Sunday 2/26/2017  Floor Show, Shopping & Adios 

Francis feels miserable,skipping dinner last night and going to bed hungry has caught up with him. Cafe this morning will be insufficient. He wants to linger in but I am up for an exploration. The taxi driver last night didn't have CUC for change; he gave me CUP / MN. Exactly what is needed for local agricultural markets. As we enjoy our cafe on the porch [albeit Francis is not enjoying anything at the moment] a man rolls by cart crying “Pan Mantequilla, Pan Suisse”. Perfecto, 1 CUC for a half dozen beautiful fresh rolls is probably overpriced but sounds grand to me. Cafe and soft rolls will revive Francis.

After another cup of Monica's excellent expresso, I tuck the MN into my pocket and head off to the market. The sight of people carrying bags of produce indicates the stalls are open for business. The market takes up a city block. Two banks of stairs lead from the street to an open air but roof covered space. Rough tables line each side of the space and rectangle of tables is positioned in the center. The vendors stand behind their table space, fruits and vegetables spread out before them. Along the most enclosed wall are the sellers of meat. Indistinguishable cuts of unidentifiable beasts are lined up on the their tables, with the predictable flies investigating. If I came closer and examined the haunches I might be able to identify the animal by the hooves, but I have no intention of getting that close!

The fruits and vegetables are ripe and fresh with the occasional bruise or hallmark of organic produce. There are hands of baby bananas, golden pineapples, many sizes and contours of mangoes, round spheres labeled “camilo” and mamey! Mamey is my goal, ripe Mamey! Several vendors have pyramids of hard fruit, “manana, no hoy”. “Hoy”, today is what I need. A third stall has perfectly ripe mamey, those mysterious camilos and a hand of apple bananas for Francis. She has chocolate pods which she tells me has a sweet pulp around the bitter chocolate seeds. Interesting but I've expended my 20 MN. The 20 MN bag of fruit equals about US 70 cents.

Last shopping item, water from the kiosk on the other side of La Rampa. It does not sell plain water but has gaseola. Four bottles of seltzer and a bottle of white wine for Francis and I consider my shopping trip successful. As I return to Monica's the b-ball game now is a group of paunchy middle-aged men. They are no less competitive in their game than the younger groups, we have observed every night. While I can not understand the exact wording of their shouts and catcalls to each other the trash talk meaning is quite clear.

Noon, Sundays on Callegon de Hamel, a cul de sac in the old town, Santeria is celebrated with dance and drumming. It is the roots of Rumba. Dawdling as we have been today, we may not arrive during the show. The street itself is reputed to be unique, decorated by street artist Salvatore Gonzalez with Santeria inspired sculptures and frescoes.

 Our daytime taxi driver knows the destination. He drives directly to the location, or as close as direct as any trip in old Havana can be. We are indeed too late for the live dance show but the area is an attraction enough. The frenetic alley resounds with drumming and rumba echoing off the walls. A young hawker approaches selling CDs of the local musicians to support the community art. Enormous scrap art structures loom overhead along with slogans in Spanish and discombobulated nightmare / dream paintings. Even without any dance it is a sensory overload. With a CD for later reflection, we decide to wander back through Havana Vieja to look at the architecture and check out a bookstore.

The town houses are interesting, art deco next to colonial. We pause to inspect a monument in a small plaza. Francis sets down on the curb. He looks so fitting in Havana. While I am trying to translate the inscription on the monument, our compadres from the musical experiences, the couple from DE, hail him. They say he looks so appropraite to the locale, they did not recognize him at first. They at first thought, look that Havanese has a tow-tone straw hat just like Francis, Oh it is Francis! In turns out they are staying at a B & B just around the corner from the monument. We are all looking forward to our evening regroup at Casa Densil although none of us at quite sure of the activity.

They wander off to rest at their casas particulare while we go off in search of bookstores. On the busy tourist street we make the mistake of grabbing a bite to eat. The people watching in the restaurant makes up for mediocre pan pizza. There appear to be two owners, brothers. Each portly balding gentleman is in classic bistro waiter attire with a long white apron over a white tuxedo shirt and black trousers. The taller one runs the room and serves the tables while his elder sits on a high bar stool at the open door, inviting every passerby to come in and dine. In the brief interval that we are seated he greets and chats in half-dozen languages. One minute he is speaking, Japanese, the next French, frequently calling out in English, German and Italian. Konnichiwa, chao, bonjour, hello, mange! Impressive!

We check two bookstalls but there is nothing in English. Back to Monica's, we will nibble on fruit and nap until it is time for our last music experience and dinner at Casa Densil. We dress for dinner at 8. After dark it is harder to identify and flag a taxi, even on busy La Rampa. There is also more competition for the taxis, with several people on each street corner waving at every passing car. You never know which could be ­a gypsy cab. Several taxis pass, several are scooped up by others. We finally succeed and get a price of 7 CUC to Casa Densil.

We suspect he will have trouble finding the destination. Even more so than last night, tonight's driver has absolutely no idea where he is going. He drives well past Perseverencia on the Malecon until I gesture back, “mas lejos” too far. He turns around and finds the wrong street, turns again, still wrong. At every corner he asks and is pointed along. Finally he turns onto a street with the Casa Densil sign visible, “aqui”! Success, we give him 10 CUC for his trouble.

