Cuba 100th anniversary Jan 9 thru Jan 12

With Buzz and Toni gone, we’re down to five. The morning begins with our usual 9 AM breakfast (very civilized time, I reckon).

Heide wakes up feeling better today, but decides to put off walking about the city till after lunch. Chippie and I, however, head to the Capitolio.

El Capitolio. El Capitolio, originally Cuba’s parliament building, now a museum to its past, was built in the 1920s and is modeled on the US Capitol. Chippie has made it a policy to try to visit all the state capitols in the US (ironically most of the ones she’s missing are on the East Coast), and wants to continue this activity by visiting them in foreign countries. (The place where the Cuban assembly now meets is in the “Palacio de Convenciones,” a convention hall. As the assembly only meets twice a year, it’s hardly the same thing.)

It was not only cold today, but rainy. A true “yucky” day. I did have a rain jacket in my bag and wore it, and … what’s a little cold rainy (55 F) day when at home it’s in the 20s and could easily be snowing.

It’s a very nice visit and a very nice building. If Chippie was hoping to remember the visit through photos, however, she had to think twice as her camera battery died shortly after arrival… She did, however, get a picture from inside the cupola.

In the Capitolio shop, one of the items for sale was a framed poem written by a poet named “José Aguilera Besteiro.” There aren’t that many Besteiros in Cuba, but after making inquiries of the family, no one knew of him. Nor could google find him.

Four Views at the Capitol - the last is a poem by an unknown José Aguilar Besteiro
(the family had thought all Besteiros in Cuba were related)

Mercy and family visit us. We were scheduled to meet Micky AKA Miguelito, Mercedita’s brother, but he doesn’t make it. Miguelito, whom we saw with his first wife the first time we came, is now remarried and has a small child (his first two children are in their mid 30s). Mercy explains that he lives far away in sub-standard housing, and that he’d have to take two buses and wait in the rain, so that it would very difficult for him to make it.

Buzz is sorry not to see Micky; when he was in Cuba in 1991 to watch his son Manuel represent the US in the Panamerican Games, Manuel met several family members including Micky.

Besides the people whom we met on Thursday, Mercy and Enrique’s son Geovanni joins us with his daughter Thalia. Sheila and Thalia are two weeks apart in age (born September 17 and October 2, 2004, respectively) and are good friends. Sheila is the more outgoing of the two, and Thalia appears to have a remarkable talent for art.

Sheila (pronounced “CHAY-la”) was very shy when we first met her, but she is now very outgoing, even correcting Taylor’s Spanish. The doll was not “¡que bella!” as Taylor said, but rather “¡que linda!”

Taylor took videos with her iPhone of Thalia & Sheila dancing on the stage in the hotel lobby area, and them replayed them; the girls really seemed to enjoy watching themselves. Then she showed them how to use the iPhone to take pictures of each other, another enjoyed activity.

Richard and I had a very long conversation with Enrique (he was responding to our many questions about the structure of the government, how it’s chosen, how they make decisions, etc) and it was very interesting. Among the many points he brought out were that they have come to the conclusion that equality for all is often not the correct answer – for example, doctors, who have invested so much time in their education and are highly skilled, really deserve to earn more than people without their training or skill sets. And also that people who work hard should be rewarded more than those that don’t: Enrique himself has earned the right to own a car and a refrigerator, things he never had growing up.

El gato tuerto (the one-eyed cat). The old part of town, where we were staying, is not only where so many historical places are located, but also the only part of town where everything is close enough to walk (at least, walk in what we would consider reasonable times - say less than half an hour). The late nightspots, however, are located in Vedado, a couple of miles to the West. José Antonio and Magda took the five of us to “El Gato Tuerto” (the One-Eyed Cat) (¿peepin’ in a seafood store?), one of the late-night spots in Havana (it didn’t open till 10 PM and kept rolling till 3 AM). I had been there with José and a couple of the rugby guys back in 2001 when a quartet sang a mixture of Cuban and international music, including the absolutely best version of Barbara Ann that I have ever heard.

We got there at about 9:45 and were the first ones in at 10. The first featured performer was Maylu, a well-known Cuban soprano (who must have been at least 6’4” and was quite an imposing performer). She sang a collection of international songs and was joined for a couple of songs by a male guest performer who, judging by the crowd reaction, was also a very popular performer and was quite good. While here, by the way, we also celebrated Richard and Taylor’s 3^rd anniversary.

