Viva la Cuba! In April I had the pleasure of not only being a guest (and photographer) at the wedding of my best friend in Playa Larga, Cuba, but also got to scratch the surface of this most distinct of Caribbean islands. Other than a youthful read through 'The Motorcycle Diaries', Che Guevera's personal awakening road trip through South America, my knowledge of anything remotely Cuban, in the historical sense, prior to March was limited. The obvious Missile Crisis, Bay of Pigs, last Communist bastion in the Western Hemisphere, run by some bearded dictator named Fidel since the 50's details. A basic perusing of the front pages of Cuba 101 textbooks. Flying into Varadero on an all inclusive package (bottom end all inclusive hotels vs. air only into Cuba from Canada is price-wise negligible and even though my personal mind-set on travel balks at the resort lifestyle, an airport transfer and a bed on the 9:30 arrival night was worth $60.00 to me for mere piece of mind), I had my first taste of Cuban bureaucracy. With my camera bag in tow as a carry on, I was accused as being a foreign journalist and spent a good 45 minutes in going through immigration (although I almost made it out, before the grabbed me, giving no explanation). Maybe it was the presence of so many foreigners, or maybe it was my lack of patience surrounding the ludicrous situation, but I decided to confront the final immigration official outright and say that this is ridiculous and that I had better not miss my airport transfer-the reason I payed that extra money for in the first place. A smile and a somewhat lighthearted where/when discussion of my plans got me on the bus to Varadero. I began to realized that although Cuba is considered Communist, it is apparent that it is not the cold/grey affair so apparent in the Communist weaned countries throughout Eastern Europe I am so familiar with.
This would not be my only exposure to this Cuban official 'laissez-faire' attitude towards me. In Playa Larga, I was out of luck for a room (rooms are limited in this dusty Bay of Pigs town, the only hotel closed and just enough beds at Casa Particulars for the few foreign divers that end up here), so my friends new wife suggested I stay at their house. Under well written Cuban guidebook rules and regulations it states that staying with a local without the proper visa/documentation is a 'grande problema' for the owner of the home, which could result in a large fine, or worse, for the Cuban homemaker. Well, after a phone call a military vehicle arrived and a quick glance through my passport and a piece of obligatory left-over wedding cake for the 2 officers, my bed for the weekend was sealed. Would this happen under Kruschev, Ceausescu, or even under 'democratic' Putin, without proper stamps and hassles-not, not likely. Then again, a $20.00 bill got me my home stay visa stamped and dated, in a darkened hotel in the sticks of Russia, when last I travelled there, no questions asked, so who's to say?
Cuba is, however much more than bureaucracy. It is a country of hardships we can only imagine, hidden behind the walls and doorways of Havana and felt throughout the clapboard farming regions scattered throughout the blinding beauty of this tortured land, but it is also a country coming of age in a slow and unpredictable transformation.
One that many foreign visitors will never see, carted like ants in and out of their all-inclusive home away from home, 'McDonalds in the center of Rome' comforts. A comment from the tour-guide on my multi-resort bus en route for the ultimate family beach playground for some and round-the-clock drink your face off sessions for others, really hit me. Under new regulations instilled by Fidel's brother Raul, Cubans are now allowed to buy cellphones, DVD players, computers, (if they can afford it) and cross the lines of apartheid which, until a few months ago, barred all Cubans from coming into the resort zone, unless they were gainfully employed there. Explaining this situation, in slow, unsure English, he said "so don't be afraid if you see one (meaning a Cuban), they don't bite". Said tongue in cheek, it was taken with an irony of truth for me cementing my beliefs that many, if not he majority of resort visitors fear and have no interest in discovering the country they are visiting beyond the walls of there compound, unless accompanied by more of their own to maintain their comfort zone on the 'exotic' day trips. To many this is Cuba, and will always be and so be it, right or wrong-I will try...not to judge.
To me Cuba was a celebration, a celebration began with my best friend's wedding, a celebration of smiles of children in a one room country school, after emptying a large bag of school supplies onto their teacher's desk. A celebration of family meals prepared and eaten in the open air of an at once proud and modest home's small back yard with the sound of the national baseball finals floating in the background. It was a celebration of students walking along a pilgrimage route to Playa Giron to celebrate an American ass-kicking session over 45 years ago, it was a celebration of waves smashing the walls of Havana's Malecon as the sunset broke through hitting the Moro Fort, as if a beacon. It was a celebration of the crumbling streets of Centro Havana and the ancient beauty of Havana Vieja. It was a celebration of young and old and passion and resilience. One omnipresent trait every honest Cuban has ingrained in them from years of history and one that will bring them into the future, one that I hope will be as bright as the people of this magical island.
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