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One morning in La Habana
Upon the invitation of good friend Alex Fleites, poet, fictionist and art critic from Havana, we visited his city, flying in from Mexico. “We” included poet Marjorie Evasco, her daughter MayAnn, and my husband Alex. Cuba has figured large in world politics, and in our consciousness, since the U.S. trade embargo was imposed almost 60 years ago. Now that US-Cuban relations had thawed, we felt it was the perfect moment to visit, before modern changes overtake Cuba.
We stayed in a casa particular, a private house that accepted guests, in the lush Vedado district, with the gracious family of Mr. Jorge Coalla Potts, his wife Marisel, and daughter Jessica. The house was spacious, airy, with high ceilings. There were white rocking chairs in the living room, inviting one to sit and enjoy the bright, sunny place with large windows looking out into the quiet tree-lined street.
Alex Fleites and his daughter Amanda were excited to show us around. From our casa we walked a few blocks and hailed a taxi at the corner of Calle 23. And what a taxi it was—a red and white Studebaker, with chrome sidings, only seen in movies and car shows. I felt like entering a time warp as I got inside the car. The engine had obviously been retooled, as we smoothly sped on, towards Habana Vieja, or Old Havana, which was the historic area of the city. Along the way we marveled at the beautiful vintage houses and buildings, the mix of Castillian and African blood of the people, and the vibrant feel as the city hummed to the morning’s activities.
We got down near Paseo de Martí, beside a large, colonial-style building which was the Hotel Inglaterra. This iconic hotel opened in 1856 and is still doing business as the oldest one in Havana. Alex showed us the main bar with its life-size bronze statue of a Spanish dancer called the La Sevillana, and we looked closely at the patterned tiles (azulejos), the keyhole arches and exquisite iron-works reminiscent of Moorish architecture of Andalusia, Spain.
Just a stone’s throw away was the Capitolio Nacional, a distinctive city landmark, with its dome and wide stairways, designed like the American Congress building in Washington D.C. It was undergoing a thorough renovation at that time when we visited, and the façade was covered with scaffoldings and net.
Crossing the Paseo we reached the Parque Central, a large garden with lush growth of palm trees, hedges and grass. Many people were there; groups of men raising their voices in excited argument, mothers with young children, couples sitting on benches. Loath to miss a photo opportunity we all crowded for a photo under the white marble statue of the national hero, José Martí, his loose coat around his shoulders, his right hand raised, pointing as if in exhortation. Under this statue inaugurated in 1905, baseball fanatics gather and discuss the merits and intricacies of the game.
We walked further on and found the parking space for so many of the vintage cars we saw cruising the streets; we had to stop and take photos of them. All shiny and well-kept, their colors bright and new, we took time to look and admire the large, American cars of past-eras. Most of these were for hire, and from time to time their drivers approached us to offer their services.
We finally reached Calle Obispo, a long, pedestrian-only busy street that was the hub of Habana Vieja, so named because during the 18th century bishops passed through this street. Stores were selling books, arts and crafts, and souvenir shops were selling briskly. Outside government shops, locals were lining up for staples that were available that day. Along the way, we saw a small oasis of palm trees where an unexpected bronze sculpture of Sancho Panza lorded it over, holding aloft a wilted shield, and on a nag that could have been Rocinante.
We entered the Droguería (Drugstore) Johnson, dating back to the 18th century. Attracted by the antique signs outside that said “Violet Water,” “Cologne Water for Headaches,” we went in, and gazed in awe at the floor to ceiling open wooden cabinets containing porcelain apothecary jars of oils, essences, and medicines. Many customers were also being served, as the drugstore was still in operation.
Along the way, we heard rhythmic Latin music being played, and traced it to one of the verandas of a hotel along the street. The musicians were on a stage to one side, with their trumpets, guitars, and percussion sets, lending the air a snappy, upbeat atmosphere. This was my first introduction to the son cubano, and several young people beside us started to dance with abandon.
We passed by old houses with wrought-iron balconies, and before long we could espy the belfry of the Cathedral. On and on we went, passing by a group of painters with their easels on the street, doing their art solemnly, oblivious to passers-by.
We emerged into the plaza of the Cathedral, and beheld the big church in its entirety. It was made of stone and marble, with not one, but two tall belfries flanking it. It spoke of olden, more unhurried days, and many ladies in colorful Caribbean costumes stood by, ready to be photographed with visitors.
Before entering the cathedral though, Alex turned left towards an almost-hidden edifice, the Taller Experimental de la Gráfica. It was a large, deep hall with the artists engrossed in their work. Many were his good friends, whom he embraced with obvious joy, as he introduced us. We went around wide-eyed, awed by the enormous amount of work being done in this place.
We repaired to a small patisserie beside the taller for cups of coffee and biscuits, the quirky café a sign of Habana’s reawakening, where individuals could now open small businesses like this.
We continued and entered the cathedral, which was a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1982. There were massive white stone pillars, holding up the frescoes on the ceiling and the dome. There were three naves and eight lateral chapels. At the center of the altar mayor was the statue of the Immaculate Conception, the Lady in Blue, to whom the cathedral was consecrated. It began to rain so we rested and sat down in one of the pews, happy for the occasion for some quiet contemplation. — AT, GMA News
