We learn about jinteros[1] our first day in country.
The evening after landing in Havana, Peter journeys out for a bottle of rum
('ron') to mix with a couple of colas and limes found in our room's fridge.
There's a large rooftop with great vistas over Habana Vieja, so it must be happy
hour. Margot tells him there is a shop around the corner, but between the casa
and the shop a pedi-cab peddler stops to ask if he wants a ride. When Pete
explains he is just going around the corner, the young Habanero offers to take
him for free. "I'm going that way anyway." Blocks away, heading past
Parc Centrale, he tells Pete his friend has rum at better prices than the
shops. But the ride would still be free. An hour later Pete returns back to the
casa, leaping upstairs for money, since the pedi-driver will not release his
$20 rum without payment of $10 for the ride. Grateful he wasn't knifed and
burgled in the seamy section of Central Havana where they ended up...and that
he only overpaid by $27 for his first bottle of rum, he remembers the blog warnings
about jinteros and street hustlers. Kathy and I get a good laugh out of it all.
And by mid-morning two days later, we
find ourselves hustled as well. We are heading up to Obispo Street when a
lovely young family (couple in their twenties, pushing a baby in a stroller)
greets us with the usual "where you from?" We stop to chat and, being
two abuelas[2],
play with the baby. The young man mentions that his uncle (of Buena Vista
Social Club[3]
fame) is playing a gig at that moment, and Kathy perks up. A professional
musician herself (and conga player), she takes the hook. The restaurant is only
a few blocks out of our way anyway. The music IS great - traditional son[4]. Naturally we order a
couple mohitos...then a couple for the couple. Alex takes my hand, leading me
to the dance floor for some salsa, after which Alex's 'grandfather', famed BVSC
piano player, joins us at our table. Naturally we buy him a mohito and fall
into a discussion about Afro-Latin rhythms. Later, eager to continue our
original plan to get up to Parc Central, we call for the check, "la quenta
por favor", only to realize we are being charged four to five times the
normal price. It was then we groked the hustle was on...except for that brief
moment when first approached on the street. Clearly the couple gets payment
from the establishment, but they then have the nerve to double down, asking for
money for formula for the baby, who can't breastfeed because of the mother's
medication...
It's a $40 hustle...and worth every
peso.
It's the last time I get hustled,
quickly learning the drill - say "no, gracias", don't make eye
contact, and pass right by. A few days later a young man volunteers to take us
to hear some great music (hadn't we heard this before?), and when I spot a
contemporary dance troupe (free) in the plaza, I go my separate way. Kathy
finds me minutes later, her guide having been stopped by a young policewoman
for "talking to tourists" (read: hustling tourists). Then there was
the gent in Plaza Delores who invited me to dinner. When I tell him I already
have plans, he hands me a piece of paper with his name and address on it.
"Come by later," he whispers. I'm telling the story to Kathy and
Peter over dinner, and we all crack up when they ask "quanto questa?"
Lonely Planet is right - Cubans have honed the hustle to an art form.
Kathleen, unfortunately, never learns,
continuing to be coerced into begs, bribes, and outright hustles for the
duration of the trip. She also gets us front row seats at numerous music
venues, sits in with some of the bands, and buys all the performers' CDs. Live
music is everywhere in Cuba - on every street corner, at each venue. As
ubiquitous as jinteros and twice the fun, the Cuban traditions of Son, Salsa,
Rumba, Changüé, Guaguancé, and Timba reverberate for weeks. Guitar players
strum along cobblestone streets; bongo players sit on the wall along the
Malecon; wandering minstrels play in parks and public squares, in restaurants
and paladars[5]. A
woman pulls out her guitar on a bus to Trinidad. A classically-trained flamenco
guitarist makes dinner at an 'Italian' paladar palatable. Each makes my sojourn
enchanting. Collectively, they make up the rhythmic undercurrent of Cuba.
In Trinidad, La Trova[6] (where tourists stumble
over salsa lessons by locals, to multiple bands) and House of Musica (with its
outdoor amphitheatre, son of son, African rhythms, and full moon) are trip
favorites. OK, and the dance-off Andri (son of a Puerto Padre casa owner) and
my son have one late afternoon after too much rum. It is a riot of salsa,
bootie-shaking, dirty dancing, breaking, hip-hop, and timba...on testosterone.
When Andri wins, he takes his wife to the dance floor, and we all are wowed.
Then there's the art. Street artists, like musicians, draw, paint, sculpt, print, mime, dance, and origami in every plaza and park, every famous square. Galleries and shops exhibit oils, watercolors, acrylics, charcoals, stunning photography. We enjoy watching artists create at 'taller' experimental studios, honing their craft. They invite us to play. The art is colorful and fun, looks Picassoesque. Or maybe late Gauguin. It's Cubaism. It's political satire. It's revolutionary.
I stroll into a sidestreet gallery in
Baracoa, at the far eastern end of the island, and am transported. Cubaism, flavored
by local native Taíno history and the culture of the revolution (Che ala
Baracoa). The student introduces me to Mildo Matos, the artist, and for the
duration of my stay, I photograph artists and their work, interviewing them in
studios and shops.
In a socialist country where peoples'
basic needs are met (food, housing, education, healthcare, childcare), art,
music, dance, and culture flourish. I wonder what my country would be capable
of if so many weren't scrambling daily to pay the bills, if we weren't all in
debt to banks, landlords, student loans. If our market fundamentalism hadn't
worked to create systemic inequality, burdening the 99% so deeply. The freedom
to create is palpable and insistent.
[1] "Welcome to the land of the jintero or tout, a profession raised to an art form by the Cubans." Lonely Planet, Cuba (6th edition)
[2] Grandmothers
[3] Rent the movie: Buena Vista Social Club
[4] Son - a Cuban music style, made popular again
by the Buena Vista Social Club
[5] Paladars are privately owned restaurants,
fairly new to the revolution, and almost always better than government ones.
[6] Every town has its Trova, providing a mixture
of popular national music along with traditions of the province.
