Cuba Diary June'96 continued from page 3
by Lang Phipps
by Lang Phipps
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We go to scary places in search of authentic Cuban experience. A hustler in
front of an antique shop across from the Capitolio takes us to a virtually
condemnable building, promising great deals on collectibles (stolen,
presumably, from the fallen aristocracy). We follow him up banister-less,
shattered marble stairs in a pitch-dark hall. He takes us past a room full
of young girls; a laughing voice beckons us in. Finally we enter a shabby
railroad apartment belonging to "his brother". The window-less room in the
rear is full of junk and kitsch; we make no offers. Undaunted, he presents
another rare opportunity, and we go further into this trap of a building to
the apartment upstairs. The room in the front is full of more crap. A
gloomy, fretful man greets us, and an older man sits stooped at a desk. This
man, it turns out, is a typical Cuban anomaly. He rises from his computer,
where he has been working on Windows 95, and turns to us, tall and graying,
as he removes his bifocals. Yves says that he is mostly interested in
nautical stuff, and the anomaly says, "Yes, like sextants, or perhaps
astrolabes?", and then takes out of a desk drawer photos of a 16th century
Spanish bronze astrolabe. It is an instrument of great beauty and
complexity, worth according to Yves, anywhere between $500, 000 and $1
million. With a gentle smile of mutual understanding, our anomaly says that
he can vouch for the astrolabe's provenance, assuring that it didn't come
from a library or a museum. No mention is made of a private home, of course.
School girls are seen on the streets at all times during the day in Havana, always in the pleated, mustard-colored school uniform of the state. We see them everywhere. When do they go to classes? It is funny to see them hanging out under a sign that reads, "Ninos con escuela 100%." (Children with education, 100%). The young girls at Marina Hemingway's disco (called Papa's), are all for hire. The dollar economy tempts everyone to make a buck however they can. Salaries are pathetic even for doctors and government officials -- as low as $15 a month. The two who attach themselves to us are what someone called "herreras" or runners -- party girls who will run with you as long as you buy the drinks, get them into the discos, or buy them perfume or hair products. Most will sleep with you for as little as $15. We discover that both Inez and Lili are students at the prestigious University of Havana, studying veterinary science and computer science, respectively. We dance the electric slide with them. Inez is all business, rarely smiling, waiting for the pay-off. Lili is vivacious, trying to seem wordly, but obviously callow and unsuited for this line of work. We avoid government-operated restaurants and eat instead at "paradars", the family-owned restaurants that people run out of their homes. Two years ago, self-employed businesses were declared legal, and 210,000 individual entrepreneurs were licensed to do commerce. The paradar is one of the ventures that has come of this. We visit La Perla on Calle Obispo for several meals, as much for the food as to talk with the waiter, Dr. Olavo Alen Rodriguez. He got his doctorate at the University of East Berlin in music ethnology. His day job is running the Center for the Investigation and Development of Cuban Music as its Director. He doesn't really like schlepping langosta (Lobster.You can't get it at the government restaurants: La Perla finds it on the black market), but on his government salary, he needs the extra money. |
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