“Levitar” by Tomas Sanchez

“I guarantee the artist is Cuban,” I say aloud, but to no one in particular, as I look at a painting at the PINTA Latin American Art Fair, which is taking place in New York City this weekend before it packs up and heads to London for an engagement next year.

A woman studying the same painting looks at me and asks, “How do you know?” Five minutes later, as I’m expounding upon the common themes of modern and contemporary Cuban art, she’s probably sorry she asked the question. When I notice she’s looking for a way to escape gracefully, I give her an out. “Enjoy the fair.”

*
I don’t know about Cuban art because I’ve studied it formally. I know it because I’ve seen so much of it. After a while, all of its distinctive characteristics become immediately evident, even to the auto-didactic eye. In paintings, there will be palm trees. Water. Boats, generally of a shoddy variety like the one Francisco took to the United States. Whimsical, fairy-tale like characters, often unmoored from land, floating away. There will be color–lots of it. On the most concrete, obvious level, there will be the depiction of the island itself.

“Maleconada” by Jorge Perugorria

Cuban photography is even easier to pin down. Crumbling architecture. Ironic contrasts that underscore Cuba’s political and economic situations, a not so subtle commentary, even when artists insist, as they inevitably do, that their work “isn’t political.” Again, the ocean.

In all genres: images of or references to Che and Fidel. The use of currency. Windows with a view of water pushing out to the horizon.

A work by by Yoan Capote at the Jack Shainman Gallery

Art, of course, reflects life. But the life depicted in Cuban art is so puzzling in its partiality. Regardless of one’s views of the Revolution, people still love. They still work. They still eat, go to school, get sick. They have birthday parties. But rarely are these aspects of life visible in Cuban art work.
**
To the art lover who is new to Cuban art, these images and symbols and subjects I’ve mentioned will all likely seem novel, as they should. The crowd at the recent Yoan Capote exhibit at the Jack Shainman Gallery in Chelsea seemed charmed by the artist’s work.

A work by by Yoan Capote at the Jack Shainman Gallery

Though I was impressed by his range of genres and his technical skill in executing each–sculpture, photography, installation, drawing, painting, and multimedia– I was underwhelmed by the preoccupations explored in the work, as well as their conceptual execution. When asked to elaborate on one of his pieces, Capote, giving a talk to visitors, said, “I don’t like to talk too much about my work. I feel it’s a bit like undressing a woman.”

**
Longing, loss, freedom and the lack of it, deterioration, the tension of living in a seemingly perpetual ambiguity… these are all, inarguably, part of “the Cuban experience.” As such, they will inevitably be explored by artists in their work. At the same time, I’m keen to see Cuban artists exploring these emotions in new ways.

Cuban art has become stagnant.

That’s what I thought as I looked at the Cuban pieces on display at PINTA.

I was desperate to see something different.
**
But if Cuban art has become stagnant, viewers and collectors bear at least part of the blame. Gallerists, curators, and collectors have commodified Cuba through its art, drawing the boundaries of what is saleable and, therefore, what is “valuable,” what is showable, and indeed, what Cuban art “is.” The Cuba and la cubanidad in Cuban art reflects, at least in part, the life that we imagine Cubans live: a life romanticized by the narrative of ingenuity and resolve amidst poverty, of yearned for and frustrated escape, of predictable, recognizable symbols.

The message to Cuban artists, then, is that to be of interest and to sell abroad, their work must incorporate these elements and reinforce the narratives that people who don’t actually live their reality–their realities–have written for them. How to revive the creativity and range of thematic exploration in Cuban art, then, depends at least as much upon the viewer as the artist.

When and how the conditions will change that shape the viewer’s concept of Cuban art may be even more interesting and explosive than any shift on the part of Cuban artists.

In the world of “Latin music,” Susana Baca and Carlos Varela are both big names.

Baca is an Afro-Peruvian singer whose songs tell “the story of African identity as transplanted, transformed and even repressed in her native country.”* Varela is a 47-year old Cuban folk singer who, in his own words “es alguien que canta la realidad de la juventud cubana con [todos] sus defectos y virtudes.” ["someone who sings the reality of Cuban youth with all of its flaws and virtues."]. Not counting Pablo Milanes and Silvio Rodriguez–both of whom are older than he– Varela is probably Cuba’s best-known vocalist in this genre.

Though well-loved in New York City, Baca makes infrequent appearances here, and the United States’ persistently noxious diplomatic relations with Cuba always present an obstacle for artists like Varela when they go about securing a visa to perform here. Both will be here this week, though, as part of Lincoln Center’s annual Out of Doors Festival.

The free performance starts at 6:30 PM on Wednesday, August 11, at the Damrosch Park Bandshell, the outdoor amphitheatre behind the main plaza. Seating is provided by Lincoln Center, but get there early, as this performance will be well-attended.

Francisco will be photographing the performance for Lincoln Center.

To see photographs from last year’s Out of Doors Festival, click here.

If you’d like to listen to Baca’s and Varela’s music, we recommend Baca’s album “Eco de Sombras” and Varela’s recently released “All His Greatest Hits.”

*Quote by Larry Blumenfeld, of The Wall Street Journal

It’s true, we’ve posted nothing since April. Let’s skip the usual excuses and apologies, shall we, and just say that it’s been so long that we even forgot our own password.

It’s been a busy, fun time.

“Fun Slide,” Aibonito, Puerto Rico, June 2010

Though we never would have expected it when we high-tailed it out of Puerto Rico with all engines thrusting, the island we called home for more than 2.5 years has become one of our writing and photography niches. Fodor’s Puerto Rico, 6th Edition will be hitting bookstore shelves in August. Julie wrote several features for the book, including “History You Can See,” “State of the Arts in Puerto Rico,” “Salsa,” “A Guide to Puerto Rico’s Carved Saints,” and a 14 page itinerary for the Ruta Panoramica, the first time the Ruta’s been featured in the Fodor’s guide. Several of Francisco’s photos illustrate these and other features.

Yes, the guide book has mistakes. And yes, parts of it are already out of date. That’s why you’ll need to supplement it with the iPhone app we’re (slowly but surely) producing. More on that later.

Julie also has a feature article about Puerto Rico’s Ruta Panoramica (Panoramic Route) that will be published in the September issue of Latina Magazine, and several of Francisco’s photos will accompany this piece as well.

A mid-June trip to Puerto Rico and a return trip planned for September will see other writing and photography projects come to fruition. In the meantime, you can read about violence on the island and the problem with lionfish on PR’s Southern coast over at Matador, and take a look at photos from Yauco (one of PR’s coffee-producing towns), Aibonito (home of the annual flower festival), and other cities and towns we visited in June.

Between now and our next Puerto Rico visit, Julie will be headed to Cuba to visit Francisco’s family and to work on a few stories, including several pieces about Havana’s Chinese Cuban population, a subject that she’s been working on for the past couple years.

And other projects abound- a photo essay about scientific research at Guantanamo Bay Naval Base for Discover Magazine and the conversion of CollazoProjects from a blog into a full-blown website.

What are you up to these days? Fill us in by leaving a comment below!

Back in December, Lola Akinmade invited me to participate in the Tripbase Best-Kept Travel Secrets Project. Time got away from me and I never followed through.

Earlier this week, Katie Erica, the writer who started the project, invited me to participate- again- so this time, I won’t let her down!

The idea behind the project is to crowd-source an epic list of travel writers’ favorite places, preferably places that are “secret.”

Now you can argue whether sharing “secret” places is a good idea, as the excellent writer David Page did in the article “Travelers’ Omerta: Is There No Place We Should Keep Secret?” It’s a valid question and one that leads to important reflections.

But the places where I travel aren’t really secret. They’re pretty much in plain view for everyone to see and visit… they simply choose not to.

So here are my three “best-kept travel secrets” and my defense of why you should visit each of them:

Mexico City, Mexico

If I could have any job other than the one I have, it would be a full-time evangelist for Mexico City.

