Monday, July 27, 2015
Monday, January 27, 2014
Journey To Cuba
It’s New Year’s Day. A big snow storm is coming. I change my flight from Friday to Thursday so I can get to Miami in time to meet the Jungian group and catch the charter flight to Cuba on Saturday. I take off for Hartford around 7:30 pm. My new car hits 1,000 miles on the way. I call her Ebony. We cruise down to the Econolodge. It’s lightly snowing when I arrive. I look online. No big accumulation expected my flight is listed as on time. I arrange to take the 8 am van. My flight is at 10:20 am. I sleep well. No dreams.
The plane takes off on time. It arrives in Charlotte. I’m going to make it to Miami! When the plane arrives in Miami around 4 pm, it’s warm, humid. The air feels soft and gentle. The colors are soft, green and pastel. The sun is shining. I am happy. I don’t have a place to stay. There are some numbers by the baggage claim. I call the Comfort Suites. They have a room. $149 plus tax. I’ll take it. “Go upstairs and look for a white van that says ‘Comfort Suites.’ ’’ About fifteen minutes later a man and woman come pick me up. We take the ramp like road that slopes up and around out of the airport. Lots of cement here, we drive past the Red Lantern Inn, past Le Jeune. Names, Miami Beach, North I-95. Is that the same I-95 that becomes the Jersey turnpike? Palm trees, pretty buildings, soft colors of a tropical paradise. I like Miami. It means “doorway to the sun.” What a beautiful name. It’s a state of mind.
My room is spacious, a king sized bed. It looks onto the pool. Nobody is in the pool. There’s a fitness room next to my room. I order take out from an Italian place the desk clerk recommends. I wake up early. Breakfast is included. It’s a buffet. Most of the other guests are from other countries.
I pack up and leave on the shuttle for the airport and go to the Crown Plaza Hotel where I’m meeting the group. They’ll store my luggage until the room is ready. A friendly little man tells me there’s a tour to the Everglades. I go outside and meet a mother and her son. They live in Alberta, Canada and just got back from a cruise in the Caribbean. We all get in a taxi driven by Alfredo, a Cuban. Alfredo is a delight. He tells us about Miami. We drive to the port. He points out places of interest and gives us some historical background. The Port of Miami is beautiful. The city is calm, quiet. I like it here.
We wait at the port. A big double decker bus comes. We get on with a bunch of other people. It’s $75 to take the tour. The Everglades is a national park. We drive south for about half an hour and get to a place that says “Gator Park.” We all get out and are told we can use the bathrooms and then line up to get on the air boats, flat bottomed boats with big propellers standing on a post in the back of the boat.
We get on the boat. There are rows of seats. The boat holds about forty people. A young man is driving the boat. He’s a swaggering, bragging kind of guy, joking, about losing a limb, and do we have life insurance. We start off slow, pass a blue heron on a limb of a tree. It’s a cold day so there will be no alligators out sunning themselves. Do I even really want to see one? He says they can jump twice their length. We get clear of the other boats and he takes off really fast in the channel. We speed through the channels, turning sideways, churning up the waters and making a lot of noise. They gave us ear plugs. It’s crazy, speeding through this wild place, what does that do to the wildlife? The driver is wild, careless, callous, full of jokes and bravado. We drive out to a far point and he stops the boat. “If something happens to me or the boat, you can walk back to the center, it’s back there by that pine tree. The water is only knee deep, there are snakes and alligators.” A woman looks worried. “It will be fine,” I say to her, trying to reassure myself at the same time. He starts the boat and we take off. “Let’s see if we can get this boat stuck,” he says. I can’t wait for this ride to be over. We get back to the dock and we all disembark and shuffle over to see the alligator show. A big black man is holding a medium sized alligator named Lewis. There’s another alligator in a ring behind a fence. The man talks about the alligators and jumps over the fence into the ring. He puts his hand on the alligator’s snout and opens his mouth. The alligator holds it’s mouth open. He’s seven years old. Inside, his mouth is pearly pink, his teeth are very white. He has forty-four teeth on the top and 44 teeth on the bottom. His teeth can grow back if they are damaged or lost. An alligator can grow thousands of new teeth in its life time.
Crocodiles are found near the waters by the sea, slightly brackish water. Alligators are found in the fresh waters inland. The man sticks his hand in the alligator’s open mouth. Nothing happens. Then he takes a stick and touches his teeth. His jaws snap shut. Then he opens his jaws again and approaches the alligator from behind, climbing on his back. He grabs the alligator’s neck and jaws and pulls his jaws shut, demonstrating to us how the Indians used to catch alligators. “That,” he says “is alligator wrestling.” Today is a cold day so the alligator isn’t active. He picks a woman from the audience to get on the alligator’s back. He makes everyone make eye contact with him and chooses an Italian woman. She’s petrified of touching an alligator. It’s a bizarre comedy. The audience is loving it. Then it changes into her touching the little alligator named Lewis. She doesn’t want to. Then it changes into a photo opportunity for everyone to hold Lewis and have a photo taken in the adjoining pen. I leave and walk back to the bus. The bus is running, but nobody is in it. An Australian couple comes up and comments that it’s not very energy efficient to leave the bus running. The bus driver comes and we get on the bus and leave. We get back to the port of Miami and Alfredo comes and picks us up.
On the way back to the hotel Alfredo tells us about his life. He wanted to be a veterinarian. He was studying at the university in Havana. He and about ten other students built a boat to escape to Miami. Too many people found out about it. The night they left, the authorities were out in the harbor waiting for them. He spent three years in jail. When he got released he got a visa to go to Miami and live in America. He could go back and forth, but he has never returned to Cuba. Some of his friends have and they said it was o.k. He wasn’t bitter.
He told us how he rescued a golden retriever out on the road near the Everglades. There’s a strip of road with a body of water beside it. People sometimes leave cats and dogs out there and the alligators eat them. One day he was driving an American family out to the Everglades in a van. He saw a golden retriever who had been hit by a car. She couldn’t walk and seemed disoriented. He wanted to help her. He asked the family if he could stop and help her. “No.” He asked them if they minded if he dropped them off and then went and got her. “No.” He said to them that he really wanted to help her. “No.” Then the man of the family said, “When I say ‘no,’ I mean that we will go with you.” They drove back to the dog who was surrounded by alligators and Alfredo picked her up. She was afraid and in pain and bit his fingers. They got her into the van and then Alfredo was so hurt he couldn’t drive. The American man drove the van and they took her to the vet. Alfredo told the vet he would come back and adopt the golden retriever. They took Alfredo to the ER and he got sewed up. He adopted the golden retriever and she’s a very friendly, very smart dog. The American family still keeps in touch with him.
He told us another story about an American duck and a Cuban duck. The American duck goes to Cuba and the Cuban duck takes him around. Everything is free. It’s beautiful. It’s paradise. The American duck wants to move to Cuba. He goes back to Miami and after a while he gets on a plane to return to Cuba. The plane lands and he hears a scratching under the seat. It’s the Cuban duck trying to escape. “Why? You live in paradise!” The Cuban duck replies, “They won’t allow me to bark here. I really want to bark.” Alfredo laughs. I laugh a little. I understand, but it’s such a twisty humor, so unlikely, that my laughter dies with the desperation of the humor.
We get back to the hotel. Alfredo tells me I’m going to have a wonderful trip. I say goodbye and thank you. He’s touched me with his stories and his goodness.