Here are a couple of video snippets from the evening (all are partial songs only):

By the time the second performer came on, well after midnight, we were quite tired and after a couple of songs we decided to leave. Just as we paid the bill, however, the performance got a bit more animated, as the singer went into a performance of the Cuban classic Sarandonga, and a few of the Cubans at the table next to us started dancing. Oh well, I thought, it is late for us oldsters … and we left for home. One of our cabs needed a push-start, but it started. After all, this is Cuba. Cuba, where everyone is fond of saying, “Everything is difficult, but nothing is impossible.”

Sunday, January 10.

I wake up sick as a dog. My week in Cuba has effectively ended. Heide, however, is now well. We have three visits today. I make it down for the first two, but basically spend the entire day in bed.

Micky has decided to bring his family to visit, but as they head to the bus stop it starts raining again. He comes alone, however, and shows us a picture of his son Miguel Alejandro. He also says “mi esposa es …” (my wife is … ) and then rubs two fingers on his wrist. This, we find out, is the Cuban “secret signal” for “black.” (Well, Cuban secret signals – including making a beard with the fingers – are not really so secret.)

Left: Micky and Rich, the 1955 ball players
Right: The youngest of the Miguel Besteiros

I go back to bed but reappear briefly when Diana and Simón and their son Arturito come to visit at the hotel. I agree to perform a task for them in the US, and go back to bed. Chippie ends up spending a couple of hours discussing politics with them.

As they leave, José and Magda drop in to say goodbye. (I am still in bed for all this.)

I am ignorant of what others do today. Richard, however, has filled in his and Taylor’s activities for Sunday’s activities. They follow, in red and a different type face.

Spent some time with Miguelito (Micky) in the morning. Pleased to find out that he was one of the ones I played baseball with back in '55.

Taylor and I went to the "Fábrica de Tabaco Partagás" but we couldn't see anything but the store. The workers were on vacation until the 18th (I think). Saw police dog being trained. Walking back toward Old Havana we ran into Micky who was on his way home, walking in front of the Capitolio. Chatted briefly.

Went down Calle Obispo. Bought some crafts at the feria (containers carved out of wood). The artist (in his 70's) was interesting; of the Bahá'í faith; his works had both Roman and Arabic characters. He explained briefly his religion, which originated in Iran. He explained briefly his own history: his father was was a rabid anticlerical Spanish atheist who left Spain for Cuba in the late 20s with five kids. Some are still in Cuba, some left, some are atheists, some are religious, none are Catholics. In speech and demeanor, he seemed like a mystic.

We made acquaintances at an art gallery where we bought a painting: a depiction of the orisha Changó (Christian counterpart, Santa Bárbara). The artist, Rogelio Godines, has dual residency, in Russia and Cuba. Currently, he is living in Moscow and, if my memory is correct, has been the director of a Latin American art institute in Leningrad. We had a nice chat about the art scene in Cuba with an artist named Almer (Álvaro Almaguer) who also has dual residency: in Havana and in Lisbon. Artists have much more freedom than other Cubans. "Pero la libertad cuesta mucho," he said, referring, I assume, to the cost of maintaining his Lisbon flat.

When we got back to the hotel, we spent some time with Diana, Simón and Arturo. Chippie spent a LOT of time with them.

Taylor and I went in search of places I had wanted to see but hadn't had the chance. It was Sunday afternoon and most stores and museums were closed. The Plaza Vieja reminded me of the Plaza Mayor in Spain....

At night, Taylor and I went to have dinner at "El Templete." (Emil was sick, Heide didn't want to go, and Chippie was still talking with Diana, Simón and Arturo). The meal, "Parrillada de mariscos," was delicious. We got to chat quite a bit with the guy in charge of the restaurant and he treated us to an exquisite copa de añejo. He served it in a snifter and it was better than any cognac I can remember tasting. We talked, not just about rum but about living in the countryside. His ancestors came from Spain more than 300 years ago and his family had always lived in "el campo."

Monday, January 11.

Fortunately, we are not on the same flight schedule as Buzz and Toni; fortunately we don’t have to leave the hotel until 11 AM. We sleep in, I feel better, though my back is killing me (probably from being in bed for the better part of 36 hours) and we have a pleasant ride to the airport.