Seriously, this is THE most exciting city on the planet, and if you know me or read my writing regularly, you know I don’t use words like “most” or “must-see” frequently.

I will spend my life trying to write a more persuasive, poignant description of Mexico City than David Lida, but until then, I’ll simply cite him with gratitude for articulating my exact feelings about “el DF”:

“I had been utterly seduced by the constant sensations of contrast, surprise, even tumult.”

“[I]t has absorbed and swallowed all the centuries of its history, yet most of them are still in evidence in some regurgitated form on the streets.”

“Mexico City is constantly improvising a new invention of itself.”

I could go on and on, but do yourself a favor and read Lida’s book, First Stop in the New World: Mexico City, The Capital of the 21st Century. Start reading his blog. And then, put Mexico City on the top of your travel list.

And once you’re there, make sure you witness the daily flag ceremony in the Zocalo. Go to a lecture at Casa Lamm and then visit their restaurant for an overpriced but totally worth it martini (try carambola). And throw yourself into a visit to Mercado San Juan like it’s the most important thing you’ll do all year. Just don’t forget your camera.

CUBA

First, understand this: Cuba is not closed.

It’s very much open for tourism and business and even if you’re an American you can go there.

I explain how in “How to Travel to Cuba and Why You Should Do It Now.”

I guarantee that you’ll come back from Cuba a changed person, one who has begun to understand what a complex nation it is, one that exists outside of all the polarized rhetoric about it. And if you don’t, well, I’ll take you out for dinner and we can talk about it.

What should you do while you’re there? I’ve written about some favorite Havana attractions for TravelMuse and favorite nightlife spots for Matador.

3. Mompox, Colombia

You’ve got to be determined to get to Mompox. You have to cross a river in a sketchy boat, then take a motorbike or sturdy vehicle to this UNESCO World Heritage site.

But if you do, it will be worth the effort, especially if you plan a visit of a week or longer.

Colombia’s legendary river, the Magdalena, runs right through the town, which is rumored to be the inspiration for novelist Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s imaginary town of Macondo. There’s not a raucous nightlife here, or dozens of museums, but there are lots and lots of stories.

If you visit, book a bed at Matador contributor Richard McColl’s La Casa Amarilla, which Francisco and I tended for a month in 2008.

**
What are your favorite travel “secrets”? Share them–or not!–in the comments.
**
And be sure to check out the blogs of these writers, who I’m “tagging” to participate in the Tripbase project:

Hal Amen: WayWorded
Donna Arioldi: Prepare for Crosscheck
Megan Hill: See.Write.Live.
Reeti Roy: Clickety Click Click
Michelle Schusterman: MusicTravelWrite

Photo: waitingalessio

Time and distance heal all wounds… so goes the old saying. It’s one that’s always been close to me as an immigrant. Sometimes it’s been a true description of my experiences, and other times, not so much.

For example, those experiences that compelled me to leave my country haven’t miraculously transformed into an equally compelling reason to return. That which hurt me continues to hurt, but with the passage of time it’s attenuated a bit by nostalgia’s particular ability to rescue other elements of experience and identity that I wasn’t even aware of before.

Music and food, in particular, are the elements of identity that resuscitate my “Cubanidad.” I travel into my own depths to recover that which I’d never paid much attention to before. Old songs that were never relevant or interesting to me in the least capture my attention and release a torrent of intense emotion capable of hair-triggering tears. These songs aren’t even from my generation, they’re not from my hometown, they’re not representative of my own experiences, but they still touch me. And deeply.

A few hours ago, I heard for the first time the songs of Maria Teresa Vera with my soul’s ear. Vera, a Cuban composer, penned immortal classics like “20 Years,” “Nena,” and “Aurora,” and interpreted “Black Weddings” by Colombian composer Carlos Borges Alberto Villalón, “I’ve Lost With You” and other ballads from the Cuban trova period that today are repackaged and resold for a new generation. I look and in Vera I see a genuine and original voice singing for all the trovadores of all eras. Online, I find emotional comments about Vera’s songs that are so passionate they almost fill me with embarrassment for not having paid Vera much attention before.

Cuban trova; Photo: Cybertiesto

I know I’m not alone in these types of experiences, but I continue to feel surprised when I look at myself feeling profound nostalgia for the images and experiences these types of songs bring up. For example, my memories of Barbarito Diez, who some radio stations opposed. The duo Los Compadres, which I detested because it was their music that woke me up when I was serving in the military–”Wake up, Cuban!”–when I was 16.

Of Cuban cooking… ah, there’s a strange nostalgia there, too. I’d never eaten okra in Cuba- I associated its slimy texture with the mucus from a contagious cold. But today I buy okra regularly and experiment with all its possibilities.

It’s true–right?– that last winter wasn’t as cold as the one that’s coming. The rain that soaked me was soft and refreshing. In some cases, time changes our memories of the past. My home in Cuba was large and cool… when in reality, when I returned, it was tiny and dark.

Exile is the natural enemy of memory; it changes you. You become your memories, you’re forced to look through old drawers to find the parts of yourself that can be salvaged. As strange as it seems, today I miss those things that never meant anything to me. I miss the`sounds of old trova, the compositions of María Teresa Vera, and the insipid taste of okra.

**

Photo: Robin Thom

La verdad es que con el tiempo y la distancia se olvidan las penas, un conocido dicho expresa. Para mi este ha sido un hecho muy presente en mis experiencias en el exterior, algunas veces muy verdadero y otras no muy reales del todo.

Por ejemplo, aquellos incidentes que me sacaron de carrera de mi país de origen no se han convertidos en una razón maravillosa para regresar de nuevo. Aquello que me dolió sigue doliendo, pero con el andar del tiempo la nostalgia ha ido rescatando otros elementos que antes no lo tenia en cuenta. Y la música y las comidas son en especial los elementos de identidad que rescata la cubanidad en mi.

Viajo en mis adentros para rescatar lo que en algún tiempo ni siquiera consideraba. Viejas canciones de antaño que no tenían relevancia alguna llegan a mi como un torrencial de emociones vivas que me sacan las lagrimas a a por botones al oírlas cantar. Estas no son ni siquiera de mi tiempo, ni de mi región natal, ni de mi experiencias pasadas, pero me llegan y me llegan muy fuertes.

Hace unas horas apenas por primera vez escuche con el oído del alma las interpretaciones de María Teresa Vera, compositora cubana de canciones inmortales como “Veinte Años,” “Nena,” e “Aurora,” “Bodas Negras” del compositor colombiano Carlos Borges Alberto Villalón, “He Perdido Contigo,” y otras baladas de la trova cubana de tiempos pasados que hoy se venden en copas nuevas. Busco y en ella encuentro la voz genuina e original de las canciones y versos de amor cantados por todos los trovadores de ayer y de hoy. En la red electrónica encuentro comentarios muy emocionales que pones casi al borde de llanto y me llenan de vergüenza ajena por no considerarlas antes.

Se que no estoy solo en estas experiencias. Me sorprende verme añorando cosas que son muy, pero muy ajenas en lo que ha música y comidas se refiere. Por ejemplo a Barbarito Diez lo oía porque lo oponían en otra radio. Al duo Los Compadres los detestaba porque eran ellos lo que me despertaban a sones de retreta de campaña en la unidad militar con su- “Levantate cubano que esto y lo otro” cuando tenia 16 años y sentía después de dormir un sueño viejo que no se apartaba de mi juventud.

Photo: Aaron Escobar

De la cocina cubana jamas comí el quimbombo, porque en mi mente lo asociaba a las descargas nasales de catarro contagioso. Sin embargo hoy lo confecciono en latos deliciosos y lo compro con mucha frecuencia.

Es cierto que el invierno del ano pasado no fue tan frío como el que vendrá, y que la lluvia que me mojo era suave y refrescante. El tiempo en algunos de los casos me cambia sin duda la impresión del pasado. Mi casa en Cuba era grande y fresca, cuando en realidad cuando volví era pequeña y oscura.

