Cuba-Land of Mystery & Revolution

                            Cuba, Land of Mystery And Revolution 

 

We were off to see the wizard on Fri. November 30^th. That is of course a figurative term, for going to places strange that seem like far away even if they are not.

 

In our case, our destination, among others, is a four-day swing through the Republic of Cuba. Images of cigar factories, fifty-year old Chevies and Fords. Visage of the mildewed remains of old mobster casinos, once alive with tourists will capture our eyes first.  Then of course, the large billboards, featuring Fidel Castro and Che Guevara, will loom large in our consciousness. The aura I imagine will be redolent of remembered scenes from a George Orwell Novel.

 

Credit cards, of any sort, are not accepted by tradespeople. Neither is American money, except by small vendors at tourist sites. We have a stash of Canadian dollars from our frequent visits with our friends across the border. That will have to suffice. If we run short, CCU’s are available for purchase. They are presented, by official vendors, as being worth one American dollar. The actual Cuban Peso is worth small change.

 

I find it intriguing to be visiting a place where Americans have, in large part, been virtually banned for the last sixty years. I wonder what reception we will get from the populace? Tourists and their dollars are generally welcome everywhere. But, one wonders what vestigial antipathy towards Yankees remains. We shall see.

 

The shared history we have with Cuba is of interest. The U.S. battleship Maine blew up in Havana harbor, igniting the Spanish American war. San Juan Hill, outside Santiago, brings up images of Teddy Roosevelt, astride a frothing, charging, mount, sabre-drawn and menacing, as the “Rough Riders” charged into the ranks of Spanish infantry on San Juan Hill. We were to find out later that only Teddy was astride. The rest of the horses had been left in Tampa.

 

And of course, the vestigial  memories of the American presence is alive at our Naval Base in Guantanamo Bay. The images of Jack Nicholson, in his classic performance in “A Few Good Men,” comes immediately to mind. That, and of course the evil rascals that are still housed there, too dangerous to release lest they rejoin their jihadist brethren and come back at us with a vengeance. A few presidents had vowed to close the place but it still remains. After the Spanish American War, the U.S. had inserted the Platt amendment to the newly formed Cuban Constitution. It gave us a lease for that Bay in perpetuity, much to the annoyance of recent Cuban governments.

 

The mountain scenery in Cuba is said to be extraordinarily beautiful. Much of it is still undeveloped. Cuba’s beaches apparently have first class resorts, peopled and owned by Canadians and Europeans. The dichotomy there must be acute, between rich and poor. I am always uncomfortable in the Caribbean, sitting down to a five-star dinner when a short distance away someone is getting by on a plate of rice and beans or less.

 

The old military song, sung by American soldiers in Mexico during that 1840’s conflict, comes to mind. “Green grow, the grasses Oh,” is a line from that ditty, that morphed in Spanish ears into “Gringo,” a term for which we have always since then been named.

 

In any case, like travel anywhere near and far, it promises to be a learning experience. I will try to take careful note and relate the experience as best I am able, when we return.

 

Join us in reading our continuing installments, over the next few weeks, to see the magic of this mysterious land of Revolution. I think you will enjoy the visit like we did.

 

             Cuban Excursion- Salida- Miami

 

Fri. Nov. 30.2018- Estero, Florida

 

               We were up early at 5 A.M. We finished our final packing and preparation that had us ready to ferry our bags up to the Spring Run clubhouse, by 9 A.M. A member of our group, Fran Bussey, had done due diligence and arranged for a bus to ferry forty of us across the Everglades to the port of Miami, saving each of us about $200 in gas and parking fees.

 

              The assembled group was an eclectic array of senior citizens like us. Many knew each other well from years of living here at Spring Run. Many of us knew each other only in passing, from chance encounters on the golf course or at various club functions. We were to become much more closely aware of each other, during the ensuing days at dinner, over cocktails or meeting up in shared tours. The group was happy and expectant. We were headed to the mysterious land of revolution, Cuba. Some had already visited Havana. Most of us had not. We were both curious and expectant to “see what we could see.”

 

             The huge land cruiser scooped us all up and carried us across “Alligator Alley” towards the port of Miami. As always when crossing “the glades” you look for alligators along the banks of the drainage canals. Some days you see them by the scores. Other days, they must be away bowling or recreating deeper in the fabled “river of grass” that is the Everglades. Today, the highway was congested. We ran into what the Germans call “die stau,” a miles-long traffic jam. As we approached the blockage sight, I could see the charred remains of a 1964 Chevrolet alongside of the road, surrounded by firemen. Some poor person’s age-old chariot had finally given up the ghost. As we passed through the Miccosukee Indian Reservation, we were treated to a particularly Florida event, a controlled, sugar-cane burn. Great clouds of black smoke could be seen from miles away. As you get closer, huge tongues of flame gobbled up the foliage around the tall, sugar-cane plants. It is an impressive sight. The practice had been discovered by accident in Hawaii during the 1800’s. Sugar Cane and pineapple plantations require huge amounts of man power. The growers usually bring in large quantities of immigrants from foreign lands. They don’t usually pay them or treat them well either. A large group of Japanese and Philipino sugar plantation workers had rebelled at the harsh treatment and set fire to the growers’ crops. The fires did in fact devastate the existing sugar cane plants. What the growers discovered though was that the remaining charred sugar cane stalks, when processed, actually had an enhanced sugar content from the fires. Nature sure does teach us many things in mysterious ways.

