Cuba Chronicles, Chapter Eleven
July 23, 2006 at 10:41 am | In Trip Report | 3 Comments
THE HAND THAT BITES
Santiago de Cuba, September 21st, 2005, 8:00am
“Be careful in Santiago…”
“Santiago is very dangerous…”
“There’s lots of crime in Santiago…”
These were the typical reactions I’d get when I’d mention to people that I was headed for Santiago de Cuba. It seemed like there was some ominous predilection that upon arriving in Santiago I would be robbed, murdered, drawn and quartered. From conversations with people who had actually visited Santiago I knew this to be far from the truth (which of course it was), but it was interesting to gauge people’s feelings and thoughts about the “Courageous City” as a haven for “antisocial elements”.
Of course, Trinidad is nearly 1000km from Santiago, with a whole bunch of interesting cities in between. So why am I writing about Santiago so soon? Well, as I left Trinidad on my bike, not 20 minutes went by that my half-assed repair job on the bicycle’s panier came undone.
I’d had it.
I limped the bike back to the casa in Trinidad, took off the panier, and told Carlos (the owner’s son) that he could use the bike (sans panier, of course) as much as he liked while I was gone. I then walked up to the Viazul bus station just in time to get on the early bus to Ciego de Avila (I skipped Santi Spiritus; it will be for next time).
Because I had spent so much time in Trinidad, I didn’t have as much time to spend in the other cities as I would’ve liked. I only ended up spending a couple nights in Ciego de Avila and Camaguey, so that I could get at least a week in Santiago de Cuba. A week is of course not enough for such a bustling city as Santiago, but it was definitely a week well spent.
I arrived at the Santiago de Cuba bus station at night, and the owner of the casa where I was staying, Paco, was already waiting for me in his nice Peugeot 206 hatchback with his father. Their spanish was a bit different, more continental then the rest of the spanish I’d heard on the island. It was very smooth and pleasant and just sounded real cool to hear, even from the vocals of a 70-something great-grandfather who’s been smoking his whole life.
Similar to the casa in Cienfuegos, this one had a modest entrance that led to the living room with a modern, sprawling estate behind it, with 3 floors including the rooftop, an open-air corridor through the house, and several small rooms scattered about. The streets are also in somewhat worse condition here than in Havana (which is saying something). I witnessed several potholes along main streets that would swallow a big part of an automobile, chewing it alive with its concrete teeth.
Santiago is known by many as the most African, the most musical and the most passionate Cuban city, and I’m tempted to agree. From my waking hours until I’d fall asleep at night, I’d have the sounds of congo or salsa ringing in my ears (in a pleasant way) most of the day. There is a tangibly larger black population here, and most non-blacks have at least slight mulatto tendencies.
I actually found Santiago to be “livelier” than Havana - again, that’s saying something - in that the main streets were also burgeoning with activity, but much more densely and at all times. Aguilera and Heredia streets were pedestrian only when I was there (though I think they always are), and they were full of people - most locals - shopping in the small boutiques (for everything except electronics, of course… a small CD player costs upwards of $180), eating snacks and treats (the tasty 50 cent pork burgers followed by insanely addictive 10 cent ice cream cones - you can have it in any flavor you like, as long as it’s strawberry - became my staple lunch in Santiago), and just people watching, sitting on a bench in one of the numerous parks along the downtown core.
The city was designated “Cradle of the Revolution” by Fidel Castro, and I arrived at the perfect time to see why; a week from now would be a country-wide festival celebrating the 45 year anniversary of the “Comités de la Defensa de la Revolución” (I soooooo spelled that wrong, somebody correct me please). These neighborhood watch programs were instituted to provide a sort of peer-to-peer policing service both for civil and criminal security for citizens, and to suppress counter-revolutionary activities. Giving a large berth to the political and social implications of these committees, they also serve as a reason for people to get together in the neighborhood and build stronger ties with one another. One lady I spoke about this to joked “If a criminal ever tries to steal my purse and a few neighbors are around to catch him, then he better pray that the police get there quick”.
In preparation for this anniversary, decorations and signs were being put up, impromptu barbecues with full pigs were being set up (just imagine picking what is basically bacon off a pork as it roasts), and kids were rehearsing their parades and dances. It was a good time to be in Santiago (though probably miniscule compared to what it must be like during the Carnival, which is one of the most famous in the world).