I do race to Monserrate to try to get Raul to find just one more certificate for me. During our conversation with Alicia and Roxana on Thursday night they discuss their quest for Spanish citizenship. They need to prove their parent or grandparent was a Spanish citizen. This is indeed the case, because Alicia’s mother Manolita Graciani was born in Madrid. I happen to know, however, that there is a problem because Manolita’s mother Manuela and Alicia’s father Joaquín Graciani were never married. On Manolita’s birth as recorded in the Madrid Archives, which is all I’ve been able to see, she is listed as Manuela Sánchez López, the same as her mother, and there is no father listed. The last time I was able to check in Spain, her actual birth certificate was marked private. 100 years from her birth, which would be 2006, this certificate should have been available for the public.

Diana’s daughter Dianita was supposed to have gotten this certificate and sent it to Alicia, but so far it hasn’t arrived. And we don’t know what it says. I’ve have tried to dance around this subject with Alicia, but to no avail. We’ll see what it says. In the meantime, given the depth of detail of Spanish baptismal certificates, I reckon that Alicia’s will give the name of her parents, birth place of her parents, ditto for her grandparents. Her mother, according to what we know, arrived in Cuba as “Graciani Sánchez” and not “Sánchez López, ” and her grandfather Joaquín would surely be mentioned as well as Manuela Sánchez as grandmother. My guess is that tying this record in with the Spanish records will help them make their case.

Nevertheless, Raul is not there at the 10 AM time he’s told us he starts. I wait till nearly 10:30 then head back to the hotel to catch the 11 AM cab we’ve organized for the airport.

Richard and Taylor have had a more exciting morning. Again, I quote Richard in red.

In the morning, Taylor and I went to the 9th floor of the hotel which had spectacular views of Havana. We went to the 9th floor bar (I forget its name) where the "Mary Pickford" cocktail was invented and we split one. I think I filmed the bartender as he explained the drink and its history.

We get to the airport, the cab driver asks, “International terminal?” and we say yes.

Terminal 2. We get to the international terminal, leave the cab, and enter. It’s a really nice terminal, completed I believe in 1999 and I remember it well. We head to the information desk and ask for the Miami flight, and the woman behind the desk says “direct to Miami?” and we say “yes.” “You’re in the wrong terminal, you need to go to terminal two, she says.” Damn! I think. No wonder that chaos at baggage seemed so unfamiliar to me when we arrived. We look around, find a cab, and take the five-minute ride to Terminal 2.

According to the cabbie, the only flights that leave or come in to this terminal are flights directly to or from the USA: Miami, New York and Los Angeles. And in fact, it’s a piece of crap terminal… My guess is it’s the original Havana terminal, from many, many years ago. Our flight has not yet been called and we’re trapped in a tiny room that precedes entry through a preliminary check for boarding documents prior to check-in and security screenings. The Cuban authorities seem eager to screw Americans at every opportunity. A small measure of revenge.

We finally are able to push and shove our way through and then onto the line for check-in. Following this we must pay a 25 CUC exit tax (which we didn’t know about till Toni emailed this info to us; we were now, however, prepared).

All this time, the travelers’ family members are squished together at the departure point. We were too much in shock to photograph the mob when we entered, but I get a little video of everyone saying goodbye.

These people are mostly relatives saying goodbye

See everyone waving goodbye, including a "Mommy!"

We got through security with no issues, i.e. no loss of passports, and made it back to Miami with no trouble. Heide, however, racing ahead of me, got onto a line at immigration that wasn’t moving, and not till we looked up did we realize we were on a “visitors” line. By the time we moved, got through customs and got our bags, we had missed Chippie, Richard and Taylor.

Chippie was picked up by her husband Tom and they were off to Tallahassee to celebrate our Aunt Jo’s 90^th birthday. Richard texted that they had missed their connection to Boston.

Chip (with Tom & cousin Betty) makes it to Aunt Jo's 90th birthday (on the 13th) in Tallahassee

By the way, had we had anything bought in Cuba we would have made it through. It seems, though, that the way customs is trying to punish people for picking up an odd souvenir or two is rather sneaky. Toni emails from home that her bag missed the flight from Miami to Chicago, and when it got there, the tiny number of small souvenirs that she’d gotten were missing. Geez, guys!

