Cuba, Day Six

The Cuba Trip Day Six:  July 28, 2012

I punched an old man in the face today.  Well, more like two minutes worth of an elbowing penalty  in a hockey game.  I didn’t mean to.  And to tell the truth, it was his fault.  We spent part of the afternoon in the Square of the Cathedral, where the Cathedral of Havana is located.  Until 1968 (could have been 1986.  Our Cuban guide doesn’t always make himself real clear) Christopher Columbus’ body was there.  Then Spain wanted it back.  The Cubans gave it to them.  Which was nice.

We are walking out of the square, and this old guy, with a crutch, is coming toward me with a picture.  It’s a picture of Che, or Fidel, I don’t know.  The usual suspects down here.  And I held up my hand and said, “No”.

To those of you who have never been here, in Spanish, the word, “no” translates to, “no”.  It’s the easiest of Spanish words to learn.

But this doesn’t stop him.  He puts the picture RIGHT in my face!  And the whole time he’s yelling at me in Spanish.  Right in my left ear.  He’s really close.  So I hold up my arm, and this time, I say, “NO!” like I mean it.

Doesn’t stop him.  He reaches out and grabs my shirt sleeve and pulls on it!  The line has NOW been crossed.  Once you put your hands on me?  You are open to whatever I have to do to get you to stop it.

I jerked my arm away from him, and as I do, my elbow hits him in the chin.  Turns out, not hard enough.

This dumbass keeps yelling and following me.  And now, the crutch he was leaning on?  He is now holding above his head like he’s going to hit me with it!  Really?

 I go back into Cop mode.  I see a threat, and I’m about to deal with it.  Which means going into the area so close to this guy that he can’t swing on me, and I’m going to hurt this old man really, really badly.

Good thing, Barbara, our tour guide got between us and spoke Spanish to this jerk.  Neither one of us wanted to hurt HER!  Then I get on the bus.

This shit didn’t happen in 2003.  Beggars, especially, aggressive beggars like this jerk, were NOT tolerated.  No one would approach us; the Cops would whisk them away.  Now?  Not so much.

I am officially tired of Cuba.  I’ve had enough.  It’s not as pleasant as I remember it.  It’s dirtier.  There are more beggars and aggressive vendors.  This tour has too much scheduled in a day.  And even though you were warned there would be no leisure time?  You don’t really expect to have NO time at all.  Hell we don’t even have time to have a cigar with the other folks at the end of the day.

The day doesn’t end until ten o’clock at night and you have to be up and get a shower have breakfast and be on the bus by eight in the morning!

We went to Ernest Hemmingway’s house this morning.  It was a beautiful place.  And just way he left it in 1961.  A real trip back in time.  But you had to view everything from the windows, because you can’t go inside.  And the guide went on and on about his toilet habits, his writing his weight down on the wall in his bathroom and the other weird shit this guy did.  It really was, TMI.  So that put us behind.

Next stop the Santeria museum.  And not the same one Deb and I visited in 2003.  This one was in the suburbs.  But the show was spectacular.  The dancers were really wonderful.  It was a great show.

Then, from that suburb, to the other side of Havana.  To Miramar.  This where all the embassies are.  The nice homes.  The rich Communists.  Sound like a contradiction in terms?  Remember, some are more equal than others.

If you know nothing else about Communism, know this:  Someone is getting rich, while the great majority of the people provide the labor, cheaply, and with no prospect of ever bettering their situation.  And your lot in this mess is decided WAY before you have any possibility of deciding it for yourself.  You better be BORN rich and well connected, or you never will be either one.

Sound like someplace else we all know?  Think about it.

After the incident in the square with the aggressive beggar, old man?  I decided I’d had enough Cuba for one day.  Deb and Danny are going to dinner and then to see, “The Buena Vista Social Club” at a local jazz bar.  But I just wanted to relax.

I came back to the hotel.  Changed some money, bought another 12 hours of internet, washed my face, changed my clothes, took off my sandals, bought a big bottle of water for the room, a bottle of rum for me, ordered a bucket of, “yelo” (ice) from room service and I’m just going to crash here in the room.

At this point?  I don’t think I’ll be coming back to Cuba. But I hope my son gets to at some time in his future.  I want him to be able to tell his kids what he saw when he saw it.  And that his dad brought him here.

And while we are talking about my son?  I gotta say, I’m very, very proud of him this week.  Not only has he been a big help to his mother and me.  He’s been the hit of the tour.  He’s taken everyone’s picture.  He’s helped Frank, the oldest member of our group in SO many ways, from taking his picture to getting him to his room.

He’s kept, Steve Williams alive, by reminding him to quit talking to musicians, and eat.  He’s a great kid.

The other afternoon, some of the tour folks were sitting in front of us in the bus, and didn’t know his mother and I were sitting behind them.  And they were going on and on about how awesome Danny is.  I feel good because they decided that it was a combination of his being a really, good person, and great parenting.  I liked to hear that.

Hope it’s true.

My son rules.