Language is a funny thing.  It is how we communicate ideas, thoughts, and feelings.  Generally, we believe this is all done through the spoken word, through verbal language, words, phrases.  Going to Cuba, where the general language is Spanish, made me realize that much of language remains the non-verbal, the subtle and not so subtle things which allow us to convey thoughts, feelings and emotions across time and space.Some of the language differences were overcome by some knowledge on my part.  I had three years of Spanish in high school, all of a sudden, all those hours spent conjugating verbs paid off.  I could make out about twenty-five or thirty percent of the conversations that took place in Spanish.  I could make out another twenty or thirty percent of the conversation as I put words together and made some implied assumptions.  Another twenty or thirty percent of the conversation you could make out from the body language and the emotions.

When you can’t understand the language, the non-verbal communication becomes that much more important.  The bows, the hand gestures, the smiles, all make up part of the language…but perhaps more telling is the language they use behind you.  A host’s smile at a restaurant may turn to a frown as soon as they turn their back and a crumbling look when they are talking to the server may spell some trouble ahead.  A host’s smile turning to a frown of concern becomes something more when he gets a waiter that can speak English to come and wait on your table, “just to make you feel more comfortable.”

Those gestures speak volumes.

A good example of the non verbal, not so subtle language was in one of Hemingway’s old haunts, the Floridita Bar, with its famous daiquiri.  As we were sitting at the stately bar, I noticed the bartenders jaw drop about two inches and his mouth hang open.  He pointed at the doorman.  The bartender then took both hands to his eyes and held them like binoculars.  The doorman spun around and saw nothing - turning, he looked at the bartender and shrugged his shoulders.  The bartender then took his hands and made some generous curves in the air…there was no doubting what he saw.  The doorman laughed, the bartender saw me smiling at him and his very descriptive non-verbal story and winked at me and all three of us shared a hearty laugh.

In the end, some things are universal.

The Hotel Nacional de Cuba is an imposing building.  Built on a hill overlooking the sea in the Vedado area of Havana,   which is one of the commercial centers of Havana, the Hotel Nacional de Cuba at one point served as the hub of the city.The Vedado section of Havana itself has an interesting history.  Vedado translates as “preserve” - and indeed, this area was forbidden to build on for much of Havana’s history.  It was a wide open plain, from the heights of the fortress that marked the entrance of Havana Harbor, pirates and raiders could be seen approaching out of sea by looking out across this very plain.  The Hotel Nacional de Cuba is set on a hill overlooking the sea, the site of pirate landings and a battle with the British during the seven years war (the cannon still sit in the side of the hill).

The hotel is built like a large “H”, with the entrance and the main hall forming the center and the rooms forming each side.  A visitor pulls up in a circular driveway and enters at the very center of the building.  It is imposing to look at as you drive up the road towards it, one of the largest buildings and one of the fanciest with its eight floors and towers on each side.

The main lobby is like a scene out of a different era and a strange mixture of modern and Moorish architecture…modern in the 1950’s style.  The ceiling in the lobby is like that of an ancient church with large wooden beams marked with flowers and vines painted on their surface.  Arches run up and down each side, sculptures on either end of the hallway, and opposite the main entrance is another door that leads out to the garden area.

The lobby too has a history.  It is said that it was out this lobby, the United States mafia ran the country for the five years leading up the rise of Castro.  Out of defiance of them, it is said that Castro too ran the country out of the lobby of this same hotel.

They would not have been alone walking the modern…yet ancient looking…lobby.  The Hotel bills itself as the “place where actors and diplomats sleep.”  It is true; Winston Churchill, Frank Sinatra, Ava Gardner, Johnny Weissmuller, Buster Keaton, Errol Flynn, and Ernest Hemingway all walked these same hallways.  Ah yes, they also have something else in common…they all died a long, long time ago.

But don’t worry; you can probably sleep on the exact same mattresses that they too slept on.

