy. For the most part, while people are open and friendly, they do not volunteer to criticize the government and the situation too much. I met a young man, probably in his twenties. He sat on the concrete stoop in front of a beat-up apartment building in the outskirts of Centro Havana. I leaned against the wall, and asked him if he knew a woman named Yuana, who lived near there. I was not really looking for anybody just trying to open conversation. I asked, Do you live here? He looked at me suspiciously and nodded. Have you lived here a long time? All my life. You live with other family? My mother, my sister, my sisters child, sometimes her husband, and others. Others? He didnt answer. Does your mother rent rooms? He hesitated. Looked up and down the streets. She not licensed to rent rooms. I understand today is a special day kind of a holiday. Is that right? He shook his head. Fifty years ago, the Bay of Pigs? Baha de Cochinos? He snorted. He shook his head. I understand the government says its the shining day of Cuban history when the Americans failed in their attempt, it solidified socialism. He looked up, a wry smile on his face. I wasnt born. So what do I know. but if you ask the people, they do not share the enthusiasm of the government. He looked both ways on the street again, stood, and entered his building without a word.
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Copyright Reminder
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
This is a reminder that the text and photos contained in this blog are protected by U.S. copyright law. None may be copied or reproduced in any way without giving credit to Armstrong Media Group and this site. There is no charge for use so long as credit is given
Talk on the Streets Continued The New Barber

Tuesday, April 19, 2011
I kind of hung out in a bus line, as though I was waiting for a bus. A man next to me carried a cloth utility carrier. I couldnt tell if it was homemade or not, but the way it was folded, I could see some cutting sheers, a comb, scissors and a squirt bottle. I nodded at it, and asked, Are you a barber? He bounced his head with a quick nod. Have you been doing this for long? All my life. Do you work for a government business or under the new entrepreneurial licensing. He glanced around. I have a license to operate
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independently. Where do you work? Different places. I go to the customer. Can you cut my hair? He looked at me askance. Well, I cannot enter a hotel. Are you staying in a casa particular? No. He said he knew a casa particular that would allow us to cut hair there. But youll have to pay the proprietor I do not know what he will charge. I agreed. We walked a few blocks and entered a parking lot of a 7 story condominium building. I paid ten CUC to the proprietor and he let us enter a room. We passed a Cuban girl and a middle aged European looking man in the hall. It appeared rooms were rented for short periods of time for other purposes too. I felt a little odd entering a room with a man, but I had questions. Did you work a regular job, paid by the government until recently? I mean, giving licenses for one to operate as a business other than a casa particular is quite new isnt it? Yes, of course. I had a job at the front desk of a hotel I have a degree as an accountant. But I was among the first to be said goodbye to when the government began laying off numerous employees. But you already knew how to cut hair. Ive been doing it for friends, family and neighbors for extra income for many years. How do the people feel about the new procedure where the government fires a half million people and expects them to learn how to run a business. He snipped around my ears. Its ridiculous. Im actually lucky that Ive done this before. Most people have no trade. No knowledge of what to do -- how to do it. Weve never had the opportunity to collect money for providing a service. I nodded. And now I do not receive Pesos Cubanos. Thus, I do not have the money to buy our basic food and supplies sold by the bodeguitas, under the ration system. I receive some when I cut friends hair. But I mostly receive CUC. Of course, weve all wanted to receive CUC for years, so its not bad, but I have to pay a fee to convert them to pesos cubanos to buy basic items. Sounds hard. Life in Cuba is always hard.
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Bay of Pigs Anniversary Speech

