Top picture is a street view of Viñales by David Shankbone. Bottom is a view of Viñales Valley by Fran Hogan. The colors are richer on the Wikimedia pages.
I’ve been writing these blogs based on the photos I took, with Michael helping me fill in details after he reads them. I happened to take no pictures on January 30, but luckily, Dawn took pictures of the trip she, Jose, and Camila took to Viñales.
Michael and I very much enjoyed our trip there nine years ago. I’m more of a small town person, and we loved the artesanias made from what scraps people had available. Below is a camera made of beer cans that we picked up. If you press a lever in back, the lens cap pops off.
Here are some pictures of Dawn, Jose, Camila and the good time they had there. Viñales Valley is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, because of its “outstanding karst landscape encircled by mountains and dotted with spectacular dome-like limestone outcrops (mogotes) that rise as high as 300 m.” (See top picture.) According to Wikipedia, “Karst (/kɑːrst/) is a topography formed from the dissolution of soluble carbonate rocks such as limestone and dolomite.” Note Camila and Jose with their cigars in the bottom right picture. We also visited a tobacco farm nine years ago, and bought some freshly-rolled cigars for friends back home. Today, under the embargo, that would be illegal.
Judy had a terrible cold, and I stayed in most of the day—listening to a book, I assume. In the afternoon, Michael went to a couple afternoon Jazz Festival discussion panels. One about K-pop and jazz included a Korean woman talking about women in K-pop. The next panel—about the impact of women in the music industry—included Laura Segura, the Colombian friend who made it possible for Danielle to come to the Jazz Festival.
For dinner, Michael, Ken and I went to Algarabia, which shows up in travel guides as a place for good, cheap food. Also, the guides say it’s an Italian and Chinese restaurant, which is not how we would have described it.
That evening Michael, Ken and I went to the Bertolt Brecht Theater. They listened to a Portuguese jazz pianist while I enjoyed a piña colada (which was meh). Then I joined them for a performance of the Sacred Funk Quartet, which roots its music in “the ancient sounds of the Yorùbá people of West Africa,” and “honours the rich traditions of West African music, reimagining these timeless melodies for contemporary audiences.” I enjoyed their performance. Ken, a woodwinds specialist, identified an instrument that I thought was a weird-looking saxophone as a bass clarinet.
Just for kicks, I googled “January 30, 2025 Havana” and found the following news item in Cibercuba:
The Cuban regime has strongly rejected the proposal by the United States government to expand the Naval Base at Guantánamo to accommodate 30,000 migrants. In a statement, Havana warned of the “serious consequences” of this measure, emphasizing that it could affect regional stability. Both Miguel Díaz-Canel and Foreign Minister Bruno Rodríguez have vehemently condemned this initiative, describing it as “brutality” and a “disregard for human dignity.”
The next day, we visited El Patronato, Havana’s Jewish Community Center and one of the three Havana synagogues. In the library were an embossed portrait and a bust honoring Max Stone, both of which I thought were Jose Martí. I have included a bust of Jose Marti from the foyer of the center, which is one is which?* Max Stone helped found the the Patronato.
Stone was instrumental in helping Jews from Europe immigrate in the 1930s and 40s. Below is a summary of minutes taken by the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society (HIAS) in the 1930s. Note that Stone reported on the Cuba’s denial of entry to passengers on the S.S. St. Louis, who were fleeing Nazi Germany. Canada and the U.S. also refused to give the passengers asylum and the ship ultimately had to return to Europe.
