How to Live/ Norman's Here

Below are two poems my father wrote, both in 1994, four years before he died.  This is quite a departure for me on this blog, which has until now dealt only with my travels. But it seemed the best way for me to post it for those interested.  We used the first one, How to Live, on the program for his funeral.  It was one of the only parts of his funeral he didn't plan himself.  Yet, in a way, he did.  My cousin, and I hope I'm remembering this right,  later used it on her wedding invitation.

The second poem, Norman's Here, describes his seemingly fail proof method of getting a parking spot, anywhere, anytime, mid-town Manhattan, Harvard Square, just by announcing "Norm's here."  It pretty much exemplifies his light hearted, optimistic view of life.  I know of dozens of people who continue to use, and swear by, this method of finding a place to park.

My father died 14 years ago this month. He would have been 90 on November 13th this year. 

HOW TO LIVE

Do we know how to live?

Life is not a porous sieve

Moments do not just pass through

They stay on as part of you

Do we know how to savor?

Every instant has its flavor

A taste just isn’t here and gone

But continues living, on and on

Do we know how to enjoy?

Life is not a crude alloy

Each moment on itself is pure

Rich and clean, right and sure

NORMAN’S HERE

Flitting eyes

Fear and hope

Beating heart

Can you cope?

Suddenly

Pulses race

There it is

A parking space

Pull up now

Just enough

Cut the wheel

That’s the stuff

Ease it in

Nice and snug

Sit and grin

Feeling smug

There’s no need

For a cheer

Now you know

Norman’s here.

Museum of Fine Arts, Hemingway's house, the restoration workshop, dreaming of a return...

A few  more things I just want to make sure to mention: first, the art museum and the Biennale. As I said before, we didn’t really get to see much of the Biennale. I know if I’d really wanted to, I could have found the time, as we did have a couple of free afternoons. But we were so busy most of the time, and everything was so interesting, that I didn’t have the inclination. What I did find out, from Hoji, was that much, maybe all, of the outdoor art we saw was part of the Biennale. And there was a lot of it, along the Malecon, the Prado, and probably some things we walked by but didn’t notice.

The  Art Museum (Museo de Bellas Artes), which is actually two different museums, Cuban art and foreign art, was wonderful. We spent two hours there, and didn’t see everything. And that was just in the Cuban part. I’m not sure I could have spent much more time that day, aside from the fact that they were closing, but would love to have the chance to go back. There were an amazing number and variety of Cuban artists. None of whom I was familiar with.  I'm  embarrassed to admit it. Wilfredo Lam, whose name at least seems familiar to me, is supposedly the most renowned.   Sadly, they seemed to have less than a dozen postcard reproductions, and none of the works I was especially taken with.  But I was able to find some of them online. A current exhibit featured an artist named Abel Barroso. His pieces, in wood, were described as tactile sculptures. There was a series of pinball machines, which seemed to have working parts, each of which had  a politcal theme. And a Monopoly board, also political, with wealthy countries occupying what would have been the Boardwalk and Park Place spaces, poor ones on the ones that would have been Baltic, etc. And houses and hotels on some of them. I clandestinely took a picture of the Monopoly board.

I have barely mentioned Hemingway, and he figures largely in the Cuban psyche. There are photos of him with Fidel, and I believe with Che. We went to the bar he used to hang out at in Cojimar, now a restaurant, and had lunch there. Later that day we went to his house, on a hilltop overlooking Havana, with a beautiful view. I was surprised, though, that it wasn’t near the sea. Hoji said that he’d become so famous by then that he was hounded, and so perhaps needed a place where he could get away.

The house can only be viewed from outside. When I’d read that I was disappointed, but then wasn’t expecting much anyway, anticipating that it would be overrun with tourists. Yet I was really mesmerized by the place, partly because it was Hemingway’s, partly because it was beautiful, elegant but not ostentatious, and partly, I’m sure, because I was reading Islands in the Stream and it seemed so close to what he was describing. Besides, I always like homes where famous people have lived, and especially the everyday parts of their existence, the kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, bookshelves. Not being able to walk inside the house didn’t matter; you could see everything through the many doors and windows.It was airy and bright, filled with books, of course, but also art, and game heads mounted on the walls. 