Saturday, April 23, 2011
It seemed that the Cuban government was making a big deal about the anniversary of the Bahia de Cochinos. I heard that perhaps Fidel or Raul was going to speak, and I was interested. Naturally Oswardo would not go with me or even let me go. I knew where the Plaza of the Revolution was because wed seen it coming in from the airport. So I got a cab to the general area. Crowds were forming. I was trying to discern whether the attendees were there willingly whether they were followers of the government or forced, coerced or enticed to attend -- or just inquisitive --- or revolutionaries. Probably there was a mixture. And then Raul was there. Fidel was not at his side. The crowd cheered. Again, I looked around me, trying to gauge the sentiment of the people. Raul talked for a while about the failure of the CIA to invade Cuba,. He made light of its stupidity. Then he turned to the current state of the economy and Cubas financial and political future. He began blaming himself for allowing the government to stagnate. He stated that it was time for new leadership to begin the climb to relieve him and the rest of the old guard from running the country. He spoke of the reforms, though not in detail. He stated that the termination of employees from the government payroll and allowing them to create businesses was not a move towards capitalism, but was a move to perfect socialism. I felt like I was in the twilight zone. Of course we Americans have always heard of the dogma pushed by communist governments. But I never thought Id be standing in a plaza listening to an actual speech. It was not an eight hour harangue by Fidel, but was certainly communist propaganda. I thought of the t.v. signal that Oswardo gets in their small apartment. All black and white shows displaying only propaganda. Fidel marching in his olive green uniform through the sugar cane fields. Its surreal.
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Plaza de la revolucion
After the Bay of Pigs Speech

I milled around after the speech, tying to find somebody to talk to. I saw a loan man sitting on a bench as the throngs retreated past him. I sat. He had a half smile seemed quite content. It was a moving speech, I said, wasnt it? He glanced at me. Always. Not like the true leader - - Fidel, but still. Moving. Yes. What do you do? I work at the Cementerio de Cristbal Coln. I already knew the cemetery was massive, the only cemetery in Havana, named after Christopher Columbus, although his body was not there. I also knew my grandfather was buried there. What do you do there? I am a guard at the gate. Is your job safe with the government termination of jobs? He looked at me oddly. Well, yes, those who are being dismissed are not good workers. They are leaches on society. I was surprised by this answer. Really? Yes, really. We Cubans are a working people. We all must unite for our country to prosper. Our situation requires it. You Americans will not help us. In fact you hinder our progress. You threaten our leader. You forbid entry of goods and money via an embargo. The Russians no longer are able to help us. We are on our own. And we thrive. Yet, like in all countries, we have some who stagnate. So we need to give them a push. Let them be required to go out and earn a living. EARN a living. Wow, thats a concept, but kind of out of step with my understanding of communism or socialism, or whatever this is. I kind of thought most Cubans were not happy with the current state of affairs. I have met people living in the old areas of Centro Havana, and they say their lives are so difficult. He shook his head. I and my family live in Centro Habana. Much of it is a slum, but it was a slum before the Revolution. The people who are lazy are the same ones, or descendants of the same ones who were lazy, worthless leaches before. Of course their 70
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lives are difficult --- for them. Because they do not want to do anything --- like many in your culture, I believe. Well, here was a true patriot of the status quo. I wanted to avoid insulting him, or even getting myself into trouble. But I had to ask. May I ask, do you live now where you and your family lived before the Revolution? Is your dwelling in the same condition as it was in 1959? Do you rent out any part of it? He stood. Yes, we live in the same apartment. Yes, it is nice, because we care and we keep it nice. It is illegal to rent it out, and my family uses the entire space. Good day. He walked away. The Plaza de la Revolucin, is in one of nicer areas of Havana, called Vedado. It is near the cemetery. I understand, though I am not sure, that people who live here are foreigners, diplomats, or others who have wealth and power somehow. Of course, my only sources of information are taxi drivers, Oswardo, and people I meet, all of whom live in Centro Havana. So they may be giving me biased information. One of the photographs attached is a saying, which I found just down the street. Its the one with a green background. It says, Before the world capitalist crisis, we had no other option than to unite ourselves in order to confront it. Raul Castro.
Cementerio de Cristbal Coln

