Thursday 2/23/2017

After the sporadic night we awaken relatively early. Delightful pots of espresso on the front terrace, with a small pitcher of steamed milk. The sun is bright, very strong. In the shade it is cool but hot where the sun sneaks around the pillars. On the far side of the sports complex are outdoor strength training equipment. The informal sports complex is in use day and night. This morning the basketball game is well underway and a crowd is loitering in the shade of the spiral stairs across the street. Observing folks walking by with laden shopping bags I am curious what mecca lies down the street. It would be easy to just linger here through the day, watching the passing parade.

Upstairs at the house next door there must be a similar Casa Particulare. Their terrace is painted bright blue. I hear snatches of German or Dutch from the guest. He asks what appears to be a housekeeper something and after she leaves the porch, pulls up his shirt and dons a money belt. The streets are very safe here. Pick pockets have not been a reported problem. Is he concerned that someone in the house will rifle his valuables? Everything I've read says your property is safe in your absence. The Casa Particulares are heavily inspected and regulated. Cuba is essentially run by the military; the hosteliers do not want to get in trouble with the authorities. A money belt seems a bit excessive.

There are street hustlers, jinteros y jinteras. They attempt to guide you to overpriced and / or shoddy goods. On our hike yesterday we had many approach us to help with taxis or to act as tour guides. “No, gratias” or just a simple dismissive wave was quite sufficient. None of the persistent and somewhat creepy camp followers, I've encountered elsewhere, have been apparent.

While I ponder the tableau next door Francis nurses his coffee and cigarettes. He is ready but not anxious for our next excursion. Today will be a museum day. He is still achy from the mile hike yesterday. Today we will surely walk as far through the museums. The top of the hit list is the Museum of the Revolution and the two Museums of Belle Arts, one featuring Cuban artists the other international. They are in the old town near the Central Park and a potential museum with colonial furniture. Just walking along the streets with the beautiful building facades would be a sufficient attraction.

Around Noon we exit the casa past the basketball game and cross Avenue 23, LaRampa. We flag down the first taxi. A real yellow taxi, relatively new and in good condition. Off we proceed along the boulevard and off onto the Malecon going around Havana Central and into Havana Viejo, the old town. On the back of the buses I observe a sticker “Salir something something el mejor”. 'Pretty sure the intent is similar to the “yield to public vehicles” signs on US buses. Our taxi driver definitely does not yield; he manages to squeeze his vehicle into the bus' lane. Francis wonders why there is so much horn honking today. Could it be our unyielding driver?

As far as we are concerned the scenic tour along the seawall is a bonus to our ride. The houses lining the Malecon are not in as good repair as those in Vedado. They are placed cheek by jowl, with no parks, open spaces nor street trees. There is an occasional terraced restaurant, but the predominant facades are ornate but decaying three story apartment buildings. Many of the buildings we pass appear to be boarded up, or is it just their day time appearance? Do they come alive as night falls? AirBnB has listings of rooms and apartments overlooking the Malecon in this area. Between the abandoned appearance and the constant auto traffic, I'm glad we decided to room in Vedado.

A few confusing turns off of the Malecon and our driver stops in front of the Museo de Revolution. Fidel has been a master of propaganda, I am very curious to see how he represents himself. In addition, the building was the presidential palace. Built in the early twentieth century, Batista can not be blamed for this excess. Then President Menocal hired both Cuban and Belgian architects to construct a French inspired palace for him, the Palace of Versailles to be exact. He then had the entire interior decorated by Tiffany's. $3.500,000 in public funds was spent on construction and $1,500,000 on decor. Both structure and contents should be interesting.

The contrast between the imposing building, the soviet tank parked in front and equally aged soviet Lada taxi in which we we arrive is amusing. Jinteros immediately begin offering us Taxi cabs [Can't they see we just disembarked?] and tour guides. We will survive without the latter. In face, the jinteros shy away from the actual museum. They know better than to approach tourists where the guards may observe.

There is a fee for the museum. Eight MN for residents but eight CUC for tourists, a clearly sliding fee structure, given the 25 MN : 1 CUC ratio. Entering the vaulted lobby facing a massive double marble staircase, we and several other non-cubans are instructed to wait. There was no line when we entered. We will have to form one ourselves. It would not be a Havana experience without a line!

A few minutes later, a dignified woman approaches. She is the CUC cashier. Locals had been directed to another desk to pay the entry fee in MN. She takes my 20 CUC bill and hands me a single 1 CUC bill, three 1 CUC coins [am I the only person who finds mixed coin and paper of the same value confusing?] and two tickets. The guard gestures for us to climb to the top of the stairs and work our way down. At the first level a young women takes our tickets and also gestures for us to continue up the stairs and work our way down. The staff have had much practice making the spiraling quickly up and spiraling slowly down gesture.

Following instructions, while climbing the stairs at the first landing there are chips and black pock marks in the marble walls. These are evidence of a failed student revolution attempt in 1957 against Batista, who ultimately vacated two years later.