Cousin Rodolfito. We found a nice and relatively inexpensive La Quinta near the hotel and called cousin Rodolfito. Rodolfito (AKA Rudy), like Mercy and Micky a grandson of Uncle Dominic, left Cuba in 1968 at the age of 14 ½ (had he lasted till 15 he would have been forced to enter military service and been ineligible to leave) (or maybe the two ages were 15 and 15 ½), and is one of those ultra-conservative Cuban exiles in Florida that we hear so much about. We make a plan to see Rodolfito and family, including Raquelita, 83-year old sister of Miguel Ángel, and along with Aunt Jo, one of the last two remaining members of that generation. Richard and Taylor show up at the hotel next door to ours. I eagerly invite them to join us (Rodolfito was excited to be able to offer them his hospitality as well), but they decline. I thought this would be the perfect point/counterpoint - two views of Cuba - Havana, then Miami. Oh well, their loss, I reckon.

I had forgotten about Miami traffic, and it takes Rodolfito quite a while to make it to our hotel. We head to his mother Raquelita’s house, where we polish off a bottle of wine while showing them all the pictures from our trip – it’s a good way for them to reacquaint themselves with their relatives (though it’s been more than 40 years since Rodolfito’s been there, Raquelita has been there about 10 years earlier) and see what remains of their precious Havana: as they know, it’s a sad remainder of what it once was. I’m a little worried about surviving the wine as, in the last two days I’ve had nothing but one breakfast, but – both here and at the restaurant – I’m a trooper.

As we had video of the two songs we heard at La Mina, we played them for them. I think they were both very impressed by the sextet’s version of Manisero.

Rodolfito has told me earlier that he really is dying to visit Cuba, but I know he will not go, on moral grounds, until the current regime sees its last day.

While we are there he speaks to his daughter Angie and gets info on her husband and son for my database. And she promises to send photos. Always updating.

Rudy’s wife Vivian joins us and the five of us head to an excellent Spanish restaurant - Taberna de San Roman - on 25th Street near the Miami airport. We have a wonderful meal – I took Rudy up on his suggestion of codillo a la brasa –, some very good wine, and then it’s time to head back to the hotel.

With Raquelita, Rudy and Vivian in Miami.
Rudy is Mercy and Micky's first cousin. (Raquelita is their father Miguel Ángel's sister.)

Tuesday, January 12.

A completely uneventful day. Intelligently, I have scheduled a 3 PM flight. We sleep in, check out at noon, head to the airport, catch our flight to Charlotte, visit the tequileria for a meal and a drink, catch our flight to Allentown, get a cab home, check a few emails, have my version of añejo (Mount Gay Barbados rum), and go to sleep …

Richard and Taylor, it turns out, have missed their first flight and barely caught a 10:30 flight back.

Tomorrow I’ll have to address the difficulties we are having organizing our rugby trip to Cuba next month; we’re still short a couple of players and haven’t got our sports exchange visa yet.

11th
Flight back to Miami. Missed our flight to Boston. Totally exhausted, physically and emotionally. Could not accept Rodolfito's invitation to dinner.

12th
Despite taking the 6:00 am shuttle for our 7:30 flight, we got there late and missed it again. (If Emil had been with us, we would have been up at 4:30 and taken a cab.) We were the last two standby passengers to get on the 10:30 flight.

Emilito notes: Richard should have worded it thusly, "If Emil had been with us, we would have made the flight."

Postscript.

As I finally get ready to publish this, I have completed another trip to Cuba: Atlantis, a rugby team that I organize and coach, has traveled to Cuba to participate in the Habana Howler's Sevens tournament (ironic, perhaps, that I don't come for nearly 10 years then come back twice in two months). The players have all expressed their appreciation for the opportunity, and several have referred to it as a life-changing experience. Our players have trained and played with and against their Cuban opposite numbers, and partied with them. Both groups are doing their part to behave like civilized human beings; now we just have to hope that our governments do theirs.

Cuban and American rugby sevens teams gather together after their 2/28/10 semifinal match.

US Lagos-Besteiro Family Visit to Cuba, January 2010:

4: January 9 through January 12

Saturday, January 9.

Sunday, January 10.

Monday, January 11.

Tuesday, January 12.

Postscript.