Thursday, April 28, 2011
I had the feeling the man Id been speaking to was headed to the cemetery, perhaps to work. I knew it wasnt far from where I was, so I followed at a distance. If you look at the map, youll see it to the left of the Plaza de la Revolucion, and youll see how huge it is. The entrance to the cemetery was a beehive of activity. Maybe some whod come to the speech decided to visit their dead loved ones at the same time. Maybe it was always like this. Id read in Ay Cuba! By Andrei Codrescu that there is only the one cemetery, and often there are several funerals going on at the same time. I stopped at the front gate. A teenage male jinitero approached. You want a tour, seor? I didnt really think I wanted to spend that long in a cemetery. I looked down at a display of flowers and objects on the ground next to the front gate. Santera,, he said. Brujara. Witchcraft. Stay away. I looked around to see if I could locate the witch whod put it there, but I didnt see anybody. Are there directories to find particular graves, I asked. Sure, there are many famous people buried in the cemetery. Im looking for my grandfather. He wasnt famous. Sure, we can find him. O.k., lets go. We entered, and I stood right in the center and began taking photos. A guard came up and said, Sir, you must pay to enter the cemetery. I have to pay, like going to Disney World? You have to pay. Its a museum. What if I were attending a funeral? Sir, she said strictly, and ushered me towards the line of people waiting to pay. I didnt want to pay CUC to get my guide in, and I wasnt very confident that he could get me where I wanted to go, and Id lost interest in the cemetery now that I realized it was a commercial enterprise. Ill give you a couple of
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CUC just to talk to me for a few. I have some questions. How about that? Three. I could earn more than that taking somebody in. I agreed, and we walked outside and sat on a bench, looking in at the huge mausoleums and monuments on the other side of the gilded wall and metal gates. Tell me about yourself, I said. Did you go to the university? Do you work a regular job? Is your tour guide service official? He shook his head. I am a hustler. I take care of myself, my younger brothers and sisters, my mother and my grandmother. Im the only man in the household. Our father left when I was fourteen, so its been like this for a long time. Does anybody else work in the family? My mother cleans rooms at Hotel Inglaterra. My grandmother did the same for many years, but she does not work now. Does the government pay people who have retired from working? Yes, my mother makes 30 pesos Cubanos a month, and my grandmother makes 15. So they take care of the rationed products. I receive CUC for my work, so I contribute the rest of the money for the family. Where do you live? My grandparents owned the whole floor of a building when the Revolution occurred. The government took ownership, but left them there. Even when my father was here, we all lived there. Now, we live in about 60% of the apartment, and my grandmother rents out individual rooms to others. Three rooms are rented, one to a young woman who offers sex services to foreigners and her child, one to a man and wife they are from Holguin and work in the kitchen of a casa particular, probably without papers, and one man who drives a taxi. Do you have to worry about the government finding out that you rent rooms? We have to worry about everything. You know about the Committee fror Defense of the Revolution, the CDR, dont you? They strictly monitor Cubans location and activites. One night, the couple who work in the casa particular got some beef I dont know how because its illegal to serve it, even there. They brought it home and were cooking it. The neighborhood viligante smelled it and began knocking on the door. Possessing beef can get one three years in prison. They ran to the rooftop with the pan and beef. I dont know what they did with it. We were all running around with sheets and clothing trying to wave the delicious aroma out. Finally my grandmother opened the door and the spy walked around sniffing. Im illegal just because I have no official job. I can be jailed for the crime of disobedience. We spoke for an hour. Mostly I confirmed what I already knew, and I was glad to hear from another anti-government citizen. Id started wondering whether the progovernment people were in the majority. It seemed impossible. I wandered on foot back down towards the water, to the Melia Cohiba, which is close to the cemetery, so I could jump on wi-fi and exchange some money. I also had decided I wasnt ready to return home. I decided to Skype my wife and work partners to see about extending my trip.
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Another Day in Vedado:

Thursday, April 28, 2011
Today, Im back with Oswardo. I didnt tell him what I did yesterday. Hed give me a stern, fatherly face, although hes 25 years younger than I. Then hed e-mail his dad in Venezuela, who would e-mail my wife in Miami, and then Id get a nasty e-mail about my wandering around a dangerous country on my own. So, today we walked back through Centro Habana, and then through Vedado, along the same route I traveled yesterday. As we walked, I asked him what hed done the day before. I went to the Venezuelan Embassy. Why? To find out how I we can get out. Can you leave? If I had a couple thousand dollars, I could. How does that work? We exited Centro Havana and traveled along wide streets, past fairly nice buildings. Countries that allow Cubans to enter have agreements with Cuba, setting an amount of money as a deposit. The deposit must be deposited in the bank six months before you apply to travel. When you travel, its not officially stated that you are not going to return. Its a visa of the country you are visiting, and a permit from Cuba. If you dont come back, they keep the money. I guess the two countries share it. I dont imagine you can go to the U.S. that way. No, I went to the American Interest Section thats what they call their offices because they have no embassy. U.S. wont allow us to travel there. The country you are visiting generally must have someone there to sponsor you. We have an uncle that got my father into Venezuela many years ago. So my father can sponsor me. Is it possible to put together that kind of money? Impossible. Unless my father or somebody can get it to me. Would you really want to go to Venezuela? Its it on the verge of being just as bad. Yes, it is, but its not that bad yet. He pointed. Thats La Universidad de Havana. Fidel was a student there. True.
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Jos Mart Anti-Imperialist Plaza

Friday, May 06, 2011
We walked towards the water on wide, clean streets with elegant buildings on both sides. When we reached the Malecn, Oswardo pointed to a bunch of strange hanging metal things and said, This is the Anti-Imperialist Plaza. You cant see it from here, but behind it is the American Interest Section --- since U.S. is not entitled to an embassy here. Whats all this stuff.? The U.S. had an electronic billboard, where it posted pro-U.S. propaganda. I gazed through the mess, trying to make out the building. How long has been here? Since 2000. The first demonstration here involved Elan Gonzlez. Things have been added over the years, including the 138 flagpoles there. Fidel countered it first with flags, and then all this. He gave a speech here in 2006, and blocked out the billboard of Martin Luther King Day. As you can see, it completely obscures the building. They say it may also interfere with communication. Later that year, the American band Audioslave played here. It was the first concert of its kind. I was here. Now, over here, see the statute. You know who it is by now, right? Mart. So, hes holding this kid, and hes pointing. Its by symbolic. Hes pointing at the American Interest Section. At the Imperialists.
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More Walks in the Wealthy Areas

Monday, May 09, 2011
We continue walking around the Vedado area. Its quite incongruous. I dont understand where these people come from. Where do they get their money? I understand they are foreigners, from all kinds of countries. You would think that theyd be afraid because with such poverty close by, it would seem likely that there would be robberies and burglaries. But I see no overbearing police presence, no bars on the windows, nothing that would make me think that. In Venezuela, because of the poverty, you cant walk on the street wearing the smallest piece of jewelry without worry of getting robbed, killed or worse. Here, that doesnt seem to be the case. We walked past the Hotel Nacional, but you cant get good photos of the front. So Im attaching one from the water side, and you will recognize it from a lot of other photos Ive taken from farther away. We saw the Capri and other hotels that were the well-known gambling casinos of U.S. mobsters. Oswardo pointed out where people like Meyer Lansky would eat, etc. A tall cylindrical building attached to this blog entry is apparently one of the condos that foreigners can own units in. As Ive mentioned, Cubans are forbidden to own real property, so there are not too many condominiums.
Playa
This has been one of the most confusing days, and evidence that my Spanish isnt as good as I thought. Oswardo has been saying that we would be going to Playa. I know la playa is a beach. (I also know that in some countries like Peru I think its a parking lot). I
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figured it ws just a Cuban idiom not to say la before playa. But he kept saying we were going. I asked if he would be bringing her kids, and if he would wear a bathing suit. He kept looking at me oddly. And said no. So, I wore my usual shorts and a shirt, and we headed off for what I thought was the beach. As usual we walked most of the way, through Centro Havana, through Vedado, and finally came to a little beat up metal bridge over a small tributary to the sea, not far from the cemetery. He marched across the horrible looking bridge, and then said we walked and walked. What we found was nice houses, embassies, consulates, guards in fancy uniforms, etc. But I guess Im a little dense because I still did not get that this was a part of town called Playa, and I was still wondering where la playa was. We finally arrived at the water. There was no beach to speak of. There was an overweight man lying on a picnic table. I finally got it.
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The Working Woman

