I live in Canada, so I don’t consider visiting parts of it travel and I certainly don’t find it interesting enough to write about, but here are some pictures…
Canada Pictures: Alberta
I live in Canada, so I don’t consider visiting parts of it travel and I certainly don’t find it interesting enough to write about, but here are some pictures…
Our Woman in Havana
I was undecided about what to do with my final day in Havana. Obviously there would be walking, but i wanted some sort of loose destination. Musing over my morning cigar, i discovered that every Sunday afternoon there is an area with live rumba music. Good enough. Little did i then know that the destination would be even better than live music. I set off through Havana Vieja, past Parque Central, down Calle San Rafael for many blocks, until tourists thinned out and were replaced with local residents doing their daily activities. I tried not to be too obvious as i snapped photos.
I found my way to my destination – Callejon de Hamel – wondering where the live music would be and whether i would even be able to find it. It wasn’t hard. The short street, closed to cars, is lined, crammed, and towered by art. Graffiti, sculpture. Benches made from painted, repurposed bathtubs, courtyards filled with scrap metal totems, the sides of buildings covered with murals…even some art studios, open for visiting.
There were a couple of cafes/studios which were filled with an acceptable mix of locals and visitors. Most of the locals were afrocuban and spoke good English and were happy to tell me about this neighborhood, the artists, and the free programs for autistic and disabled children provided there. I had the local drink – a Negro (like a mojito but with basil instead of mint) – bought a couple of cds of rumba music and took in the sights.
At noon the bands started to play. All percussionists, singers, and dancers. All but one were women and they played the most infectious music. The crown pressed in and climbed up the sides of the buildings to get a prime view. I stayed until the rains started and then headed back to old Havana for an early dinner.
I did of course, stop off for a final cigar at the Partagas Factory VIP room.
What glory! Back in old Havana i found a restaurant that served pizza! Not the barely warm white bread covered with a whisper of sauce and tasteless white cheese that is ubiquitous in Havana, but actual crispy, chewy pizza with tasty sauce and four vegetables. It was great. I celebrated by having a glass of wine and pair of Ramon Allones robustos. I enjoyed a chat with a couple of local travellers from Germany and listened to some decent jazz from the band on the corner.
I have to say, the food has been better than i expected in Havana. Everyone told me that as a non-egg-eating vegetarian i would have nothing to eat, so i packed granola bars, almonds, and cranberries. True, there is not a great variety for vegetarians and the food is bland, but there is lots to eat.
When the evening came i went to the Hotel Inglaterra where, despite its gorgeous appearance has dismal service and drinks, i met with Stripes’ friend Rosalita. Rosalita had mentioned the other night some no-longer-in-production Limited Edition Cohibas she had a line on. Stripes was leaving but i agreed to meet up and get the coveted cigars. I felt like a drug buyer as a sat on the patio, trying to look casual as i stirred the sugar at the bottom of my watery mojito and eyed the crowd for Rosalita’s face, looking at my watch occasionally. The covert nature of the transaction was entirely necessary as Rosalita could spend years in prison for selling us the cigars, as could the person she bought them from. I smoked a comically large cigar, which did nothing to help the invisibility i was seeking. Finally she showed up, sat down, and ordered a beer. We chatted for a bit about tattoos and the availability of American music in Cuba before i asked, “Do you have the cigars?” She nodded and, just below table height, opened a satchel just enough for me to look in and take a deep whiff of the leathery, barn-yardy smelling cigars. I slid an envelope of money to her across the table. She passed me the satchel of cigars under the table. We finished our drinks, i declined a drive, and i made my final way home, finishing my cigar just as i put the key into the lock.
Havana has been a good trip. Not particularly different or exciting, but enjoyable and relaxing. The best part was the cigar culture and cigar experiences and having some friends there to share that with and to open doors to experiences that i would not otherwise have had. Oh, i decided to keep count of the cigars (not counting cigarillos) i smoked and coffees i drank – for no particular reason other than curiosity. 9 days, 31 coffees, 40 cigars. That adds up to a good trip.