I got to use a gruesomely slow internet line from a small school nearby (though later in the week I bit the bullet and walked the 45 minutes to the hotel Melía Santiago), where I got a much better connection) to check my email and see how some of my projects are going. Speaking of walking, Santiago is a great walking city. I do wish I had my bike with me though - the uphills and downhills and extreme slopes and staircases along the streets are quite conducive to some awesome city riding. I could totally picture myself getting some serious air off some of these hills (and with my luck, landing on the back of a parked Peugeot).
One oddity I’ve noticed in Santiago is the disproportionate amount of photo studios here. On Heredia or Aguilera, every fifth or sixth street shop seems to be some sort of photo lab or studio. I only found one or two in Havana. Is there any reason why Santiago loves photos so much?
I visited Céspedes Park, Santiago’s main square. There are several museums and beautiful sites of interests here (asides from the immaculately golden-tanned, long-legged, fake-prada-sunglasses wearing gorgeous university students lounging in the shade reading their books…), namely the moorish-influenced home of Diego Velázquez, the 15th century conquistador. Renovated in 1965, it is now a nice, quiet little museum (with a $2 entrance fee). Here you can also find the city hall (where Fidel Castro gave his first speech to the Cuban people, January 1st 1959), and the Hotel Casa Grande, painted as a spy’s meeting haven in Graham Greene’s suspense novel, “Our man in Havana”.
I also visited the impressive Basílica del Cobre, the holiest shrine in Cuba and home of the Virgén del Cobre, Cuba’s holiest artifact. Legend has it that three slaves returning by boat from working in the El Cobre copper mines hit rough weather, capsized, and were about to drown when they saw the image of the Virgin Mary floating above the water, and it guided them to dry land. The image was actually this small statue of Virgin Mary. Soon after, the idol was being worshipped throughout Cuba, and people have continued to visit El Cobre ever since to ask for the “miraculous favors” that they attribute to the effigy. Hemingway left his Nobel Prize for Literature as an offering here, and several artifacts from revolutionary fighters (surprisingly, even Castro himself left personal objects here) in thanks to the Virgén for helping them.
To reach El Cobre - 20 km west of Santiago de Cuba - a family member, Enrique, let me use his ‘57 Pontiac, which he built himself. He works in construction and claims he isn’t a mechanic, but just likes to “tinker” a little. In this case, “tinkering” means installing a turbodiesel engine from a delivery truck, a Toyota Tercel steering system and a 5-speed transmission from a Toyota 4×4, in addition to 4 disk brakes from a late-model Skoda. The thing looks harmless enough, but turn the key and it rumbles and shakes like a soviet tank. It sips less fuel than his father’s Hyundai Accent, and diesel is way cheaper than gasoline here. He’s been running it this way for 10 years now with no problems, but would like to fix up the body a little.
As everywhere in Cuba, physical beauty is omnipresent here. Most girls go to great lengths to get noticed - if I have so much trouble finding a friggin’ pack of razors and maybe some shaving cream here, I am completely unable to fathom how the girls manage to keep their legs so smooth, their hair so shiny, and their skin so clear. Of course, there is some prostitution here, as in any big city in the world. It’s just much more nebulous and difficult to define in this case. As I was walking back to the casa to meet a friend, I noticed this stunningly attractive young schoolgirl walking on the sidewalk towards me, staring right at me and smiling. I’m a little shy, so I smiled back from behind my shades but looked away afterwards. Thing is, as we walked past each other, she bumped into me a little and dropped a few of her books. Being the clichéd chivalrous gentleman that I am, I stopped to help her and so we started talking a little. Like all Cuban females, she knows exactly how to talk to a guy, raising her eyebrows at the right moments, brushing against your arm just so, smiling and laughing and correcting your mistakes in spanish, tilting her head to feign interest in what you’re saying… but I was honestly in a rush to meet my friend, and couldn’t really stay to chat. As I tried explaining this to her (and practically begging her for her number / if I can meet her again sometime) her enthusiasm and friendliness quickly turned to impatience and frustration, and she just wished me a good day and turned away.
I was a bit taken aback by the whole episode, but went on to meet up with my friend and tell him what had happened. His guess was that she was a jinetera; a prostitute. I couldn’t believe what he was saying - how could such a gorgeous, innocent-looking early-twenties student here in Cuba be a prostitute? I didn’t want to hear what he was saying.
Then the next day, as I was leaving back to the bus stop (taking a different route), I saw another beautiful girl - this one a little older - smiling and walking towards me. I gave her a wide berth to walk past me, but then - lo and behold! - she nearly went out of her way to bump into me and drop her books. I was amazed. I apologized, but this time, I also kept walking… and could feel her eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.