On the grounds is Hemingway's boat, Pilar, and four graves.  I am sure they are of his dogs, especially due to the names, but I joked that perhaps they were Hemingway's four wives! 

At the Hemingway home we ran into a National Geographic tour group ( I know because they were all wearing National Geographic name badges.) Loring noticed a man wearing a Folsom’s Air Service t shirt. This is a small flight service in northern Maine that flies people into remote places.  I don’t think we’ve ever run into someone with a t shirt from there before. When I asked where the couple was from, they said New York. Turns out the woman was from the same area of the Bronx where grew up.

I want to mention one more place we visited, the restoration workshop school for teens in Old Havana. It is b a trade school, that trains kids in skills like woodworking, stone work, tiling, metal, and glass. They do  actual restoration work while enrolled, and then, if I understood right, are guaranteed jobs when they graduate. Some go onto more academic work in the field, too. Free education is available to everyone in Cuba, but you have to qualify academically for upper level study. We watched them working on restoring a set of stained glass windows, wrapping small individual pieces of glass in copper, so intent on their work they hardly paid us any mind.  The student population is about 1/3 female. Although much of Havana is still in disrepair, some of the buildings and squares have been beautifully renovated, and it is wonderful to see young people being trained in these skills and using them to improve their city.

I have to look up again some of these other tours, the National Geographic  one these folks were on, and a couple of others I’d looked at. I can’t imagine they would have been better, or even as good as ours. All the places we went, with the exception of the very commercial and not very informative rum museum, were very interesting. That is the one visit, of about 15 or more places we went, that I would suggest they drop. Our guide Hoji, was great, too, and we all agreed that even though he does this weekly, he does not do it at all by rote, and really seems to enjoy what he does.

*(Note: I did go back and look up some of the other tours. There's Road Scholar, which used to be Elderhostel, and Insight Cuba. Those are in the $3000 to $4000 range. National Geographic around $5000. Ours was about $1500 and seems to me to be fairly comparable They probably stay at fancier hotels, but ours were plenty fancy for me. And I would probably prefer to stay in casas (bed and breakfasts.) Although in reading after our return, am not sure those are legal for Americans. 

 I keep daydreaming about going back, organizing a trip of my own with the organization we went with, with a small group of friends and like minded travellers. Anyone interested? I am serious enough that if I hear back from a few of you, I may truly do it. 

The things we carried, down, and back, and our encounter with Boston Customs.

On the porch, back at home

We’ve been home two days now. I still feel like there is a lot I haven’t recounted. I am going to try, now, to describe our arrival back in the U.S. and encounter with customs in Boston, and then go back to describe several experiences, our “Hemingway day” as Hoji described it, the wonderful Havana Modern Art Museum, some info about handicrafts and souvenirs, and a brief bibliography of  the Cuba related books we read enroute. And whatever else comes to mind as I am writing.

Our arrival home: We had been given all the information about what documentation we needed from the Canadian company that arranged the tour, had it all approved by them, and received from them a detailed itinerary that described each day of our tour (Loring was studying water resources at every place we visited, and the week we spent in la Boca we were both doing preliminary research.) We were told it was a “do-it-yourself visa, for which no official approval from the U.S. government was needed. There was a self –proclaimed “affidavit” that we needed to have notarized. I had a letter from my employer saying I taught for them, and a resume, and Loring wrote himself a letter on his own letterhead, which the agency had also said was absolutely fine. This is a relatively new visa, perhaps a year old, and I had also located and printed the proper page of the U.S. regulation itself.

All seemed well and good. All of us on the trip had the same documentation, except for Evelyn who was on a different educational visa in order to do research in the Cuban archives.

Well and good, that is, until we arrived in Boston. “So, you’ve been to Cuba?” said the agent, quite friendly.He seemed interested, not suspicious, but said to excuse him, he hadn’t dealt with this before and had to check with his supervisor. Another agent came along, said she had spoken with someone who’d been to Cuba before, again really friendly, and asked if the country was as beautiful as she’d heard. I think she was also the one that said she thought things should open up in the near future. Or maybe that was one of the other various agents we spoke with in the next half hour or so.