The hotel says that it modernized in the 1950’s and 1990’s.  The furniture in the rooms was classic - all polished wood and chairs that were relatively small.  The mattresses too were classics, all appearing to be circa 1950’s as well, but don’t worry, the box spring was not…they were all removed at some point.

Our rooms were on the executive floor, floor number six.  There was a large gathering area where you could get breakfast in the mornings as you looked out over the deep blue Caribbean Sea.  In the evening, the room was filled with the rich smell of Cuban Cigars wafting through the air as people relaxed while watching the latest on CNN.

By far, the best part of the hotel is the garden area on the opposite side of the hotel from the main driveway.  The garden area, the other open half of the “H” is lined with arches on all three sides - all line with wicker tables and chairs.  At the very top center was a beautiful Spanish fountain accessible via the footstones that lead even farther, past the fountain to the overlook by the sea.  Between two ancient gun emplacements from the Seven Years War in 1862 sits a small cluster of tables with a perfect overlook of the sea and the Malecon, the main thouroughfare that runs along the sea.

Some of the very best mohitos that I consumed while in Cuba were mixed at one of the two bars, the first, tucked back in the corner of the “H” was open twenty-four hours.  The second was a satellite bar closer to the ocean.

The Hotel Nacional de Cuba was like the rest of the country, a dirty gem in a grimy box.  It was a contradiction, a beautiful old hotel that had style and opulence but where the details were not taken care of, where the edges were a little tattered and the carpets a little frayed.  Where it has the vestiges of greatness, but was somehow eschew.

ThisCountryBoy.com made its first official post one year ago today, November 18, 2007.  Since then, there have been over 250 posts and we are now being read almost 150 times a week.  For the regular readers - thanks for your support and for coming back week after week.  If you have thoughts and suggestions for improvement, please shoot me a line at: Contact@ThisCountryBoy.com. 

At one point in time, Cuba was a center for culture in Central America.  Where the rich and famous from the United States came to play, eat, drink, and be entertained - and entertained they were.Cabaret was developed by the French (of course), but took on a distinctly Latin feel when it reached the shores of Cuba.  The largest and most famous Cabaret in Cuba is the famous Tropicana Club outside of Havana.  Only slightly less famous is the Cabaret Parisein in the Hotel Nacional de Cuba.

What a show.

I really felt like I should be in a smoking jacket with a cigarette in hand as I sat at the table five tables back (and several steps up) from the main stage.  Built like a dinner theater with tables and chairs from the 1950’s, table cloths, curtains, and carpet all that had the classic look of the 1950’s.  It still had that smoky, hazy feel of a 1950’s club show - which, I guess, in many ways it was.

It was strange mixture of Latin culture, music, dance, dress, with a heavy dose of sensuality that explored the cultures throughout Latin America.  While I couldn’t understand the language, the sites, the sounds, the motions led us on a journey around the southern half of the America’s.

Tango from Argentina, Carnival from Brazil, Aztecs and Maya’s from Mexico, a salute to Venezuela, a celebration of Cuba…the stories, the dances, the music beat into my head.  The syncopation, the dazzling costumes, the choreography - it was breath-takingly beautiful.

It was also not a family show - it was all very respectfully and tastefully done…but the pulse and the innuendoes were present.

Overall, it was fascinating to behold.

From the Parisien, we took a quick break on the back terrace of the Hotel Nacional de Cuba…a mohito and a few sips of Club Havana Reserva - Cuban Rum that is illegal to drink in the United States…and it is good…

From the Hotel Nacional, we proceeded to Salon Rojo, a dance club not that far from the hotel.

It was like a modern rendition of the Cabaret.  As a matter of fact, the club was set up almost exactly like the Cabaret Parisien with a raised stage and tables and seats that stretched to the back.  The difference was this was so modern and trendy, you could have put it down in the center of New York City and it would have fit right in.