El exilio es el enemigo natural de la memoria, te cambia y te transformas en otro. Te conviertes en recuerdos y te fuerza a buscar en las gavetas con moho por algo salvable. Lo cierto es que por asombroso que parezca, hoy extraño en mis oídos la vieja trova de Los Compadres, las composiciones de María Teresa Vera, y el sabor insípido del quimbombo. Y que para bien sea, ya que complejas son mis memorias de casi 30 años.

Colombian singer Juanes, along with Puerto Rican singer Olga Tanon and Spanish singer Miguel Bose, organized the Paz Sin Fronteras/Peace Without Borders concert that took place in Havana today.

For Cubans and for people around Latin America, the concert was of profound symbolic importance, regardless of one’s political persuasion.

Brayan Collazo was at the concert, held in Havana’s Revolution Plaza, and sent the following impressions afterward:

“These are my impressions from the concert.
I think that the Cuban public–lacking these types of events–isn’t totally prepared with respect to how they should act at a gathering like this one. Everyone wanted to move toward the stage and to do so, they trampled children and women, which is terrible, very bad. One felt like he was on a boat in bad weather. When I couldn’t move forward, I tried to find a calm area where I could take everything in, but it was impossible. People kept surging forward. But by the end of the concert, there was more calm….

The music, the sound, and the services were all very good.

But what was most memorable was the way everyone was moved by Juanes’s final words, and Juan Formel’s [leader of the Cuban group, Los Van Van] rendition of [the popular Cuban song] “Chan Chan” [which all of the performers and the crowd joined in to sing]. The tremendous expectations of Juanes, Olga Tanon, The Orishas [another Cuban group] and Los Van Van were all fulfilled. In the end, the goal of the concert was achieved… and everyone was crying. Please share these photos and explain what this concert meant to us….”

Havana wasn’t the only city where people were watching the concert with the same sense of emotion, though. People from around Latin America shared the experience on Twitter, making the following observations throughout the hours-long concert:

From @CarolaValdez, from Venezuela:
“Me retiro por un rato, las ganas de llorar me dieron dolorsito de cabeza, pero por la mejor de las causas, emocion pura!!! Dios los bendiga.”/ “I’m going offline for a bit; the desire to cry gave me a headache, but for the best reason- pure emotion. God bless.”

From @rodolfob, from Argentina: “Este es mi primer concierto virtual y es espectacular asistir al mismo, hasta siento el calor de la Plaza de la Revolucion Bravo #Cuba!!”/”This is my first virtual concert & it’s incredible- I even feel the heat in Revolution Plaza. Bravo, Cuba!!”

From e_vk, from Venezuela: “Cantidad de personas en #pazsinfronteras impresionante!”/”The number of people in #pazsinfronteras: impressive!”

**
El cantante colombiano, Juanes, junto con la cantante puertorriqueña, Olga Tañon, y el cantante español Miguel Bosé, organizaron el concierto Paz Sin Fronteras que tuvo lugar hoy en La Habana.

Para los cubanos y el pueblo latinoamericano, el concierto tuvo una importancia profundamente simbolica, a pesar de las opinions politicas de cada persona.

Brayan Collazo estuvo en la Plaza de la Revolución para el concierto y nos envió sus impresiones despues del mismo:

“Esta es mi impresión del concierto….

Creo que el pueblo cubano por la falta de estos eventos no está preparado del todo para recibir con disciplina lo mismo. Argumento esto por lo que pude sufrir en el concierto.
Todos querian ir hacia delante y para lograr esto se atropellaron a niños y mujeres–eso esta mal, muy mal. Parecía que estabas en un barco en mal tiempo. Yo, cuando no pude avanzar mas, trate de acomodarme en un sitio tranquilo pero me fue imposible; como yo muchos se marcharon. Al final de la tarde y del concierto se podía ver una mayor tranquilidad.

La música,el audio,los servicios estuvieron bien.

Una verdad muy grande es que la gente se impresionó con las palabras finales de Juanes y Juan Formel quien cerró el espectáculo a todo lo alto con su orquesta Los Van Van. Las grandes espectativas para el público cubano radicaba en Juanes, Olga Tañon, Orishas y Van Van…. El concierto a la larga logró su objetivo y todos lloraron al final.”

La Habana no era la única ciudad donde la gente veían el concierto con la misma emoción. Las personas de toda americalatina compartieron la experiencia y sus emociones a través de Twitter, haciendo las siguientes observaciones:

De @CarolaValdez, de Venezuela:
“Me retiro por un rato, las ganas de llorar me dieron dolorsito de cabeza, pero por la mejor de las causas, emocion pura!!! Dios los bendiga.”

De @rodolfob de Argentina: “Este es mi primer concierto virtual y es espectacular asistir al mismo, hasta siento el calor de la Plaza de la Revolucion Bravo #Cuba!!”

De e_vk, de Venezuela: “Cantidad de personas en #pazsinfronteras impresionante!”

If I associate Mexico with the “danzon” dances in public parks on Sundays, I associate Puerto Rico with its romantic “bohemias” on Thursdays and weekends. Before, this word “bohemia” held allusions to the past. I imagined a singer in the middle of a medieval garden, singing to his lover, or an artist with his watercolors, traveling from one village to another. The way people talked about bohemians made them sound like irresponsible dreamers, lazy vagabonds. It was a word that mothers said to their daughters to discourage them from getting infatuated with a boy: “My dear, don’t get fixated on him; that kid is a bohemian!” and with that, she’d said everything. It was, in short, a bad word.

I’d never encountered a “bohemia,” besides a Cuban magazine by that same name. But in Puerto Rico, I learned that “bohemian” and “bohemia” have an entirely different meaning. A bohemia (as a noun) is a reunion of romantics who are falling in love with life for the second or third time. The majority of the people who gather at bohemias are older adults. Their children are grown and have left home. In some cases, they’re divorcees, not out to find a new marriage partner, but in search of someone with whom they can laugh, sing, and dance.

The majority of bohemias take place in cafes, bars, or restaurants, though these aren’t the only sites, just the most accessible ones. The people who attend bohemias often dress formally. Lawyers, doctors, and other professionals, often retired, all gather to present the best of their dance repertoire. Many of them sing and all of them love romantic music. The majority of the songs played at bohemias are greatest hits from the past. The singers take special requests– everyone knows every song.

There’s a difference between bohemia and a karaoke bar, and that’s the fact that there’s a pianist or a guitarist accompanying the singer. Many of the musicians have also had successful careers in the past. Now, they’re playing not for money, but for the love of music.

But don’t get the idea that bohemia is just for older people or some throwback to the past. Young people also participate in bohemias and it seems there’s a resurgence of interest in bohemias among younger age groups. The commonality is that everyone loves the music, a repertoire that’s so diverse that it often includes artists like Andrea Boccelli, Armando Manzanero, and Francisco Cespedes, among others.

The atmosphere at a bohemia is generally warm and friendly. It’s easy to talk and make friends, especially because these are places where a new face is recognized easily. The aficionados attend regularly and are ready to welcome newcomers.

Often, while I listen to the people singing at bohemias, I wonder why the singer devoted himself or herself to studying medicine or law instead of music. They might have made a career of singing. It’s easy to feel the power of music at a bohemia. I can’t decide whether the bohemias are a requiem to the past that slips away from us bit by bit or if they are a celebration of life and a reaffirmation of love, but what I know for sure is that it’s impossible not to be a bohemian when you’re at a bohemia!

