Cuba: Day 9 - Good-bye, for now

Havana from the air

An innovation this morning.  When I order my omelet con queso y jamon I remember the word for mushrooms, largely thanks to my French.  It’s champignons in French which reminds me that it’s champinones in Spanish (the first “n” with a tilde, which I cannot find on my keyboard).  The Omelet Lady smiles at me, whether because of my increased vocabulary or my will to branch out, food-wise, I will never know.

       Although we fly out of Cuba at noon, National Geographic isn’t done with us yet.  We have one last people-to-people on the way to the airport.  No opportunity wasted.
       Ismaël’s bus pulls up in front of a nondescript building in one of the rattier parts of Greater Havana.  The bland setting belies the colorful decoration inside, and the dedication of the staff.  Habana Compas is a dance-and-drum company, a bare-bones program without even a microphone and amp to help the performers in their presentation, but it’s blessed with a lot of talent.  After some interpretive dancing by the young man with the spiky-gelled hairdo who did the introduction, women drummers dance flamenco while they drum. Equally talented for both, it’s hard to know whether they’re drummers who learned to dance or dancers who learned to drum.  I’m very glad my two young grandsons aren’t here because their parents and I already have a hard time stopping them from drumming on any hard surface they encounter.  If they ever saw this...  well, there’d be no stopping them.  Why?  Because five of the dancers straddle chairs turned back to front and beat out rhythms on every part of the chair.  When the show is over, the leader fields questions, one of which is “where did you get those chairs?”  The answer:  they had them made out of exotic hardwood and specially-tanned cowhides.  Maybe by the same artisan who made the long-life chairs for the cigar factory?

Then it’s on to the airport.  The parking lot is again checkered with classic cars, which I’ll miss back home.
       Cindy has been warning us throughout the tour to set aside 25 CUCs, our ransom for leaving Cuba.  I don’t know what happens if you don’t have them to pay the exit fee, because there aren’t any ATM machines and U.S. credit cards won’t work here.  For this trip, we’ve had to think ahead and bring with us all the hard cash we expected to spend from Day 1.  But if we can’t cough up the 25 CUCs now, do they keep us?  I’ll never know because we’ve all listened to Cindy and we all make it through the rat maze that is an international airport these days, no matter where you are.  Customs takes back the remaining half of my visa, so I don’t have it for a souvenir.  But they’ve stamped my passport both coming and going, which I don’t think they used to do before Obama made his overture.  Things are changing between the U.S. and Cuba.

On the plane, I’m seated next to someone who was in Cuba on a different sort of people-to-people, perhaps one that’s more doctrinary:  Witness for Peace.  They’ve had a very different agenda than we did evidently because they actually had a meeting at the American Interests Section (AIS)* - aka the simili-embassy.  And with the second in charge, no less.  This passenger painted a very different picture of Cuba than the one we’ve experienced.  Evidently American businesses are highly interested in Cuba, but as an outlet for their goods and a provider of raw materials, not so much as a business partner.  The AIS revealed interest is highest in banking, finance, pharmaceuticals, and one other sector which I can’t remember.  If that’s what America hopes for, I think they’ll be sorely disappointed because Cuba is firmly decided to retain 51% of all joint ventures.  Will that be enough to interest American companies?  Will they settle for 49%?  Tune in again, maybe over the summer.
       Me?  I’m just leafing through my photos and enjoying my memories.
       Would I go back?  In a heartbeat!  Among other things, I’d see the tourist places we didn’t see because we were too busy meeting amazing, fascinating people.  I’d drink that daiquiri at El Floridita’s bar, beside the bronze statue of Hemingway.  I’d tour the Morro Castle and the fort.  I’d travel farther to the east and west than we had time for.
       And hopefully I’d get a chance to sit down over some ropa vieja and plantains - and maybe a Habana Especial - with Alicia and Ismaël, who have become my Cuban family.

* Now once again the U.S. Embassy in Cuba, as of summer 2015.

P.S.  I was a bit worried about re-entry, given all the ex-Cubans who still have hard feelings about their homeland.  
       My grilling by Miami Airport immigration can be resumed as follows:
"You were in Cuba.  Why did you go?"
"I went on a people-to-people trip with National Geographic, out of curiosity."
"Welcome home."
U.S. Customs didn't even bother asking any questions at all.

To get an idea of what I was trying to describe about Habana Compas, 

take a look at this short video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_PpP5zkFRR4