I was still more concerned that they might take our souvenirs than that they’d hit us with a fine. Although the supervisor did say, you know, you could have your passports taken away. He wasn't threatening, though, just seemed surprised that we were doing this.  Our passports and all the papers we’d carried, (having been told by the Canadian agency that they never checked anyone, anyway) went thru several sets of hands as we sat in the office. Maybe I was just too tired to be worried, but I felt more curious than anything else. What really puzzled and continues to puzzle me is that no one at customs, excepting that one woman, and not even the supervisor, seemed familiar with the visa.  I am wondering if the others in our group encountered any problems or just sailed through. We did indicate on our re-entry forms that we’d come from Cuba, not just Toronto. I would have been much more worried about lying. But the travel group conducts tours every week, most of them about 24 people in the group, mostly Americans.

Anyway, the supervisor eventually decided that we were right, said they’d just had to research it, gave us back our passports and all paperwork, wished us well. The crazy thing is that they never looked at our bags at all.

These are the things I carried back: two crocheted tops, no sign of made in Cuba anywhere. One set of claves, (rhythm instruments I bought for Max in the Havana crafts market, as soon as the guy showed me how to hold and play them, he and another guy came up behind me and sang “la Cucharacha.”) The first week I held off all the sellers with my little speech that I was American and we weren’t allowed to bring anything home. The second week, as our tour comrades were buying rum and cigars and all kinds of obviously Cuban products I loosened up and bought a few things – two domino sets, two sets of earrings, a small inlaid box with the design of the Cuban flag but very subtle, not in color. 

  There were some great t-shirts, lots of Che designs,, including one in the form of a Warhol multiple image, one that said Cuba in Coca-Cola like script. ( Cuba is one of the few places in the world where Coke isn’t available, and yet a cuba libre is rum and coke, and they all call the cola here coke.) I finally found Loring a t shirt he didn’t feel nervous about bringing back – it said Cuba, but so stylistically that no one in our group even recognized it. Of course no one else will, either!

Also, in the Havana used book market, I found some old (I think) cigar decals. And, we discovered an amazing children’s book that showed the history of the revolution. It was made of stamps that you put on each image, like some books I’d had as a kid. (not of the Cuban revolution!)  We kept seeing the same book at different stalls, and eventually realized that it was a facsimile. But they had copied all the pictures and pasted them in individually, so it was quite effective. When I told Hoji about it, he said he’d had it as a kid. I wonder if they’d reprinted it years ago, or just more recently, and that his was an original copy. He would have had his about 20 or 25 years ago, so way after the revolution.

The book was actually one of the things I had been concerned about bringing back through customs. But I thought I could make a case of it being an example of propaganda. Just as glad they didn’t look at it, though.

So that's what we carried back. What we carried down was pencils and play dough and tiny bottles of bubbles, and stickers. I always bring stickers, kids always seem to love them, and those I just handed out on the street. Most of the people in our group brought things to donate, some brought huge amounts, in duffle bags. Medical supplies and school supplies and I don't know what else. I felt like we ought to have brought more. Those we just gave to the administrators at some of the programs we visited, and watched as they carefully sorted and recorded them. It was probably better to donate them to the staff, but I would like to have been there when things were distributed, not so they knew who they came from, but just so I could see what they really wanted and appreciated. 

I will stop here, for today, feeling nearly caught up. There are still a couple of events and places we visited that I want to detail, and will hopefully do that in the next day or two.

Last mango in Havana (sorry, I couldn't help it!)

At Havana airport, Sunday am.

Last mango in Havana!

We are on the road back home, about to board our plane to Toronto. Yesterday developed not quite according to plan. We reached Giselle by phone late morning, and asked how to get to her university. She told us it was difficult to find and that she would come by bus to get us, at 6:30pm. She really seemed to want to reciprocate for our taking her to dinner for cooking us dinner, which was great. We relocated to Casa 1932, where we’d spent our first night, and now planned to spend our last. Giselle arrived a bit early, which was fine. Luis apologized that it was casa policy not to allow guests past the parlor room, which was fine. It’s a wonderful room, also serves as the breakfast room. Giselle was mesmerized by the place, said it looked ike a palace. I had the feeling she’d never seen anyplace like it.  Well, it is a bit unusual, with all the antiques and collectibles, and also, I imagine, somewhat sumptuous for the average Cuban.