Casablanca, Havana
Saturday morning in Havana started a bit late, due to the late night spent smoking in the park the night before. With Stripes and Noodles en route back to Canada, i was on my own. After my late breakfast i walked down to the water and caught a ferry across the water to Casablanca. By “ferry” i mean a simple, standing room only open sided boat that takes people across for a fee (half a peso). The ride was pleasant and gave nice views of the old city across the water. It was all locals on the boat, except for me and one guy from Chicago, with whom i chatted on the way.
On the other side, for being so close, Casablanca had a slightly different feel, a little less precious, quieter. I walked up a hill toward the giant statue of (surprisingly) Jesus on the hill.
And from there down a pleasant road bordered by attractive army buildings and rockets, missiles, and planes on display. I paid to go into the fort – the one that is always visible across the water from Havana.
The fort wasn’t very interesting really, but the views and breeze were nice. After a bit though i was satisfied that no sight was left unseen and i boated back across. This time the fare was twice as much but i didn’t care enough to complain.
After a great nap, i decided to visit the bars on my street (Calle Brasil) that i had not yet visited. I went to a couple of cool ones that played rock music and featured abstract black and white photography or showed awesome adult cartoons on TVs. I had a mojito (i don’t actually like mojitos, but i don’t drink beer and mojitos are cheap and seem Cuba appropriate) and a plate of yummy olives, cheese, bread. These bars were cool and not just Havana cool; they would be awesome haunts anywhere.
I also stopped on a block unlit by street lamps and filled with off duty bicycle taxi drivers and avocado sellers and watched people in a small store, leaning on a counter and shooting bebe guns at rows of empty soda cans on the back wall. There didn’t appear to be any prizes, just the fun of shooting things. I waited around for a turn, but the men shooting had no interest in giving up their guns, so i wandered down to the Plaza De San Francisco for a virgin Piña Colada and cigar on the square and watched the throngs hanging out in the cooling air.
(You would think i might be tired of cigars in plazas by now, but I’m not even close.)
The Cigar Dinner Long Con
Friday was Stripes and Noodles’ final day in Cuba and they were keen to spend the morning taking full advantage of the inclusiveness of their all-inclusive and we agreed to meet in the mid-afternoon in Havana Vieja, so i had the morning to leisurely stroll about the city. It was good. I could walk without aim, stopping where i liked to drink coffee or take photos. I smoked a cigar while i walked (well, more than one), which attracted calls of “Cohiba!” “Puro. Bueno!” In addition to the usual calls of “Lady!”, “Linda!”, and various variations of that, accompanied with comments on my tattoos. Difficult to keep a low profile in the non-touristy areas, but i still got some decent photos.
I loved walking past the empty bodegas with little to sell and the anemic produce stalls, and counters selling endless sandwiches of pork on yellow bread. As touristy as parts of Havana are, it is very easy to find areas with none at all, and i was thankful for that.
Meeting up with Stripes and Noodles, we had some coffees, cigars, and drinks at one spot and then another, killing time in the pleasantest of ways until it was time for the closing dinner of the Partagas cigar festival. Noodles went back to his hotel to change and Stripes and i fixed ourselves up as much as possible (there is only so much i can do with the same sweat-soaked outfit I’ve been wearing all week) and caught a rusty, red Lada to the far edge of Miramar to, i don’t know where, some hotel.
When we arrived we joined the crowd, most of whom were wearing their finest, complete with sparkles and bow ties. We were given a cigar each and a sickly sweet green cocktail and we did some hasty mingling before going inside to the air-conditioned dining room, which was stunning, like the wedding i never wanted. The crowd really was from all over the world, with every continent represented, like a Miss Universe pageant of cigar smoking men.