When we walked in the doors, the music was blaring Madonna (believe it or not, her hit song, “Vogue” which glamorized the stars from the 1950’s…) and there was group of about ten women on stage, wearing shorts and very reveling shirts (but all military camouflage).

The majority of the music was from the United States as dancers and performers shuffled on and off stage - a group of rap dancers, a performance artist, more scantily clad women.

And ah yes, the women.

Before I had the first sip of my Mohito, a very young beautiful Cuban girl walked up to me and asked me (in Spanish) where I was from, then I used the line that either helped or hurt me for the rest of the trip…”No Hablo Espanol.”

In my thinking, this meant that I couldn’t understand them and couldn’t buy what they were selling (regardless how beautiful they were).

In their thinking I believe it meant, “Pay dirt.”

The first girl said, in near perfect English, “No problem, I speak English.”  She learned it from smuggled in US movies.

She asked where I was from, “The United States.” I answered.

“Wait, aren’t we at war with you guys?”  She replied.

We talked for a while about relations between the United States and Cuba, and when it was clear she wasn’t going to see any US/Cuban relationships this evening, she moved on to greener pastures.

She was the first of about four women that made it very clear that they were in business that evening.  My family and most of my friends are probably happy to know that I stuck to the basics, it was all blocking and tackling, ahhh, in a pure sense, politely refusing the advances.

I walked back to the hotel about two o’clock in the morning and had one last Mohito on the back porch of the Hotel de Nacional still in amazement at the state of Cabaret in Cuba, both old and new…

I’ve been back from Cuba almost a week and the thoughts, the sights, the sounds, and the emotions continue to run through me.  A beautiful, ugly, backward, friendly, horrible, place with a wonderful oppressed people.  A nation of contrast.

I’m not quite done updating the stories and thoughts from the trip, so check back over the next week or two for updates.

You don’t realize how much you depend on what we now consider basic services until you have to go without - or unless you realize that you can’t depend upon them.Going to Cuba, you are told not to expect cell phone service - and they are absolutely right.  But you don’t realize how much you miss it - even though, at one point in my life I swore I would never have a cell phone, now it becomes an extension of your life.  All of sudden, you realize that you will be missing updates from friends and family, social calls, work emergencies - all of a sudden it makes you realize how expendable you are.

The one thing that I was not expecting when going to Cuba is the electricity situation.  In the United States, we keep on hearing how old and out of date our electrical systems are.  In Cuba, I quickly learned which of my limited electrical outlets would throw sparks and which ones only a quick flash when plugging in my computer.

Then there was the surprise as I was walking through the lobby one day and saw it go dark - the employees proceeded unfazed and unsurprised until the emergency generator started about thirty seconds later.

At the Havana Fair, our company had ordered a refridgerator to use for storing food and beverages.  The day the fair started, it had not been wired in yet - wired in you ask?  Correct, wired it in.  The refridgerator did not have a plug in, just a cord.  The workers came in, dropped a live electrical wire over the back of the booth, stripped the ends of the wires from the refridgerator and then from the live wire.  There are two wires inside of each cord, so first the main electrician touched the wires from one side together and generated some blue sparks, he touched them together, twisted them with his fingers, and then tapped them together.  Then he touched the second too together - no spark, not enough voltage, no spark, so he sent away his helper - they were going to have to find another place to splice into the wiring system - as his assistant walked away, he touched them and got the desired blue spark - he let out a loud yell to his assistant to come back, twisted, tapped, and just like that, we had a working refridgorator.

The internet too was a shaky thing.  At the Havana Fair, we had good wireless internet - most of the time, but it was a fleeting thing, so our time on line was limited.  At the hotel, they had free wireless internet, but the speed that it worked made it all but impossible to use.  It made old dial up connections seem like a race horse.