  I have not been able to understand the class differences that exist here, the poverty of some, the middle class-ness of others, and the seeming wealth of still others.  There are teenagers using cell phones on the Malecon, families strolling and eating ice cream, others congregating and drinking rum. And the families frolicking in the ocean in la Boca did not seem at all poor.  I know those in the tourist related industries make a good bit more in tips, and others receive money from relatives abroad. But it still doesn’t seem to explain the discrepancies.

Well, back to yesterday evening. Giselle seemed to really want us to not just come to her place, but to stay overnight. She said that her university was very close to the airport. She was also worried about finding us a ride back to central Havana late at night. We discussed various possibilities – that we have dinner together in town, and that Luis find a room for her in a casa nearby, and that we stop at her home on the way to the airport early in the morning, that we have dinner and send her home in a cab, etc. We eventually decided, especially as she said the airport was very close to her, that we would stay with her at her apartment, although we had already paid Luis for the room ( and would have done so even if we hadn’t already.)

So Luis called us a cab, who turned out to be the same driver who had driven us to la Boca last week. I always call this guy, said Luis, because he shows up on time.

 Once on the way, the driver explained that the airport near Giselle was not the international one, but an equal distance in the other direction. In oither words, we were going totally out of our way and aside from cost, it would be a one and a half hour drive in the am.

 But that was just the beginning of the problem. When we eventually arrived at the University, the guards at the gate said we couldn’t enter. Giselle talked with them for 15 or 20 minutes, they made a call or two, but eventually she realized that the policy was firm. We never did understand whether it was because we were from the U.S. or just because we were foreigners .Giselle thought it was because we were American, and muttered something about the stupid government. (hers, not ours.) In retrospect, it wasn’t at all a surprise, So we had to quickly say goodbye to her there, giving her the plastic bag we had compiled for her full of toiletries, toothpaste, deodorant,, my Dr. Bronner’s still half full bottle, and all the small hotel bottles we’d taken from the Telegrafo and the Hotel Raquel. Plus a University of New Haven t shirt that had been a freebie when we were touring colleges with Carolina. We'd seen a lot of U.S. t shirts here. That actually reminds me of a story I haven't recounted yet, an incident that occurred at Hemingway's house. (which I also don't think I have described, and so will recount at the end.)

Then, back to Havana and Casa 1932 in our cab. We had the driver call ahead to Luis to let him know we were coming back. Although when we arrived Luis told us he had just given the room to someone else. He was teasing us, though. At that point, it didn’t really matter, we were in “ whatever” mode. We had wondered if we had to redocument, by signing in Luis’ official book (we’d already signed in, then signed out when we left with Giselle) but that didn’t seem necessary. We gave Luis back the five Cucs he’d returned to us, for an early morning light breakfast(juice, coffee, mango, watermelon, papaya, pineapple, guayaba) that we then had, as originally planned, at 5:30 am this morning before our cab man picked us up at 6am.

Our last event, our last night in Havana, after a delicious dinner at the casa, was to stroll the Malecon, along with, it seemed, everyone else in Havana. A wonderful end to a wonderful sojourn.

We are now onboard, about to take off for Toronto. It is disorienting to hear, not English again, but French! 

I shall finish and post the rest of this account upon our return home.

Culture Tour Part 3, and some musings...

Saturday afternoon, Sitting on the roof deck of the Hotel Raquel.

 Our group had its final dinner last night, in a well known restaurant where, apparently, everyone who is anyone, and a lot who aren’t, have to go when in Havana. Hemingway has,of course, been there. Perusing the photos on the walls, I saw Mohammed Ali, Woody Harrelson, Harry Belafonte, Hemingway’s son, his nephew, all in signed photos. The less well known sign there names directly on the walls, on which there is barely an inch of space to fit one in, even up high on the walls. We had, as usual, too much food, all delicious. After dinner the group convened briefly in the lobby of another hotel, where I assume Hoji is known, as we didn’t have any drinks, just talked, posed for a group picture, and began to say our goodbyes. Some have already left, a few are staying here another night or two, the three women friends are going to Trinidad and la Boca and the Casa Sol y Mar that  we recommended highly to them. We also gave the info to Hoji, at his request, since he wasn't familiar with la Boca, and may want to refer other folks there. I feel glad that we are giving them some more business.