My room is ready. I take my bags up and have some dinner before our group meeting. Gisela arrives. Deb gets there just as the meeting is starting. We get a packet. They talk about logistics. There are thirty-five people on the trip. They look interesting, older adults, very intelligent, very curious. I feel like I’ve entered another world. Aryeh Maidenbalm is the leader. I can’t say his name. Later he tells me it’s pronounced like “aria, an opera aria.”
We get up very, very early the next day and we go to the airport on a special bus. It’s dark when we leave. We go to terminal D where the charter flights take off. It’s busy. We check in as a group. We’re allowed forty-four lbs. Our group weight is zero pounds overweight. That’s a good sign says Aryeh. He and Jo Fisher guide us through the check in and tell us what to expect on the Havana side. We get on the plane and the flight is forty-five minutes.
They tear our ticket stubs. I feel like we’ve passed into another world. The flight attendant is exquisitely beautiful. She’s kind and helps me put my bag in the overhead compartment. I sit next to Eva, a neurologist from Ashville,NC. We have a lovely chat and then we never really talk again the whole trip.
We land in Havana. It’s cloudy. We get off the plane, walk down the steps to the tarmac and walk into the airport. There are women in Khaki uniforms with short sleeves and short skirts falling a little above the knees, wearing sexy patterned stockings. They aren’t very friendly. They stand there outside the airport silently watching us file into the building. We go through Immigration; passport control. I ask them to stamp my passport the young woman smiles slightly, stamps my passport and wishes me a good day. We get our bags at the baggage claim. There are beautiful springer spaniels working as drug sniffing dogs. The Cubans don't want drugs in Cuba. We follow Aryeh to our bus, #416. “Remember that number they tell us. This is your bus.”
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| Lazaro |
A
handsome man named Lazaro is the driver. Every time we get off the bus he stands
outside the bus, takes our hands and helps us down the step with a smile. He
makes me feel like I am the most special woman on earth. We get to the hotel
and are given our room keys. We are told our luggage will be in our rooms. Then
we go to a welcome reception where we are served mojitos and little hors
d’oeuvres. Then we are served coffee and then it’s over and we go up to our
rooms. Deb and I are in #1206. Our hotel, the Melia Cohiba is on the Malecon (the avenue running by the sea wall that
separates Havana from the sea) and Paseo.
Our hotel was built in the fifties.
It is 21 stories. The tall part rises above the base like an accordion, angled
in and out with black lines running down the rough cement walls. Inside it is
elegant, solid. There is fun art on the walls of the first and second floor. It
is a little island of luxury in a decaying city of 2.2 million people. There
are restaurants, bars, coffee bars, shops, banquet rooms, a fitness center and
beautiful swimming pool housed in the hotel.
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Melia Cohiba Hotel
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We meet in front of the hotel and go on a tour of La Cabana, a large fort in Havana. It’s grey, cloudy. I am enchanted. We can see the sea, Havana. I take a lot of pictures and go on the walk with Raul, one of our Cuban guides. He is a wiry man, forty-four years old, he wears a straw hat and has salt and pepper hair. He’s dark, fine featured, not much taller than me. He’s got a husky voice and is knowledgeable with strong opinions about Cuba.
We walk all around
the fort and Raul tells us the history. Usually I don’t like forts or castles,
but I enjoy this one. At the end of our time together as a group we are
standing on a parapet looking at a series of large cannons. He says they came
from different places. Each one has the signature of it’s maker and the place
where it was made engraved into the metal. They are pointed down so they won’t
collect water and not fire. There are symmetrical piles of cannon balls all
around. He starts talking about cars. Cuba is famous for it’s old American cars
from fifties and sixties. They keep them running. People aren’t allowed the buy
cars unless they have a letter of permission. He said a lot of people sold
their letters and used the money to build houses. Now just the day before we
came they declared that people could buy cars. Raul says that’s going to drive
up the price. A $50,000 car in US costs $240,000 in Cuba. “Who’s going to have
that kind of money?” he asks. We’ve hit a wall. We’re in a fort, which is all
walls. It’s ironic, cruel, hard. I ask him if he’s happy. “No.” He’s tense. He
says he could have been a diplomat, but he chooses to represent his people and
educate tourists about Cuba. It’s cloudy, moist, grey. We break up and wander
through the fort on our own.  |
| La Cabana |
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| view of Havana from La Cabana |
Saturday night we have a meeting with Ev Mann. He’s a friend of Gisela Gamper’s, Charles Lawrence and Joan Henry know him and think very highly of him. He gives us an overview of the trip. He’s a musician and studied theology. He’s taken over fifty trips to Cuba since 1998. He has a non profit organization that brought dancers and musicians to Cuba. He’s seen the whole gamut of what can happen here.
He said the Cuban revolution has raised
standards of education and health care.
Fidel opened door for Black people and
helped them through the door. Before the revolution there were curfews. Now
that’s over and there are mixed neighborhoods.
The origins of Cuban music is part African,
people from the Congo. Buena Vista music is from the eastern end of the island.
Hip Hop is urban. Spiritual music is based on drumming and singing. Cuban
culture did not get overrun by American pop culture. The arts are fostered by the
government. Cuban musicians are very well trained.
Practically every night we had some kind of
presentation or meeting scheduled. These meetings were from 6-8 pm.
We had dinner in the hotel. It was in a huge dining room and there was a buffet filled with many choices—fruits, cheese, meats, fish, eggs, salads, desserts, breads and rolls. We got two or three drinks with dinner. I sat with a woman named Ann from Michigan. We ended up at a round table and Aryeh, Monika Wikman and Ev were at our table. We chose the empty table and they all came to that table since they were among the last to get their food.
We had dinner in the hotel. It was in a huge dining room and there was a buffet filled with many choices—fruits, cheese, meats, fish, eggs, salads, desserts, breads and rolls. We got two or three drinks with dinner. I sat with a woman named Ann from Michigan. We ended up at a round table and Aryeh, Monika Wikman and Ev were at our table. We chose the empty table and they all came to that table since they were among the last to get their food.
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| Monika Wikman |
She shows a photo of Aditi, a Hindu goddess, mother of the gods. She is the great void from which everything births and returns. Her eyes are darkness, the void. You walk up the steps and are taken into the blackness, the unknown. There’s a mirror of blackness that shows us our new self.
The Black Madonna is alive, a fundamental mystery. You meet psyche half way by listening, tuning in.
Yemaya is the goddess inside the shrine we’re visiting. Every prayer is heard, every voice is received. She’s the patron goddess of Havana.
Alchemy is black earth, Yemaya springs out of the black earth. Seduce comes from word educare, to educate through the sensual. Yemaya is the older sister, queen energy. Oshun is the younger sister, erotic energy. Oshun is the patron goddess of Cuba.
Archetypes-beyond personal. The unconscious is collective unconscious.
Archetype=to imprint.
How does psyche connect human with divine? Human with Eternal?
Archetypes take on spirit and imprint themselves through form. They are alive in the psyche.
Devil of intellect. We’re part of the mystery that’s imprinting itself.
What blackness in ourselves wants to be met?
Nuestra Senora de la Regla. Lady of the gift.
The Black Madonna brings a change in consciousness.
Magic is a change in perception.
We are learning to hear and see in new ways. Taking fixed thought forms of world religions, melting down that substance into a living fluid and pouring it into the mold of individual experience.
When we make offerings to these energies we create a relationship between the personal and transpersonal.
What are the fundamental archetypes that inform your life?
The Black Madonna is about embodying world religion. The mystical tradition is the divine child birthing itself into every being.