We sat for a bit with two guys from Detroit – a CEO and his attorney – who had flown in on a private jet. They were quite pleasant, but they moved to a different table for dinner, leaving us three at a table for seven. And this is where the con came in. Goddess-height models began distributing gift bags of cigars, one per guest. But with two extra place settings already disturbed, we decided to create two characters who were conveniently away from the table when the bags were doled out, so they left two extra bags for our absent friends. All evening, as they handed out more and more fantastic Cuban cigars, i kept saying, smoking that my husband (Eduardo Pachanga) was in the bathroom, and they kept giving me two of everything. Of course to keep this up, we had to nibble at the extra appetizers and entrees we also got and would move napkins and wineglasses around to keep up the ruse. But it worked and we got two sets of everything. Cheezy and juvenile? Sure, but i have all of my extra cigars to help with the shame.
After dinner, they auctioned off beautiful, one of a kind humidors sticked with cigars, that went for $10,000 to $20,000 to various, high-rollers. We wisely raised our hands only high enough to puff on our cigars.
We left before the dancing started and hailed a taxi back to Parque Central with our bags of cigars and a mostly full bottle of Santiago de Cuba 20 years rum. We decided to have one more cigar to finish off our final night in Havana together, but none of the bars appealed, so we sat down in the park, on a bench, near a sleeping drunk, and smoked cigars and Stripes and Noodles drank rum from the bottle at the time neared 1am. The weather and surroundings were perfect and it a great way to end the day. At about 1:30, we went our separate ways.
La Casa Del Musica
Thursday was another lazy day. The only plans we had was to have dinner with Stripes’ friend Ramón who is from Havana. I had a late start that day and then just went for a walk around the old city, stopping for a Bolivar at the La Casa Del Habano on Calle Mercaderes, which has a comfortable quartet of chairs for smoking and a another cigar and an espresso on Plaza de Armas.
I met up with Stripes and Noodles at 3ish. We did a spin around the plaza and i bought a beautiful book from 1870 or so on adultery and one of those Cuban Revolution trading card books that they sell everywhere. Despite their ubiquity, i still think they are pretty cool. From there we walked down to the arts and crafts market where we bought nothing, save for Stripes and Noodles acquiring a couple of rum filled coconuts for sipping. On the way back to my casa to drop off my books, rather than walking, i insisted, over Stripes and Noodles’ objections, that the three of us take one of the cute/cheezy coco taxis, which (barely) seats three. It was ridiculous, but very fun to zip through the narrow streets in a bright yellow ball on wheels.
We ended up at Parque Central, where we retired to the rooftop of the Hotel Parque Central for a few drinks, Cohiba Behikes, and the excellent view over the city.
We met Ramón at the Hotel Telegrafo for a drinks before we drove in his car to a restaurant in the Vedado area. Stripes had been there before and described it as “a hidden gem”. Hidden no more, because as we arrived we saw a tour bus outside and the place was crammed with tourists. The restaurant was good, with a lovely atmosphere and good food (including vegetarian options), and ponds of colorfully lit fish. Over dinner, Ramón told us about the trials of operating busineses and buying and selling cars and property in Cuba and the role played by the government in all things. As do most things in Havana, dinner went late, so by the time we left it was after 11pm and Stripes suggested that we head to La Casa Del Musica in Miramar. (I wanted to go to the grittier one in Havana Central, but i was outvoted.)
La Casa del Musica’s opening act didn’t start until midnight and the main act at 1am. We paid our cover and took out seat in the busy and freezing cold club. I immediately noticed one thing: no one was smoking. And then i saw flashing across the screen on stage (in Spanish) “no smoking”. I was horrified. When i imagined myself in a Havana music club, i always saw myself with a large cigar. Apparently the policy at this club had changed very recently. So i sat there in the ice cold, too fresh air and stirred my mojito sadly.
Fortunately i was distracted when the opening act started: two singers, and a bevy of dancers in feathered brassieres and headdresses with a small band playing salsa music. Despite the lack of a real dance floor, couples all around us stood up and began to salsa and shimmy. I remained sensibly seated.
