Cuba: It's Illegal Just to Be There, or, Talk About Temptation, Part I
My Last Solo Success
by Sub-commandante X
No reason to get nervous, but I’m on the streets of Havana, all on my own at the moment. Asked 2 locals and 2 policia, so far, where I could find a taxi.
Then, a man walking by heard me ask a cop, and he told me to come with him. So, I did.
He offered to take me to a taxi if I would pay his fare. No problem. He was such a wonderful help when I really needed it.
He has relatives in Atlanta. (It seems everybody in Cuba has relations in the States.)
This kindly gentleman didn’t know much English. Y no hablo mucho espanol. But he was very patient with me, and we communicated.
I mentioned that I would really like to get some Che’ T-shirts. And the driver took this as a serious, personal commitment.
We had to drive around some, to 3 different places. But eventually, we found a place that sold what we were looking for.
It hurt me to have my new friend see me spend $50 Yankee dollars on T-shirts. ‘Cause the only thing I gave to him when we got to his destination was change from the fare, and my heart.
The driver then took us to one of the sites of the International Jazz Festival. This was at the Nacional Ballet. I left her a $2 tip and she was beaming as I kissed her goodbye.
The National Ballet was closed, but there was a large crowd gathering outside an adjacent door marked, ‘Bar’.
So, I got on line and was ushered into a small performance area (capacity approximately 300), with a piano on stage.
After a short wait, an attractive young woman announced, in Spanish and English, that we would get to hear one of the best new modern Jazz pianists in the world this evening.
Her energy, directness and love for Jazz were a joy to behold. No, I never got either of their names. Really sorry about that.
A young black man with a slight build and natty dreadlocks took to the stage, and sat at the piano.
And, as promised, he held the audience spellbound for over an hour with innovative, avant-garde, Jazz riffs. Priceless.
And, all this was totally gratis! On leaving, a man said something to me, twice, pointing to my bag. Then he asked, “De donde usted?”
“Los Estados Unidos,” I replied.
He said, “Your bag is open.” I mumbled, “Oh, Thank you.” The line stopped while I zipped up my backpack. Sometimes you could just die.
Mental Note, “keep zipped at all times, Gringo!”
It was easy to find a taxi from the concert. I asked to be taken to the scene of my last solo success downtown, 23 y L Calles.
I knew the International Film Festival was at that corner. Price of admission for all films, $2 american.
Almost immediately, I’d met a 28-year-old student, Henry Dieguez. I’d asked for a ristorante and he asked, “ Lobster?”
“No,” I replied, “rice and beans.” We talked over dinner. He had a cola, I had a beer. He told me he wanted to be a poet, too. Just like Pablo Neruda and me. Yeah, sure. Well, maybe like me anyway.
Henry was very impressed with the DOAPS magazine I showed him. Modestly, he asked if I thought he could be published in the mag, too.
“Sure,” I told him. “And, you can write in Spanish. Please, we’d love to have writers from Cuba.”
DOAPS magazine is ready to go bilingual, and international, ain’t it?
Henry tells me he loves his President and he loves his life as a student. He’s studying what translates to Athletic Administration.
His ambition is to be a coach, first for a college, then for a National team. We walked to see his uncle, who works in a cigar factory.
Soon, I found myself in a humble abode with concrete blocks and peeling paint. (Yeah, I can relate.) But, they had a TV, and a piano on which his young girl cousin (11?) was practicing.
They’d like for me to buy a box of cigars. These are the real Cuban cigars we’ve heard so much about, Cohiba Lanceros.
Technically, it’s illegal for me just to be in Cuba. But, to attempt to bring back a box of Cuban cigars, valued at over $500.00, I don’t think U.S. Immigration is gonna wink at that.
The price was $40, lowered from the asking price of $50. Talk about temptation, and the power to say “NO, gracias.”
I thought I’d learned how to say ‘no’ to the chicas in the club last night. It’s never easy to say no to beautiful women.
But when you ain’t got no dinero, and you know it ain’t your good looks, or your conversational skills they’re after. You learn to say “No, gracias” real quick.
I been saying “No” around here more than a 2 year old on a tantrum.
Sub-X is a survivor of the radical '60s. These days he's attempting to get beyond the 'Them' and 'Us' duality of Conflict Consciousness. Trying to eliminate conflict from one's reality is a lot like dealing with alcohol. It's an on-going process. Currently, Sub-X seeks solutions and asks, "Why not more beauty, love, and joy?" We know we can do so much better. OK, so why not?