The dining area of Hotel Deauville also serves as a disco some evenings. Young Cubans are allowed entry. Im not sure of the requirements. Last night, the smoke from the disco infiltrated the lobby and made it uncomfortable. I went outside, and crossed the street to where the taxis park. An annoying jinitero who always attaches himself to me zipped to my side. He must have realized I always choose whichever taxi he does not represent. I got away from him and sat on the wall. Taxi drivers and others sat and slouched around. A woman sat down near me. She seemed a bit out of place, but it didnt occur to me right away that she was there because she was a prostitute. As Ive mentioned, there are thousands of women born in the 60s and 70s with Russian names that begin with the letter Y. There seem to be quite a few with names spelled with variations on our name Joanna. Theres Yoani, Yoana, Yuana, Yuani, and similar names. She had one of those names. We sat in silence for a while. The taxistas were chatting excitedly. Young people were arriving for the disco. A couple of other younger women were knocking on the windows of the lobby trying to entice visitors to go outside and make business. They couldnt enter, and wouldnt be able to even if they got a John to agree to be them. Because theyd have to be registered guests at the hotel. She said, De donde es usted? Florida. United States, I answered. I thought you would be European. We do not see many Americans here. I hesitated, curious, not sure what to say, not wanting to look like I was inquiring for business. Uh, are you staying at the hotel? There are no buildings around, so it seemed unlikely shed say she lived across the street. She looked down. She looked up at me. I am working. I was supposed to meet a customer at the hotel, but he did not appear. It was clear enough what she meant. We sat in silence again. Is it safe to do that kind of work? Are there problems? Like with the police? Im interested --- if you dont mind talking about it. No. Its not safe. The spies and the police watch me. Watch us. They do stings from time to time. If I am attacked, they will not help. Do you work a job too? Its illegal not to, isnt it? Yes, it is. Im not legal in Havana, and Im not legal because I do not work. I have a degree as an economista from the University of Havana. I worked in a bodeguita. I made twenty-five dollars a month. It was not enough. A tear dropped. I have a daughter. She is thirteen. Shes profoundly disabled. She requires expensive medical care. The government medical care does not cover it. ---- so I work --- like this --- to earn money to support her. I again didnt know what to say. The tears seemed real. Where do you stay in Havana? We live in a room in an apartment. Youve heard of these rooms? We do not have use of the entire apartment. We have to make our bathroom, kitchen and all in the one room. Its illegal. I wasnt sure whether I was overstepping my bounds, but I hadnt heard much about marriage, divorce, etc. in Cuba. So I asked, Does your daughters father live with you? She shook her head. We never married. We were together for ten years. His family enticed him to go to join them in Orlando, Florida. He has a fiance and they have a child together. Its o.k. Another tear dropped. He said maybe hed marry me just to get me and our daughter to the U.S. What about the fiance? He said shed allow it, just so he can get his daughter there. And wed divorce when I was there. But he doesnt commit. Who takes care of your daughter while you are working? A teenage neighbor girl. When you meet a man to do business, will they let you enter the hotel? Yes, if the guard makes the deal and calls me here, then he can allow me to entire. Naturally, he receives a good bribe.
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Nearing Trip End Revisit to Centro Habana

Wednesday, May 18, 2011
My trip to Cuba is coming to an end. I already extended my stay once, and work and family call. So I must go home in a couple of days. I have developed this tremendous love for my homeland, and I dont want to go. I know life in Cuba is hard, but it doesnt matter. I dont want to leave. Hopefully, I can return sometime soon. I have a lot to do before I go. You know Im not interested in the tourist areas. The buildings are nicely renovated. But what I am interested in is the people how they survive ---what they feel -- what they think about their futures. I want to get back into Centro Habana, the slums. I wish I could get in to see one of the rooms where people like the nice prostitute I spoke to. I say nice because she is. If I had met her anyplace else, I never would have dreamed that she did that for a living. She is an intelligent, well-spoken mother, trying to protect her disabled daughter against a difficult situation. I keep hearing about these areas where transients live, and I want to see one. I want to go back to the casa particular where the new barber cut my hair. I have so many questions. So I went out for a walk this morning, a couple of blocks inland from my hotel, and then about 4 blocks south to the casa particular. Here are some photos I took. When I walk in poor areas, I keep my camera at waist level shooting without looking. Ive been warned by Oswardo and others that if I take photos of ugly things too obviously, my camera might get confiscated, or worse.
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Return to Casa Particular