Minutes, 1939:3/28/1939, 4/25/1939, 5/16/1939, 6/5/1939, 6/20/1939, 7/25/1939, 8/15/1939, 9/19/1939, 10/19/1939, 11/21/1939, 12/26/1939, 1/23/1940, 2/20/1940Included are: Appointment of committee to ascertain the possibilities of obtaining from the federal authorities diplomatic immunity for HIAS representatives to be stationed in Germany. Discussion of fate of 104 refugees on S.S. Flandre denied entry into Mexico. Commitment to continue transport funds for immigrants to Central and South America. Report by Dr. Max Stone, President of the Centro Israelita de Cuba regarding passengers on the S.S. St. Louis. Report on refugees in Shanghai. Text of cables regarding transport of refugees to the United States. Report on trip to Washington regarding missing person searches in Poland. Report on committee meeting to discuss HIAS participation in 1940 United Jewish Appeal. Appointment of Israel Bernstein as HIAS representative in Lithuania. Report on opening Miami office. Appointment of Milton Goldsmith, director of the Joint Relief Committee in Havana, as HIAS-ICA representative in South America. Report on meeting with Alexander Qumansky, Soviet ambassador to the United States.Minutes of the board of directors, January 21, 1936 – September 25, 1944, Reel: MKM 25.2, Folder: 9. HIAS Board of Directors and Steering Committees, RG 245.1. YIVO Institute for Jewish Research.
Hella, the vice-president of the Jewish Community showed us around, and the President, David, also stopped by to talk to us. The community celebrated its 100th year anniversary in 2006. On the wall of the Center’s large, all-purpose room, were pictures of the hostages that Hamas kidnapped on October 7. There were also photos of their youth who had competed in Israel’s Maccabiah Games and who had worked on humanitarian projects with Proyecto Kesher.
We exempted ourselves from State Department’s travel ban by giving medical supplies to Hella. She was especially happy to see the thousand dollars worth of colostomy bags we brought from a generous Rochester donor, because some members of their congregation use them. Tourists? Not us!
In the foyer, we saw a framed display of multiple snapshots of famous people who had met with people from Havana’s Jewish community, including the Pope and Fidel Castro. But they obviously did not compare to the visit that Stephen Spielberg made to the Center.
I wasn’t sure why they had old newspaper ads framed on the walls of the foyer, but when I look at them closely now, I see they must have been businesses that members of Havana’s Jewish community had owned.
This picture wasn’t the right size to fit in the image gallery of the Jewish Community Center above. This stone was also in the foyer.
The sign says,
This is one of the stones of Clodno Street in the then Warsaw Ghetto. One of them remains in the Synagogue of the Hebrew Community of Cuba, and the other is in the Santa Clara Cemetery. Both pieces serve as a historical reminder of the time and place where the terrible events of the Holocaust occurred. This is a donation from the “Holocaust Memorial Museum” Washington DC.
In this way we share the commitment to education and remembrance of the Shoah.
After the Center we went over to the Beth Shalom synagogue, which belongs to the Conservative Jewish denomination tradition, and Hella answered more questions.
After leaving the synagogue, we went to Dawn and Jose’s rented B&B apartment to celebrate Jose’s birthday with cake. The U.S. Embassy lay directly across from their balcony. None of us reported Havana Syndrome at the end of the day. On the way to the Hotel Nacional we passed the Office of the Jose Martì Tribuna AntiImperialista Plaza (Pictures of the Plaza to come later.)
One sign of the Kingdom of God unveiling itself on earth will be when countries that colonized Africa, the Americas, and Asia also have anti-Imperialism monuments and plazas.
Hotel Nacional
The National Hotel wants you to know about ALL the famous people who have stayed there, including sports figures, celebrities, actors, musicians and and presidents. I didn’t see a real pattern to the notable persons, unless it was by date. For example, Paris Hilton is on the same framed display as Andrew Cuomo and the Prime Minister of Jamaica.
The room of photos was so crowded the establishment even hung some of the framed ensembles from the ceiling. I have outlined Pete Seeger in a yellow circle, because he was the only one I really cared about.
In the foyer of the hotel, they had a display of employees who had lived to the age of 100 or more, which I thought was cool. They also had a display of the rooms in which notable people had stayed. The establishment had decorated the outdoor area for Chinese New Year.
View of the Hotel from the outside and the classic cars parked across the street.
