look deeply at this little scrap of air and tell me what you see [Havana, Cuba]
Individual days become indistinct in memory but I know I spent a reasonable amount of time at all the hotels that claim to have invented a cocktail: mojitos at the Nacional, a Cuba Libre by the pool at the Cohíba Melia in Vedado. At the Hotel Nacional I decided that my new favorite song is Dos Gardenias Para Ti, as long as it is being sung by a honey-voiced Cuban backed by two guitarists and who does his own percussion. I also saw people with brand-name Coca-Colas despite the bloqueo so I’m not really sure how that happens, but given the broad-daylight nature of the black market here, I am not too shocked. Semi-licensed “shops” at the bottom of every stairwell along Máximo Gómez sell pipe fittings, paintbrushes, and endless cakes to a bustling trade, in contrast to the deserted 24-hour bread bakeries on the same block that require a ration card--I was there later in the month, when nobody technically had any rations left and so had to shop at their friends’ places rather than the government storehouse.
One morning I was on the bus out to the Christopher Columbus Necropolis to buy a ticket to Varadero when I ran in to a fun Italian named Simone who was also traveling alone and lives in Canada, so we spent the day in Miramar comparing experiences and eating toasted ham and pickle sandwiches. He basically says that for all I bristle at Latin catcalls, at least they aren’t bringing me prostitutes all the time, which is apparently what happens to him. Later in the trip and after *much* trial and error I figured out that you can actually avoid like 90% of the “Ay, princesa” nonsense by stopping to chat with someone of your own choosing every half a block or so, buying a two-peso granizado from an entrepreneur or even just apologizing for jostling someone. My Cuban disguise that also helps is tall hair and Roman sandals. I recognize that I would fit in better if I had more bedazzled pink tank tops with saucy slogans or textured hooker stockings like Cuban woman apparently wear with official uniforms and sensible brogues, but I just can’t.
Another deterrent to awkward attention is buying a Juventud Rebelde or a Granma from a veteran--sure, they’re propaganda, but at least they are more detailed than CNN or whatever passes for mainstream Western media these days. I had a guy look embarrassed and qualify his comments about Obamacare as speaking in ignorance because he hadn’t read past the first 1,000 pages and come on. Also, a bici-taxi driver went out of his way to compliment me for not being a communist because I wasn’t staying in one of the official tourist hotels where the money goes straight to the government, so I’m not sure how well the state message is coming across anyway.
One morning I was on the bus out to the Christopher Columbus Necropolis to buy a ticket to Varadero when I ran in to a fun Italian named Simone who was also traveling alone and lives in Canada, so we spent the day in Miramar comparing experiences and eating toasted ham and pickle sandwiches. He basically says that for all I bristle at Latin catcalls, at least they aren’t bringing me prostitutes all the time, which is apparently what happens to him. Later in the trip and after *much* trial and error I figured out that you can actually avoid like 90% of the “Ay, princesa” nonsense by stopping to chat with someone of your own choosing every half a block or so, buying a two-peso granizado from an entrepreneur or even just apologizing for jostling someone. My Cuban disguise that also helps is tall hair and Roman sandals. I recognize that I would fit in better if I had more bedazzled pink tank tops with saucy slogans or textured hooker stockings like Cuban woman apparently wear with official uniforms and sensible brogues, but I just can’t.
Another deterrent to awkward attention is buying a Juventud Rebelde or a Granma from a veteran--sure, they’re propaganda, but at least they are more detailed than CNN or whatever passes for mainstream Western media these days. I had a guy look embarrassed and qualify his comments about Obamacare as speaking in ignorance because he hadn’t read past the first 1,000 pages and come on. Also, a bici-taxi driver went out of his way to compliment me for not being a communist because I wasn’t staying in one of the official tourist hotels where the money goes straight to the government, so I’m not sure how well the state message is coming across anyway.