In the end, looking at the state of the people, the state of the economy, and the overall health of the country, I can’t blame them in the least.  I would rather that the money and infrastructure get dedicated to making life better for the average Cuba.  Perhaps a decent transportation system, or investments in agriculture and other basis service and industries - not that that is taking place anyway…

But it did point out a fault that we have as humans, five years ago, I would not have considered cell phone service a basic service.  I would not have expected high speed wireless connection to be an irrevocable right, but you don’t realize how dependant you become on the gadgets and gizmos.

I’m just glad that I don’t have to splice them into the power grid to get them to work…

The Havana Fair is where international suppliers make contact with the Cuban government buyers, but in addition, it always the people to come in and see the people that are supplying the food and goods that their government buys for them.  Normally, there were very few people milling about - who would want to be in an enclosed building when it is 80F outside and hotter inside?But with the few people that were present combined with free items (though tightly controlled - sometimes that leads to unintended results.

The booth directly across from ours at the Havana fair was a European poultry company that sells frozen chickens.  The average Cuban cannot afford meat (and someone even told me that if they are caught by the police with meat - not supplied by the government it would mean time in prison).  The meat company was supplying free bags - simple paper bags with handles on the top that had their logo across it.

The first batch that they put was probably thirty to forty bags.  They were snatched up in less then a minute.  Some people were taking three or four bags each.  The people working the booth put out another fifty to sixty bags…they were gone in about the same amount of time.  A third time, they put out a stack of paper bags - more then before, maybe one hundred - they were snatched away.

A crowd was growing.

The people in the booth decided that they needed a new approach.  They opened up a box and began handing them out, one at a time to each person to come to the booth.  The two poor people could not keep up with the outstreatched hands.  Many people would take a bag, leave the crowd, leave it with a waiting friend or relative and dive back into the mix - sometimes three or four trips.

Within minutes, the booth was out of bags again.  The people in the booth opened up a box and the people saw that the entire box was full of paper bags - pandemonium raged.

People were grabbing the bags out of the box even as the poor people in the booth were trying to carry the box to the counter.  The booth was almost overrun with people grabbing and fighting for these paper bags.

It in minutes, there were two or three uniformed police officers and four or five men in suits surrounding the crowd.  One of the men shouted a command in Spanish and the crowd melted away.

One of the men in suits came up to the booth and asked them not to hand out any more bags.  Then, the police men and the secret police melted away as well.

Within minutes people were back at the booth, begging and pleading - quietly and in small groups of one or two, please - just one more bag.

Someone in our group made the comment about why people would fight for a paper sack?

When you have nothing but the clothing on your back and a place to live, when you make seven dollars a month and struggling to make a better life - a paper bag can be used to barter, or to carry your children’s books to school, or to use as luggage, or countless other uses.

Material possessions perhaps, but also the first vestige of freedom.

As we were strolling the streets of Havana late one night, we noticed a nightclub that was advertising itself as a Jazz Club.  Old signage, in English, led me to believe that this was a very old club indeed - pre-revolution.Going down a staircase, we came into a club that charged a very expensive cover (10 pesos per person), but came with two free drinks.  What the heck, we took the risk.

As we were getting settled on our table, the band was carrying in their instruments - a wide range of people made up the group.  A fair skinned, almost Scandinavian looking bass player to a very dark trumpet player with dread-locks - it ranged the full range of skin tone.

The instruments too were fairly diverse.  Bass guitar, electric keyboard, a full set of drums, bongo drums, saxophone, two trumpets, and a flute - these people were ready for action.

They started to play right about eleven o’clock.  Right away, you could tell that this was no ordinary band.  They were people that loved their music and played with gusto.  It was a strange, eclectic mix of jazz, blues, and Latin music that blended together for a cheerful, raucous, melody.  Each song that they played was long, filled with spirit and excellently executed.

The bass guitarist (our of our view from our table) was on the far left hand side of the stage, strummed and plucked with soul.  The keyboardist set the tone of the group - throwing out little jaunts, and sidebars that mixed brilliantly with the rest of the instruments.  The drummer moved faster then any other drummer that I have seen and could mix and blend the percussion from the bass drum to the cowbell that he had mounted at his side.