The graffiti we saw in Havana wasn’t quite as orchestrated as the street art we saw in Bogota, but these examples were still impressive.
Havana’s AfroCuban Neighborhood
After the hotel, we headed over to Calle Ejon de Hamel, the center of AfroCuban culture in Havana. On the way, we met an AfroCuban couple, who I’d say might have been in their 60s or 70s. It was hard to tell. Let’s just say they were a vigorous pair. When we told them we were heading to the AfroCuban neighborhood, they said they lived nearby and offered to show us around. This warmth and hospitality I should say, is not uncommon in Cuba.
It turns out that they run a little center for AfroCuban culture in the neighborhood. As we walked toward it, they pointed out what the art on the walls of the neighborhood—and ALL the walls were covered with art and poetry—signified.
The neighborhood demonstrates how much Cuba values the arts. Much of the visual art had to do with AfroCuban religions, the primary one being Santería, but Palo Monte, and Abakuá are also Cuban religions rooted in West African traditions and syncretized with Catholicism. I could have sworn I had a picture of Judy sitting in a chair specifically intended for menopausal women—there’s a god for that—but I can’t find it.-
One new thing I can do with this upgraded operating system is copy text in a photo, and then paste them into another application. You have to do some cleanup in the paste, but it’s useful. Here’s the first example of poetry on the wall of the AfroCuban neighborhood. An actual Spanish translator who understands poetry, of course, would do a better job
I want to mutilate you, black shade of the unknown, I want to laugh in your claws of intense blue, of distant sea. I want to sit in your shadow and continue onward, I want to describe you in spaces so that you may be known. You are the inert pace of distant time, You are the light and song that calls more, but I cannot describe you. Like my hand, you escape like water between small stones. What is your enigma at the far front? What is your back that smiles inertly? I know you return every night.[…] morning
After I’m dead I neither want an apology nor gifts. I come from a hidden reality to an open reality so that you know me
Anonymous
The top two ruminations by Salvador say,
“All that sell love are as miserable as They who buy it.”
Salvador
“The fish doesn’t know that water exists.”
Salvador
I actually was able to translate those myself! Here’s an AI translation the anonymous poet below Salvadors:
It is not my street It is not anyone’s street It is our street Compelling Spirit of a single mystery that emitted colors one morning to conquer With its old man it wins the battle At the door of your mantle I wrote your name As distant as history Distant land, stone, fire, and water here is the gift so that you Learn Because profane is the one who Hides the true word
Finally, I was haggling with this boy on the left about how much it would cost me for him to move away from the wall, when an older gentleman ordered him to get lost. The wall appears to be a tribute to the art in the neighborhood, and in particular, the artist Salvador. I realized that the problem with my comprehension toward the end wasn’t the fault of the AI translator. The author was using academic art jargon. I have linked some of the jargon-y words to definitions.
Don Fernando Ortiz To the neighborhood of Cayo Hueso To the people of Cuba In this alley of Centro Habana named Hamel, on April 21, 1990, the first mural was born in the public street dedicated to Afro-Cuban culture. Iremes, Orishas, legends of black gods in the great thicket of the jungle and the woods to say: Today I have my first public temple for everyone, where the branch covered the bare body to ward off the evil that suffers, the evil that ends. To fill with colors those mute and bare walls that waited so long, and with my time, which is mine, just as from yours you are the owner, To give through the sentiment of being to be a trace of the known without fragments of words. Songs of my drums, songs of my white garments. Without being a sentence, I am word by word. I am the one who painted walls and sent messages at dawn. Forgive me critics and intellectuals, I speak my word. I seat the beggar in the chair, I embrace the frank smile. I enjoy the juice of my blood, which is African blood, but I also breathe deeply to fill my life and soul with a Spanish smile that bore mixed-race blood. Spirits of the day and the consecrated night, may all be present to send messages at dawn. The coward flees from the truth because the lie is like him.