 Some of us came up to the roof deck here last night. Great view of the city, If you go to the Hotel Raquel, even just for a drink, make sure to go up there. We ran into some of the group again this am, but who knows, may still encounter them again. We have extended an open invitation for people to visit, and perhaps some of them will.

This is our last day in Cuba. Soon we will go over to Casa 1932, where we spent our first night and will spend our last. We spoke to Giselle, who had invited us to have dinner with us tonite. She said it would be too hard for us to find her place, so she is going to come get us at the casa.

This morning we walked one more time around the old Havana neighborhood, which is getting to be familiar. We visited two museums, one at a university which does artistic restoration, among other things. Some interesting paintings, but more interesting, the stories behind them that the woman who guided us through told us, about the painters, whether they were Cuban or had lived here. One portrait was particularly striking, and she said people called it the Cuban Mona Lisa. I aksed if we could take a picture. She said, officially, no, but if we stood here, indicating a specific spot, we would be out of range of the security cameras! And of course we did.  Next we went to another museum also on the grounds of the University, but only a couple of rooms were open, and not particularly interesting.

Wandering further, we came to the Ceramics Museum, whose lobby we had stopped in on our first day. In the courtyard and upstairs there was an iimpressive array of modern ceramics, in a beautiful setting, a serendipitous find, which I would highly recommend to anyone visiting here. Again, like at the art gallery, no entrance fee, just a tip to the guide.

There is a wonderful view of old Havana from the rooftop where we are now sitting and drinking a couple of Buccanareos. When there is a breeze it is comfortable, well at least tolerable, but when it stops, as it now has, it is barely so. We may have to head indoors to the quasi air conditioned lobby soon, and before long will head over to our casa.

I have learned a little more about the Jewish connection with the hotel, and am hoping to learn a bit more before we head out. The day bartender, Wilbur, is Jewish and if he is available we may be able to chat with him a bit.  What I do know is that the building was originally a mercantile buiding housing textiles, then later became a bank and one or two other things. When the historic center was being restored, the city historian realized that there was nothing in the city commemerating the Jewish population, and decided to use this building for that purpose, as well as making it a hotel. It has only twenty five rooms, a lot of art by Jewish artisits, and, interestingly, a dinner menu featuring traditional Jewish dishes, things like borsht, potato latkkes, marinated fish, chicken soup.  We did have breakfast here this morning, a large buffet like we have had previously at the Telegrafo. No Jewish dishes at breakfast, though, except possibly for one pastry that could have been an interpretation of rugelach.

We went searching for one of the synagogues yesterday afternoon, and found it. There are apparently two active congregations here. We entered the building, saw two glass fronted rooms. One was clearly the synagogue itself, the other adjacent one a room with tables,. About 30 people sitting at them, some with glasses of wine. I took a picture of the synagogue side, and a man immediately came out to us from the other room and said no pictures were allowed. He said we could come back this morning at 9, or this evening at 7pm. But we don’t have time, and I am not particularly interested in attending a service. It would, though, be interesting to talk to some memebers of the congregation.

On our way out, we encountered a man who said he was the cook for the temple. We talked for a while, he said if we were staying longer he would cook us a good Jewish creole meal.  He told us about his ailing 93 year old mother, whom he lived with and cared for. He asked if we could give him a small donation to help with her medical care. I had a hard time believing a man in his 60’s wearing a yarmulke, on the grounds of a synagogue, could be scamming us, and we did give him a few pesos, about three dollars worth, which he said he would use toward a new pair of eyeglasses for his mother, which he said would cost about ten peson/dollars. 