The bongo player was next in line and he played with soul and would throw out smiles and frowns to his fellow band members as they played   The saxophone player was next - and I will readily admit that I have not traditionally been a fan of the saxophone - but that changed on that Tuesday night as we listened to this band played.  He played the full range of the instrument - and was good as a supporting character and as the lead at times.

The trumpet player was next in line - a jolly looking middle-aged bald fair skinned gentlemen that could really wail.  His range was fantastic, his pitch superb, and his stacco’s were stacco’s.  Half way through the first set he was joined by a second trumpeter, a tall, lanky youth, well dressed, but with reggae style dread locks on the top.  I didn’t think that the first trumpeter could be topped.  I was wrong.  This guy was good.  Very good.

The group was rounded out by a young, pretty woman that played the flute - an instrument that I’ve thought for suited for a major orchestra or some slow gentle concerto then a jazz/latin/blues/reggae group.  Wow, could she play.  For five minutes of one song I sat mesmerized as she performed with only limited accompaniment - and she rocked the place.  I feared for the glass that my mohito was in at one point as the notes she was hitting were so high; I thought I could feel the glass tremble in my hand.  How she got that sound, that clarity, that volume, that speed out of that flute still defies logic.  She was good.  She was very good.

Together, they played on through the Havana night, and though we left about two o’clock in the morning, their melodious music will ring on when ever I think of Havana.

My plane successfully landed back on US soil yesterday, Friday, November 7th.  No problems, no issues getting in or out.  Communication has been another matter - internet connections in Cuba are not what we know and love in the United States.  In any event, expect to see more updates and reflections on my trip over the next several days.

It was a fantastic experience, but it is good to be back in the United States of America.

The guidebook that I bought for my trip to Cuba said that it is best to get around on foot.  They cite the reason as being that the public transportation system makes frequent unplanned, unexpected, and unannounced stops.  I believe the second reason is the risk that is incurred should you get a Lada as the taxi.The Lada is a Soviet made car and the ones that I had the experience of riding in were all circa the 1960’s and 1970’s.  The height of auto making incompetence the world over, but the Lada appears to be in a class all by itself.

Roughly translated, Lada I believe means “toaster oven” in English. 

And the name toaster oven fits perfectly.  Made almost completely of tin, a stunning engine that sounded remarkably like a lawn mower (I actually thought that the car was run by a hamster until our cab driver got out of the car on the side of the road to pour a container of gasoline into the tank - at first I thought it might have been hamster feed, but thanks to the fantastic Lada ventilation system, I could clearly smell the gasoline fumes - then he popped the hood and hand pumped the gas to the engine so that he could start it - unless he was petting the hamsters….).  The car also rose to the temperature of a toaster oven.  The car was designed for Russian winters (though how warm it would actually get is another mystery that I’d rather not explore).  In the tropical heat (with four - yes four passengers plus the driver, made the heat interesting.  Luckily, in one of the Lada’s, the driver did offer to share the one hand crank - one hand crank for four windows - to let us roll down the windows.

The comfort level inside the Lada is also worthy of note - and a positive note - the Lada is surprisingly roomy and easy to get in and out of, especially compared to American and European cars (though the ease of getting out may simply be the relief that you feel when you reach your destination safely). The seats are another matter entirely.  On one trip, the springs were so bad - if their were springs - there were several times when I truly believed that my backside was riding the pavement.

In short, the devil has reserved a special place for the designer of the Lada. 

I know there are people in this world that would say that I’m a Lada hater and I need to give it a chance.  I know that I’m probably too closed minded and spoiled in my auto choices.  I know that the Lada probably has a huge following and a great fan base.

Of all of the wonderful sights and experiences that I had in Cuba - the one that I will long for the least is the Lada.