Man On The Scene

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$12

The original book in the Scene series. The book contains humorous, historical, and culturally enlightening tales from Cuba, Russia, Malaysia, Morocco, Mexico, England, Guatemala, Italy, Peru, Utah, Colorado, Alaska, and Arizona...

144 pages/Published in 2003

In Search of Babalowas... And a Way to Beat the Embargo Blues

Cuba, 2003

  If you want to go to Cuba...Legally...And you’re an American, better prepare to jump through some hoops, but it’ll be worth your while.  I had a trip planned to visit my friend Dusty Decarlo in Florida over my spring break and I figured Cuba was so close, so why not?  Ever since the 60s, the U.S. trade embargo against Cuba has prevented casual trips to the largest Caribbean Island by American tourists.  That doesn’t mean people don’t go.  Thousands visit Cuba each year by traveling through “third” countries en route to Cuba such as Mexico, Jamaica, or the Bahamas.  The trick is to conceal the fact that you ever touched Cuban soil, denial being your best option.  The Cubans won’t stamp your passport, because they know you’ll get into hot water with the U.S. customs authorities when you return to the States.

  Being an honest upstanding citizen (perhaps next time I’ll go illegally myself), I elected to follow the proper protocol and fly legally from Miami.  I won’t bore you with the amount of phone calls I had to make (too many to count) to a travel agency in Miami specializing in Cuban travel in order to obtain tickets.  But, let’s just say it took several months of negotiation and faxes, in order to procure a $300 round trip ticket from Miami to Havana.  Buying the ticket was the easy part.  Qualifying for the ticket was the hard part.  Only travelers meeting strict guidelines can legally travel to Cuba.  Immediate family members, professional athletes (I thought they only left Cuba), missionaries on official business, full-time journalists, government cronies, researchers on assignment, and a slight few others that I can’t quite recall at the moment. 

  I scratched my head and asked myself which category I might somehow qualify for?  Well, I am a Geography and Sociology teacher, and I like to travel, write, take pictures, and ask questions, so I must be a researcher.  There it was.  Now I only had to figure out what the hell it was that I was supposed to be researching just in case I was asked to produce evidence. 

   I decided to research Santeria, which had always intrigued me.  Santeria is a mixture of Catholicism and various African religions.  I had read about locations throughout the greater Havana area where Santeria was openly practiced and had even read about markets specializing in Santeria products.  As far as what those products might be...Well, that’s another story altogether.  I had visions of the movie The Deep running through my head. 

  I came up with a half-assed working itinerary (required by the United States Government) that included visits to Santeria sites and even lunch interviews with famous babalowas (Santeria priests who can be identified in Cuba by their green and yellow bracelets).  I thought I might even call a clandestine dinner meeting with the Abakua, or secret men society in Regla? 

  Being a teacher, the research angle wasn’t so far-fetched. I just had to figure out a way for my friend Dusty to get in.  We decided that I would need an assistant, to help me research the Santeria clan.  Someone that could help translate Spanish as well.  Too bad Dusty’s only Spanish word is Digame’, or talk to me.  Nevertheless, I added Dusty to my itinerary and after filling out and faxing more paperwork, we eventually received our tickets and tourist visas to Cuba.  We had to personally pick up our tickets in Little Havana prior to departure.  I guess that was a sneak preview or something.  Looking back, I think more Cubans live in Little Havana than Big Havana.

  Dusty and I arrived at the Miami International Airport ready to depart for Havana.  The flight was a whopping fifty minutes long.  First off, we had to find the correct terminal.  No easy task.  We walked through each adjoining terminal until we came to the end of the airport, whereupon we asked a custodian where our terminal was located.  “You’re here“, he answered.  I said where?  “Right here“.  Then we spotted a guy cellophane wrapping colorful luggage and we knew we were in the right spot.  A line behind a card table told the tale.  Here was the flight that really didn’t exist.  We were two out of only a handful of gringos traveling to Havana.  Most were Cubans going home for a visit.  You could tell us apart right away...Our backpacks were uncellophaned. 

  We arrived at Jose Marti International Airport in Havana after an uneventful flight.  Luckily for us, the hijackers were leaving Cuba, not coming in.  Strangely enough, a string of hijackings occurred the week after we arrived back in the States.  Two planes and one boat were commandeered.  Apparently the hijackers thought that if they arrived on United States soil after hijacking a plane they were allowed to stay based on the Dry Land Act.  They weren’t.  Ironically, the hijacked passengers, who were forced to land by fighter jets in the Florida Keys were given the choice to stay in the U.S. or go home.  The hijackers got to stay as well...In a U.S. federal prison.  Castro figured it was a few less mouths to feed. 

  We pretty much breezed through customs after a few questions about why we were there and most importantly, when we were leaving.  Official business, I told them, serious research.  They didn’t ask Dusty anything.  All we had were daypacks with us, so the customs officials had nothing much to do.  I sensed they liked it that way.  Why bother an hombre on siesta with trivialities? 

  We finally managed to track down a ride into the city as our contact failed to show. Fortunately, one of the other travel agencies set us up with transportation.  I always look forward to that initial cab ride in any new place I venture to.  So many sights to behold.  My senses just go wild...I can’t get enough.  Everything is similar and different all at the same time.  Everyday, ordinary occurrences appear so bizarre to an outsider looking in.  After about thirty or forty minutes we arrived at the Hotel Lincoln...(Read More, buy the book)