I don’t want to think it was a total scam, and so I won’t. I have no doubt that many people truly need the money or items that the hope to get from foreigners. What I don’t like is being taking total advantage of, being told a story that isn't at all true. I don’t think I’ve written about the two familes that did indeed try to scam us on El Prado a few days ago. The first was a couple with whom we stopped to talk after they asked where we were from. They told us about themselves, and that it was their anniversary but had no money to celebrate so this was their celebration, sitting on a bench on the Prado. Loring is much more of a skeptic, and I am quite gullible, so he had them pegged long before I did. They eventually told us about their two kids, and how one of them was diabetic but that they couldn’t afford to get the insulin he needed. And could we come with them to the international pharmacy and purchase it for them, and they could see they were using it for bona fide purposes. This is where I began to get suspicious. And Hoji, smiling the next day when we recounted the story, said, oh, the anniversary story and the medication story, two of the most commom scams. That at least made me feel better that I had eventally said no to the couple, that I was very sorry, but that we had made our donations as a group to various organizations, rather than to indiviiduals. But I had continued to feel bad as I said no, wondering all the time if their story was  true.

The second incident involved a young couple and a baby. As soon as I related this much to Hoji he said, did they ask you for money for powdered milk? Indeed they had.

I wonder sometimes if it matters how people ask the more well off to help them. Does it really matter if they are clever enough to fool us, if they are truly needy?  Is it important for me to feel appreciated and acknowledged when someone receives the benefit of my largesse? No one want to be taken advantage of or deceived. But who determines the morality in a situation?   I always think  back to the moral dilemmas and stages of development we studied in grad school. What about the man who steals medication that he can’t afford that will save his wife’s life?

Well, on that note I will stop for now. It is becoming increasingly hot up here, and it’s time for us to move on, either to the lobby and to perhaps get some info from Wilbur on the Jewish community here, or onto Casa 1932, our home for the last night of our Cuban sojourn. We haven’t been that successful at finding internet access here, so it is entirely possible that this account will finish and be posted online after our return home, tomorrow.

Culture Tour Part 2

Next morning, Saturday, poolside at Las Jazmine Hotel

It’s about 7:30 am, depart here at 10 am. Breakfast is already being served, but I am hoping to catch up a bit more first. There is a dog here, at my side. Also around the place are a number of cats and a number of chickens, all roaming freely around. It’s amusing to see them all together. Loring thinks that part of the dog’s job  is to keep the chickens from hanging out at the pool area. I think he's right, the dog just chased away a loudly clucking hen, as if he knew what I was writing.

I am going to attempt to record some more of our adventures, in no particular order:

The elderly center is in what what once a convent. It serves the population of the Old Havana section of the city, about 500 people come every day. They also have a day care center on site, for the kids of the center’s employees. We got a brief glimpse of some of the kids as they moved from one room to another, holding hands in boy-girl couples.  Etiquette and proper behavior of boys to girls is part of the center’s goals. The boys apparently pull out the chairs for the girls, too. That part I could do without, but it was interesting to see and hear about. And they were awfully cute. I asked if there is any interraction between the kids and the elderly, and the woman said there was some, mostly on holidays and special occasions, and that they were hoping to do more. 

In one area of the courtyard are a number of exercise machines, for the physical therapy use of the elderly. They looked a bit incongruous in the colonial setting. The center also provides a host of other activities. But on this particular morning, hundreds of folks were gathered in the courtyard, listening to the music of an excellent band, from, of all places, the University of Michigan. Some people were sitting in rows of chairs, others just milling around the courtyard, sitting, standing, chatting, dancing. They were as curious about us as we were about them.  They all looked quite healthy, a contrast to some of the folks at my mother’s independent living facility. But then, perhaps the people with more serious physical and mental health issues were at different facilities, and this is not a residence, but a drop in day program.  I didn’t have a chance to ask whether there are facilities more similar to our assisted living centers. I think most older people live with their younger relatives, sometimes there are three or even four generations living together. I wish we’d had a chance to see a more typical day, but on the other hand, it was an absolutely delightful experience to see hundreds of people enjoying the music, socializing, dancing, ogling us as I guess we were ogling them.