The main act, Bambaleo, took the stage at 1:00. We were fading at that point, but i insisted that we stay for a couple of songs. The 16 member ensemble dazzled the audience with tempting salsa beats and vocals. It was good, but my eyes were heavy and the hour late, so we left after two songs. As we left, groups of what i was told were prostitutes entered, dressed festively, in search of visiting men.
Smoking not Eating
Yesterday i was super low energy, as i was suffering from a mixture of mild food poisoning and sleep deprivation. Nevertheless it was a good day. I shuffled my way over to the Partagas factory to meet Stripes and Noodles at the vip room for some Cohiba Behikes and coffee. We chatted with El Jefe a local photographer who showed us his work, and a doctor from Canada. After a couple hours there we went by taxi to a Casa del Habano run by the son of Alejandro Robaina, which was a treat. Noodles and El Jefe had lunch; Stripes and i, having no appetite, stuck to smoking. We has some piña coladas, more Cohibas and a Robaina torpedo. The humidors there were exquisite, featuring many cigars i had not seen in years. We sat there for hours smoking, and drinking (me mostly water). It was very relaxing.
We were going to catch a taxi back to Havana Vieja and call it an early night, but we saw a beautiful restaurant and decided to check it out. It was in a grand 1930s house but had opened as a restaurant only 11 days earlier. We settled in for more cigars and snacks. Surprisingly, the food was cheap and amazing. The food in Cuba is not good, but this was a welcome exception. I even managed to eat a few nibbles of cheese, bread, and olives.
From there we hopped into a 1950s chevy (not a taxi, just some guy’s car) and went to the Parque Central hotel for one final drink (me, more water) before Stripes and Noodles caught a taxi to their far flung hotel and i walked home for much needed sleep.
Exploring Havana
Yesterday I opted to spend the day solo, leaving Stripes and Noodles to stay poolside at their hotel. I started out at the Plaza de Armas, which is my favorite plaza for coffee drinking and people watching. It is leafy, has several nice cafes and is perfect for looking out at the sellers of books, Cuban posters, and antique cameras and odds and ends.
After that i walked to a nearby Casa del Habano, which was lovely. I picked out an H Upmann Magnum 50 and sat inside, smoking and marveling at the vast selection of cigars.
From there I went on a walk along the sea and chatted with a fisherman before turning back into the city to look at the incredible number of 1950s American cars and street art.
I then went to the large Cuban modern art museum, which had 3 floors of mostly excellent modern art. A lot of great abstracts and political art, as well as a number of statues of Jesus being maimed and impaled by swords and communist sickles. (No photos allowed.)
From there I walked through an area devoid of tourists to La Epoca, a department store, where I went to the basement, which houses a supermarket. The shelves were pretty sparse and had little variety (other than rum, which was plentiful).
I then walked to this large arts and crafts market, which was a delight to look at, though there was nothing I wanted to buy.
I finished my wandering at the Plaza Vieja at a wonderful cafe that actually had a good vegan sandwich (a rare thing here). After that I went back to my casa to shower and get ready for the big Partagas festival opening dinner.
The Partagas dinner was at the Hotel National. I went there by taxi to meet Stripes and Noodles. Stripes, as it turned out, was quite sick and had to stay at his hotel, so it was just me and Noodles for the evening. The setting was lovely and the crowd was impeccably dressed – except for me. I tried to cover up the fact that I was wearing the same sweaty outfit by putting on earrings and lipstick. The attendees were from all over the world: North and South America, Africa, Europe, China, and Japan. We sat at a table with a group of men from Switzerland, which turned out to be perfect because they were very reserved. Other tables erupted into spontaneous salsa dancing and whatnot which would have made me feel quite out of place.