Chartres was built on a sacred sight of the Druids. The sacred well of psyche. The black Madonna of Chartres is made of oak, the tree sacred to Druids.
What is matter? String theory is vibration. We project density onto the body.
The Christ child is life energy. The divine child is a life energy being born in you.
The indigenous soul knows how to let this be an on going revelation.
She shows a picture of the black Madonna wearing a crown. She is a queen in which the divine and human have come together. We all have a crown chakra. You can’t get in touch with your crown chakra if you’re in your mind. The devil of intellect keeps you in your mind.
Blue star kachina. Feminine deity of Hopi. We’re emerging into a new form of consciousness.
The opening of the crown chakra.
Watch your dreams. Which center needs healing, which center is seeking an opening?
September 8 is feast day of la Regla. Ache is divine power. Everything is possible.
Make offerings to divine to acquire ache. Ask the orisha what it needs to realign with us.
What does psyche want to realign your life?
What is the message I can realign with?
Von Franz wrote book on Divination.
What is wanting of the blackness to realign now?
Make an offering in the time/space world.
This Black Madonna came across on a boat from Spain in the 1600’s. She lived in a woman’s house until thw1900s. She’s been the patron saint of Havana since 1714.
Monika wrote a book, The Pregnant Darkness. She talks about how the chaos at the bottom of psyche is in need of healing. Your divine essence is the mystery. Alchemy means black land. In Cuba capitalism stops and culture goes on. Matter—mother—body. A void—void. We avoid the void. The work of life and death is to befriend the darkness. Everything is possible. Monika tells us the story of how she had ovarian cancer when she was twenty-four and the doctors gave her two weeks to live. She was out in the desert in New Mexico and she implored the Gods to help her. Her cancer left her body.
Monika’s talk got me really psyched to go see the Black Madonna. I had a big prayer. I was all revved up. It seemed very appropriate that we took a ferry boat there. It was a beautiful day, sunny, not too hot, just right. The ferry boat was crowded with people. We got off and walked. I became wedded to my camera, taking pictures with one hand. There was so much to see and take in. My camera became the extension of my eyes. It felt good to be documenting everything. A new element in my being. Before I just wanted to experience things and had no desire to document. Now I’m taking copious notes and snapping hundreds of photos. I’m in another realm. So close to Miami, but so far. So similar, but so different. I am cut off from the mainland, from the USA, just as our government has tried to cut Cuba off from the rest of the world. Now US citizens are allowed to go, but they have to go to Cuba with a group. People from other countries can just go. They don’t need a group. They can buy anything, do anything, bring back anything to their own country. US citizens can only bring back music, art and books. Anything else will be confiscated. I feel my limitations, but I’m glad to be allowed in Cuba. I’m praying that things will change, that the embargo will be lifted. I’m praying to get instructions on how to live the rest of my life. I’m asking La Regla how I can help her.
We get off the boat and walk toward the church. There are people along the wall outside the church selling flowers for offerings. There’s a Santeria priestess in white, smoking a cigar. She’s also probably posing for photos for money. She looks like a character. I walk into the church yard. I realize I need an offering. “Make offerings to the Gods,” Monika said. I haven’t been making offerings of late. Something happened to me. It makes so much sense, but I got off on another track, and haven’t been doing that. I haven’t been praying much of late. I figured they know what I need, they’ll either help me or not. Something is happening to my faith. The heart attack brought me back from a hardened cynical place where I didn’t believe much anymore. I was feeling the sadness and grief of our planet. I was feeling the hopelessness. I forget that having an active relationship with the spirits brings things to life and brings us into alignment with the Divine. Wake up! I am waking up, my senses are tuned, prayers are forming on my lips. I want to make an offering to La Regla. I want to light a candle for her. I buy a candle. I prepare myself and go into the little chapel where La Regla resides. She is black, dressed in blue and white. She holds a white child. The Christ child. Yemaya always wears blue. She is the mother, the sea. The light in the church is so beautiful. The priest is saying the mass. The church is full, active, alive. I am full, active, alive. People are kneeling at the altar of La Regla. I wait quietly, reverently. When there is a space and it’s my turn, I silently take my place at the altar, kneeling, praying, looking up into La Regla’s eyes, silently beseeching her to help our world, to help the people of Cuba. A part of me knows she does this every day. A part of me feels funny asking her to help like this, but I do it, it’s part of the ritual, it’s part of this way of worship. I pray and pray and I light my candle and offer her the flowers and keep praying.
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| La Regla |
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| Inside church of La Regla |
I walk back into the main church and Monika and Aryeh show us where the painting of Oshun is. Oshun is the patron goddess of Cuba. She is the honey bodied goddess. She is representative of the sensual, of love. We go to look at Oshun's picture and there is a woman all in white trying to get near the little crèche scene that looks like a panorama. Kathleen is there. The woman’s name is Lazara. She says she makes “miracles.” She says she is a healer. She writes her name and address on a piece of paper and gives it to Kathleen. She is only interested in Kathleen. I translate for her. I am blown away by the power of La Regla, by the prayers and offerings, by the emotion that all of this brings to me. My eyes are brimming over with tears of joy and appreciation. I walk out into the sun and sit on a low wall outside the church. Deb comes and sits with me. We don’t say much. I am lost in the experience. We get back on the bus which has travelled around the long way to pick us up and we are driven to a restaurant called El Templete. It’s outdoors. It’s crowded, chaotic and the meal take an interminable amount of time and is not very good. I have two mojitos. I notice that I am drinking a lot here in Cuba. Why? I don’t question it, I just do it, and it feels o.k. Finally the lunch is over and we are liberated. We take a walking tour of Old Havana. I join the group with Raul. We traipse all around. There are people selling books. I want to buy some books of poetry. I do even though a woman that Deb calls her “nemesis” tells me to stick with the group. I am satiated with information. I want to be free to roam. I am a little bit drunk from the two mojitos I drank. I go in and out of listening. I am taking photos, following along, but I am in a different world and this world is only the backdrop. I follow along with the group. Raul is very good, but it would take a lot to hold my interest on this beautiful sunny afternoon in old Havana.
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| Raul |
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| street, Old Havana |
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| musicians, Old Havana |
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| street, Old Havana |
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| little park, Old Havana |
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Sculpture in Old Square, by Roberto Fabelo.
Raul says this sculpture depicts the relationship between Cuban men and women. The men are represented by the rooster. The woman controls the man with the beauty of her body and her ability to nourish him, the fork.
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Havana used to be the most beautiful city in the world. Now it has fallen into disrepair and decay. They are trying to restore the beautiful old buildings, but it takes time, time and money.
That night, Sunday night, we heard a talk by Natalia Bolivar, “Santeria and its Place in Cuban Culture.” Natalia is from a very fine family in Cuba. She is 79 years old. She’s a handsome woman. She’s been studying and practicing Santeria since 1954. In 1959 she was tortured and put in prison. A babalawo (Santeria priest) told her that this would happen. He told her to wear her iron necklaces for Obatala and Odou. When she was to be tortured a second time she had on her necklaces. The torturer was a follower of Obatala. He asked her why, she, who was from a wealthy family, was wearing the necklaces. They spoke of Obatala and Odou. He didn’t torture her and she was released.
She was a beautiful woman, very articulate, very committed. She spoke of Gaston Baquero, a Cuban writer and poet, who wrote about Cuban religion. Cuban religion is integrated, mixed, mezclado, mestizo. Nothing is ever the same or as pure as it was. It’s an oral tradition.