I wanted to return to the Casa Particular where I had my haircut so I could learn more from a businessmans perspective. I simply could not understand how business worked in a communist country. This building was actually quite nice, and faced the water. It couldnt have been more than twenty years old. The unit Id entered before occupied an entire floor. I wasnt sure whether the other floors were broken down into smaller units or not. There was an elevator, but I took the concrete stairs in an enclosed stairwell upwards. I passed a twenty something Cuban woman in the stairwell. I saw heels of high-heeled shoes peaking from her purse, and I knew what she was doing there. As I stood knocking at the locked door, further protected by a wrought iron gate, a young woman appeared next to me, and also knocked. She looked at me --- evaluated me --- I figured maybe she wanted to know if I was her John. The proprietor, pulling his pants together, wearing a white t-shirt, threw the door open, and beckoned us in. We walked into the living room. We looked at each other again. A partially dressed young woman slid by and entered the room the proprietor had just entered. The woman next to me said, Cochino. I said, Que pasa? He has that little slut, she said in Spanish. I think shes 16. His wife is my good friend. Oh, I said, wondering again, who this one was here to see. She sat on a grimy looking fabric couch. I stood. Finally, the proprietor returned. He looked back and forth between us, and said to her in Spanish, a question in his voice I have somebody for you. I figured he didnt realize I spoke Spanish, so I said, Sir, I actually came to talk to you. A light lit in his eyes. Oh, well, just a moment. He marched down a hallway, and knocked on a door. A middle-aged man opened the door and came out. He followed the proprietor to the living room. The proprietor introduced the new couple. They shook hands. It seemed that all was well. The man slipped money to the proprietor, and the woman followed him to the room. I introduced myself. He said his name was Reinaldo. I said, I dont know if you remember me. I got my hair cut here the other day. He looked at me funny. I figured he was thinking of Gay rights, and wondering whether thats all we had done. Im just trying to learn about Cuba, I said. Then I threw in a statement to see if I could get his interest. Maybe next time I can stay here. Would you like something to drink, he asked. I didnt really. And I figured the glasses would be about as clean as the living room. But he said, Just a minute, I have some great tea, and he returned with some off color stuff in a glass. We sat in chairs looking across the Malecn at the sea. So how does this work, I asked. I understand hotels are owned by the State. And that people cant own real estate. But doesnt Casa Particular mean a house you own? Well, that is part of the meaning, but we do not own it. We have the right to be in the home just like an occupant of a private dwelling. But we must also have a license to be able to rent for money. He said, I have to go to the bank. Come. He stood and soon we were walking up El Prado. I wanted to ask about the other kinds of renting --- to the barber, and the women. I wasnt sure if hed appreciate that. But, I wanted to know. It seems you rent for the night, or for shorter times. How does the State know? 80
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Oh, they come in and investigate all the time. They might show up once a day, or three times a week. You never know. But I must have a copy of the identification of everybody there. Would they enter peoples rooms? They can, but if they trust the establishment, and you slide them a little cash, they dont. I didnt need the I.D. of the girl who went with the Swede, because I already have a copy. Cubans arent allowed in rooms unless they are registered, so she was registered for that time. We got to the bank and went in. I saw the same ritual as I saw in Santiago. He moved across the room to business desks, saying, Quien es el ultimo por los escritorios de negocios? Whos last in line for the commercial desks? he nooded at the woman whod signaled that she was last. He sat, filled out some forms, answered some questions, turned in money --- all CUC, and received back a small amount of CUC. Outside, I asked, I take it that the bank is State, and thus, you are reporting your earnings right when you make a deposit, and they take tax right then. Is that right? Exactly, and the tax is enormous. By the time its all done, if I didnt get some cash on the side, Id be making the same thirty pesos that everybody else makes. We walked on. He added, But I do have my freedom. I am a businessman. I wouldnt have it any other way. It seems your situation is much more like capitalism than the every-day worker can enjoy. Exactly.
The Malecn is Angry Today

