Friday 2/24/2017 Cash and Sia Kara

We have an established rhythm, perhaps not yet a syncopated rumba, more a sedate slow two-step. Sleep late, arise at leisure, linger over cafe on the terrace, emerge into the sunshine and explore the city. Today's activities are practical as this evening will begin our three music experiences.

Cuba is a cash economy. At the airport I exchanged US Dollars for Cuba convertible currency. After several days of taxi rides and restaurants, I can project needing more cash. In addition, although I can make Cuban phone calls, I have no internet and will need access to a printer before we depart. Wifi “parks” for Cubatel services are available; not quite what we would need.

After conversation with Monica, we head off to the nearest Cubatel office which is across the street from the farmer's market. There will be a cash exchange booth at the market. We look for a big blue building. We find the building, with a guard booth in front. Explaining our need , the guard explains this is just offices. We need another Cubatel blue building on the next block.

We march around the block. The sidewalks are a hazard. While most sidewalks are in standard but worn condition, some appear to have been subject to very localized earthquakes or the repair crews began demo and took a break. Concrete panels are smashed and heaved. Down the street a sidewalk is completely demolished, the cement mixing truck blocks the intersection, ready to pour the new surface. While the old concrete has been removed the curb has been left in place. They will just pour and screed a new walkway between the curb and the fence line.

It is easy to identify the Cubatel public building. There are lines extending out the doors. In front of the building stands a small crowd and a series of blue hoods on poles. Under several of the hoods stand individuals energetically typing on their cellphones. This must be the Wifi park. Reading the posters outside and peaking into the office, the establishment sells phones, SIMs and accessories but has no internet cafe setup. 'kinda' suspected as much. Next door is a tech supply shop. We could also use a mini-usb cable but they have none.

At the farmer's market on Calle A, piles of vegetables and fruits fill most of the stands, while meat products line one wall. Shopping can wait. We need cash. The exchange booth is closed with a line already formed in front. As I queue behind the ultimo, she turns around to ask if I need MN/CUP or CUC. She tells me the booth will only have MN for the market. She suggests we walk down Paseo to a larger exchange booth. Does she have any idea where one might find internet access with a printer? Try a tech shop about three blocks down Paseo.

Paseo is a block away and the sidewalks are clear. While Calle A, B and C are quiet residential two-way streets with an occasional business or Casa Particulares. Paseo is a broad boulevard with North and South traffic separated by a series of tree lined parks. It runs all the way down to the Malecon. The buildings facing onto Paseo are larger and in excellent repair. They were far more extensive private residences than on the side streets and many now house the offices of various community groups. The sidewalks are also in better repair and a walk down Paseo is a stroll in the park.

The tech office a few blocks down turns out to be watch repair. A fellow working on his car in front, says that there is a cash exchange and a bank on 9^th street. Counting down to nine, we pass more beautiful buildings and so many interesting older cars. It is hot, even walking under the trees through the parks. By the time we turn the corner onto 9^th street, a beverage seems so appealing. At the intersection of Paseo and 9, we pass a cafe. The cash exchange is next door but it is closed. Not even a line! Ah ha, next door to the exchange is a public bank. The bank is open with people are milling around outside. In we proceed for another
Havana experience.

The bank lobby, waiting area are and service booths are contiguous with a guard desk at the door. The gist of the guard's questions are why are you here? US dollars to CUC. He prints out a slip of paper and hands it to me, while a curious fellow standing behind him gestures for me to observe the large changeable display signboard in the center of the waiting area. The large lobby is set with rows of chairs, as though a film was about to be shown. Along one side and rear are numbered and labeled booths, at least 20 altogether, with a few modular office setting to one side. Cushioned armchairs line the far wall. All the seats are filled, all the booths are busy. My ticket is number 715 and states monete internationale. The display big number board says 599. Oh, dear...

The cushioned armchairs are not just filled. Several women, well-dressed in tailored suits, are perched on the arms of the chairs. They chat to pass the waiting time. At the center, sharing a loveseat, is an elderly women. Her number comes up quickly. After the nice hike Francis' back is obviously distressing him. One of the well-dressed women takes the vacant seat but seeing Francis, quickly pops back up and gestures for him to sit down. She resumes her perch and we profusely thank her.

The numbers do change over quickly but they are not in order. Watching the display I realize you are in order of your specialty. Not every booth conducts the same business. It will not matter if the service number is up to a 1000 if the international fund exchange prior to my assigned digit has not been served. In addition, retirees get preferential treatment and bump to the head of the line, unfortunately not old tourists.

The space on the loveseat next to Francis, is now occupied by a young man holding a motorcycle helmet. I ask him if he rides? Yes, he does and he speaks excellent English. He and Francis strike up a conversation about motorcycles and their repairs. He is delighted to converse, having been a Professor of English, he claims his skills were getting rusty from disuse. Not to any discernible degree, his English is perfect with precise British style enunciation.

