In Cuba, life is finding work and making do

In Cuba, life is finding work and making do

In a brief visit to Cuba, you'll find a land of contradictions, of
splendor and decay, ease and hardship. In the cities, the streets throb
with music and chatter; hustlers work the tourists, and everybody
patches together a living. In rural areas, beaches are peaceful and
fishermen work the rivers and sea. Everywhere, there is a sense of
resourcefulness and resilience.

ERIKA SCHULTZ / THE SEATTLE TIMES

At sunset, fishermen prepare for an evening of fishing at the mouth of a
river in the Sancti Spiritus Province. With lanterns, the men fish late
into the night.

It was midnight when we finally arrived in Havana this past March, not
sure what to expect. Two journalists, my partner and I had come to Cuba
to see what life is like for the average person now, half a century
after Fidel Castro's communist revolution.

While thousands of Americans have been coming here illegally through
Mexico, Canada or the Bahamas, we joined a stream (more than 47,000 in
2008) who received special licenses from the U.S. government to go to
Cuba despite the restrictions imposed on the country in the aftermath of
the revolution.

We traveled light — staying in the homes of ordinary Cubans who pay
heavy taxes to be in a highly regulated government program to house
foreign visitors. And we counted our money carefully, because credit
cards are not really an option for Americans, and banks can close for
hours at a moment's notice.

In the city, we joined rivers of people on the streets in a cacophony of
singing and shouting, laughing and chatting. We drank coffee and ate
greasy "cajitas" of pork, rice and tomatoes. In rural areas, it seemed
calmer. People waved, smiled and stared. At a splendid beach, a man
watched our bikes, then took us home to eat octopus and read our
fortunes from shells. In a small village near a river, fishermen fed us
rum and fresh fish.

What we discovered was a Cuba both charming and jarring, a nation of
vast contradictions. Of splendor and decay, energy and torpor, hope and
cynicism.

In the teeming capital of Havana, beautiful chunks of its architectural
history are falling into ruin. Despite some restoration efforts,
especially in the old part of town, the city's skeleton of intricate
stone and concrete is crumbling from time and weather, neglect and lack
of money.

Yet, the city pulsates.

The sounds of music, pirated television and the banter of
multigenerational families pour out from balconies and windows. At dusk,
the drumming and singing of Afro-Cuban Santería followers spills into
the street — the hypnotic beat filling the warm spring air. They dance
to Yemayá, a goddess who represents life and the sea.

Across town, classic American cars cruise down Havana's narrow, crowded
corridors, puffing out heavy, black fumes. At the right corners, fleets
of those big cars — Cubans call them "maquinas" or machines — form a
cheap alternative to government transit systems.

Here, life seems to be lived in or within view of the street, with few
barriers between citizens and the curious eyes of foreigners. Some
Cubans, the hustlers, take full advantage of that.

Psst! Psst! "Do you need a room?" . . . "Want to buy cigars?" . . . "Go
on a horse ride?"

Others take it even further. At a dingy diner late at night, three
Australian tourists — middle-aged men with faded tattoos — buy drinks
for Cuban women half their age. The girls accept.

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Across the street, on the fabled Malecón, lovers canoodle.

There is very little advertising. Only billboards reminding people of
the revolution and its many "victories" for the nation. Still, the
economy is fragile. People seem to rely on an informal mix of bartering,
part-time jobs and making a few pesos off the tourists to provide for
their families.

Cubans boast that literacy rates are high, and that college and health
care are free and housing is nearly so.

But shortages, breakdowns, blackouts and long lines are common. The wife
of one foreigner living in Havana complained potatoes were not available
for three months.

Yet while people sometimes go without, no one starves.

The country is also secure. Unlike Mexico or many Central American
countries, drugs are not ravaging the land; it feels safe to stroll the
streets, even at night.

In March, Cubans were eager to hear about the new American president.
Many asked if he would lift the restrictions, saying that could help
them earn more money.

President Obama did open the door, lifting the limits on both how much
money Cuban-Americans can send home and how often they can visit.

Will more change come? Who knows?

Castro has survived American sanctions, Soviet abandonment and more. But
time is something he cannot escape. When he and his brother are gone,
Cubans will face the task of setting the course for the next 50 years.

One thing seems certain: their resilience and resourcefulness will abide.

Erika Schultz is a Seattle Times staff photographer.

Living | In Cuba, life is finding work and making do | Seattle Times
Newspaper (18 October 2009)
http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/living/2010018881_pacificpcuba18.html?syndication=rss