Last October I flew to Cuba for the first time, but I had to apply to the Department of State for permission. Turns out our august president had slapped more restrictions on travel to Cuba in retaliation for their support of the Madura regime in Venezuela. Since tourists weren’t allowed, I applied fort the visa as a journalist and researcher. Once I received the green light, the rest was fun (if you want to visit the island, check this out).
I bought my Cuban visa at a desk next to the American Airlines gate at the Houston Airport, conveniently located near Vida Taqueria, a Tex-Mex eatery that serves the best Bloody Mary with bacon I’ve ever ingested. After one of those, the $50 visa fee wasn’t so bad.
All the Elements
The journalist/researcher bit was valid since the purpose of the trip was to explore old town Havana; the backdrop for part of my next book, Heritage Lost, a historical novel set in the late 1700s. The story opens in Havana, rewinds to Madrid, Spain, moves to the Spanish colonies in Northeast Florida, and back again to Havana a hundred years later. The “Lost” part of the title hints that an entire indigent people group of Northeast Florida—and their heritage—will vanish. Like any novel with a broad historical context, it will have all the elements of love, adventure on sailing ships, wars, political intrigue, more love, deep character development, heroes, villains, and of course, historical accuracy. I’m excited about the project, and I’d love to keep you posted as the story unfolds.
Not surprisingly, as Caribbean Hispanics I found them delightful to be around. What helped is they absolutely love Americans … and not just for our money. The evidence of evil communism we all hear about is mostly absent, and I observed it only twice. The first was pointed out by a friendly English-speaking fellow seated on a bench nearby. It was a heavily armed, intimidating police van that rumbled down the narrow street collecting daily revenues. It went from shop to shop tallying the day’s receipts from each proprietor, and then extracted a meaty percentage of the intake to support the state. The man rolled his eyes and said it was their “contribution” to the Castro regime. Down there, “tax” is another word for extortion.
My second observation was one morning over coffee from my balcony. Five stories below and across the street, a public employee climbed a scaffold and began trimming low-hanging branches that obscured a streetlight. Twenty minutes later, he took a well-earned break by stretching out on the concrete wall nearby and promptly went to sleep. As I finished my second cup, he woke up, climbed the scaffold and snipped a few more small limbs, pausing frequently to chat with passers-by. After my shower, I checked on him again. He was back on his wall, asleep, with a few freshly cut limbs by his side.
When I returned that evening, both he and the scaffold were gone. The streetlight was on, but it struggled to get a few shafts of light through the remaining uncut limbs. The next morning though, our man was back on the job. Throughout the week, I saw that man’s work ethic duplicated by just about everyone else. It’s what happens when the paycheck comes whether or not you work. Here’s a good article on the topic.
Aside from that, Havana, and Cuba for that matter, appears be a pleasant third-world country trying to come to grips with the changing times. But I would be naive to believe that after one week. In fact, Cuba suffers a lot beneath the surface, and recent reports show as much.
As for my research, it couldn’t have been better. Old town Havana looks like it did hundreds of years ago. Fortunately or unfortunately—depending on how you look at it—the well-preserved but crumbling edifices are due to lack of progress. But it is charming, and the perfect backdrop for my novel. Check out my published books here.
If you want to check Cuba out, try these blogs: The Blonde Abroad, or Honest Reflections on a trip to Cuba.
Until next time,
Ken