That night I went to a paladar with Deb, Kathleen, Kate and Amy. It was very near the hotel. A paladar is a family run restaurant in a family owned house. Ev said they had better food than a state run restaurant and were more lively. We went to Atelier which is about two blocks from our hotel. Deb was sick of being led and wanted to lead. We started off and went across the street parallel to the Malecon and turned right. It was dark, the street was full of pot holes and we saw two men in a lit up yard with a cage like structure. They didn’t seem to know what we were talking about and said maybe two streets down. We walked around the block. It was dark, residential, dreary. We came back to the road that parallels the Malecon and Kathleen, Kate and Amy took off for the hotel. I stayed with Deb. She thought they were angry. I said no, they just wanted to be back in the security of the hotel. We got back to the hotel and found out that others were going and a man from Atelier was coming to walk them over there. We went with the other group. The restaurant was in a totally different direction than where Deb led us. It was a lovely place. We had a table in a separate room. Everyone liked their food.
On Monday we visited a neighborhood called Cayo Hueso. There’s a street, callejon de Hamel, that the artist Salvador Gonzalez transformed. There are murals and sculptures all around the block that his studio is on. I never saw anything like it. I took a lot of photos. An Afro Cuban man outside the studio told us it was an Afro Cuban neighborhood center.
From there we went to visit Hemingway’s house, “Finca Vehia.” in the outskirts of Havana. Martha his third wife persuaded him to move out of the hotel they were staying at in Havana, Ambos Mundos, and rent this house which he later bought. It’s situated near a fishing village, Cohemar. Most of his friends were fishermen. They made a monument to him after he committed suicide in 1961. They called him “Papa” and said he was “el Americano bueno” because he liked women, drinking and boxing. He had cirrhosis of the liver. He was depressed and was taking shock treatments at the end of his life. His mother gave him the shot gun his father used to kill himself when Hemingway was 16 years old. He had a stamp that said “I never write letters.” Which he used to stamp letters he received and send them back. I liked the guides presentation of him. I loved his books when I was younger. The Sun Also Rises was my book of books. Later on I heard that he was a complete phony. Raul and Vicky presented him as a lively generous person. He donated to research on marlins, he gave his nobel prize medal his favorite bar in the fishing village. He loved to fish. Once he met Fidel and Hemingway caught a bigger marlin than Fidel. There was a story of a ceiba tree that was growing near his house. The roots were coming into the house foundation. Hemingway believed the deities lived in the roots and didn’t want to cut the tree down, but Martha had the tree cut down while he was away. They got divorced and he married Mary Welsh. Jonas and I met Mary in New York. We used to drink Fundador and eat bananas at night because we thought Hemmingway drank Fundador. Mary told us his favorite brandy was Calvados. After he died Mary donated the house to the Cuban government and they created a museum.
across the street from callejon Hamel
In the village near Hemingway's house
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| taxi driver outside of Hemingway's house |
Visiting his house was like visiting a shrine. We couldn’t go in. We looked through the windows. It wasn’t that big, but it was grand. There was a lot of land around it and there was a swimming pool and a place where his beloved boat was. He had given his boat to his friend Gregorio who was the captain, and Gregorio donated it to the museum after he died. The boat was suspended in air and the swimming pool was empty. That felt strange, but I can understand why they didn’t fill it. There were the most beautiful white and purple flowers growing on a vine covering the arbors near the house. The attendant said they were called fausto.
As we ride in the bus Raul talks to us: In Cuba, you can’t make monuments to living people. There are lots of monuments to Che Guevara and they make a lot of money off his image. Che was the most communist of them all. He died young. The whole country is a monument to Fidel and now Fidel’s Cuba is slowly being dismantled by his brother Raul. Jose Mart
path from house to swimming pool
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| Revolution Square, Havana |
The Cuban army used to dress in white and ride white horses. They created a field of white dust. They had a battle and Jose Marti dressed in Black and rode a white horse. He went into battle and was instantly killed. Raul thinks it was a political suicide. He was like a black dot in the midst of a white cloud.
Guantanamero means from Guantanamo. Wahiro is a man from country. “War hero” becomes “wahiro.” There are 97 verses to the song “Guantanamero” and it was written by a Cuban.
We had lunch at the Hotel Nacional outdoor restaurant. It was a sumptuous hotel, high up on a hill above the ocean, old, with a lot of history. There were big chairs to lounge in and after the lunch Gisela, Deb and I had an expresso and lounged in the big chairs. We met an English man who told us about riding horses in Trinidad. Deb wanted to do that. We decided not to take a walking tour of central Havana and took a red convertible Chevy taxi back to the hotel. It was very fun. We went to the pool.
I was feeling the buzz of busyness. I had a slight headache from the two mojitos I had at the Hotel Nacional. I was feeling the opulent grandeur, the tropical paradise, the two worlds—poor and rich, the big spaces between those worlds. Jose, a Cuban, came to meet Kathleen at the Hotel Nacional. She had a package from a friend of his. He’s an older gentleman, slight of build. He was a diplomat in US in the 60s. He lives a frugal life, has a wife, no children, no family. He drives a Russian car and has a Spanish passport. He has email privileges because he was a diplomat. He talks of the rations, the pitifully small amounts they get, only enough food for twelve days. He’s not happy. He feels trapped. I listen to his story and I feel sad that it has to be like that. He says 25 pesos make a cuc (convertible universal currency). Ever since the “Special time,” the time after the Soviet Union collapsed and Cuba lost their financial support, things have been very hard for the people. There are severe shortages and the US imposed embargo is hurtful for the Cuban people.
That evening we had a panel discussion. The panel was lively. Each person introduced themselves. Martiza Corrales described herself as an art historian. She was independent. She’s not a member of the party and she sounded anarchistic at times. She’s not a member of the party and sounded a bit anarchistic at times.
Marta Nunez is a Professor at University of Havana. She’s a sociologist who teaches women’s studies, race and gender issues. She’s involved in exchange programs with US.
Rafael Hernandez is a lawyer. He worked in economy. He talked about how he didn’t understand rural needs in the beginning of the revolution. He liked making monuments, blends of building, art, poetry and landscape. He said you can’t freeze Che in one monument.
Miguel Coyula is a young film-maker. He made comic books. His aunt who lives in Miami gave him a video camera. In 1999 he graduated from the International film School out side of Havana. He made a movie “Memories of Over Development,” in response to the classic “Memories of Under Development.” In it we see the last fifty years of Cuba through the bitter eyes of an exile.
Billy Drake asks about architectural planning. The answer was that there is mold, destruction. The buildings are deformed and distorted. People don’t have money and can’t maintain the buildings in which they live. There is a social mixture in many buildings. Most of the people are poor and can’t afford maintenance. In central Havana the problem is worse. You own the place where you live, but nobody owns the building. For a long time the problem of repair was lack of money. Now there’s too much, too fast. The solution would be to empower the people to pay for themselves.
Innovation has been lost. People don’t want to move. It takes a change of mind. The roosters sing all night long. Neighbors breed fighting roosters on the roof.
Rafael says Havana
was never a Carribean city. It wanted to be white. The colors were pastel. Now
the colors are bright. The marginalized are no longer marginal. There are
nouveau riche. Thirty years ago they couldn’t destroy the buildings because
they were poor, now they have money and they like destroying buildings. It’s
about power. Someone asks about women. Marta says women were involved in the guerrilla war from 1952-55. 75% of all Cubans have been born after 1959. From 1959 until today there has been a comprehensive, holistic program that’s intelligent and integrative from top down and bottom up. It’s repairing mistakes. Women have to dismantle patriarchal patterns and social policies.