TRAVEL TIP: If you’d like to participate in a bohemia in Puerto Rico, three excellent–and very different–places to experience bohemia are Amadeus Bistro Bar (Edificio Torre Chardon, Avenida Chardon #350, San Juan, 787-641-7450); Alquimia Bistro Club (located right next to the Doubletree San Juan Hotel in the Condado section of San Juan); and Diego’s (Avenida Domenech #124, Hato Rey, 787-758-0908).
**

Si a México lo asocio con los bailes de danzon en los parques públicos los domingos, a Puerto Rico lo asocio por sus bohemias románticas los jueves y fines de semanas. Antes para mi esta palabra “bohemio/bohemia” tenia algo del pasado. Me imaginaba un cantante en medio de un jardín medieval cantándole a su amada, o a un artista con sus acuarelas viajando de pueblo en pueblo. De hecho siempre escuche bohemios como algo de soñadores, irresponsables y vagabundos. Era una palabra que las madres les decían a sus hijas para que no se fijasen en un jovencito: “Ay no, mi hijita… no te fijes en fulano que ese es un bohemio!” y con eso lo decía todo. Era como una palabra mala.

Nunca antes había yo encontrado una bohemia aparte de la revista cubana que creo que no existe con este mismo nombre. Aprendí todo lo contrario en Puerto Rico. Realmente es una reunión de románticos y románticas que aman la vida por segunda o tercera vez. Personas en su mayoría de edad madura, con familia ya crecidas y en algunos casos divorciados, sin ganas de casarse otra vez, pero buscando una pareja para reír, cantar y bailar. En fin un…ah, bohemio en el mejor sentido de la palabra.

Mayormente estas bohemias tienen lugar en cafés, bares o restaurantes, aunque no son estos únicos sitios, son estos los mas accesibles. Las personas se visten de modo casual, pero muchas veces elegantes. Abogados, doctores y profesionales ya retirados se encuentran entre los presentes para brindarles al publico presente lo mejor de sus repertorios. Todos cantan o son amantes de la música romántica. La mayoría de las canciones han sido grandes éxitos. Hombres y mujeres comparten el escenario y responden a peticiones por parte del publico que ya conocen sus canciones.

Lo que diferencia la bohemia de un karaoke bar es que hay un pianista o guitarrista acompañándolos. Ellos acompañan a la melodía grabada e improvisan con acordes nuevos y espontáneos. Muchas de estos músicos han tenido una carrera exitosa. Solo que ahora lo hacen por amor a la música.

Recientemente me di cuenta que ya no era una cosa del pasado y de gentes de edad media o avanzada. También la juventud esta participando masivamente en estas bohemias, haciendo de ellas un lugar para los amantes de la música y nada mas. Los temas y los artistas a imitar son tan diversos como Andrea Boccelli, Armando Manzanero, Francisco Céspedes, y otros.

Por lo general el ambiente es ameno y muy cordial. Se puede conversar y hacer amigos o amigas; estos son lugares donde las caras nuevas se reconocen fácil, porque a decir verdad hay un porciento elevado de regulares o aficionados que son muchas veces los fundadores de estas bohemias. Todos ellos forman una comunidad de personas con gustos artísticos muy similares.

Mientras escucho los temas que se cantan, me pregunto por qué el que canta decidió medicina o leyes en vez de la música? Le hubiera ido muy bien por ese camino a ella o a el. Veo y siento el profundo poder sanador de la música en todas sus manifestaciones. Están todos enamorados de algo o de alguien-me digo- es imposible no estarlo aquí y ahora! No se si estas bohemias son un réquiem al pasado que se nos va en el día a día y en lo cotidiano, o es una celebración a la vida y una re-afirmación cantada al amor. Después de todo, de una forma u otra todos somos, o hemos sido bohemios!

Photo: Lyn Pernille Photography

The versatility of Havana’s Capitol was on display this summer. Far from serving its usual function as Cuba’s political center since the 1930s, it recently served as the stage for the presentation of the Royal Ballet of London’s first and only performance in Cuba, in collaboration with the Cuban National Ballet.

In the course of its history, Havana’s Capitol building has functioned as the Museum of Natural Sciences and, until recently, also served as home to the Ministry of Technological Sciences and the Environment.

Tickets for the performance were on sale beforehand, but the demand far outstripped the supply; the majority of those who hoped to see the performance were left without tickets. For this reason, organizers put a Plan B into action: People without tickets could gather around the Capitol to watch the ballet on giant outdoor projector screens.

Though not ideal, the plan served the occasion well. People could watch the ballet in real time, in the open air, and just a few steps away from the National Theatre, which was wear the screens were set up. Swells of people crowded into the area in anticipation, but the first night was a false alarm; everyone had to wait for the second day to see the much anticipated performance.

Demand wasn’t the only problem with the tickets, though. Price speculation prompted scalping, which, in turn, touched off an aggressive police operation intended to prevent the tickets from being resold for as much as 10 times what they’d been bought for. Tickets were being sold for astronomical prices, sums that were equivalent to an entire month’s wages: 200 pesos, or 9 US dollars.

Elbow-to-elbow people from Cuba and from abroad, from all different social classes, gathered together on the 45 steps of the Capitol building. Beyond the performance itself, it was interesting to see how Cuban daily life continued to unfold behind the transparent screen– a profound contrast between “real” life and the classical music and star-studded ballet being shown on the screens, the picturesque panorama of plies and pointes being executed these two great ballet companies.

The old city of Havana was in a partying mood on that warm Caribbean evening. It was high ballet, yes, but Cuban style: cameras flashing, shots of Havana Club rum passing hands, running commentaries and spontaneous applause as the dancers performed. And without a doubt, the high point of the evening was the intermission, when the dancers from both companies left the luxury of their stage to come outside and greet the crowd. “Bravo!” and greetings resounded, with affection and respect being shared by both sides.

Acclaimed Cuban ballet dancer Carlos Acosta told the masses how special it was for him and for all Cubans to be part of such a historic moment, adding with obvious emotion in his voice, “Enjoy it! It’s for all of us!”

The other incredible gift was the performance offered by violinist Charlie Siem, who caressed the crowd with his smooth, precise, emotive notes. The applause was thunderous and the experience– well, it was memorable.

The night closed with the presentation of flowers and special recognition to the members of the Symphonic Orchestra of the Grand Theatre of Havana, directed by maestro Daniel Capps. The grand dame of Cuban ballet, Alicia Alonso, also honored us with her presence, in spite of her fragile health and physical condition.

Alicia Alonso; Photo: dalbera

It was through Alonso that so many Cubans learned about ballet, and because of her that those in attendance knew the dances and even their exact movements. During the height of her career in the 1970s, it was Alonso who brought us interpretations of Coppelia, Swan Lake, Romeo and Juliet, and an endless number of classic, universal pieces.

The visit of the London Ballet was a gift to add to the repertoire of our memories, guarding it like a relic for future generations.

**

Photo: ChrisGoldNY

La versatilidad del Capitolio de La Habana se ha puesto de manifiesto en este caluroso verano. Lejos de cumplir con su función original como centro político de la Cuba de los años 30s, recientemente sirvió de escenario al publico para la presentación del Ballet Real de Londres en su primera y única visita a Cuba conjuntamente con el Ballet Nacional Cubano.
En su historia el edificio del Capitolio de La Habana ha funcionado como Museo de Ciencias Naturales y hasta muy poco funcionó como sede para el Ministerio de Ciencia Tecnología y Medio Ambiente.
Las entradas para la presentación de la compañía inglesa se estaban vendiendo con antelación, pero era más la demanda que la oferta y como era de esperar muchas personas se quedaron sin poder adquirir los boletos de entrada. Por esa razón nació la idea de presentar la puesta en escena en pantalla gigante en el Capitolio, a un lado del Teatro Nacional. La idea, aunque no magnifica, fue ideal y practica para esta ocasión. Se pudo observar en tiempo real, al aire libre y a unos pasos del Teatro Nacional. Sin embargo, la primera noche fue una falsa alarma; la gente hubieran que esperar al segundo día donde si se hizo realidad el sueño.

La especulación con los precios provocó una fuerte operación policial para contrarrestar las altas sumas de dinero de costo para un boleto que vio su valor multiplicado 10 veces hasta llegar a la astronómica suma equivalente al salario mensual de un obrero cubano 200 pesos (9 dólares).