In complete contrast to the center is the home-studio and entire town of artist Jose Fuster. I had read and even seen a You Tube about him after reading in the itinerary that we’d be meeting him. He’s been described as the Cuban Gaudi. A big difference, though, is that while Gaudi, while he did design public places like the  Parc Guell, worked largely on private commission for wealthy clients whose homes weren’t open to the public. (some are, now, as museums.)  Fuster, in contrast, created an immense outdoor ceramic space on his own property that can be seen from outside and around the neighborhood. And he has expanded into several streets of the town, at the request of people whose houses and walls he has mosaiced.  I asked if  he ever ran workshops for aspiring mosaicists, but he doesn’t. His son said that they often do classes for neighborhood kids on weekends, but don’t have time for more than that. Well, it’s best that he gives back to his own community, which he certainly does. He’s exhibited all over the world, but I only saw one place in the U.S. mentioned, at a synagogue in Minnestota. Perhaps he’s Jewish?

At Fuster's we were also served a wonderful lunch of epic proportions, served in the courtyard on mosaic tables. He has quite a few staff people, cooks and servers and mosaicists who now do the actual work which he still designs. I don't know how often groups go there, fairly often I imagine, nearly once a week just on our company's tours, but we were the only ones there that day.

Other places we’ve been:

The cigar factory we visited in the city was fascinating, even though it was a commercial enterprise with a store and very expensive cigars, from about $7 to $12 dollars a piece, at the end of the tour. We didn’t buy any but a lot of the people in our group did, Hoji, our group guide, assures us that people bring back all kinds of things, including cigars, all the time. We don’t have any desire to bring cigars, although we did try smoking one this am, more about that later. But the factory was much more interesting than we’d expected. 

We watched workers separating the leaves from the stems, rolling the interior leaves and then the outer presentation leaf, separating them by color – the Americans like the lighter color ones and the Europeans the darker, (or was it the other way around?) and each thought the taste of the one they preferred was better, although our guide assured us that there was not difference in taste, merely in appearance. One man was separating cigars into seven or eight different piles according to shade, although I couldn’t really discern much difference, and they were boxed further on according to shade. I thought it would make more sense to have some variation of color, which would indicate that they were handmade and individual, but that[s apparently not the case. To me, the boxes and labels were the most interesting part, and I asked if there was any possibilitiy of obtaining any. There wasn’t.. The room in which they were boxed was decorated with paper chains made from labels. That would have been my perfect souvenir.

The worker are assigned one job, with which they stay, to assure the highest quality. They are expected to meet a certain quota, and then are paid a bonus for any quantity above that. They all seemed relaxed, clearly working hard but didn’t seem overworked, chatting with each other as they rolled. It was great to watch, and we all regretted that photography wasn’t allowed.  We asked our guide if the work was regarded as a good job, and he said no, it was very hard work, although each worker gets to take home some cigars, which I think they tend to sell rather than smoke. He was surprisingly open about criticizing the government, an especial surprise since he was a tour guide at a government run operation.

This morning, one of our visits was to a tobacco farm, in an area about two hours from Havana where we stayed last night. Several tobacco growers have government permission to give tours, and sell their own handmade cigars with the tobacco left over after the government takes the tobacco they use for the five government run factories, including the one we had visited. We saw the drying sheds and had the process explained. A gentleman rolled a couple of cigars for the group to share. Most of us did try, and were surprised about how mild the smoke seemed. I hadn’t known that you don’t inhale the smoke, which can make one sick and even hallucinatory. And this is the tobacco left over after the government takes what it uses for the exports. So are those expensive ones even milder? 

The stem line is removed from every leaf, which we had seen at the factory as well, apparently because it has too much nicotine. It is used sometimes ground into cigarette tobacco. I don’t know how much of the Cuban population smokes cigars, or how regularly. You certainly see many people smoking, cigarettes and cigars, and many women smoke cigars as well. I’ll  try to ask Hoji.

Still at the tobacco farm, we were taken to the farmer’s house and served delicious coffee. Some of the nicest moments have been at places like this, where though it is clearly a place for tourists, it is also 

someone’s home, and one gets a glimpse into everyday household life.

I haven’t yet mentioned the dance lesson we were brought to one night. I expected a somewhat hokey event, and this was anything but. Only six of us, half the group, went. It was at a community center and the woman who runs it is the person who gave us the lesson. We were a little concerned to see there were more dancers and musicians than there were of us, and felt a bit intimidated. But once they served us the ubiquitous welcome drink, this time a cuba libre, we loosened up a bit. I certainly did, couldn’t stop moving. All of us danced. The dancers, aside from the teacher, were a young boy, a young woman, and a woman in her 80’s.We learned rhumba, cha cha (called cha cha cha here!) and a couple of other steps. Toward the end the older woman and her husband, a member of the band, danced together. It was pretty amazing.

