I have begun another southern journey. I start with a week in Cuba and then move on to Haiti for another week. After Haiti I plan to spend a month or two in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil to work on 13 Portals, an interactive art project that Brazilian artist Perola Bonfanti and I are scheming for summer in New York City’s East Village. I chose to visit Cuba in this trip because I know it is fated to change soon and I want to experience it before it goes through this cultural paradigm shift.
The airplane touches down in Havana, Cuba.
My stomach flutters with excitement as I exit the airplane. I grab my heavy wheely bag full of paint, brushes, a stack of 250 Hearts of the World panels and a few pieces of clothing. Backpack on my shoulders and wheely bag in tow, I cross customs. A man asks me “Te donde eres?” (Where are you from?) “America” I reply, unsure of how he might respond. His face breaks into a huge smile and his eyes beam, “Welcome to Cuba!” he says.
And I feel very welcome!
I can see the outside world through large glass windows as I join the back of a long line to change my U.S. dollars in to Cuban pesos. The multitude of palm trees, just out of reach, wave in the breeze, beckoning me to come out and play. The line is so long and slow and I am so eager. I feel just like a fish in a glass bowl might feel if he was placed by the ocean. Finally I get just enough cash for a taxi, a meal and a place to stay and with bubbling anticipation I head out the door into the mid afternoon sun.
After tough bartering with the driver I hop in a cab. We negotiate down to $20 CUC (U.S. $20) from $25 CUC, which is reasonable. I ask him to take me to a Casa Particular in Havana Viejo (Old Havana) and we set off at a relaxed pace.
In Cuba you can stay at a hotel, or in a Casa Particular, which in my opinion is the way to go. Casa particular means “private home” and you can stay with a local family as their guest for around $25-35 CUC (U.S. $25-35) Most will even cook you breakfast, lunch and dinner for an additional cost (approx $5 for breakfast and $10 for lunch/dinner) if you ask them.
The official Casa Particular symbol found on the front doors or gates of Cuban guest homes
I sit by the open window in the back seat and look out, my hungry eyes feasting on everything I see. We lumber past rows of palm trees, vintage Chevys, Cadillac Jalopies, kids on bicycles, and people gathered in conversation and relaxation on their shady front porches.
“Revolution is unity”
One of the first things I notice is there are no advertisements anywhere. It is wonderful. The few billboards I see contain motivational phrases like “Si se puede!” (Yes you can!) and “La Revolution somos nosotros” (We are the Revolution). The tropical breeze cools my face as we pass murals of heros and martyrs like Che Guevara, José Marti and Camilo Cienfuegos. Cuba is full of color! Sunlit wild flowers of orange, red, and fuchsia grow over white cement walls in front of brightly painted houses. My eyes shift excitedly back and forth from the left window to the right and I catch my giddy smile in the rear-view mirror. I am overflowing with enthusiasm and curiosity about Cuba and there is something about this place that touches me immediately. I can’t identify exactly what it is but I am eager to investigate.
My cab driver is friendly and we talk in Spanish. I ask him about a good place to eat and he takes me to a local spot along the Malecón, the esplanade that stretches across the coast of Havanna. He is happy to stay with me at no extra charge in exchange for the company and conversation.
Cruising into Havana Viejo (Old Havana) filled with anticipation
The Malecón, (photo courtesy of Wikipedia)
The leisurely Malecón
Adorable Cuban boats in the harbor along the Malecón
From the minimalist menu I order chicken and fries. The plate is a greasy mound of thin potato chips and the chicken is impressively greasier. My hunger forces me to eat. I talk with Hector (my taxi driver) about Cuba and New York. He tells me he wants to go to New York but it is very difficult and expensive to obtain a visa. I close my eyes for a moment in gratitude. I am so privileged to be able to travel nearly anywhere in the world. It’s quite unfair and I feel remorseful. I long for a day where the whole world could be open and free for everyone to move about as they please.
After dinner (while feeling a bit ill from all the grease) Hector takes me to his friend’s Casa Particular. It is owned by a charming couple who welcome me with smiles and warm hospitality. I check into my room and then we sit on the porch, as Cubans do, rocking in the white wicker chairs, engaged in conversation. Mercedes, the wife brings me peppermint tea and she and Alberto give me advice about what to see while I’m in Cuba.
Alberto welcomes me at the gate
The pleasing front porch surrounded by tropical plants
Mercedes and the peppermint tea
I explain to them I want to do an art project with local children called Hearts of the World and they call over their neighbor Jorge to help. Jorge is a young painter and former art teacher. He speaks English and offers to help me with the workshop and show me around the next day. Alberto makes some dynamite drinks with Cuban rum and we talk about art, the country’s crazy history and rock back and forth and back and forth and back and forth until I am too sleepy to rock anymore. We all say goodnight and I go to my sweet little room and climb into bed happy and exhausted. I set my alarm to wake up early. Memories of the day and dreams of tomorrow lull me to sleep.
My room