Photo: headlessmonk

En sus 45 primeros escalones del Capitolio, se ubicaron codo con codo nacionales y extranjeros de las mas diversas capas sociales. Resultaba interesante ver como en el trasfondo de las pantallas se percibía la cotidianidad de los cubanos que en su ir y venir contrastaban por detrás de las pantallas gigantes con la música clásica que acompañaba el ballet de las estrellas. Pintoresco panorama de saltos y pasos con una técnica maravillosa las actuaciones de estas dos grandes compañías de ballet que se movían desde la danza contemporánea hasta el mas clásico de los ballet.

La añeja ciudad de La Habana estaba de fiesta y se estremeció en su caribeño atardecer. Se respiro un aire de teatro al estilo habanero acompañado de cámaras con flash, tragos de ron Habana Club, y comentarios y aplausos como estruendo mientras bailaban. Sin duda alguna el momento cumbre del espectáculo fue en el intermedio, cuando de manera inesperada y sorpresiva los bailarines de ambas companias dejaron su lujoso salón de actuación para llegar hasta la multitud de espectadores que observaba desde las escalinatas del capitolio la actuación en vivo para saludarlos. Gritos de “Bravo!” y saludos estremecieron el lugar dándole a la escalera, al Capitolio, y a la Habana un toque exclusivo para la historia de los dos pueblos. Se respiraba afecto y respeto de ambas partes.

Carlos Acosta afamado bailarín cubano expreso ante la multitud presente lo especial que era para el y para todos los cubanos esta presentación tan especial y agrego con palabras muy emotivas- Disfrútenla que esta es para todos nosotros!- estas palabras fundieron al publico que consideró y disfrutó de su actuación momentos antes en la tarima.

El otro magnifico regalo fue la actuación del violinista Charlie Siem que con sus suaves y maravillosas notas estremeció al publico con su ejecución precisa y su sentimiento personal. Grandioso fue el aplauso y la experiencia inmemorable para decir poco.

Para cerrar la noche hubo flores y reconocimientos especiales para los integrantes de la orquesta sinfónica del Gran Teatro de La Habana dirigida por el maestro Daniel Capps. La gran bailarina Alicia Alonso también nos honro con su presencia apesar de su frágil salud y condición física.

Photo: rayparnova

La Habana conoció los temas y movimientos a ejecutar. Fue a través de Alicia Alonso que nos llenamos y aprendimos sobre el ballet. Ella nos regalo las interpretaciones de Coppelia, El Lago de los Cisnes, Romeo y Julieta y un sin fin de obras clásicas universales en su etapa mas productiva en el ballet cubano de los 70s.

Hoy una vez mas, recibimos el arte como regalo para agregarlo a nuestro repertorio de la memoria, y guardarlo como reliquia para generaciones venideras.

Photo: Giorgio

It’s well known that Cuba has lost a large part of its young population to the phenomenon of illegal immigration from the island to the United States or other parts of the world. Many families have a loved one or know someone who has left the country in the past 20 years, and as I’m not exempt from that category, it’s a subject that holds a personal interest for me.

Nonetheless, it was only recently that I met someone who had immigrated and then returned: Ignacio. He started to tell me his history, and I asked his permission to interview him.

Ignacio had committed various crimes in Havana. The father of two daughters in Cuba, one of whom died recently, he was wanted for various small crimes when he was arrested and incarcerated in the city of Cienfuegos in the province of Las Villas before he was released and left for the US via the port of Mariel in 1980.

My relationship with him was motivated by a deep curiosity to know about his life abroad, his experiences, and the reasons he finds himself in Cuba today after having abandoned the country. One way or another, I was determined to understand a turbulent era in Cuban history that unfolded in 1980. At the time, I was barely one year old. During the same year, more than 120,000 Cubans fled the country, though not all of them in the same way or for the same reasons.

Pei de la Paz: How did you leave Cuba?

Ignacio: I left for the United States via the port of Mariel in the early days of May 1980. I had been in the Wanajay Prison in Cuba. From there, I was transferred to The Mosquito camp, which was the departure point for prisoners who were leaving the country, some of their own will and others obliged to do so. The treatment of the Cuban authorities was very rough; I’d even say abusive.

Photo: Florida Keys Public Libraries

The boat I left in was called The Mora. The owner was a Cuban woman from Marianao, one of the neighborhoods of Havana. There were 14 of us on the boat, not counting the crew, and it was a small boat. There were men, women, and children of all ages. The crew had absolutely no navigation experience, which explained why we went off course on more than one occasion. I remember that they were on the radio constantly, asking merchant boats if we were on the right path to Key West.

We were exhausted when we saw the lighthouse, arriving first to Sombrero Key after all these confusions and detours. After we recovered a bit, we realized we could see the lights of Key West–our final destination–far out on the horizon. Finally, tired and confused, we found ourselves on dry land.

Pei de la Paz: How were your first months in the US?

Ignacio: I was really one of the lucky ones; I didn’t have to spend much time in the refugee camp. I was sent to Fort McCoy military base in Wisconsin. There, I was sponsored by Mr. Richard Kaiser, a sponsorship which made me eligible to leave.

Mr. Kaiser owned some farms and land, and that was the reason he was willing to sponsor refugees without families– so he could have them on his farm as laborers. It was a kind of work exchange program; we were cheap labor; in exchange, we received room and board. That was my start in the US.

A little later, I left the farm because I wanted to have my own house and strike out on my own. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I wanted to be independent.

Pei de la Paz: Were you able to make money?

Ignacio: Yes, I was able to save a few thousand. I don’t remember exactly how much, but it was more than $5,000.

Pei de la Paz: Did you stay in Wisconsin?

Ignacio: Yes, I stayed in Wisconsin. I attended the Black Hawk Technical Institute; there we learned English, not just Cubans, but people from all over the world.

Pei de la Paz: Were you single at the time?

Ignacio: Well, I’d started a relationship with an African American named Maggie Davidson.

Pei de la Paz: Where did you meet Maggie Davidson?

Ignacio: She was in the school too, but she was there to help us. Her job (in an auto factory) wasn’t making ends meet and so she supplemented her salary by working at the school.

Pei de la Paz: How was your relationship with her?

Ignacio: To be honest, it was different. I was accustomed to relationships with Cuban women and [Maggie] was different, very different, but we got along well. We spent some very happy moments together that I still remember. We got married. Really, she’s a very good woman, with a good character.

Pei de la Paz: Did you have children?

Ignacio: Yes, a little girl we named Caridad.

Pei de la Paz: Can you describe Caridad?

Ignacio: Sure. She was an intelligent and loving child. I remember that I always bought her things and she’d be very happy.

Pei de la Paz: Did you separate from them?

Ignacio: To be honest, yes. I was in prison on two occasions in the US.

Photo: pregrinari

Pei de la Paz: Do you remember the names of the prisons?

Ignacio: Yes, one was in Illinois; I think it was called the Peoria Transitional Center for Adults. The other prison was the Waupun Correctional Institution in Wisconsin or something like that.

Pei de la Paz: What kind of work did you do in the US?

Ignacio: I got caught up in drugs. It’s what produced money quickly and easily, though it was dangerous. I found it impossible to get out, though; I made a lot of money and the money was stronger than my own will. It was rough, really rough!

Pei de la Paz: Did you want to get out of it?

Ignacio: Yes, and my wife said to me, “Give it up, let’s move,” but I didn’t listen to her. And look where I am now… in Cuba!

Pei de la Paz: What kinds of material things did you acquire in the US?

Ignacio: Well, not too much. I had a few different cars, but the ones I liked the most were the Lincoln Continental Towncar y the Buick Riviera.

Pei de la Paz: Were you in danger of being killed [because of your involvement with drugs]?

Ignacio: Yes, and the situation went on for years. Understand that beyond the drugs themselves, you start using weapons to protect yourself and you have to become violent to be able to survive within this type of activity. Violence is an indispensable requisite if you want to be able to live in that world.

