Innocent In Cuba Further Curious Rambles and Singular Encounters

day one sea of happiness Saturday, February 14, 2004. From the nineteenth floor of the four-star Hotel Neptuno Triton there's a wide-angle view of the western-most limits of suburban Havana, the parklike area south of Miramar Beach lightly industrial, lightly residential, agricultural hardly at all. Clusters of palm trees dot the tops of green hills on the southern horizon. The sky is baby blue and speckled with swirling little galaxylike clouds of baby pink. The lights on tall metal poles around the front of the hotel switch off at precisely seven o'clock. It's a new day: two loud sharp clangs come from a tuneless bell way off in the distance and small groups of workers quicken their pace to the construction sites. Hotels are going up all around here, with fabulous neoart deco lines and dazzling colour combinations. On Cuban construction sites where workers are docked pay for being late or absent, there is much lateness and absenteeism. On jobs where one is not docked, workers will go out of their way to show up on time every day. That's why workers aren't getting docked these days. I've heard this twice already, so it must be true. Ten years ago the view from the nineteenth floor would have been dominated by the neo-classical red-roof Iglesia Jesus de Miramar off in the distance, with its beautiful pearl-grey dome. It would have had a vast rural rolling landscape to itself, an opalescent island in a sea of emeralds. But now that church, still with all its attractions, has been rendered less significant, dwarfed by recently constructed hotels, the Havana Trade Center, and the beginnings of new residential neighbourhoods. Traffic on the highway below seems light a few speeding toy cars well spaced, now and then a toy lorry loaded with cement blocks. People will casually sidestep onto the sidewalk to avoid the occasional bus jammed with people. A former beauty queen from Venezuela is touting Reduce Fat Fast pills on the twenty-two-channel universe, and gives different numbers to call for different Latin American countries. Each country is listed on the screen, except for Cuba, where obesity is rare, beauty contests are considered moronic, and few people have credit cards. Winter storms have paralyzed traffic in Istanbul, airports have been turned into dormitories in Athens, in Toronto it's fifteen below but in Cuba it looks like another fine day with hot sunshine. The only snow is on an old man's beard and the only ice is in his first drink of the day. The flight from Toronto was full of people from Detroit, Cleveland, Chicago, New York. They were a serious bunch, curious about Cuba rather than just wishing to sprawl mindlessly on the beach for a week. They were more interested in sizing up the island, sniffing out opportunities. A group of five had been corresponding with the Council of Cuban Churches and were now excitedly going over their maps and discussing their plans to visit every single one of the Protestant churches in Cuba dispensing advice, no doubt. Nine out of ten such churches are said to be lacking pastors. Anti-abortion feeling is high among the faithful, and the more outspoken get thrown in jail. The non-Cuban world, including Amnesty International, calls these people dissenters. Most Cubans call them worse names. What seems clear is that there is a long-standing majority tradition in Cuba of considering a woman's desire for a safe abortion to be inviolable. At the Jose Marti Airport last night, it was like being trapped inside an ant's eye. Every television monitor was showing a weary but passionate old Fidel giving yetMcFadden, David W. is the author of 'Innocent In Cuba Further Curious Rambles and Singular Encounters', published 2005 under ISBN 9780771055065 and ISBN 0771055064.