Flukes and ukes in Old Havana

Cuba: Flukes and ukes in Old Havana
By Owen Scott
12:00 PM Tuesday Jul 28, 2015

International Travel
On a pilgrimage to Old Havana, Owen Scott and his ukulele bandmates meet
new pals keen to strum and dance.

The Flukes' ukes drew locals' curiosity. Photo / Owen Scott
"Sing and hand over your declaration to Customs."

The typo on the Customs form at Havana Airport was apt - sing was
exactly what the Flukes, six ukulele players from Auckland, intended to
do. And with "normalisation" the word on political lips, we were eager
to experience Cuba before the hordes descended and Cuba got Starbucked.

On our first morning in Vieja Habana (Old Havana), we woke to the sounds
of noisy, busy streets. We had opted to stay in casa particulars,
family-run guest houses, the best way to experience the shy, warm Cuban
hospitality.

Our first casa had been in the family for 200 years and its operation
was very much a family affair; meals were served by the aunts on the
roof terrace. We weren't expecting great food in Cuba, but breakfasts
could usually be relied upon - guava, pineapple, watermelon and mango,
accompanied by fruit juice and strong coffee. Tortilla would follow,
with a spam-like ham we learned to avoid.

Then that moment when we stepped out the door into sensory overload -
cars, cigars and music in greedy abundance. Our progress through the
streets would have embarrassed a snail. From the repetition of "OMG!"
and iPhone clicking you would have thought something had been slipped
into the tortillas.

The joy of Old Havana is to wander and get lost; you have to succumb to
being just a tourist. There are plenty of elevated cultural things to do
and to see, but walking the streets is the most rewarding way to see the
city and engage with the people.

There's a friendly, polite curiosity to Cubans, almost a wariness -
evidence that for more than 50 years (post-Bay of Pigs and the Missile
Crisis) Cuba has been relatively sequestered. But change is in the air.
A fresh whiff of capitalism and opportunity has flared the nostrils of
every Cuban.

It wasn't long before a local man asked us where we were from and we
succumbed to his charm. He told us Cuba's famous Buena Vista Social Club
was playing a special concert that very night and led us to an old
building nearby where we readily bought tickets and paid him a tip.
Nothing is free in Cuba. That's hardly a surprise. Most people are dirt
poor.

As we left the building, our friendly "guide" said it was a "workers'
holiday" and we could buy cigars on the quiet. We'd read the guide
books: do not buy cigars on the street.

Like lambs we allowed ourselves to be ushered into the broken-down
innards of a building nearby where a range of Monte Cristos and Cohibas
was quickly laid out for us. The "workers' holiday" is the stock fable
used on credulous gringos and we fell for it. Luckily, the quality of
the cigars was reasonable. It's wise to stick to the government-run
outlets, but illicit cigar-buying is certainly a novel way to see
something of the real Havana behind those classical facades.

And the real Havana is a magnificent ruin. Parts of Prado look like
Beirut. But heading towards Centro Habana, we found evidence of
restoration. With its concentration of luxury hotels, the Parque Central
area is the celebrated circuit of American automotive history. Like
birds of paradise, these gaudy relics circle continuously, swallowing
tourists and taking them for the ride of their lives. It's like being on
a film set, but only two films are ever being made: American Graffiti
and Bugsy Malone.

The idea of touring Havana in a 50s Dodge or Fairlane at first seemed
cringe-worthy, but what better way to see the city than in a "jellybean"
with the top down.

Away from the hot spots we were treated to a surprise: in Parque
Almendares, by the river, we chanced upon a small voodoo ritual being
conducted by a mother and her children. There were no live chicken
beheadings, but a few feathers on the wind quickened the imagination.

For the Flukes, music and dance was high on the list, and in the Old
Town there was always something happening. The narrow streets of Obispo
and O'Reilly have bars on every corner, serving the ubiquitous mojito,
and bands playing a mixture of salsa, rumba and son. The Buena Vista
Social Club experience, luckily, was a good one. As we watched the
venerable singer, Juana Bacayao, perform, we knew we were experiencing a
little bit of musical history and greatness. The salsa dancer in our
midst was in for a treat that night - whisked up to the front by the
orchestra's young dancer and given a memorable spin in front of 200
people. After that, in every casa particular we stayed in he seemed to
find an endless supply of young women with whom to hone his skills.

The pinnacle of our trip had to be when the Flukes introduced
incredulous Cubans to the ukulele's charms. Striking up Four Seasons in
One Day in a cafe a crowd quickly formed.

Bongos mysteriously appeared and suddenly we had an extra member of the
band. But the star appearance was the elderly, besuited, cigar-clenching
Cuban, dancing in his fedora before us. You don't see that on Ponsonby
Rd. We left our mark.

Havana is so seductive it's almost a cliche. With Airbnb now operating
it's going to open up like a flower. Get there before the petals start
turning.

Source: Cuba: Flukes and ukes in Old Havana - Travel - NZ Herald News -
http://www.nzherald.co.nz/travel/news/article.cfm?c_id=7&objectid=11487535&ref=rss