Pei de la Paz: And is this the reason why you were deported?

Ignacio: Yes. I was deported because my behavior couldn’t remotely be called good. I wasn’t an abuser or a killer; I just wanted to live well. I can’t deny that [being in that life] brought lots of opportunities; that’s the truth. It wasn’t “Get out of here and go back to Cuba tomorrow!” like a lot of people thought. No! [The authorities] gave me the opportunity to reintegrated into society, but it was already too late when I realized my error.

Pei de la Paz: Tell me about the deportation.

Ignacio: Well, I don’t really know what to tell you about the deportation, but I’ll tell you what they did to me. One of the times I was incarcerated, my daughter Caridad had gone to Washington to welcome the soldiers returning from the Gulf War and her photo was published in the newspaper. And my photo was published on the other page, with the headline saying “Cuban Can Be Deported.” I wrote the paper with the intention of calling them out on their racism, and they responded that if they were racist they wouldn’t have published the article in the first place. And that’s where everything started going downhill.

Pei de la Paz: They didn’t deport you at that time, though?

Ignacio: The state judge who had sentenced me didn’t have the power to deport me, so they asked for the help of Leslie (Les) Aspin, a powerful politician with a lot of influence. He was the one who guaranteed the deportation; that much had made clear in his declaration in the newspaper. I think he eventually went on to become Clinton’s Secretary of Defense or something like that.

Pei de la Paz: Tell me about your return to Cuba.

Ignacio: It was far from easy; many people cried and cried, the process of deportation went on for years, and nobody thought that the hour would ever arrive to return to Cuba.

It was Flight 110 with 22 people on board, all deported Cubans! We were all people who were well known for their criminal activities and a history of violence, criminality, and mental illness. We were able to bring our belongings, our toiletries, and clothing, though we were “relieved” of it all once we were in Cuba. We were left with just our shoes and our toiletries. Later, we were transferred to a maximum security prison in Cuba.

There, you were evaluated according to your past history before and after your departure from Cuba; this was to make a determination as to whether to grant liberty or to continue a prison sentence. I left before the 45 days stipulated. I was one of the lucky ones! Like everyone, I received 100 Cuban pesos (the equivalent, more or less, of $5 USD), “help” from the Cuban government. Imagine the change!

Many of my friends were rejected by their families, as they’d never remembered their families in Cuba when they were rolling in money. In my case, it wasn’t like that; I’d always sent money and clothes to my family. In that respect, I can’t complain at all, but that’s not to say that [the return to my family] was easy. Even today, after 12 years, I’m still not accustomed to living in Cuba.

Pei de la Paz: How was the relationship between you and the Cuban authorities?

Ignacio: They had control over me. They told me that I had to go to work and every day they made more demands about what I had to do once I was free. But the work never came and the authorities never preoccupied themselves with the matter.

Pei de la Paz: Where did you live when you returned?

Ignacio: I returned to my old neighborhood in Old Havana. As I was returning in really good physical condition thanks to all the exercise I’d had in prison, it was easy for me to find a partner.

Photo: daveblume

My life was going fine until some old friends came around to propose some illegal business. As I wasn’t working for the government…well, you can guess what happened! I got involved in “la lucha” (literally, “the fight,” a term used to describe black market work or other work outside the norm in Cuba). That’s how I was sent to prison in Cuba again, without any trial and without really examining whether I was dangerous or constituted any other type of threat to society.

Pei de la Paz: So you were in prison in Cuba on more than one occasion, right?

Ignacio: More than once; after that, I was recruited for drug trafficking.

Pei de la Paz: How do you view your future in Cuba?

Ignacio: Look, in reality I’m more than 60 years old. I’m not involved in any illegal business. I make $12 a month and I raise a pig to sell part of it at Christmas. My situation is really tough, especially because I know the value of money– I know what it means to have $100,000 in my hand. And to see myself in this total poverty now… it’s very sad!

Pei de la Paz: What about your family in the US?

Ignacio: I lost contact with them years ago. I don’t know what happened! They sent me money and clothes after I returned, but now I don’t know what happened with them. I hope that one day before I die I can see them or at least talk with my daughter Caridad and say goodbye, which I could never do. That has hurt me, and I’m sure it hurt them, too.

Pei de la Paz: Do you want to go to the US again?

Ignacio: That idea has never left my mind; it’s always present. I’d like to go, but I don’t have the means to do so.

**
Today, Ignacio lives submerged in poverty. He works as a janitor at a health clinic in Havana. The Cuban government gave him a small room in which to live about an hour from the city of Havana. He has to go back and forth daily to get to work and to see his family.

His life is like that of many of the expatriates who were repatriated to Cuba in the 1990s for criminal convictions in the US. Alcohol has trapped him now, just as money, drugs, and the fast life did in the US.

For Ignacio, life in Cuba hasn’t been easy. He’s a man marked by two systems, victimized by himself and by the circumstances around him. For many of the Ignacios, the idea of the American dream is realized in the form of quick money made illegally, which turns into a nightmare– prison if one is lucky, or dead if he’s not, defending himself on his drug turf. The struggle Ignacio has faced has been a road filled with unexpected stops in jails and prisons.

For Ignacio, Caridad and Maggie are just a part of the tragic history of immigration and the complexity of his life. Cuba refused to receive him with dignity and offers him little help to reintegrated into social life. The general problem of unemployment, along with the conditions of poverty, lack of resources, and his criminal history are just a few of the insuperable obstacles that many men like Ignacio face when they return to their countries with empty hands. The system doesn’t let them advance, much less pursue happiness.

It was through Ignacio that I began to understand with greater clarity that human nature is fluid, not fixed, that I should pay attention to the politics that surround me because they affected me to. I understood that the role of prison is to to trap you during your most vital years and then let you go as an old person. And if you leave Cuba, she never really lets you go.

At 60 years old, Ignacio feels like a man who belongs neither here nor there. No one fears him anymore and he’s not a threat to society. He’s another of those men without a country, without a spiritual home to call his own.

*

Photo: Drpoulette

Es sabido que Cuba ha perdido una gran parte de su populacion mas joven por la inmigracion ilegal hacia los EEUU o a otras partes del mundo. De hecho muchas familias tienen un miembro o conocen a alguien que ha abandonado el pais en los ultimos 20 años.

Para mi en especial este fenomeno me interesa estudiarlo de cerca. Sin embargo hasta muy reciente no habia conocido todavia a nadie personalmente que hubiera regresado, hasta hace muy poco que conoci a Ignacio. El empezo a contarme su historia, y pedi su permiso para entrevistarlo.

Ignacio habia cometido varios crimenes en la Habana. Padre de dos hijas en Cuba, de la cual una falleció recientemente, el era buscado por delitos menores cuando fue arrestado y encarcelado en la ciudad de Cienfuegos, en la provincia de Las Villas, antes de salir para los EEUU directamente de la prision via Mariel en 1980.

Mi amistad con el se motiva por la inmensa curiosidad de conocer su vida en el exterior, sus experiencias y las razones por las cuales el se encuentra hoy en Cuba despues de abandonar el pais. De una manera u otra trato de recoger evidencias de una etapa turbulenta del ano 80 en Cuba cuando apenas yo tenia un año de edad y 120,000 cubanos abandonaron el pais. No todos de la misma manera ni en las mismas circunstancias o por las mismas razones.

Pei de la Paz: Como saliste de Cuba?

Ignacio: Me voy a los Estados Unidos en los primeros dias de Mayo de 1980 por el puerto del Mariel. Estaba preso en la carcel de Wanajay en Cuba. De alli me trasladaron para el campamento El Mosquito que era el punto de partida para los presos que abandonaban el pais, unos por su propia voluntad y otros obligados. El trato por parte de las autoridades cubanas fue muy duro, inclusive abusivo.