Since 1961 there’s been the feminization of education. 52% of doctors are women. 53% of lawyers are women. They also have to do second shift (housework). Marta is sixty-seven years old. There was a 1.6 birth rate decrease. 18% of Cubans are aging. Women have to take care of the elderly. The elderly need day care centers. Cuba is highly homophobic and women are the perpetrators of this, because they don’t want their sons to ruin their reputations and not be able to get jobs. Men are going through a crisis of masculinity. They still believe they know more than women. They still believe they are the bread winners. Abortion has been legal in Cuba since 1962. If a woman is younger than 16, she needs parental permission. There’s a problem of infertility.
Education. Everything is free. After 9th grade school is not compulsory. 48% continue to high school. 52% become skilled workers or go to technical schools. High school graduates can go to university. 52% need to serve for two years. Highschool graduates and university graduates serve one year. Medical school is six years. Two years general medicine and two years special medicine. After graduation from university there is two years of service for the government. Miguel breaks in and says that teachers are paid low salaries and there is corruption in schools with gifts to teachers and there is corruption in health care with gifts to doctors.
Rafael says people who graduate from universities are redundant. There is no capacity or infrastructure to employ all the university graduates. Maritza says that education and health care have declined. Rafael asks her to stop thinking of this as a problem.
They talk of the Cuba/Miami interplay. Rafael wrote an essay in 1958, “Architecture, Sex and Revolution.”
How to bypass industrial development? Miguel says there’s a death of ideology. The strong collective dream is gone. There’s more individuality. “I make films because I want to have a dialogue with the people.” Marta says health care is one of the six spaces of equality: education, culture, nutrition, health care, gender and race.
Newly graduated doctors in sixties had to go to the hills. In 1959 there were 6,000 doctors. 3000 left. In 1984 a family doctor had 120 families, now it’s a little more. There are 75,000 Cuban doctors. 35,000 work abroad. First you go to a family doctor. The majority that go are elderly. The family doctor can remit you to poly clinics, institutes and hospitals. Marta had breast cancer thirteen years ago. She went to an oncological institute and is cancer free. The doctors who work abroad are bringing economical sustenance to Cuba. There is a 4.2 infant mortality rate out of 1,000. 49% of budget goes to public health and education.
Cubans in exile can now have contact with relatives in Cuba. Now people from Miami can go visit their relatives.
Marta said there were three waves of immigrants. 1.7 million are in Mami. 57% left Cuba in 90’s after 1994. The issues are having a home, having a car, having a good salary. They had completed their education. “New Cubans” left their parents. They are coming and going. There are seventeen flights from Havana to Miami each day. Some Cubans sent their children to Miami to visit grand parents.
Rafael: the last waves of Cubans who migrated to US went to Hialeah, a horrible area of Miami. The first wave was very resentful in 1960. They represented money and good taste. If you want to keep values you have to address values.
I listen to Rafael and think he’s speaking in code to criticize black people-“Caribbean,” people from the country. He’s an elitist. I’m thinking these people are all from the elite. They chose to stay in Cuba and they all are very privileged. I am getting confused and don’t know what to believe. There’s no truth here. It’s a place of paradox.
Marta says lesbians are more discriminated against than gays. She says that soap operas are part of the Cuban identity. If you want to study gender identity, study soap operas. Ten years ago there was a soap opera with two lesbians. People complained.
Vasectomies are free, but there have only been six. There have been fifty-seven transsexual operations in Cuba. Transsexual operations are free. Your ID will reflect your gender at birth even if you’ve had an operation to change gender.
Francesco asks about ideology. Miguel, the young Cuban film-maker, says that Cubans are looking for a higher thing. His father, Mario, says that Karl Marx did not teach how to build Socialism. Maritza says “We have overbuilt ideology. We repeat the same things over and over in our propaganda and they don’t make sense. I agree with Miguel, for many years we haven’t been a revolution.” She talks about having “shared poverty,” that doesn’t work. Socialism is a good script with a poor performance record. Socialism is very difficult for the Cuban mentality which wants to be free.
Marta says she believes in the diversity of ideology. Ideology has many phases. When they copied dogmatic Marxism from Soviet Union it was a mistake. Socialism is an experiment that realizes communism. Today there are only four socialist countries: North Korea, China, Vietnam and Cuba.
Maritza says: “We love being Cuban. We are anti-dogmatic."
The panel ends. I go eat dinner in the bar and do my internet for the first time. Deb and I watch the weather channel. It’s brutally cold in the Northeast. They had the US weather channel on Cuban TV!
My mind is spinning, reeling with all the information I am receiving. What is the truth? Is there a truth? I have more questions than when I came. As I write this I realize Cuba is so much more than an ideology or a classification. It’s a very vital, alive state of mind. Cuba means “es tierra,” It is earth. It’s an island. It’s so different than any other place I’ve ever been.
What am I seeing of Cuba? I see the Malecon,
the sea wall each day. I watch the waves spill over the wall and onto the
streets in the big storm we had the other night. The wind howled around our
room on the twelfth floor for hours and hours. When we were down by the pool
eating dinner, the pool had waves the trees were all bent over. A large cabana
blew over and landed in the pool. It looked like a hurricane to me, but it was
a winter storm to Cubans. |
| Malecon day after the storm |
This hotel is an island of luxury embedded in an island of poverty and shortages. There are two economies. The Cuban economy of rations and shortages and salaries of $28 a month and the tourist economy of millions. When do the two meet and is there ever a moment of truth? I feel so separated from the “real” Cuba. We are shown art, architecture, we meet select people, we stay in the luxury hotel and eat at restaurants catering to tourists. We hear select music by groups selected to play in the places we frequent. We are seeing Cuba for tourists. It’s fun, it’s beautiful and it’s interesting, but what about the real Cuba? I yearn to encounter the people of the real Cuba.
On Tuesday, January 7, 2014 we visit the Fine Arts Museum. Our guide is Wilfredo. It’s an amazing museum. The Cubans are incredible artists. We focus on Cuban artists from the sixties to the present. Carlos Enriquez who was married to Alice Neel. Amelia Palaez (1896-1982), Wilfredo Lam (1902-1982) He was black, had a Chinese father and mulata mother. He was close to Santeria. Angelo Acosta Leon, a mulato, “Carosel del a Paz.” Servando Cabrera Moreno (1923-1981), “Homage to Solitude,” 1970. A big blue rounded shape, a huge painting framed by the doorway to the room where it hangs. It was one of my favorites. The last piece we looked at was called “Revolution” by Alejandro Elva. It’s a long narrow piece made up of contiguous squares. Each square contains a letter from the word “Revolucion.” The last square is a very pale “n.” Wilfredo said it was his favorite work in the museum. It describes how younger artists see the revolution. He said that the visual arts had more freedom in Cuba than the written word. Very near to that piece was a sculpture of a white rabbit. A very saucy, muscular white rabbit with a lot of attitude. That was my favorite piece. I asked what the white rabbit meant to Cubans. Nothing. A few days later in an art gallery I saw a painting of a white rabbit with the same saucy attitude.