The food was mediocre, but the service perfect. We were given an array of limited edition cigars, endless wine and rum, and were greeted by various cigar dignitaries. There was also entertainment: colorful couples of salsa dancers and locally famous singers. We saw many familiar faces from our past few days in Havana, including El Jefe, who made the rounds, never missing a photo op. The whole thing went on for hours. I knew it was time to leave when around midnight a conga line broke out. Noodles and I had a final piña colada on the outdoor lookout, where the sea was lost to darkness but the stars were exquisite.
Cigar Story
This morning i did a bit of early walking before meeting Stripes and Noodles. I tried to visit a few churches, but all were closed or under construction. Nevertheless, all walks in Havana Vieja are entertaining with much to see.
We met up at Partagas and had a cigar before Stripes and Noodles’ friend, El Jefe, found a car and convinced the driver to take us to Pinar del Rio. With us was a lawyer from a certain South American country and his girlfriend. We bounced along in the utility vehicle for about two hours, making stops just for the boys to buy beer. The countryside was green and filled with palm trees. The vehicles included far more horse and cart configurations. Occasionally we saw large signs with pictures of a young Fidel Castro promising death to invaders.
In Pinar del Rio we stopped at the Vegueros cigar factory. Not open to the public, but El Jefe said he had a friend that worked there. We stopped and went inside and with a bit of talking, El Jefe organized for us a tour of the factory. So this was one of the things i was really looking forward to on this trip. I’ve read dozens of books on cigar production and i’ve been to factories in Miami, but to actually see Cuban cigars being rolled and sorted in person was incredible. (Unfortunately no pictures were allowed according to a government ordinance passed that day.)
We met up at Partagas and had a cigar before Stripes and Noodles’ friend, El Jefe, found a car and convinced the driver to take us to Pinar del Rio. With us was a lawyer from a certain South American country and his girlfriend. We bounced along in the utility vehicle for about two hours, making stops just for the boys to buy beer. The countryside was green and filled with palm trees. The vehicles included far more horse and cart configurations. Occasionally we saw large signs with pictures of a young Fidel Castro promising death to invaders.
In Pinar del Rio we stopped at the Vegueros cigar factory. Not open to the public, but El Jefe said he had a friend that worked there. We stopped and went inside and with a bit of talking, El Jefe organized for us a tour of the factory. So this was one of the things i was really looking forward to on this trip. I’ve read dozens of books on cigar production and i’ve been to factories in Miami, but to actually see Cuban cigars being rolled and sorted in person was incredible. (Unfortunately no pictures were allowed according to a government ordinance passed that day.)
The first area we entered was the rolling room. Rows of men and women of varying ages sat at wooden desks rolling cigars. They start with a pile of leaves that have been pre-approved and de-veined, and they gather a group of leaves (the filler; again, pre-organized to have the correct composition and blend for whatever cigar they are rolling) and they roll the together in an outside (binder) leaf. Too much or too little tobacco and the cigar is not smokable. Uneven distribution of tobacco and the cigar will not burn evenly. From there the cigars go in a wooden press, which looks like it has been in use for a century or more, and they sit for 20 minutes. After that they go to someone who puts on the outside leaf (the wrapper). The wrapper must be aesthetically perfect and perfectly applied for a uniform, smooth appearance. This person also applies the cap (the bit you cut off when you smoke it). Each of these jobs was done by a different person – mostly women but some men. A man sits at the front of the room reading newspapers and books to the workers, just as they have for nearly two centuries.
The sizes and varieties of cigars they rolled varied, but all of them passed on to the next step: testing the draw.
A man sat at a simple looking machine and one by one he placed each cigar in it and, somehow, forced air into it or something to test the draw. If a cigar did not fall in the required range, it would be rejected.
The cigars that passed the draw test were passed on to the next room. The first stop was something i have always been curious about seeing: the color sorting. The cigars that go into each box must be sorted so that they are all exactly the same shade of brown. Some boxes are darker and some lighter, but each must the uniform. The man’s station was covered in rows of robustos, which he stared at and reorganized like he was playing Tetris.
