C to the U to the B to the A
My first images of Cuba were from the water. I wasn't sure what to expect on land. Communists in drab uniforms, bread lines down the block, starving and angry youth dreaming of stealing away on a boat to America?
An old fort stood guard at the mouth of the bay to Cienfuegos, our port of entry. A crumbling sea wall next to it proclaimed "Bienvenidos Socialista!" Small houses with fishing boats tied up to rickety docks lined the waterway. A woman stood on her dock watching us go past, hand on a hip, apron fluttering. Laundry mimicked our sails streaming out from clotheslines in the breeze.
We steamed into the enormous harbor towards the city. Container ships and power plant stacks dominated the horizon but as we drew closer I could see church spires and old warehouses, intricately decorated wooden houses next to monolithic cement hotels. The marina and anchorage were packed with charter catamarans, cruising monohulls, and (wtf?) a sunken pirate ship. Then I started laughing as the whistles and yells reverberated over the water: a fleet of kids in Optimists weaved through their course as their sailing instructor barked commands. We could have been in Nantucket (except that the instructor was yelling in spanish).
Welcome to Cuba! Seriously, what was I expecting? Dug out canoes and thatched huts?
***
The young inspector picked up the package of Oreos and examined them. He looked at me briefly (I nodded and smiled) before ripping them open and depositing a cookie into his mouth. He cocked his head in that universal 'not bad' gesture. He offered them around to the other guys in their drab government-issued uniforms but they laughed and refused as if he were offering pot to a D.A.R.E club. Then he went for the tortilla chips. Another young officer in a blue jumpsuit (he was in charge of the two cocker spaniels on board) succumbed and tentatively reached his hand into the bag. He pulled out a blue chip and hesitantly placed it into his mouth. Another 'not bad' shrug. Really? Has he never had a chip before? Maybe just not a blue one. And Oreos? I felt like an asshole for such thoughts. We were probably 150 miles from the USA but oh so far.
He and the other customs and immigration officials signed and stamped papers, let the drug dogs run through the boat sniffing around. They opened cupboards and lockers, wanted to know how old I was and if I had kids. I struggled in my very bad spanish and cursed the fact that I hadn't listened to my language learning podcasts on the delivery down. After two hours of inspections and a round of beers, the kicking and yelping dogs were handed down into the dinghy, big black boots were put back on, handshakes and smiles exchanged.
We were welcomed to Cuba, socialists or not.
The one day I had to explore town both reinforced and shattered assumptions. The classic American cars (I've always wanted a '57 Chevy Bel Air!) next to horse drawn carriages and pedicabs, the crumbling grand buildings, the rum and coffee guzzled in profusion- stuff I'd seen in photographs and in documentaries. But the friendliness, the (seemingly) non-issue of racial diversity, the pride in Cuba... it was as palpable and sweet as the huge ruby papaya I bought for 25 cents at the farmers market.
I'm sure there's a measure of unrest and discontent lurking behind smiles like scurrying cockroaches underneath bags of rationed rice. There are long lines for a very limited variety of foodstuffs at the "supermarkets." A jar of peanut butter costs six converted pesos which is about six bucks which is expensive even in American terms and simply outrageous considering a huge head of lettuce or a loaf of bread costs 10 cents. Boxes of cookies (no Oreos) were kept behind the counter.
Working meaningless jobs (or not being able to find one), widespread lack of access to diverse and affordable food choices, frustration at the current state of government... our countries seem to have a lot in common. (At least Cubans have good health care, right?)
Sure I met Cubans who want to leave the country to at least see more of the world if not emigrate. Sure the lack of funds to repair dangerously neglected homes is a massive problem. I didn't get to talk real politics so I don't know how the "man on the street" feels about all this or if they can even talk about how they feel without fear of government reprisal.
All I know is that I loved the feeling there. And, dare I say as one with almost limitless choices in comparison, does the lack of choice in foodstuffs make the Cubans healthier? Are Oreos and chips necessary for happiness? More food is needed, yes, but do the processed ones need to be available?
On land, I saw the uniforms and literal bread lines and kids hanging out on street corners. On and in the water I saw, or rather didn't see, the wildlife as perhaps much of it has been caught to feed hungry bellies.
Yet there is something about Cuba (or at least Cienfuegos) that makes it one of the most vibrant and beautiful and (hands down) friendliest places I've visited in the Caribbean. As my friend Paul from Jamaica described the social spirit, "You give a Cuban a tin of Vienna sausages and he will open it up and dole them out evenly. He doesn't even think of keeping them all for himself. Sharing is so deeply engrained in their culture."
I'm not sure if I'd keep Vienna sausages all for myself either but I got what he was saying, and I felt it when I was there. The question of course is whether the sharing is innate or indoctrinated and enforced by fear. Tell me your secrets Cuba!
Another reason to return, to hoist that single starred flag into the rigging, to explore and talk and discover all the things governments (theirs and ours) want to keep secret.
Hasta luego Socialista! Espero pronto.
(Si, mi espanol is muy malo. Claro.)
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