Monday, July 2, 2012

Cuban Birthdays

His name was George and when he saw me wearing the grey tee shirt with the red letters spelling out "Georgia" he broke into a huge grin as he stood on the Camelback and stormed over to me. I was sitting between a woman breast feeding her baby and an old woman with a chicken in her lap. "I am George," the big man bellowed, smothering me in a hug and laughing. "We are friends now. I take care of you on this bus." Bill Berry (not the former drummer for R.E.M. but the other one who went to Seminary with me) smiled and shook his head as George shoved the old woman with the chicken in her lap down the seat. Bill was the reason we were riding a Camelback in the first place. Public transportation is Cuba is interesting and the buses are three times the size of those in the United States. That's because the Cubans literally take three buses and thrown them on top of each other ... hence the hump in the camel ... and cram as many people as possible on it for only 35 cents. "Since we're here," Bill explained to me, "we should travel like the locals do." So we rode the bus from downtown Havanna into the country where Ernest Hemingway's house, Finca La Vigia or "The Lookout House" which was ten miles away in San Francisco de Paula, a sleepy little village. "You get off here," George commanded with a smile and smothering me in another sweaty hug. Bill and I got off the bus with several other people who immediately disappeared somewhere in the thick, lush Tropical landscape. We stood there on a gravel road wandering in the general direction of Hemingway's past. When we got there, it's closed on Monday's. "Well, that's great," I bitched to Bill. "What are we going to do now?" Aside from Fica La Virgia, there is absolutely nothing in San Francisco de Paula. "We'll travel like the locals do," Bill cheerily replied without hesitation. "We'll thumb back to the city." So two Americans with back backs stood there with our thumbs sticking out. An old 1950's pick up truck held together by rust and wire coasted to a stop at our feet. It was filled with Cubans. The cab had five men in it and the bed looked like a can of sardines. Everybody was smiling at us. The driver, an old toothless man with flaming blue eyes, jumped out yelling in Spanish at his seat mates. Shaking their heads understanding, they vacated the cab and somehow crammed themselves in the back. The driver then made a great bow inviting Bill and I to sit in the cab with him. "No, no, no," we both protested but he and the 47 people crammed in the back would have nothing to do with it. They all clapped when Bill climbed in the middle and I took the seat with the window that wouldn't roll up. The truck spit gravel as it carried us back to Havannah where I was already dreaming of a majito at La Floridita, Hemingway's favorite bar. Bill can butcher Spanish with the best of them and was in some conversation with the driver with the smile and the flaming eyes. I just tried to absorb it all in. I mean who gets to do this? And I wanted to experience Cuba before it evenually becomes a Disney Land for the rich and famous. I've been to a lot of places but the nicest people I've ever met live in Cuba ... and some of the most beautiful too. We were dropped off at the University of Havannah where we were to meet up with a bunch of students that Bill knew who were going to teach us Salsa that night. When the driver got out, we emptied my back back on the seat. Snickers bars, bandaids, rubbing alcohol, medicine, cue tips, and such things. Bill and I bowed very ceremoniously and the driver returned the bow. Those in the back all smiled and waved. We turned to go. He climbed back into the cab and we heard him squeal in glee. We quickly made our way off into the bustle of one of the most cities I've every seen. In spite of a stupid Embargo, these are the nicest people I've met anywhere. They don't care for government, hell most of the time I don't either, but they love Americans. It makes me think, if we can keep Government ... and religion ... out of human relationships, we'd all get along a whole lot better. And I want to go back. I want to take Sarah. "What do you want for your birthday?" she asked me yesterday. I just smiled.