The small public subsidy for a teacher was insufficient but he does not explain his current employment and we do not pry. He does explain in great detail the trials and tribulations of maintaining a vehicle in the socialist system. The set amount of fuel which he is allotted goes further with his bike than with an automobile but obtaining repair parts to keep his bike going, requires making application to government controlled store. The parts are often out of stock and the paperwork is tedious. What would be a simple commercial transaction in most places has a military requisition process. From motors the conversation turns to guitars and music. He also plays guitar. He and Francis entertain themselves very well.

Francis is both comfortable and entertained. I take the opportunity to people watch. The crowd and the bank logistics are interesting. The central sign board posts, normal banking, commercial, international with jumps out of sequence for senior priority. Those older retirees are more spritely than Francis, next time we might try for that advantage. Everyone has been so polite, I'd bet the benefit is extended tourist or not.

Seated in the crowd is a young woman, fully clothed in white from head wrap to stocking feet. In addition, to her full brimmed hat she carries a white parasol. She is swathed in white, hair tucked under a white lace bandana, with just her face and hands exposed. When she arises in her turn an older man accompanies her to the booth, speaking for her. The lady in white, this is the garb of a Santeria novice. For a year the novice must avoid the sun and commonplace public interaction and dress in white. She does look exotic and remote. A pale beam in the bustling office environment.

A sign provides the monetary exchange rates. US Dollars have a 10% tax penalty but the sign stresses that Canadian dollars are exempt. Converting US dollars to CN dollars in advance would have made sense. The English Prof number comes up and then mine. The young woman in the booth is very efficient. If you don't appear immediately, she calls the next number. When my number comes I walk briskly to her booth. She is already checking my documents when the preceding client, a young woman, belatedly shows up. The bank cashier wants he to go away, in part I gather in respect dfor my age. No problem, let her proceed. For me the process is as interesting as the project.

When my service does begin, the cashier carefully examines each bill. She has been handed a stack of twenties for the exchange. Any bills with even the smallest tears are rejected. She even calls another staff person over for a consult. Fortunately most of the bills are undamaged and we will have sufficient Cuban CUC cash for the remainder of our stay. Lots of papers to sign and our exchange is completed. Gracias. As we depart the bank, the Cadeca is now open and a line wraps around the kiosk.

 We opt for lunch at the corner open air cafeteria we had passed on our way to the bank. It is now late lunch and we will have a late evening in Havana Vieja. Many menu items are finished for the day. Coffee, pizza and chicken en brochette are sold out. Grilled chicken breast or Chicken, pork and bacon en brochette is available. We are game. While we wait we watch the parade of vintage cars. This is a great venue for people and car watching.

Curious about that mixed grill, I am delighted that the skewers are served impaled in a grilled half pineapple. Francis has the plain grilled chicken with a beer, while have pineapple juice and water. The entrees come with side salads and moro, rice and beans. The preparation may be simple, but the ingredients are excellent and the presentation is quite stylish. It is too much food for us to finish. The check was just $9. Another great meal with an auto show for entertainment.

Wandering back up the hill through the tree lined Paseo parks to Monica's, we pass a high school. Monica's younger daughter I've noticed wears a white tailored button down shirt and a gold skirt. All the students milling around this school have that color scheme. As it just around the corner from the house this must be her school. In spite of the uniform, kids still express their personalities. Most of the girl's skirts and are tight and short. While the guys are generally more subdued, one young man has metallic gold high tops to complete his outfit.

Back at Monica's the older Daughter is practicing for a dance recital. She an another equally adorable and equally petite girl are rehearsing the moves, while a similarly adorable young male choreographs their dance and harangues them. He is tough task master. Over and over, they play a pop song about reaching for the sun. The movements are modern ballet with a few bonus hair flips throw in for emphasis. I try to spy on the process but my attentions makes the girls giggle, infuriating the choreographer. Oops.

Francis and I retire for a nap. He wears ear plugs, while I find the repetitive melody restful. We take a good nap in preparation for meeting Meiby for our music experience in the evening. The basic plan is meet and greet at a Casa Particulare in the old town, for complementary drinks and snacks then proceed to a local jazz club.

Rested and ready, we walk up to the main street and easily flag a taxi. Our destination is a just off the Malecon. The driver uses his phone to determine the location of Perseverencia Street. The taxi is a 1951 model, worn but still charming. The driver is of a much more recent generation and quite conscientious. He was very careful to ascertain the destination before we embarked but the old town is such a warren, he gets lost in the maze. The direct entrance onto Perseverencia off of the Malecon is blocked. He circles around and around trying to get back on the correct street. There are no street signs nor street lamps. An old man sits on a box in a dim stairwell; our driver asks is this Perseverencia? No, the fellow points, the next street over. After two or three attempts, asking bystanders at each corner for assistance we pull up in front of a narrow row house with a hanging placard “Casa Densil”. Success!