The young girl who buzzed us in last night is waiting by the door tonight, with the lights on and doorway wide open. We can hear drifts of music from the roof level. We follow our ears up the stairs. At each landing the lights are on and we can into the rooms as we pass better this evening. Casa Densil definitely effects a luxurious European style. There are swagged drapes and velvet sofas, gilded wood and mirrors galore. The open air roof terrace is more to my taste and something smells quite tasty as we emerge onto the roof.

Meiby is there with a crew. The dignified Italian gentleman and the girl have now been supplemented by two svelte guys and a voluptuous gal all with dancers physiques. Several residents of Casa Densil are here as well. The bistro tables have been arranged in an arc with chairs facing towards a raised platform. Meiby greets us and introduces her crew. They will perform while we wine and dine. After dinner there will be a short group dance lesson.

We relax with traditional mohitos or local beers, nibbling on a variety of little snacks. They are, according to Meiby, representative of the Cuban obsession for all things deep fried. Healthy or not they are perfectly crispy. As the dinner courses proceed, Meiby and her crew dance and sing, with stylistic variations and costume changes. Meiby croons a romantic Celia Cruz ballad, while her friends perform a graceful modern ballet. One of the fellows then sings a peppy modern song with the dancers popping and hopping. Cross-dressed in a costume resembling a blue bird of paradise, the male dancer gives us a performance with high kicks, hip-shaking and splits to make a Vegas Showgirl jealous. Change of tempo to another slow romantic ballad featuring the female dancer.

During the show we are served a multi-course dinner of braised chicken, local spiny lobster in a criole sauce, salads and the ubiquitous moro rice with black beans. The chicken is full of flavor and the spiny lobster, which is often tough, is delicate and sweet. The best I've ever tasted; I need that recipe! Wine is served with the entrees and a tot of rum with the cafe and flan for dessert. Then it is everybody up on your feet to try a few dance steps. Meiby and friends demonstrate rumba and salsa moves and keep us all trying our best. We certainly are not as artful but we are as enthusiastic.

We have been wined, dined, entertained and trained and we are ready to retire. A block down we flag a late night taxi and slink back to Monica's. Tomorrow is our last day in Havana.

Monday 2/27/2017

Our last day in Havana. We need to print boarding passes. Our companion last night has recommended cigar purchase at the Havana Libre, the former Hilton. He reports that Cigar Aficionado advises the Montecristo #2. The cigars and a pair of souvenir cases are easy to obtain but the hotel has no business center. We will head back to Cohiba Melia Hotel on the other side of town. There we erase emails and tell folks we will talk with them Manana. We decide to return to the mall across the street. Can one buy a bottle of analgesic in Havana? In the grocery store there is only strawberry flavored ibuprofen on display but no cashier. A line has already formed awaiting his or her return.

All week I've been admiring the gorgeous lace hose women wear with their tailored office attire. Intricate designs suitable for a mantilla wrapped around their legs. The girls tell me the stockings can be found on the top floor. We head upstairs instead of waiting in line. From shop to shop I ask for socks, long socks, until I am corrected. Men wear socks, the lace tights are “melia”. Happily melia-ed we head back to the pharmacy counter where the patient Havanese line has grown waiting for the errant clerk. We are not so patient.

Our only other goal is to explore the Fort across the bay from the city proper. We flag a taxi and ride along the Malecon and across the river. Our taxi driver asks if we would enjoy a traditional Cuban meal and drops us off a restaurant in sight of the Fort with a wonderful view of the City from a new angle. 

The food is excellent and a traditional three piece combo is playing old songs. They repertoire ranges from revolutionary "Che Comandante" to “I want to hold your hand” in Spanish. At one point a musician pulls out a Melodian to accompany the guitars. Francis has little energy for tromping through ruins. We decide to linger there for the afternoon, enjoying the meal, the music and the scenery.

The nest morning we enjoy our last cafe on the terrace and head to the airport. Carlos, a friend of Monica's is giving us a ride. Down the urban blouevard to the suburban highway eventually passing in to rural farmland. Cows and rows of banana palms and fruit trees line the roadway. Good signage points the way to the airport  and the terminal. Carlos checks that we are in the correct location. Indeed, the gate is not open but we are in the correct area. Inside several others also wait for the gate to post. 

An older couple sit with a cart laden with bags. They are returning to Cincinnati after having spent the entire Winter in Colimar. They show us pictures of their rooms and the town, lovely! They tell of a performance at the Teatro Alicia Alonzo. Ms. Alonzo attended that night and the entire theater erupted in a standing ovation in respect for her. More reasons to return to Cuban! Later as we go through security, the guards expedite them and ourselves through the line in respect for our age. The couple are held to the side; apparently their visa was for 30 days and they stayed months. A few stamps and small fee and they are also on their way to their plane. Very polite bureaucrats even at the airport! 

That's it. A wonderful week away. My Spanish is 100% enhanced by the practice. A return trip to Cuba, to see the countryside? Maybe next year....