The work of Salvador González Escalona exposes the purist equation of a context that now, as a solitary fact, as a historical definition presented as an artistic assistant of a nation of our cultural reality, and as such, becomes a source of knowledge and expression of the social being. It is in this concept that his artistic work makes tangible demystifying aspects of an analogy and increases the gnoseological value. It’s worth noting that, as art, it also refers us to a form of knowledge that challenges to stretch its own boundaries in time.
Salvador’s art shows us not only all the techniques and styles of the old art of the Islanders, clear santero houses where the most elaborate and beautiful ceremonial pieces are crafted. Salvador, with intelligent function, has refined these techniques and created, on a protean platform, his own style. *Miguel Barnet The Afrocuban Spirit as It Is Called,” Miguel Barnet
Despite knowing other painters and visual artists in general who have ventured into this field, Salvador has not been influenced by the superficial and deceptive snobbery or by the aesthetic intellectualism of the West in approaching these topics from the outside. Or “from above,” that is, from the analogical picturesque view that might exist between Haitian voodoo and the rituals that occur in Cuba, treated from a European capital or from the morphological aspect of Dahomeyan cloth or the pictorial decoration of the Yoruba widely publicized through art books, to extrapolate to Cuba for the simple fact of being “African” and thus being in international fashion. Jesús Guanche 1986**
Although certain corners of Havana’s neighborhoods were heaped high with rotting piles of trash, if someone painted, “No Trash” or “Don’t throw trash” on a wall, Habaneros obey the order scrupulously. I was so intent on getting the trash warning, I didn’t notice that the gang graffitied next to it were holding band instruments until I prepared to upload the photo.
In the evening, we finally reached our Apex Event—Danielle singing at the Havana Jazz Festival. I’ve never seen her give a bad performance, and that night continued the streak. She got a ticket for our cook/cultural advisor Dayamí, and we had some time to sit in a place outside the concert hall that served drinks and snacks. I had a reasonably good 5 minute video of Danielle singing, “Poor Man’s Pain,” which followed two bad attempts of me learning the video feature on my phone. Turns out, WordPress can’t handle a 5 minute video. Anyway, here’s a video of Danielle singing “Poor Man’s Pain,” at NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert.
While we were in the room where Danielle was singing, Dawn thought she saw Camila and motioned her over. Turns out it was a Turkish diplomat who wanted an introduction to Danielle, and they talked about Danielle coming to Turkey.
A pianist from Azerbaijan performed immediately after Danielle in the same room. A few peoplein our group decided to stay.
In the evening we went to a famous restaurant in Havana: San Cristobal Paladar. The Obamas ate here when they visited Cuba. The manager had a lot of their photos prominently displayed. Although we had made reservations, the manager made us stand for a long time while an empty table fitting the size of our party was clearly available. Then the wait for our food (at that very table} was also long. Truthfully, we were not all that impressed. The piña coladas were meh. I ordered fried lobster, an appetizer, for my entree, but they brought it out early anyway. However, it was delicious. Imagine eating a a basket of fried clams, but it’s lobster. Caribbean spiny lobsters are a lot smaller than Northern lobsters, but also cheaper.
Outside of San Cristóbal PaladarOne of its dining roomsCaribbean Spiny LobsterWhile we were waiting. There were more than a few pictures of Obama and his familywhile we were waitingWhile we were waiting
After a long day, we went home to sleep
*The one in the middle is Marti, who sits in the foyer of El Patronato.
Dancers at La Floridita, one of Hemingway’s favorite bars.