Behind him at other stations, girls applied bands to the cigars, one by one, using a ruler to ensure they were uniform and perfect.
Next, women adhered colorful paper and images to the wooden cigar boxes to differentiate the Partagas from the Hoyos and whatnot. Finally (out of sequence) we visited a room where women sorted through giant tobacco leaves, keeping the good ones, de-veining them, and preparing them for the rollers.
It is simply amazing, the amount of detail and handwork that goes into each cigar, each one passes through probably 20 sets of hands before it can be sold. We tipped our guide and he gave us each three cigars that had yet to be banded.
Our next stop, down a dirt road was to the Robaina tobacco plantation. Alejandro Robaina was Cuba’s most celebrated tobacco farmer and his farm grown what is probably the best tobacco in the world. Alejandro died a few years ago but his grandson, whom we met (and who Stripes knew previously) carries on the family business. We walked the grounds and smoked cigars and were served a lunch of fried lobster, pork, black beans (with pork), rice, and beer. I had rice. I must have been hungry because that alone satisfied me.
After lunch a man gave us a tour and explained the delicate and time/weather sensitive process of how they plant and harvest the tobacco. How it can only be picked on certain days and only two leaves can be picked from each plant per day. Then he showed us the barns where the tobacco leaves are strung up and rotated to keep them at the perfect temperature and humidity while they ferment. Then we watched an in house roller demonstrate how cigars are rolled. The lawyer from a certain South American country tried his hand at rolling. (I have tried this previously and know it is a lot harder than it looks.)
We left and made the long, bumpy drive back to Havana. Back in the city we all went to the beautiful Hotel Inglaterra for drinks and cigars. We sat on the front patio and listened to live music and watched a lonely prostitute try to cozy up to various men traveling solo. At the Inglaterra, the lawyer from a certain South American country told us that as a criminal prosecutor in that certain South American country he was constantly under threat from violent retribution and had to carry a gun which he had had to fire on more than one occasion. As civil lawyers in Canada, Stripes and i had nothing worthy or comparable to contribute.
After that we walked across Parque Centrale to La Floridita: a bar made famous by everyone’s favorite international alcoholic, Ernest Hemingway. Allegedly this is where the daiquiri was invented and for Hemingway they made a special grapefruit one. It is a fairly fancy place and quite charming, although the lighting is too bright and it is packed with tourists there for the same reason as us. The Daiquiris were refreshing, but not amazing. What was amazing was smoking inside and listening to the excellent band which inspired a couple of couples to take to salsa dancing between the tables.
Leaving there, cigars in hand, we left El Jefe, the lawyer from a certain South American country and his girlfriend. Stripes, Noodles, and i walked down the bustling, pedestrian Calle Obispo to some outdoor tables at Cafe Paris, where we had very cheap and very bad cheese pizza, cigars, and listened to another band. Kitty korner to us was an unassuming bodega outside of which a group of teenage-looking prostitutes stood looking bored, occasionally approaching interested looking men.
After that, past midnight, i left Stripes and Noodles and made my way back to my casa, accompanied only by a stray dog who staying by my side the whole way. A very long and thoroughly enjoyable day.
Dinner Rolls and Love Songs
I’ve always had sort of a mental block about Cuba as a travel destination. It always looked nice, but i was never drawn to it. Then when i was quite young i became a cigar fanatic, worked in the business, smoked and smoke cigars nearly everyday, so Cuban became more interesting for that reason. But the problem then was since then everyone i know goes to Cuba regularly. I hear about it, i see pictures and it loses all sense of wonder and mystery. Time spent living in Miami did nothing help this. So for years i didn’t go. Finally, with the US embassy opening and the likelihood that all manner of capitalist horrors will soon follow (chipotle, walmart, real housewives havana), it seemed like a now or never situation.