I asked again what the white rabbit meant to
them. Nothing. The last night we were in the hotel at our final dinner I saw a
painting of a white rabbit inspecting a martini glass. In a Jungian book called
The Matrix and Meaning of Character, I
saw a listing of a book entitled Tracking
the White Rabbit: a Subversive View of
Modern Culture by Lyn Cowan, a senior training analyst and prior president
of the Inter-Regional Society of Jungian Analysts. This trip was sponsored by
the New York Jungian Institute, so maybe the Jungians will lead me to the
mystery of the white rabbit in Cuban culture.We had lunch in a place called El Aljibe in Miramar on the outskirts of Havana. Then we went to Jose Fuster’s studio.
“Jose Fuster has made a major contribution in over 10 years of work rebuilding and decorating the fishing town of Jaimanitas in the outskirts of Havana, where he lives. Jaimanitas is now a unique work of public art where Fuster has decorated over 80 houses with ornate murals and domes to suit the personality of his neighbors. He has built a chess park with giant boards and tables, The Artists' Wall composed of a quilt of dozens of tiles signed and donated by other Cuban artists, a theatre and public swimming pools.” –from a blurb by the YouTube video of his house and neighborhood.
This was an amazing place. A whole world of ceramics. We danced through his studio and the neighborhood surrounding it taking photo after photo. It was another world, another dimension. This and Salvador Gonzalez’ work were so inspiring. Two people who turned their neighborhoods into art inspired communal spaces that lift you out of the every day. Little pockets of dreaming imagination like I’ve never seen anywhere else. Both of these spaces are free. Anyone can come.
On Tuesday evening Monika Wikman presented a lecture on “Archetype of the Trickster.” The trickster is a drop of psychopath or sociopath. She talked about the Sioux creation story of how Coyote bumps into a tree and ejaculates, and the world is created. We often get too much or too little. The middle burner is laughter. Anytime there’s a shift in perspective we have change. In Santeria ceremonies you have to start with Elegua. Elegua was a child. Elegua opens all the doors and gates of the universes. In a ceremony Elegua would be first to eat, first to be passed to. Elegua would be the messenger of Olofi, the supreme deity. There’s a story that Monika told of how Elegua became the first orisha. I found it on the web, the link is http://agolaroye.com/Elegua.php
Elegua is the orisha who opens and closes all paths to mankind. He is the divider of heaven and earth. He travels between heaven and earth letting Olofi and Olodumare know what goes on in this realm. Elegua is a child orisha in some aspects that loves to play tricks and tests the faith of man. He walks between night and day searching for mankind to test their faith for the great Olofi and the orishas. There is said to be 121 paths of Elegua. He ranges from a young child to an old man with lots of knowledge. There is also a path of Elegua where the essence is of a woman. In more than half of Elegua’s paths, he is a young child that sits on corners, mountain tops, seashores, hospital entrances, cemetery gates and so on. He has many names as he has been called Elegba, Elegbara, Legba, Eshu or Exu. Elegua is seen all around the world. From continent to continent Elegua’s presence is felt, praised and heard. Inseparable friend of Ogun and Ochosi who the trio makes up the “The Warriors” first set of orishas to receive in Santeria. Elegua is any and everywhere.Elegua is the guardian of the dead also as thru him he unlocks the door for the deceased to walk through to reach Olofi where they will rest. In this path he is called Eshu Alagwana. In other religions or beliefs you can associate him with the Egyptian god of the dead Osiris, who leads the dead through the underworld.Elegua is the one that makes you play at your own risk. In that I mean, he is the one that if your stuck at a crossroad and you don’t know which way to go, its him that tests you and watches you make your decision. If you make the wrong decision, Elegua will open the door with his garavato (hook stick made from the guava tree) to make you pay your consequence. While you are paying for your mistakes, he tests you again to see if you will continue to do wrong or take the right path. If you succeed and take the right path he will unlock the door to happiness and fortune. If you’ve heard of a maze then you can associate it with Elegua. Our lives are shaped into mazes to see which path we go. Elegua is the guardian that sits at every corner and turn of the maze. If you make the wrong move, he will open the path to the wrong outcome. If you take the correct path, he will open the path that you are seeking.Elegua knows and sees all. There is nothing that Elegua doesn’t know. He is the messenger of Olodumare and Olofi, alongside with the orishas. Which means, he is the one that takes the messages from humankind to the orishas and the messages from the orishas to Olofi. This is why he is the first and last orisha to be praised to in every ceremony done in Santeria.A Pataki on EleguaOne day Olofi was greatly ill and depressed on situations among the universe. He was doing so much in the universe and here on Earth as in still creating life, giving orishas their ache (powers) and so on. He was so tired that he grew frail. All of the orishas were summoned to see if they can help cure Olofi from his dilemma. All of the orishas gathered in the great hall of Olofi where the supreme being sat on his throne with a lost look in his eye. You can tell his mind was going a mile a minute and due to this he wasn’t feeling very good. As he sat slumped on his throne, the orishas gathered around and were conversing amongst each other. Obatala tried to clean him with his white cloth, Olofi remained the same. Orula prepared him a tonic to drink, and Olofi remained the same. Ozain tried to rub a medical herb and the great Olofi stayed the same. Inle tried to clean Olofi with his staff and still the same action. Every orisha tried and tried but were unsuccessful.Elegua was amongst the orishas but since he was a child the other orishas out stood him. He shrugged on Yemaya’s skirt to get her attention. He asked Yemaya if he could try, Yemaya told him to behave and be quiet. He then shrugged on Oya’s skirt and with the look that Oya gave him he ran under the legs of the other orishas that were standing nearby. He then shrugged on Agallu’s pants and Agallu told him to go outside and play that this was for the elder orishas and his presence is not needed here. Elegua grew upset and ran to Obatala and asked him why he couldn’t try to help and revive Olofi. Obatala looked at Elegua and began to tell him in a soft voice that the ache that Elegua contained had no match to heal Olofi. He went on to tell Elegua that all the other orishas are trying their best to do what they can for Olofi. Elegua looked at Obatala and asked him to please let him try. If he is also an orisha then he should be able to try as well. He said if the others are trying, why not him? Obatala who contains the ache of peace and knowledge raised his staff and ordered silence among the orishas. He told them to step aside and let Elegua try and revive Olofi. All the orishas began to whimper under their breath not to make Obatala hear them since he was the eldest and father figure to all the orishas.Elegua walked slowly to Olofi’s throne and looked at him from head to toe. Olofi still with a weak look in his eyes didn’t even pay attention to Elegua’s presence. Elegua put his garavato on the floor, reached into his nap sack and pulled out 3 herbs. See Elegua was always roaming the woods and he has seen Ozain work with the different herbs of the forest. So with the herbs that he picked up he grabbed a leaf from each branch and placed it gently in the mouth of Olofi. Now all of the orishas are seeing this young child on the lap of Olofi and are wondering how long Obatala is going to make this mockery last. Elegua grabs the mouth of Olofi and manually moves it so the supreme being can chew and swallow what he has placed. After Olofi has swallowed the herbs, Elegua takes out a feather from his nap sack and passes it over the body of Olofi. After he is done he jumps off Olofi’s lap and starts to walk down from the throne. Obatala has grief in his eyes as Olofi is still the same.All of the orishas start to talk again on how Elegua’s tactics was unforgivable and he should be reprimanded for it. While they are talking, there’s a slight glow from Olofi’s chest. The glow gets brighter and brighter until the great Olofi is standing tall and mighty on his throne with a light so powerful that all of the orishas fall to their knees in respect. A loud deep voice calls Elegua to the throne. Olofi thanks Elegua for what he has done. He tells him that all have come and tried to revive him, but they all have failed. He then asked Elegua how did he know what to use. Elegua looked at Olofi and told him that he studied every part of the forest and its secrets. He has seen how every orisha works differently with their elements. He went on and told Olofi how he wanted to try but none of the orishas would let him, only Obatala. Olofi smiled and told Elegua that from this day forward he would have the virtue to open all gates and doors and pathways. He gave Elegua a gold key that unlocked Olofi’s house and every door in the universe. He also blessed his feather and told him with this feather you are able to walk through time forward and backwards, through light and dark, through evil and good. Then Olofi proclaimed in front of the orishas and the universe that Elegua would be his personal messenger, since he knows and has seen all what the orishas are doing on Earth. He told them that they will always have to count first with Elegua in all that they do. If Elegua wasn’t appeased, then their work and messages would not reach his castle. He then went on and told him that Elegua would also be the first to eat in every ceremony. The first to be prayed to in every ceremony. With that said and done, Olofi touched Elegua’s head and an inner light shone from within Elegua.Elegua as a kid at heart turned and faced the court of orishas and stuck his tongue out at them as if to say “ha ha.” Olofi smiled at Elegua and sent him on his way to maintain order in the crossroads of humanity and the orishas.