The street is dark, the door is locked and it takes a tense moment before we see the buzzer high on a doorpost. Shortly thereafter a teenage girl opens the door and gestures for us to climb the stairs. The ornate wrought iron staircase wraps round and round the narrow hallway. It is open overhead from entrance hallway through to the roof. At each landing doors are open providing glimpses of rooms stuffed with vintage furniture and bric a brac.

Four flights up to the roof terrace where we are greeted by an Italian gentleman. He checks that we are here for Meiby's Experience not for a Casa Particulare room and bids us make ourselves comfortable. Even with the detours we are apparently a bit early. Or everyone else is fashionably late. I wander through the netting shaded terraces, tivoli lights and hanging plants to another spiral staircase and climb to find a further terrace, fitted with a open-air bed to stargaze. How romantic! Below me, I hear Meiby has arrives along with several other guests. Three young NY professional women, all in the advertising and graphic design field. Another married couple, from Delaware, arrive as well.

Meiby tells us the story of Casa Densil and her “recruitment” by AirBnB. Densil is a Cuban dancer and a good friend of Meiby's. He has been working in Italy. He and the Italian gentleman basically traded domiciles. Densil dances and models in Europe while his friend runs his BnB. Meiby's own life is interesting and she is a dynamic storyteller. She grew up in a household of seven women, four generations, in the nearby town of Miramar. She is godmother to her nieces, who live with her Mother, while Meiby commutes to perform in Havana. She often stays at Casa Densil after late nights in town. Someone suggested her to AirBnB to host a music experience. At first she was unsure but it fit well with her usual weekend musical activities. As outgoing and ebullient as is her personality, it is a perfect fit.

She also coaches and teaches children in preparation for art school entry recitals. The competition to enter gifted and talented programs is fierce. The child must excel in their craft and will be reevaluated every few years to stay in the arts programs. The program administrators will redirect children between instruments and specialties based on producing a balance in performing arts across the nation. A violin player would be told to give up strings and take up the trombone, when there is a perceived shortage of horn players.

Meiby herself is beautiful and quite sexy, in a color blocked form fitting mini-dress and very high heels. She regales us with her life in Havana, sangria and snacks until it is time to depart for Sia Kara for her performance. The woman from Delaware had twisted he ankle walking through the old town in the dark. Francis has a twisted back. The two of them along with the Delaware Spouse opt to catch a taxi. The five remaining ladies will walk to the Sia Kara.

It is an interesting hike through the darkened and deteriorated city. The city seems to be simultaneously falling down and building up. These seem to be primarily residential neighborhoods but far more congested and built up than in the Vedado neighborhood. Here the buildings are four to six stories high, apartments not single family homes and there are no little pocket front gardens or street trees. Just tall apartment blocks in various architectural styles fronting directly to the sidewalks. Boarded partitions protect the streets from reconstruction debris while the vacant windows above look out like empty skull's eyes waiting for rebirth.

At 11 PM, there are just a few people out on the streets. Just a block from our destination a police officer stops Meiby. Her accuses her of being a jintera or worse. In her sexy outfit in the company of a group of tourist men, his intervention might have made sense. Walking with a group of modestly dressed women, he was just displaying his machismo for a pretty girl. Meiby was not impressed. She provided her identification but was incensed. She was berating him about inconveniencing her clients, while his supervisors berated him over his two-way radio for bothering them. After a few tense minutes he released us to proceed on to the Kia Sara. Meiby complained that the police would those who actually looked dangerous, instead flexing their muscles and harassing young women.

The Sia Kara is a funky little neighborhood jazz club. It has an eclectic atmosphere. Flags, pennants and banners bedeck the walls. To the right was the long bar, with waiters rushing back and forth. To the left a balcony extended over half the space. The railing was festooned with men's neck ties. At the back of the bar, was a fellow playing stride / Jazz piano, kinda' Teddy Wilson with a little Fats Waller thrown in for good measure.

The place was packed. Meiby went to work finding seats and beverages for her guests, trying to explain our delay to our concerned cohorts and hobnobbing with all the patrons. As we sip cocktails we get to know each other. Seated next to us are another group of Americans. They greet Meiby profusely. They had looked her up on the internet and tracked her down for her performance at Sia Kara. They were from Austin, Texas. Funky music lovers in Texas, would have to be from Austin.

Once Meiby begins her set, a trip from Texas does not seem excessive. Her vocal range is wide and her dance background is apparent. With graceful hand gestures and swaying dance moves she electrifies the little club. At one point she rumbas with a patron. During other songs, the patrons dance around the crowded bar. The woman from Austin gets up for a duet of “Killing me Softly” and sways a bit herself.

After an hour of fantastic music, the pianist folds down his key cover and Meiby helps us find taxis. Tomorrow night, she will be taking our group to “La Zorra y el Cuervo”, a historic Jazz Club, for a more traditional jazz concert. She says she will not be performing but I hope she will get on stage for at least one number. She has some pipes!