The weird thing is that while i am here alone, the trip was coordinated with two friends from Canada – Stripes and Noodles (to preserve their anonymity) – so we could all attend the annual Partagas cigar festival, which encompasses a couple of events, dinners, and specially rolled cigars for the occasion. I never travel with people except my mother, so i had some serious trepidation about this idea, but we are flying snd staying separately so i should still have enough alone time. It shall be a new experience.
I arrived in Varadero on a sunny sunday afternoon. The flights to Havana were crazy expensive, but not Varadero, which caters to the all inclusive crowd. I have to say rarely have i seen such an unattractive group of people as i did on that flight. Fat, sloppy, slack-jawed hicks traveling with Molson Canadian t-shirts and boxes of Tim Hortons Timbits. The couple next to me were so large that the use of arms rests were an impossibility.
Anyway, on arrival i opted for the more expensive one hour taxi ride to Havana over the inexpensive three hour bus trip. I was happy with my choice. We sped past the lush countryside, empty beaches, and industrial complexes, past the odd cow, policeman, or boy selling fresh cheese and guavas by the roadside.
Arrival in Havana was pleasant. It really does look like all of the pictures: beautiful 2-3 storey buildings in poor repair but wearing colorful paint jobs. Bicycle rickshaw taxis. Fortresses by the sea. Sidewalk cafes with live music. Endless shops selling colorful knick knacks and anything and everything with Che Guevara. It is all very visually appealing. The downside for me is, it all looks familiar. Mostly it reminds me of Cartagena, which is fine in that i liked Cartagena, but so far i haven’t gotten that rush of excitement on seeing something new, but it really is lovely. The two things that do seem special and unique are the 50s American cars, which really are ubiquitous and not just for tourists; they actually use them and they are beautiful. Also the amount of buskers is notable. There are on every corner almost small bands playing Cuban music and jazz and they are great.
It is worth pointing out at this point that all of these observations have been made by me while walking in Havana Vieja (the old city). This is the postcard perfect area which is the city’s oldest and filled with churches, squares, and wonderful streets lined with appealing bars and cafes. This is the area in which i am staying, just off the Plaza Vieja, at a casa particulares called Marta y Israel. A casa particulares is basically someone’s house in which they rent out a room or two and provide breakfast. By far the cheapest option for accommodations. I really like this place: easy to find with a great location, a nice interior, a rooftop patio, clean, hospitable and it has AC and hot water. What more could i want?
So, i arrived, i settled, and i walked all over the old city. Many tourists and many people who make their living from them, though the restaurant touts and taxi drivers are polite and far from aggressive. I walked, i smoked, i sat, i walked some more. Finally, after getting hungry to the point of irritation, i found the perfect restaurant.
The seating was outside on a narrow cobbled lane. White table cloths, candles, a band playing soft Spanish music, and a vegetarian meal on the menu. I stayed and had cigar and ate my dish of bland but delicious (extreme hunger leads to lower expectations) rice and vegetables and the softest, tiniest, whitest dinner rolls. After eating the rice and one of the rolls, i was stuffed but i didn’t want to let them go to waste, so i began surreptitiously slipping the rolls one by one into my bag. My attempt at remaining invisible was cut short when the band – a group of six musicians, whom i had fatally tipped 5 Cuban pesos earlier because i hadn’t a smaller note, encircled me at my table and began to serenade me at close proximity with romantic songs. The main singer sat down next to me and, with his face no more than 12 inches from mine, made ceaseless, soulful eye contact while singing Bessame Mucho. The whole restaurant looked on at my visible discomfort and the dinner rolls poorly concealed in my fists. Three songs this went on for. I smiled and tried to find a place to look other than the eyes of the singer, but that just made it more awkward. At least the music was nice though at that moment i longed for the comfortable anonymity of recorded music. I had a laugh when it was over and again when i ate the successfully pilfered dinner rolls for breakfast the next morning.
The walk back to my casa was pleasant, past throngs of people congregating in the streets for drink and dance and get lost in the warm, dark air.