Walking along the gallery we can look down into the grand ballroom below. It is under restoration. They are not stinting on these repairs. Faded cornices, pillar capitals and pediments are being properly gilded, using the ancient red clay bole technique. The progress from dull brown of the untouched trim to the brilliant gilding of the refinished decorative elements, is fascinating to Francis, a former furniture restorer. It is already a dramatic space and it will be a glittering one when the restoration is complete.

Upstairs the rooms have been stripped down and filled with glass front cabinets. Posters and mementos of revolutionary characters with descriptive text are displayed. It is an odd mix of obvious propaganda and sentimental totchkes, the radio used in the mountains, oddments of clothing worn by freedom fighters. 

Poorly cast “replicas” of Camilo and Che's hats and guns, next to the shirts similar to those worn by this and that hero. Touching candid photos of all the men and women who died during Fidel's ill planned raids, along with copies of newspaper articles about the heroic revolutionaries hiding in the hills. One particular display strikes a wholly inappropriate chord with me. Life size wax figures of Che and Camilo set in a woodland hillside make me think of the taxidemy dioramas in the NY Museum of Natural History. A pair of hunted Longhorn sheep peeking out of the shrubbery.

Francis is a fan of Che, I am touched by Camilo. Once Fidel came to power he and his brother skillfully eliminated the other revolutionary leaders who had fought alongside them. With a little perhaps unintended help from the CIA. Camilo he sent off to put former comrade Mata in jail. Mata would serve years without a trial under corruption charges. Camilo's plane just disappeared into the ocean on the way back to Havana. Che, el Barbe sent off to foment insurrection in Argentina. Che may have been, as Fidel claims, assassinated by the CIA but they all knew the CIA was there supporting the established political regime and waiting for Che. Fidel or Raul, which one is really the Supreme Jefe of manipulation? In any case, they have been the successors, out lasting their rivals, comrades, presidents and ultimately communism itself.

A few rooms have been maintained or are being restored to their former glory. Batistas office and conference room are in tact. It speaks to decadence and excess consumption. Or on the other hand perhaps just an attempt to impress foreign dignitaries from larger and more influential countries. Actually I can easily imagine El Barbe camo hat on his head with his big army boots up on the desk, reclining in that big ornately carved chair smoking a big cigar and feeling very pleased with himself. Next door is the original conference room, used both by the decadent capitalists and their communist successors. While the office is closed to public access the council chambers with its twelve foot table and chairs is open. You could sit in a chair and imagine yourself part of the revolutionary council. Perhaps a subtle reminder of the exclusionary past and the inclusionary present. The mahogany table and chairs are in surprisingly good condition, nary a deep scratch to the finish. Both tourists and cubans must treat these articles of history with proper respect.

The hall of mirrors intended as a replica of the hall in Versialles also has some of the original furniture. The most extravagantly carved side boards I have ever seen. Huge ropes of Della Robbia fruit and flowers swag from one bulging bowed leg to the other. The tops are marble with an ogee edge and curved shape. Between the mirrors, the chandeliers and these over the top tables, my wabi sensibilities are appalled. Francis stares at the furniture. The design elements are all over the place, Louis XIV, older french, English linen fold carving, Belgian bombes, true pastiche. We then see another information placard intended to copy Louis the XVIth. Yes, the ultimate in excess.

An adjacent room houses the original chapel. A small space filled by a six foot high golden and mirrored pyramid. The style is traditional medieval / colonial Spanish reliquary, with icons along the sides and a dainty Virgin Mary with Christ child at the apex. A simple wooden kneeler sets at the base. It seems subdued and distinctly calming compared to the garish hall of mirrors and Louis XVIth tables. Exiting the museum, we find the Granma. The little boat that conveyed the Castros back to Cuba. It is enshrined, like the Virgin, in the Chapel upstairsand guarded to boot..

Enough propaganda direct or implied, on to pure art. Albeit art is never pure as it represents the taste, times and values of both the producing and displaying cultures. In Havana, there are two separated art museums. One is strictly for Cuban artists, the other for international art including that of ancient cultures. 

Cuban artists have a new light filled glass and granite modern structure while international is housed in another elegant colonial manse, the former club house for emigres from the Asturias Province of Spain. After the revolution, the building first housed the Cuban Supreme Court building and now fine art.

Cuban art is housed in a modern structure, it minimalist blocky newness in stark contrast to the aged and ornate colonial palaces which surround it. The multi-story building has an open central courtyard which beckons us to cross. The entrance ticket is good for both museums with a similar fee structure, high price for tourists, low for residents.

You purchase a ticket at on end of the museum, cross the courtyard and as previously are directed to proceed to the top level and work your way down. These guards also are skilled in the spiral quickly up, spiral slowly down gesture. In this case there are broad ramps spiralling through the building. While a sign on the wall indicates there is an elevator. It is actually for freight and is not working in any case.