El barco donde me fuí se llamaba La Mora; la dueña era una cubana de Marianao, unos de los barrios de la Habana. Eramos como 14 personas sin contar la tripulacion, en un bote muy pequeño; habian hombres, mujeres, y niños de todas las edades.

Los que comandaban esta embarcacion no tenian conocimiento alguno de navegacion y por esas razones nos desviamos de curso en mas de una ocasion. Recuerdo que por la radio ellos preguntaban constantemente a los barcos mercantes que si estabamos en el camino correcto hacia Cayo Hueso.

Photo: afagen

Estabamos cansados cuando vimos el faro y llegamos primero a Cayo Sombrero, despues de toda estas confusiones y desvio. Despues de recuperarnos un poco ya se podia ver muy a lo lejos en el horizonte las luces de Cayo Hueso, nuestro destino final. Al fin, cansados y algo confundidos, llegamos a tierra firme.

Pei de la Paz: Como estuvo los primeros meses en los EEUU?

Ignacio: Fui uno de los poco con suerte, pues no pase mucho tiempo en el campamento para refugiados. Estaba en la base de entrenamiento militar Fort McCoy en Wisconsin. Alli me apadrina el senor Richard Kaiser para salir.

El senor Kaiser era un dueño de fincas y terrenos que buscaba a los refugiados sin familias para que laboraran y vivieran en su finca con los demas obreros; era como un contrato para buscar mano de obra barata a cambio de alojamiento y comida. Asi fue mi comienzó en los EEUU.

Luego despues de poco tiempo me fui de la finca porque quería tener mi propia casa y poder hacer algo independiente. No sé que me pasó pero queria intentarlo solo.

Pei de la Paz: Lograstes tener dinero en los EEUU?

Ignacio: Si ,tenía unos cuantos miles ahorrados. No recuerdo cuanto pero eran más de $5,000.00.

Pei de la Paz: Seguiste en Wisconsin?

Ignacio: Si, seguí en Wisconsin, en la escuela, El Instituto Tecnico Black Hawk; allí aprendíamos ingles no solo los cubanos sino tambien personas de todas partes del mundo.

Pei de la Paz: Estabas solo por aquella fecha?

Ignacio: Bueno, estaba comenzando una relación con una afronorteamericana. Ella se llamaba Maggie Davidson.

Pei de la Paz: Donde conociste a Maggie Davidson?

Ignacio: Ella estaba en la escuela también, pero solo estaba allí para ayudarnos ya que su trabajo, (una fábrica de automóviles) estaba en baja y para poder cobrar el salario debía ir a la escuela para asistir a los estudiantes y asi de esa manera complimentaba su salario.

Pei de la Paz: Como te fue la relación con ella?

Ignacio: A decir verdad fue algo diferente; estaba acostumbrado a las relaciones con cubanas y ella era distinta, muy distinta, pero nos llevamos muy bien. Vivimos momentos muy felices que todavia los recuerdo. Nosotros nos casamos de boda; realmente ella es una buena mujer de muy buen caracter y muy preparada.

Pei de la Paz: Tuvieron niños?

Ignacio: Si, una hembra que le pusimos Caridad.

Pei de la Paz: Puedes describírme a Caridad?

Ignacio: Si claro, ella era una niña muy inteligente y cariñosa. Recuerdo que yo siempre le compraba cosas y ella se ponía muy contenta.

Pei de la Paz: Nunca te separaste de ellas?

Ignacio: A decir verdad, si. Estuve preso en dos ocasiones en los Estados Unidos.

Pei de la Paz: Recuerdas los nombres de las prisiones?

Photo: cfinke

Ignacio: Si, una fue en el estado de Illinois, creo que se llamaba Peoria Centro Transicional para Adultos y la otra prision fue en la institucion Correccional Waupun en el estado de Wiscosin o algo asi.

Pei de la Paz: A que te dedicaste en los EEUU?

Ignacio: La droga fue lo que me perdió. Es que daba dinero muy rápido y fácil aunque muy peligroso, pero no me era posible salir, es que me entraba mucho dinero y el dinero fue mas fuerte que mi voluntad… era dificil, muy dificil!

Pei de la Paz: Quisiste salir de eso?

Ignacio: Si, mi esposa me lo decía, quítate, vamos a mudarnos, pero yo no le hice caso y mira donde estoy. En Cuba!

Pei de la Paz: Que cosas materiales obtuvistes en los EEUU?

Ignacio: Bueno, no mucho; tuve varios carros pero lo que más me gustaron fueron el Lincoln Continental Towncar y el Buick Riviera.

Pei de la Paz: Estabas en peligro de ser asesinado o terminar preso todos los días?

Ignacio: Así mismo fue y se mantuvo por años y anos esta situación y cada vez quería mas. Además la droga trae consigo el uso de armas para tu protección y debía ser violento para sobrevivir dentro de esa actividad. La violencia es un requisito indispensable para poder vivir en ese mundo.

Pei de la Paz: Y es por eso que te deportan?

Ignacio: Si, me deportan porque mi comportamiento no era nada bueno. Yo nunca fui abusador ni asesino, simplemente quería vivir bien. Ya era mucho lo mío y no te puedo negar que me dieron oportunidades y eso es verdad. No fue “Dale para Cuba mañana y ya como muchos piensan” No! Ellos me dieron oportunidad para que yo me reincorporara, pero ahora es muy tarde cuando me doy cuenta de mi error.

Pei de la Paz: Bueno, cuentame de la deportación.

Ignacio: Bueno, sobre la deportación no sé que contarte, pero te diré algo que me hicieron: en una ocasión que estaba detenido mi niña Caridad había ido a Washington para abanderar a los soldados de la guerra del Golfo y sale la foto de mi niña en una página y yo en la otra con letras que decían “Cuban Can be Deported”…. y yo le escribí al periódico con la intención de demandarlos por considerar ese articulo un poco racista en su tono y acercamiento y ellos me respondieron “que si ellos fueran racistas no hubieran publicado el artículo” y ahi paro todo.

Pei de la Paz: Entonces esa vez no te deportaron?

Ignacio: Bueno, en los EEUU el juez estatal que me sentencio no tiene ese poder para deportarme, así que pidieron ayuda a Leslie (Les) Aspin, un poderoso politico de mucha influencia y fue el quien garantizo la deportación, así lo dejo claro en su declaracion en el periódico. Esta persona supe con los años se convertiría en secretario de defensa de Clinton o algo así.

Pei de la Paz: Cuentame de la llegada a Cuba.

Photo: Dr. John 2005

Ignacio: No fue nada fácil; muchos lloraban, este proceso de deportación duro años y nadie pensaba que llegaría la hora de bajar un avión de regreso a Cuba esposados. Era en el vuelo 110 con 22 personas a bordo, todos cubanos deportados! Personajes muy conocidos por sus actividades delictivas y su historial de violencia, criminalidad y enfermedades mentales. Traíamos pertenecías, aseo personal, ropa entre otras cosas de las cuales fuimos despojados de todo en Cuba; solo nos dejaron los zapatos y el aseo personal. Luego fuimos trasladados para la prisión de máxima seguridad en Cuba.

Alli te evaluaban de acuerdo a tu historial antes y despues de tu salida de Cuba para hacer una determinacion para tu libertad o para continuar tu tiempo en prisión. Yo salí antes de los 45 días estipulados. Fui de los pocos con suerte! Recibí como todos la ayuda del gobierno de 100 pesos cubanos (un equivalente a mas o menos $5.00 dolares) Imaginate el cambio!

Muchos de mis amigos fueron rechazados por su familia ya que según ellos nunca se acordaron de los familiares en Cuba cuando manejaban grandes sumas de dinero. En mi caso no fue así; yo le mandaba dinero a mi familia y ropa, así que por esa parte no me puedo quejar, pero esto no quiere decir que fue fácil. Todavía hoy después de 12 años no me acostumbro a vivir en Cuba.

Pei de la Paz: Como fue la relación entre usted y las autoridades cubanas?

