When it became possible for citizens of this country to travel to Cuba,
Talkeetna resident Tony Martin wasted no time getting there.
He wanted to share his experience, and knowledge gained, with others.
Here’s the first of three parts of his story:
I recently had the opportunity to visit Cuba.
I wrote down my impressions in a short piece, which I have titled: “A
Journey to the Forbidden Isle.” Hopefully, this travelogue will provide an
insight into the history, politics, economics, and the people of an incredibly
diverse and complicated country. (Photos and text follow).
I will be breaking this story into three
segments, which more or less, follow my itinerary across Cuba. The
opinions expressed are my own. I’d like to thank KTNA Radio for the
opportunity to share my composition with their listeners.
Before beginning the:
Journey to the Forbidden Isle,
I’d like to start with an excerpt from John F. Kennedy’s Commencement
speech at the American University in Washington D.C. in 1963.
“So, let us not be blind to our differences – but let us also direct attention to
our common interests and the means by which those differences can be
resolved. And if we cannot end now our differences, at least we can help
make the world safe for diversity. For, in the final analysis, our most basic
common link is that we all inhabit this small planet. We all breathe the
same air. We all cherish our children’s futures. And we are all mortal.”
What crystallized my decision to visit Cuba was when President Obama
stated that “the Cold War was over”. Having grown up in Washington D.C.,
at the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis, my fellow classmates were
instructed to duck below the desks during an attack, for all the good that
would have done. Those recollections joined with a late developing
interest in the political science of the of the Kennedy assassination. As
my study deepened, it became obvious to me that Cuba had been a pivot
point in the most important political events of the last century. Hypnotically,
my attention became focused on a journey to a once Forbidden Isle.
Cuba…..when a topic is suppressed in public discourse, the growing
awareness of one’s ignorance is profound. Modern Cuba and Cubans are
the product of a maelstrom in a cauldron.
Begin with Columbus’ unintended discovery in 1492. Add Spanish
colonialism , European conflicts, Pirates & Corsairs, French sugar and
coffee plantations, African slavery, civil wars, and a war of independence.
Count to 1898. Stir in the Rough Riders, the Platt Act, and Batista . Bring to
a boil with Castro, Che, and the Revolution. Mix in the Mafia, the CIA, the
Bay of Pigs, the Missile Crisis, and the Kennedy assassination. Let cool,
and top off with Guantanamo and a 50 year embargo. Add a dash of
Hemingway & Greene, and spice with the Buena Vista Social Club. Cuba,
what was it? Cubans, who were they?
My objectives were: 1) to view the Malecon, the roadway along Havana’s
waterfront minus mobster Meyer Lansky’s dream of endless casinos 2) to
view of the Bay of Pigs from the perspective of Cuba, 3) to see Valles de
los Ingenios (the Valley of the Sugar Mills) in order to try to understand
better the economics and the society of Cuba, 4) to view Gitmo from the
soil of Cuba and, 5) to meet with and to interact with Cubans in order to try
to get an insight into their thoughts about the easing of relations with the
USA.
The Treasury department responded to my email: “In a few words, we
cannot comment on what the requirements will be until the requirements
actually change.” Restoration of diplomatic ties is on the table as this is
written. Unrestricted travel to Cuba for US citizens is still not yet
authorized, but there are avenues. Journalism is one of them.
Although only 90 air miles from the the mainland, sometimes, the direct
approach is not always the easiest. Arranging payment for flights, for
departure fees, for a tourist visa, for travel insurance, for planned activities
in Cuba required an agent. Money was an issue as US bank affiliated Visa
and Master Cards transactions would not be recognized. No ATM, meant
carrying $1200 cash, mostly Canadian to avoid a 13% exchange fee. My
total budget added up to about $3500. At that point my biggest concerns
were negotiating the international connection at Cancun smoothly and
meeting the ground transfer to my home-stay in Havana. My gear barely fit
into one carry on. Later, I wished I had packed some postcards of Obama
and more baseball caps.
Why would anyone visit LA, Miami, or New Orleans when one could visit
Havana, the Casablanca of the Western Hemisphere? At one end of the
city lay the apparently upscale Miramar neighborhood with roller bladers,
bicyclists, pedestrians, and joggers. All that was missing were the soccer
moms. The Russian Embassy, loomed over the diplomatic missions of
other countries and looked like a tower ready to launch a Soyuz rocket
Where would the USA locate its State Department representative? No one
knew.
Entering the Vedado district there was a mix of colonial, Art Deco
republican, and modern architecture in various states of disrepair,
renovation, remodeling, and construction. Bicitaxis began to appear as did
streams of classic cars, some belching smoke, some lunging with slipping
clutches. On occasion there was a horse drawn carriage. People were
walking or waiting for a bus. None had a cell phone attached to their ear.
At the end of El Rampa was the tall Havana Libre, once a Hilton Hotel with
a casino, once headquarters for Castro in 1959. A few blocks away, stood
the stately Hotel Nacional, where the mafia met to discuss Havana’s future.
From an adjacent apartment building, the roof top bar gave a bird’s eye
view of the city. Distinctly visible from that perch , at the head of the
Revolutionary Plaza ,stood the obelisk, dedicated to Jose Marti, the guiding
spirit of Cuba’s universal education system. Not visible, inside the
government buildings, were those who held the levers of power. How and
why they make their decisions could not be known, but all the world would
be watching now. Towards Old Havana, the dome of the Capitol building
rose among a mix of other structures.
The official tree of Cuba is the royal palm,some say it was imported from
Florida. The banyan tree with a multitude of interlaced roots , like the ones
that gird the Avenue of Presidents would serve as well. Modern Cuba and
Cubans are the product of five continents and five centuries. Driving along
the Malceon, were there were no billboards. or advertising signs. Nor did
the skyline along the waterfront look like the Riviera or Las Vegas. For a
city of two million there was not much traffic. Walking along Calle Obispo In
Old Havana, one could begin to hear, feel, smell, taste, and see an exotic
almagamation at its most intense. The architecture was amazing. The
fundamental rhythm was: uno,dos, tres. It is as though one could magically
walk between centuries as one traveled from square to square, along
narrow streets, and between avenues guarded by tall buildings. The tourist
center had its jinteros and jintereras, its touts and its hustlers, but overall
Havana was warm, earthy, and gritty. Later, only Santiago seemed to have
a hard edge to it.
At Parque Central a torrential rain storm held myself and a hundred others
hostage as the streets flooded. The proximity of the lighting flashes and of
the cracks of thunder made us all tremble nervously in unison at the power
of the tropical storm. Back at the home-stay, before leaving , Berta, the
owner, asked me: ” Tell your friends that Cubans are good people.” Her
hospitality and excellent breakfasts were to be repeated across the island.
My two day instruction in Spanish had been a total immersion into history,
geography, religion, and philosophy. Pilar taught by enthusiastically
combining written and spoken words with music, song, and dance.
Childlike communication was enabled in all subjects. Pilar showed me her
world: pictures of her children, the garden visible from her apartment, her
neighbors passing by on the street. She commented: “Community and
family were what Cubans cherished.” But she added: ” Every Cuban
dreamed of travel.” Pilar and myself parted in agreement that a balance
between the material and the spiritual was best. She said: “The past
doesn’t exist, nor the future, there is only the moment”. In a large city, it
seemed like each street was a village unto itself. Later, a young woman
from Malaysia shared an impression: “Cubans are lacking in things, but
they have a lot of dignity.”
This concludes part one of “Journey to the Forbidden Isle” I’d like to thank
KTNA for allowing me to share this with their listeners.
Journey to the Forbidden Isle, by Tony Martin