Each floor is comprised of two u- shaped galleries with hallways at their interconnecting ends,one hall also houses the facilities and the ramp between floors. There do seem to be staircases but they must be for emergency access only as the observant staff shoo patrons away from the stairs, pointing back towards the ramps.

As Francis slowly creeps up the ramps, setting on the wide side railings to rest his back. While I take the opportunity to preview the exhibits. The top floor is “colonial” art. In proper historical materialist theory, the colonial period extends until the communist revolution took over. There are the classic portraits of wealthy landowners, their wives and children, well dressed and often be jeweled. Some of the portraits of younger men and women were, I suspect the selfies of the day, intended to impress potential matrimonial candidates.

Fascinating from that period are the detailed landscapes, portraits in their own right. Sugar cane and rum factories with every step of the manufacturing process clearly delineated down to the buttons a foreman's coat and straw hats on a servant's head. We linger over a the exquisite detail of a painting of an picnic outing in the hillside over looking a large urban setting. It has us in discussion and marveling at the level of precision. We can distinguish the breed of each horses and the class of each person by their attire. This was hyper-realism of the 1600's.

The later “colonial” art is striking more for it's conventions than content. Each decade and generation typifies their period. There are school of light pastorals, dreamy Victorian children and stout hearted men, pointillist cathedrals which at first glance appear to be Seurats, Casset-like boats and a few forests primeval echoing Rousseau. We can proceed through Klee's geometry, Chagall's fantasy to blocky cubism. Wilfred Lam's work could pass as a companion to Guernica. The international cross pollination of artistic styles is apparent. There is, of course, the fusion of the Mexican muralists, mostly communists themselves, with the Cuban street realpolitik propaganda and Cuban sculptors rounded the hard edges off of Soviet constructivism into a fluid form.

The Museo de Belle Arte Internationale is a few blocks away on the shady Parque Centrale. It is time for a break but the Museo closes early. While Francis waits in the shade, I dash down adjacent Obispo street, past the jinteros into a crowd of leisurely tourists. Francis just wants a snack, some chips. Gift shops, cafes and restaurants about but no chips. A tiny cart is making churros. Dropping the pancake-like dough into bubbling oil and scooping out crispy fried coils into paper horns. Perfect, fresh churros for Francis. He nibbles on his snack and we proceed to international art.

International is not just traditional but modern, experimental as well. The most interesting pieces are a series of exhibits spread throughout the levels by a current Italian, Michelangelo Pistelletto. First, we notice six-foot long butterfly shaped benches in many corners of the galleries. On the second floor mezzanine is a series of full-scale posters beginning with Leonardo's Vitruvian and changing the position of the arms to form ta symmetrical butterfly shape. This is the measure and proportion of the benches.

There are also photographs of a number of performance pieces in various media, boats, rugs, people, etc. forming three interlocking circles. The circles representing the reconnection of the Island of Cuban with its North American neighbor, the US. The third inner circle representing the hope for growth and synergy. I hope so as well. The most engaging work is series of life size serigraphs of Cuban street scenes, printed on large mirrors. As you approach you become part of the frozen tableau. Your present unified with their past. Much of Pistelletto's work bridges time or space through the use of mirrors. His mirror breaking performance in Havana is striking. 

https://youtu.be/C2d25BPxZZM

The museum is closing, time for us to go. Back to the Parque Central, absolute controlled madness on the street. Half the sidewalks and streets are blocked off for renovation work. Traffic lights are few but vehicles are many. Every size and shape squeezing through the narrow streets. Between the vehicular traffic, blockaded sidewalks and muddy construction runoff, where does one cross the street? Both drivers and pedestrians are polite, occasionally holding back for one group of another to proceed. When a crane blocks the roadway, pedestrians take the opportunity and press across in masse. We morph into a broad herd to avoid a small lake of debris then re-coalesce into a column to fit between barricades. No pushing or jostling, everyone maintains a tactful distance. Quite extraordinary.

When a jintero approaches asking if we want a taxi and quotes a very reasonable rate, particularly given the location and time of day, we jump at the offer. Cut rate perhaps because it is a gypsy cab, not officially licensed. The jintero and the driver discuss the best route back to La Rampa and Calle B from the old town at this time of day. Out of curiosity I follow our route on a map, right through the middle of town, another scenic tour!

We pass through Havana Centro. It is the most densely populated area in the Caribbean, 500 square blocks of concrete residential. Beautiful facades with labyrinths of housing behind. On the ground floor along the major roadway, are shops, open spaces full of bins, items suspended from the rafters and displayed along the frontage. It is 14^th Street in Manhattan, the place where locals look for bargains.

Back on Monica's comfortable terrace we take a Havana Club break and mozy over to the Retro Cafe. They are out of pizza tonight but the grilled shrimp and chicken turn out to be as good. This is free range chicken, locally caught shrimp and small farm salad. In the states you pay extra at the farmer's market, here it is the norm. The night basketball games are in full swing at the corner as we make our final return of the night to Monica's. Early to bed tonight as tomorrow will be a late night. Friday begins our three nights Jazz experience.