Thursday, June 02, 2011
I have slept with the balcony sliding glass doors open each night, because I like the smell and sound of the sea. Tonight, the wind has blown, and rain even drizzled on my bed. Waves crashed against the wall below. But I still liked it. I got up at five, and went down to the lobby to get a coffee and write. I found the front doors of the lobby blocked with blankets and towels stuffed in the gap at the bottom, and two-by-fours holding the doors shut against the strong wind. The security guard was passed out on one couch, the front desk worker on another, and the coffee maker on another. The room still reeked of smoke from last nights activities. Nobody stirred. I walked over to the window and looked out on the Malen. Waves pounded the sea wall and crashed over, spewing frothy foam half way across the road. A few cars carefully made their ways down the street, hovering as far away from the water as possible. I could see huge waves with towering whitecaps rolling in from far out.
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A while later, they released the doors, and I walked out. I thought of the videos you always see on the Weather Channel when theres a hurricane coming anywhere near Cuba. Now, there was no hurricane coming, but it looked just as bad. They closed down the road. I walked for a while, on the inside sidewalk. I loved the way the spray from crashing waves tried to reach me. I got some nice photos, and then walked in Centro Habana again, and took more photos.
The Prostitutes Bad Fortune

Tuesday, June 07, 2011
I returned to the casa particular tonight to talk to the Reinaldo again and make connections in case I return. I was surprised to find the prostitute Id met outside the hotel, crying in the living room. The proprietor introduced us. We said wed already met. She sniffled. Whats wrong, I asked. Life is hard. So hard. I waited for more. She shook all over, and rubbed tears from her eyes. Last night. She struggled. Last night. I I was walking home. I was wearing flats. I had my heels in my purse. I had already passed El Prado. I was on the small, barren streets of my neighborhood. There were no tourists there. No customers. She stopped, got choked up, shook her head. The police wagon screeched up, blocked my way. Guards jumped out. I heard banging of metal inside. Shouts and curses from women inside. The cops grabbed me, took my purse, took my money the money I earned to take care of my child groped me, and threw me inside. She cleaned her dripping nose with the back of her forearm. At the station, we were interrogated, not allowed a lawyer, ordered to confess, threatened, harassed, molested. I signed the confession because I had to after ten hours. Then the son of a bitch captain asked me for sex. How did you get released? Well, I wasnt released until the afternoon. My daughter and her babysitter had no idea where I was. Now I have this. She reached in her bag and pulled out a citation. I read it. It was a Notice to Appear at a tribunal. Ill be convicted --- Ill have a record. And Ill be deported to Santiago. Im illegal here. Im sorry to hear that. I saw that the hearing was the following week. We talked for a while, with Reinaldo. Then she said she wanted to go home. Reinaldo said hed walk her there, to keep her from getting picked up again. She said, We need to get Franklin back to his hotel. I cant be seen with him. Well both 82
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be picked up. Reinaldo, go look in the parking lot and see if the police are still there. He went out on the balcony, and returned, nodding. Its o.k. Ive walked this street before. I dont see any problem. No, its not safe, she insisted. And the three of us cant walk together either. Reinaldo, can you walk Franklin to his hotel and then come and walk me home? So, he did. We talked small talk on the way. He delivered me to the front door. We shook hands. I promised to write and call. He turned and left.
Leaving for Home