Ignacio: Ellos tenían un control sobre mi. Me dijeron que tenía que ponerme a trabajar y ponian cada dia mas demanda de lo que debia hacer una vez afuera de libertad, pero el trabajo nunca llego y los oficiales que me atendían no se preocuparon del todo.

Photo: Aaron Escobar

Pei de la Paz: Donde empezó a vivir en Cuba?

Ignacio: Regrese a mi barrio natal en la Habana Vieja. Como yo regrese en muy buenas condiciones físicas debido a los ejercicios en la prision me fue fácil encontrar pareja.

Mi vida siguio tranquila hasta que me tocan la puerta antiguas amistades proponiéndome negocios ilegales y como no estaba trabajando para el gobierno ..tú sabes! Empecé en la lucha (termino que se usa para decir que estas sobreviviendo por la via ilegal o fuera de la norma) en Cuba. Así fue como me meten preso en Cuba de nuevo, sin pruebas de ningún delito por índice de peligrosidad o prision preventiva.

Pei de la Paz: Entonces estuvo preso en Cuba una vez mas, no?

Ignacio: No, mas de una vez; después de eso me recluyen por trafico de drogas.

Pei de la Paz: Como veas tu futuro en Cuba?

Ignacio: Mira, en la actualidad tengo más de 60 años y no estoy involucrado en ningún negocio ilegal. Trabajo por 12 dólares mensuales y crio un puerco para vender una parte en navidad. Es muy dura la situación que tengo ya que se lo que es el valor del dinero, se lo que significan $100,000 dólares en mis manos y verme ahora en esta pobreza total… es muy triste!

Pei de la Paz: Y tu familia de USA?

Ignacio: Hace años perdí mi contacto con ellas. No se qué paso! Ellas me enviaron dinero y ropa después que regrese de allá, pero ahora no se qué paso con ellas. Yo espero algun dia antes de morirme poder verlas o al menos hablar con mi hija Caridad y darles el adios que nunca pude. Eso me ha dolido a mi y te aseguro que a ellas tambien.

Pei de la Paz: Quieres irte para los Estados Unidos de nuevo?

Ignacio: Esa idea nunca se me fue de la mente, está latente en mí, yo quisiera irme pero no tengo los medios.

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Hoy Ignacio vive sumido en la pobreza. Trabaja como mozo de limpieza para un policlinico en La Habana. El estado cubano le dio un pequeno cuarto para vivir como a una hora de la ciudad de La Habana donde diariamente tiene que transportarse para ver a su familia y para trabajar. Su vida es una de estas muchas que fueron repatriados a Cuba en los 90s por delitos cometidos en los EEUU. El alcohol le atrapo de la misma manera que el dinero, la droga y la vida rapida en los EEUU.

Photo: Senor Adventure

Para Ignacio la vida en Cuba no ha sido facil. Es un hombre marcado por los dos sistemas, victima de si mismo y de las circunstancias que lo rodean. Para muchos de los Ignacios la idea del sueno americano llega en la via de enriquecimiento ilicito rapido, convirtiendose en una pesadilla terminando en la carcel si es que estan de suerte o muertos defendiendo las calles que ellos controlaban como traficantes. Al parecer la lucha que ha enfrentado ha sido calle abajo con paradas espontaneas en carceles y prisiones.

Para Ignacio, Caridad y Maggie son solo una parte de la historia tragica de la inmigracion y la complejidad de su vida. Cuba se niega a recibirlo con dignidad y le ofrece muy poca ayuda para la reintegracion social. La falta de empleos en general, unidos a las condiciones de pobreza, escases e historial criminal son algunos de los obstaculos insuperables para muchos de estos hombres que como Ignacio regresan a su pais con las manos vacias para volver a reintegrarse a la sociedad que un dia los aparto. El sistema no le permite avanzar y mucho menos alcanzar su felicidad.

Fue a traves de él que entiendo con mas claridad que la naturaleza humana es cambiante y no fija, que debo prestar atencion a la politica que me rodea porque esta me afecta, que el papel de la prision es atrapar tus años jovenes y arrojarte como viejo y que te vas de Cuba, y ni regresando regresas!

A los 60 años Ignacio se siente un hombre que no pertenece ni de aqui, ni de allá. Ya nadie le teme y no es un peligro para la sociedad. Es uno mas de los hombres sin país, ni hogar espiritual que lo pueda llamar suyo.

With a name like “Chocolate Museum,” perhaps you imagine a museum like any other, full of items with historical value, rare objects, antiques, precious artifcats, and an extensive collection of books, photos, and documents on display.

This museum isn’t exactly like that. This museum is for the display of the ordinary and the common, not just from Cuba, but also from Spain, Belgium, and Mexico… but what is true is that all the items in this “collection” are somehow related to the culture of cacao and chocolate.

Master chocolate makers from Belgium came to Havana to train an elite group in artisanal chocolate-making so they could open a store in Havana where chocolate truffles, bon bons, and bars would be made in front of visitors.

Bears and tobacco leaves are some of the whimsical figures this new generation of Cuban chocolate artists is turning out. The chocolates also run the gamut with respect to the percentage of cacao and sugar each piece contains; there’s bitter, dark, milk, and white chocolate on display here.

The museum is climatized and well furnished, offering several tables from which guests can enjoy the museum’s collection and watch the chocolate makers at work.

And remember– the chocolate museum isn’t really a museum at all, but a cafe where you can enjoy this delicious aphrodisiac hot or cold.

Besides the candies, the Chocolate Museum has an extensive variety of tempting drinks, like the Aztec hot chocolate, mixed with black pepper and nutmeg. It really is a drink for the gods.

Ironically, the museum is located on “Bitter Street” (Calle Amargura), which gives it a special touch! It’s open to the public each day from 10 AM until 7:30 PM. Stop by for a visit– just be careful to keep your temptation and weight under control!

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Millones de personas en el mundo consumen a diario chocolate o los derivados de el mismo. Este se encuentra en golosina, bebidas, lociones, e inclusive se ha utilizado para la construccion de piezas de vestir y en objetos exoticos. Si es usted uno de estos consumidores que esta en La Habana con confianza acérquese y visitelo.

Al escuchar Museo de Chocolate quizas su mente asocie e imagine un museo como cualquier otro, lleno de piezas de gran valor historico, objetos raros, colecciones antiguas y preciosas con extensa coleccion de libros, fotos, y documentos. Bueno, no exactamente. El museo del cual les hablo a decir verdad tiene piezas ordinarias y comunes, no solo de Cuba, sino tambien España, Bélgica y Mexico. Todos relacionados con la cultura del cacao y del chocolate.

Maestros chocolateros Belgas con mucha experiencia en el tema llegaron a La Habana para entrenar y formar un grupo de elite que tendría la tarea de encaminarse en el arte de la chocolatería y abrir en La Habana un lugar donde elaborar frente al cliente, bombones y tabletas de una manera diferente, artística y artesanal.

Desde un oso a un tabaco se mueven las caprichosas figuras que nos presentan los artistas de nueva generación de chocolateros cubanos. No solo se diferencian de la forma sino de la cantidad de cacao y azúcar en cada mezcla, dando lugar a los amargos, oscuros, con leche y blanco.

Climatizado y bien amueblado cuenta el museo con varias mesas desde donde se puede apreciar la colección del museo y a la vez a los chocolateros trabajando. De hecho el museo de chocolate no es un museo, sino una cafeteria donde se puede consumir este delicioso afrodiciaco frio o caliente.

Una gama de ofertas de bebidas que exhibe el museo es extensa y tentadora, como la taza de chocolate azteca mezclada con pimienta y nuez moscada es deleite para dioses para decir verdad.

Ironicamente este museo se encuentra hubicado en la calle “Amargura” la cual le da un toque especial! El mismo abre sus puertas al publico todos los días de 10:00 am a 7:30 pm. Y mi unica sugerencia es cuidado con las tentaciones y su peso.