 

              You can see the elevated and complex highway system as you approach Fort Lauderdale on the east coast. It signifies the virtual river of traffic that you are about to enter. The distance to the Port of Miami from here is brief, but the traffic is not for the timorous. Our driver steered us into the very complex port area, searching for terminal “J,” the docking space for the Oceania vessel “Sirena,” that was to be our home on the sea for the next ten days. She is an older and smaller ship, purchased from the Celebrity Line. The smaller passenger complement, of 700 plus souls and 1,000 crew, made for a much more livable experience than the newer and bigger sea monsters plying the Caribbean.

 

           The Port employees have the processing of boarding passengers down to a science. As we exited the bus, a rather forward sounding porter suggested we tip him now for the service of ferrying our bags to the ship  and thence on to our rooms. The implication, I suppose, is that if you didn’t fork over a substantial tip, your bags might end up far, far from where you want them. We gave the man $5 cheerfully and entered the Oceania Terminal. Processing there was even quicker. Documents and passports produced, we were whisked through the line, handed a ship’s passenger I.D. card and walked up the gangway to the fifth-deck entry portal of the Sirena. As usual, on all departure days, the milling crowds swirled in a controlled chaos. Many folks had never cruised before and were unsure of what to do or where to go. We had been through the drill many times. We hiked up the central stairs (gangway on a ship) and found the Terraces Café on deck number nine. Like most ships, they have an extensive buffet area that feeds most of the passengers for breakfast and lunch. Dinner is usually taken in the Main dining room or in one of the specialty restaurants. We affectionately call these semi-elegant feederies “The slop chute.” The quality of the food is actually quite good. The large number of people, eating indecent amounts of food several times a day, is somewhat reminiscent to our country-bred brethren of a trough, slopping the hogs. 

 

       After lunch, we found our stateroom, number 7103 on deck seven. It was of the usual variety, some 200 square feet with a small balcony. There was plenty of storage space and everything we needed to make ourselves comfortable. We then walked through several of the various decks, familiarizing ourselves with the various layouts. We knew from previous experience that we would have everything figured out about the day before we got off the ship. At the entrance to the Main Dining room, on deck five, we made dinner reservations for the two specialty restaurants on deck ten. The “Red Ginger” and “Tuscan Steak House” were to prove a wonderful and opulent dining experience later in the week. Unfortunately for us, we had been tardy in making our reservations. We had to settle for late dinner times, later next week. C’est la vie.

 

       They also had a wonderful coffee and pastry bar here. We sat down for some fresh-brewed cappuccino and chocolate chip cookies. These delicacies were available for all passengers, most of the day, without an extra charge. The casino, the gym, the day spa and other facilities rated a look through. Like most ships, they have everything a pampered passenger could ever want in the way of creature comforts. By three P.M. our bags had been delivered to the room. We unpacked all of our clothes and settled into the air-conditioned bubble. The controlled chaos around us would continue for the rest of the day as the Sirena readied for its six P.M. departure for Havana Cuba.

 

          At 4:15, the entire ship’s compliment of passengers and crew were summoned to a “Muster call.” You bring your bulky life jackets to your assigned life boat station and await instructions from the Captain and crew. Ours was located on deck five, station B. Some of the passengers chafed at the inconvenience of the drill. We had decided long ago that things like this were nice to know in the event that the ship found itself in trouble on a very large and very deep ocean. Of course, a few of the knuckleheads hadn’t showed up for the drill, thinking to blow the practice off. They were wrong. The ship’s crew was sent to scour the ship for them, rounding up the recalcitrants until everyone was assembled and instructed on emergency procedures in the event of an “abandon ship” situation.

 

         It was getting late in the afternoon and we had already had a full day. A decent bottle of champagne was sitting in an ice bucket in our cabin. It called out to us. We changed and readied for dinner. Most of our “gang of forty-eight” were going to meet for cocktails in the deck ten “Horizon’s Lounge. We did. It was a pleasing ritual that we were all to follow for the next ten days. We imbibed some pretty decent wine and spirits, usually at a two for one happy hour price and traded comments and life’s experiences in a relaxed setting high atop the ship.

 

       The Sirena was late leaving the port. It was dark out  as we slid by tony Fisher Island and enjoyed the lit-up splendor of a truly great city. The breeze was slight and we were relaxed from spirits. After seven P.M., we migrated down to the grand dining room on deck five. The amorphous crowd had settled into smaller groups to fit around the many tables. We were joined by Mark Michel and Bill Krein. Their wives were already paired up with two women friends. It was an enjoyable and wide-ranging discussion, on all matters du jour, that much enhanced our dining experience. Fresh mussels, lobster bisque, Grouper filet and key lime pie were accented by a decent Chilean Cabernet. I think we are going to like this experience much.

 

          After dinner, we passed on the nightly entertainment. It consisted of magic shows, musical groups and other entertainment. We usually get up early on most days. We had learned that burning the daily candle, at both ends, simply doesn’t work for us. We retreated to our seventh-floor aerie, settled in with our books and awaited the embrace of Morpheus. The gentle rocking of the ship, like that of a baby’s cradle, lulled us as we passed into slumber. The great ship motored on a southeasterly course, passing the Florida Keys and sailing onward towards Havana and our great adventure.

 

                                             -30-

 

                                         (1,588 words)

                                     Joseph Xavier Martin