Return to Cuba

It’s a little strange, coming back to a country I never thought I would go to once, much less twice.  And yet, here Carol and I are again, landing in Santa Clara on our way to Cienfuegos. 

As in 2016, I was asked to be on a panel at a conference in Havana, billed as the 17th edition in a series of conversations about the relations between Cuba and the United States.  This is entitled (roughly, as I’m translating from Spanish without the benefit of being able to understand Spanish) “The relations between Cuba and the United States: The mid-term elections and the administration of Donald Trump.” (Some words are pretty easy to translate.)

Happily, Charlie and Lucy Cook (Charlie is on the same panel I am) were willing and able to join us for the pre-trip to Cienfuegos.  We all flew from BWI to Miami, and then from Miami to Santa Clara.  As we landed, the sun was going down.  By the time Carol and Charlie exchanged Euros to CUCs at the cambio, it was the last vestiges of sunlight.

Going through immigration was again noteworthy.  Carol was, once again, the problem!  This time she was asked to stand aside, despite being assured there was no problem.  Except another immigration officer intervened and told the first one to approve her and let her through.  After immigration, we then had to go through a metal detector to enter the main part of the airport.

 We met our cab driver for the 90 ride from Santa Clara (the location of the last battle of the revolution) to Cienfuegos.  The sun went down quickly, and the scenes flashed by mostly in the dark.  Most of the drive was on major roads (pockmarked by rough roads and the occasional monster pothole).  Sometimes our driver, who did not speak English, was going as slow as 20 miles an hour, while other times the road was smoother and he could do 50 or so.

On the roads, we went through towns, being stared at people sitting outside in the hot dark.  Some of the buildings were old and beautiful, others were shacks with maybe one light on (some were dark).

Safety is not a major priority, as people rode bikes or motorcycles with no lights on them.  It’s a good thing there are not many cars, as otherwise there would be many pedestrian deaths!  Many people were out and about in horse-drawn carriages, sometimes hauling agricultural products, and sometimes just hauling many people.  They were also in danger of being hit.  We saw the occasional burning of sugar cane fields, a bright, low fire off in a field.

We arrived at La Union Hotel, checked in no problem, and had dinner.  We’ve spent enough time with the Cooks that we are quite comfortable together, and the conversation, and Chilean wine, flowed.  Then, we went up to the rooftop bar to listen to music and enjoy views of the mostly dark city.