Oh, and I don’t think I mentioned the visit to the Buena Vista Social Club. Loring and I had watched the movie a couple of nights before we left home,. I knew of it but hadn’t ever seen it before. It is about a group of elderly Havana musicians whose music was rediscovered when American musician Ry Cooder came to Cuba and recorded them, and then later filmmaker Wim Wenders returned with Cooder and made this documentary. The original members are now dead, but this is the so to speak Buena Vista Social Club next generation, and they mostly seemed to be in their 70’s and 80’s. Another experience for which my expectations hadn’t been that high, and which was extraordinary. It was a long show, with musician after musician performing, some singly, some together, and a couple of very sexy young dancers. They repeatedly sang to members of the audience, got people up on stage to dance, and led a huge conga line dancing through the room.

The audience, which seemed to be a mix of Cubans and tourists, not entirely tourists as I’d expected, was wildly enthusiastic. Many of them seemed to know the songs. One couple was there on their honeymoon, were brought up on stage, and sang and danced with the group

One of my main images  of the evening is if several teenager boys who were outside the club, with their faces pressed against the window,  who were singing with the musicians all night long . Periodically I’d glance at the boy at the window right behind me, and we’d smile at each other. When I returned from dancing around the room in the conga line, he gave me a big thumbs up. I went up to say hello on our way out and asked him his name. It is Frank. He asked me where I was from, and I told him. He said, USA, nice country.

I didn’t think the evening’s entertainment could get any more internse. But when we left the club, a block away on the Plaza Vieja, one that has been beautifully restored, there was a huge group of costumed people looking very Carnival-like, with amazing costumes, some on stilts, and lights all around. A few of our group stayed a few minutes to watch, but before long all except Loring and I had left to walk back to the hotel, not far away. I was entranced and we stayed perhaps a half hour longer. What was most intriguing was that they were filming, and would shoot for maybe a minute or two, then stop, get some direction, wait a while, then shoot again. So there would be this intense burst of music and dancing, then a break when all was calm, then the same brief burst again. It had a super surreal feeling.Freeze frame after live freeze frame, with music. 

 I could have watched for much longer. We concluded that they were filming some kind of promotional piece for the country. I asked Hoji the following day if he knew anything about it. He and his girlfriend, Laura, had left the Buena Vista earlier than the group and had also seen them filming. He also thought it was a promotional piece, and that it was somehow connected with the Art Biennale, which is here this month.

We have been coincidentally coinciding with Biennales this year, first the one in Venice last May, which was setting up when we were there, and now this one. There is art in many places on the streets, along the Malecon, at various places around the city. One building along El Prado Boulevard is covered with huge ants, very impressive!  There is a whole schedule of events, but I haven’t seen it and we have been too busy, anyway, to schedule much more in.

Well, we are just about back to Old Havana now on our bus. Our previous Hotel, el Telegrafo, apparently never confirmed our return reservations. So we are going to a different Hotel,the Rachel, for this last night of our group. Since we had packed and taken everything with us overnight, it’s not really a problem, maybe even an advantage, to stay at one more place. The Rachel is mentioned in one of the Cuba books I read, about Jews here, and so I am actually quite interested to see it.

 I don't think I mentioned before that the Telegrafo, where we stayed most of this week, has that name because the first telegraphic communications were broadcast from there, in the early 20th century. The building had been renovated in about 2000. The dining room, where we had a sumptuous breakfast each morning, looks much like it did in the early 20th century. It's quite modern, ac, hairdryers, little shampoo bottles, and the towels, and bedspreads(!) folded into swans and other configurations, a different one each night. It would have cost us about $150 a night if we stayed there on our own. Like the meals, much more expensive than we had expected.  I am glad we got to stay at several hotels, as they were included in our program, but have to say I much prefer the casas particulares (like b and b's that also serve dinner), for about a quarter of the price.