Tuesday, June 07, 2011
Ive become a little paranoid about whether the Cuban government is watching me. I really dont think they are. Why should they? Im not doing anything. Ive got some photos of unattractive, worn-down buildings. Ive also got photos of government- sponsored historical sites, and beautifully renovated buildings. Ive never met with more than one person at a time in public, so theres no opportunity for a conspiracy. I rarely make statements about my observations. I let the people I meet tell me what they think, and I generally dont say anything negative in return. Ive got some negative statements in my blog. But I also quoted the pro-government people Ive met. Im just an observer,
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returning to my roots. The reason for my paranoia is that Cubans continually tell me I need to be. The prostitute, the proprietor of the casa particular, a taxi driver all said so. Besides not letting me walk alone last night, they say spies probably enter my room and go through my computer and my camera. Well, my camera is always with me, and my computer is usually with me, but anyway, it has a password. So theres really nothing to see. And as I said, a few negative photos and negative words in a blog are really nothing new and no big deal. So on my last night in Cuba, I took a cab, like almost every day, to the Mela Cohiba, to use the wi-fi. I logged into my home computer and uploaded all the unattractive photos and blog statements, and removed all of them from my computer and camera. That way, if somebody does want to look at anything, theres really nothing negative at all. In the morning, I had my last cortadito in the hotel lobby. I read the book on the Moncada I bought in Santiago. The breakfast has gotten worse every day. But I made a few sandwiches of cheese and ham and took them with me. I took a cab to the airport. Unfortunately, I didnt clarify or realize that my flight from Miami had arrived at the old, beat-up airport, which is not the national airport. So I was dropped off at the nice, new international airport. Of course, its my fault for not even realizing this wasnt where I had arrived. After wandering around, looking at signs, and asking, I found out I was in the wrong place, and had to pay another taxi driver to take me to the other airport. It was just as wild trying to fly out of the airport as it had been arriving. A lot of people milled around. I finally figured out I had to get in a line to pay an exit tax. All my precautions about removing things from my computer and camera were for naught. Nobody asked me anything. Nobody looked at anything. I ate my sandwiches. Then we were in the air. I got kind of nostalgic watching the coast of Cuba slip away as we moved east and north. In Miami, after several weeks of eating horrible food in Cuba, I really wanted some good Cuban food. My wife picked me up, and took me to Versailles so I could get that good meal. I had lechon asado (roast pork), moros (black beans and their juice mixed into white rice), platanos maduros (sweet plantains). It was so delicious. But my stomach couldnt handle it. Half way home I pulled over, jumped out and puked. She drove home. Its good to be home, but I long for my beloved Cuba, and want to return.
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Cuba Libra Today

Disclaimers / Copyright info, Relationship with Armstrong Media Gro...

Who I am and What Im doing by Franklin Marquez

Preparations for Trip to Cuba Questions I Have

About Franklin Marquez

American Travel to Cuba Under the New Rules / Exchanging Money

My History in Cuba And Being Sent Away

This is It: Miami (MIA) to Havana (HAV)

Cuba Libra Today

Cuba Libra Today

First Impressions of Cuba and Havana

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The Dwelling Unit of Oswardo and His Family

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The Malecn The Meli Cohiba Hotel

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Cuba Libra Today

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Outside the Melia Cohiba

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The Malecn and Havana Vieja at night

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Leaving Havana. Arriving in Santiago

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Rooftop Santiago-Learning About The New Employment Changes

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Buying Necessities and The Ration System.

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Cuba Libra Today

WHERE WE ARE - SANTIAGO DE CUBA, CUBA.

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Cuba Libra Today

Cuba Libra Today

Map of Vista Alegre (click here to enlarge)

West of Santiago La Virgen del Cobre, Bayamo

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The taxis enroute to Bayamo

East and South of Santiago to Siboney

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South of Santiago - The Inlet - El Castillo Del Morro

Cuba Libra Today

The Inlet - The Ferry to Our Cottage

The Attack on the Moncada

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La Granjita Siboney --- The Siboney Farmhouse

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Siboney Farmhouse Then

Photo inside outside siboney farmhouse

Photo front of Siboney Farmhouse Now

Cuba Libra Today

chicken coop replica

Cuba Libra Today

Moncada Attack July 26, 1953

The Real Uniform

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The Front of Moncada

Parade Ground / Guard Tower and students

Moncada Attack The Aftermath

Cuba Libra Today

Cuba Libra Today