Elegua is god of the cross roads, Lord of roads. He’s part angel and part devil. He tests people. He’s a transcendent orisha. He’s similar to Hanuman. He often has two faces. He sees us and gets us to wake up and follow our destiny and fate. Fate is how we live our life on the earth plane and our guiding star. Everyone of us is at a crossroads, living in the time space of the eternal. Elegua is the facilitator or blocker of our aspirations. It makes the labyrinth of life. The right way to wholeness could be the supposed wrong turn. The whole of our life is the connection to the divine and the eternal, the realization that you are not alone. It’s a deep archetypal presence that shows us our higher selves. It’s the humility to know we’re one sided. The trickster enters and helps us to see how one sided we are.
The Meyers Briggs test helps us know what personality type we are. You can take the test online. http://www.myersbriggs.org/my-mbti-personality-type/mbti-basics/.
Monika said that if the head of the snake doesn’t integrate with the tail, there’s no wholeness. That’s a Jungian concept.
In 1951 Jung had a heart attack. He had a vision in which nothing of the human experience was lost. Everything he had ever experienced was part of the whole. The value of darkness is very rich. Realignment with life force is the core of the human/divine connection.
There is a tree of life at the center of the cross roads. This is the vertical access of the life force.
Palm trees painted with testicles at the bottom are representative of Elegua.
If we touch the trickster, we touch that which wants to help us make a turn. The psyche values the tree of life that is within each of us. Elegua is guide of souls.
Elegua is the distributor of ache, without ache (chi, blessing) nothing moves.
Elegua unites opposites. He’s a paradoxical presence that makes us and the universe evolve and move. Elegua wants to play. He’s the god of paradox.
Jung would say stay with the tension of the opposite and let the paradox be born. This creates the transcendent.
The tension between slavery and freedom. Slaves are freed. Revolution comes and frees people, but enslaves the economy.
Elegua resides in the polarities of opposites—healthy and ill, fortune and misfortune, hidden and revealed.
Elegua is a creator god. He guides us with our hand work—building, iron work. His colors are red and black. His feast day is June 13th.
Elegua is often represented in the form of a head, with cowrie shells for eyes nose and mouth. Cowrie shells are most commonly used for divination. Elegua gives us ache, which is the equivalent to life force.
The African slaves brought Santeria to Cuba. Their story is twined into the landscape of the island of Cuba.
Ev tells us about Leonardo Padura, a Cuban writer who is internationally successful, but his books are not for sale in Cuba. The written word in more repressed than the visual arts. He talks about A Fever of Horses, a story of Havana in late seventies. There is an article in The New Yorker about Padura (October 21, 2013).
I am a hungry sponge. I order the books Monkika recommends, including her book, The Pregnant Darkness. Cuba framed in the context of Jung. I love their dedication to paradox, mythology and archetypes.
I try to order Leonardo Padura’s books. I manage to get one La Novela de mi Vida. I'm reading it now. It's evocative of the flavor and feeling of Cuba.
The next day (Wednesday) we take off in the bus for Cienfuegos. Deb, my roommate, is tired of being in a group and chooses to stay in Havana. I’m so curious to see the other side of the island, the south side. There’s also a visit to the botanical garden outside of Cienfuegos. We take off and make a rest stop about two hours outside of Havana. It’s got souvenirs, a little music store. Ev helps us get some music CDs. We are raging with shopper madness. There are no real stores in Havana. We tour the botanical garden. We have a wonderful guide who is a great teacher. "What are the colors of bougainvillea?""Red, orange, yellow, purple, white, many colors." “No, those are the bracts, the flower is in the center and it’s always white.” The garden is really an arboretum of exotic trees. The royal palm is the official tree of Cuba. The Cieba tree, known as kapok tree, baobab is very sacred and very large. We see an ebony tree, a mahogany tree, and many other trees. I am in heaven with the trees and the garden. I want to come and volunteer there. The guide says it’s just for tourists but there are some volunteers.
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| on the way to Cienfuegos |
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| ceiba tree |
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| On the road outside Cienfuegos |
We get to Cienfuegos around lunch time. They told us to pack a lunch. That meant taking food from the breakfast buffet. I already ate my little ham and cheese sandwich. They tell us we’re free to roam at our leisure and drop us on a huge beautiful square. Gisela and I go have a beer at the El Palatino bar. There are some musicians playing in the bar. We buy their CD.
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| outside el Palatino bar |
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| el Palatino bar |
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| el Palatino bar |
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| main square in Cienfuegos |
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| Russian car on main square in Cienfuegos |
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| house in Cienfuegos |
There’s a big connection between Cuba and Miami. Miami is an extension of Cuba. There are so many Cubans there and now they are being allowed to go back to Cuba to visit their loved ones. There’s a lot of interchange with the artists and musicians. It’s so complicated and so much is not said.
There’s no police or military presence here. Who keeps the order? I wondered about that, but I never asked. I never saw people reading newspapers.
We were never told horrible stories. The most horrible story was about Natalia Bolivar being tortured and she made light of the torture part.
The issue is not about communism or socialism. The issue is about people, about Cuba. We never saw poor people, but people don’t have enough. Raul said people are always trying to figure out a way to make more money. The few times I got to talk to people and I asked them if they were happy they said no. They felt stuck. If I asked ten people at random in the US if they were happy they would probably say no. That’s a loaded question and our culture is not about happiness.
We go to the Hotel Jagua. It’s in a section of Cienfuegos that was built in the fifties. Raul said Cienfuegos was built by the French. It’s pretty. Our hotel was on the water. It was beautiful, luxurious, a paradise. We only get to spend one night there. My room looked out on the water and the town. It had a balcony. There was a beautiful swimming pool and the dinner we had was excellent. Again we’re in an island of luxury and don’t connect to what’s around us. We’re in the hotel, or we’re on the bus. That night, when I was returning to my room in Cienfuegos, I was in the elevator with some other people. One of the people was a man from Putney, VT, Tim Weed. He was here with the National Geographic group. He said he was a writer and had visited Cuba many times. I told him I had more questions now than when I first came. He said that he always leaves with more questions than when he came. We said we’d have coffee one day back in Vermont.
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| Hotel Jagua, Cienfuegos |
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| lobby, hotel Jagua, Cienfuegos |
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| view from balcony of my room |
The next morning I have breakfast with Ann and Monika. Ann slept in a room where Fidel Castro slept on August 18, 1960. She had a dream that she was asleep in the bed and next to the bed was a huge box of compost. She tells us the dream. Monika gets very excited. She talks about how the heroes have to be broken down into fragments so they can reform. The alchemists believed in compost. They called it black gold. She said the Jungian world is a vast compost heap. August 18, 1960 is the day Monika was born.
After breakfast we get in the bus and we go to Trinidad. It’s a colonial town on the sea. It’s on the UN historic registry. It’s very pretty, they’re sprucing it up because a big anniversary is coming up soon. There are shops, restaurants, a temple to Yemaja. We go on a walking tour for forty-five minutes. Then we’re free to wander on our own for a few hours. It’s beautiful.
A few of us go to a music store with Ev and Aryeh. I buy a bunch of CDs and a book by Lydia Cabrera, about Santeria. Aryeh lends me cucs. There are no credit cards in Cuba, at least not for Americans. I got some wonderful music, recommended by Ev. We go have a drink at the Canchanchara Bar.
Canchanchara bar
Marlene
We drink Canchanchara, a very Cuban drink of rum, lemon and honey. It’s yummy. There’s a band playing. Marlene is dancing. It’s very celebratory, very fun. I am drinking, laughing, taking lots of pictures.
Marlene talks about a restaurant that serves lobster for 10 cucs. Gisela, Ann and I go with her to La Cieba. It’s beautiful. We sit outside on a patio with a view of the mountains in the distance. There is a huge Cieba tree growing next to the patio. It’s very old, it’s branches cover the entire patio.
We have a lovely lunch. I am having a wonderful time. The company is congenial, the food is good and we all have a Crystal beer. After lunch we wander around and find the temple of Yemaja.
We go in. It feels very sacred. A man with grey hair is the keeper. He’s quietly sitting in the courtyard with a little girl. There’s a chicken walking around in the open courtyard. In the temple there’s a bench to sit on, altar and the statue of Yemaja. There’s a rattle to rattle after you’ve said your prayer. I say a prayer, make a donation and gently rattle the rattle. Gisela makes a big rattling, very strong. She understands that the orishas like to hear the rattle. I am too shy to rattle loudly. Next time I’ll make a big rattling sound for Yemaja and my prayers. It’s so beautiful in there. I am in a haze of food and alcohol, but I appreciate the serenity and beauty, and it feels very sacred.
We leave and go back to where we’ll meet the bus. It’s so beautiful in Trinidad, friendly and warm.
room off street in Trinidad
green taxi, Trinidad
We get on the bus and drive back to Havana.
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| the sky near Havana was beautiful with vultures |
What have I learned? I’ve had a good time, it was a lovely outing, but I feel like I’ve been distracted from what I came here for. And what did I come here for? To learn about Cuba. What have I learned? I feel like I know nothing and I have more questions than I did when I came. I know it’s a very special place. A week is not enough time to understand a place. It’s made a big impression on me, but I can’t say how. Since I’ve been back in Vermont I have been having vivid dreams that are inspired by Cuba, the art, the colors, the people and the specialness of Cuba that can’t be put into words. Cuba is a state of mind.
We get back to Havana. It’s still light. Deb is there to meet us. She’s had a wonderful time in Havana, but she’s glad to see us. We go to dinner by the pool and catch up. Then we go to the cigar bar and Deb and Gisela smoke cigars that they’ve purchased specially for the occasion. I take photos of them. We listen to the jazz group and then I go to bed.
Deb
Our last day in Havana.
Gisela
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| sunrise, Havana, January 10, 2014 |
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| Malecon near Paseo, Havana |
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| steps from Malecon to water, Havana |
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| taxis by Melia Cohiba Hotel |
At 9 am we have a presentation by the Universales del Son, a music group from Guantanamo. They are excellent, but it’s very strange to be listening to music so early in the morning. I get their CD and some hand painted maracas.
Universales del Son
The group has an optional trip to Old Havana to visit the Graphic Artists Studio and the Ceramics Museum. I go on the trip.
Universales del Son
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| courtyard next to graphic artists studio, Havana |
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| graphic artists studio, Havana |
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| graphic artists studio, Havana |
I like seeing the art and I learn a lot from the guides. Deb goes off on her own. I like that we have the choice. Gisela comes on the trip. We have a lunch break and we wander on the streets of old Havana.
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| Old Havana |
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| street works, outside Ceramics Museum |
We come to the Ambos Mundos Hotel. A man invites us to come in and go to the roof. It’s the hotel where Hemingway lived before he moved to the outskirts of Havana. We take the cage like elevator to the roof. It’s has an amazing view of the city.
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| from top of Ambos Mundos Hotel, Havana |
We go to the Ceramics museum. Alejandro, the older art guide works there. He’s the main curator. He’s very articulate and it’s easy to follow him. People complained they couldn’t understand him when he led the other half of the group at the museum of fine arts. People are so interesting. We take an amazing tour with him.
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| Alejandro, Ceramics Museum |
The ceramics are very diverse. I never paid much attention to them, now I find them fascinating. There are so many wonderful pieces in the Ceramics Museum. I’m so glad I went. We get back on the bus and go to the hotel. I go to the pool. It’s a little chilly, the sun is setting. I just sit there and enjoy the water, the ambiance.
We have our last lecture, a summing up of the trip. Jung said travel literally shook up his psyche. Roxanne asks, “How will I practice Cuba?” They talk about the trip as a deconstruction of our selves. Start with dream images. The trip is a gift to all of us. When we go home the places we have been will still play us. They give us a list of books on Jung, the Black Madonna, Santeria and a list of films on Cuba. People reflect on their experiences during the trip. It’s a good meeting.
We have our last dinner at the hotel. It’s very lovely, a buffet. The wine flows, talk flows and everyone seems very congenial. I’ve had a wonderful time. I’m ready to leave. Gisela and I will spend five days in Miami before we go back to the cold winter of Vermont and New York. Deb is going back to Vermont.
I pack up my bags and am ready. Deb and I practice tai chi in the window niche by the elevators. We’re very early for breakfast so we go to the pool. It’s still dark, the sun is almost ready to rise. We practice tai chi by the pool. It feels really good. I take a picture of the pool and it looks like an oasis.
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| pool, Melia Cohiba hotel, Havana |
We get on the bus and go to the airport. It’s a bright morning. There’s a crystal dew on the grass at side of the road. I sit by the window looking out at the people, the signs, the traffic. We pass an open truck full of men. They wave to us, their hands fluttering like birds in the morning sun. I feel such love for Cuba, these people, this music, this land. Tears well up in my heart, tears of love and compassion, tears of joy. There’s a sign “Levantaran, no necitan poetizar las caidas.” “You will rise, you don’t need to poeticize the falls.”
Acknowlegements
I want to thank the New York Center for Jungian Studies for making our trip to Cuba possible. I want to thank Aryeh Maidenbaum. the trip leader for his generosity, his expertise, his good humor and his wonderful stories. They have many other programs and trips. You can contact them at www.nyjungcenter.org.
I want to thank Monika Wikman, Ev Man, Raul and Vicky, our guides, and all the people they introduced us to while we were in Cuba. It was a splendid trip!
I want to thank Monika Wikman, Ev Man, Raul and Vicky, our guides, and all the people they introduced us to while we were in Cuba. It was a splendid trip!
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