We had several reasons for vacationing in Cuba this year. We had always wanted to go back after our trip nine years ago. Last year, we had stayed at our friend Camila’s apartment in Bogota, and through her got our friend Danielle Ponder invited to the Havana International Jazz Festival. More on Danielle in a minute. We wanted to escape the U.S. the week after Trump’s inauguration, and then there was this factor:
At the time we flew out of Rochester, the Los Angeles fires were raging. I had read that theplot of the movie Chinatownexplained why LA had run out of water, so when I saw it was one of the selections available on Delta entertainment, I decided to watch it. Then I realized that Roman Polanski had directed and had a moment to decide whether my conscience would permit me to watch. I no longer watch media involving Woody Allen, Kevin Spacey, Johnny Depp, Bill Cosby or other abusers. But my curiosity about the politics of Los Angeles water got the better of me. The movie does do a good job of laying it out, but then Polanski adds this ick factor by revealing that Faye Dunaway’s character was raped and impregnated by her filthy rich father, who goes on to kidnap his daughter/granddaughter while the Los Angeles police (who are suitably racist) stand by.
Miami We were fortunate that Michael’s daughter, Beth, married into a family with whom we enjoy spending time and also run an Airbnb room in Coconut Grove. Martha and Rubens are the embodiment of hospitality. Visiting them, Beth, and Eric before we took the flight to Havana was a vacation in and of itself. In the picture below, Rubens is sitting at the end of the table and Martha is to his left. Eric is sitting between his mother and Beth, who is holding their niece. The children belong to Simonette, Eric’s sister, sitting beside Beth. I am sitting between Simonette’s husband and Michael. The owner of the restaurant, who is part of the extended family, took the picture in Medellin the day before Beth and Eric’s wedding.
Back to Danielle Danielle was a public defender here in Rochester who has been having a lot of success with her music lately, including a Grammy nomination for best new R&B artist. She shared about both arenas of her life in a Ted Talk: What music can teach us about justice. Check out her website to see if she might be appearing near you!
Here’s a song from her most recent album, Some of Us Are Brave. She mostly wrote it for black women, but when I heard the first stanza recently, I thought it could apply to the times we are facing in the U.S.
Arrival So my plan for the time in Havana involved working on this blog and getting some other writing done, while the rest of our group was attending concerts. Unfortunately, I left my laptop at a TSA checkpoint in Miami. I had asked for a wheelchair escort—not because I can’t walk, but because standing for any length of time is agony, and I think having two people minding my luggage through security meant the laptop didn’t get get picked up. Also, once I was through the line I focused on getting my money belt and back brace on.
When we arrived in Havana, I looked for the drug-sniffing mutts I had seen last time. Although I couldn’t see them, I heard them yapping away across the other side of the airport. Our fellow travelers, Ken and Judy said that the dogs they saw appeared to be beagles and beagle mixes. The picture to the left appeared in a 2014 issue of the Havana Times.
I’ve reflected on the difference it makes when Security is only interested in dogs for their sniffing abilities. I’ve come to believe that those who use German Shepherds want to intimidate people as well.
Below is our Bed and Breakfast in Havana. Our host had told us that we would have to go up 60 steps. Michael chose this instead of a high-rise with an elevator option because the electrical grid often fails in Cuba. Truthfully, I almost passed out every time I got to our apartment. Fortunately, on the first day, we only needed to get our suitcases up one floor. It was a beautiful old apartment—dense, dark wood floors and molding. Our rooms were comfortable and airy.
From the B&B, our airport driver took us to the Cuban Cultural Office to pick up our job festival passes, program booklets, and T-shirts. Because of the U.S. embargo we could not purchase these things in advance, but our friend Camila was able to put everything on her Colombian credit card before we traveled there.
From the ticket office, the driver took us to the La Paila Fonda. Many of its chairs were hanging swings. And here began the non-alcoholic piña colada quest for Michael and me. If I remember correctly, we got off to an auspicious start here.
Ken and Michael have known each other for 50 years, having met at the JCC summer camp–which did not make Jewishness a criterion for attendance. Ken is a musician of several wind instruments and recently retired from teaching music in the public schools for four decades. Judy retired two years ago from her job as Activities Coordinator at Jewish Senior Life in Rochester and, like me, is a gargoyle aficionado, among other things.
After lunch, the driver took us to the box office of the Karl Marx theatre to buy a ticket for me to a performance of La Colmenita. More about that later. I had to get a separate ticket, because I did not have a jazz festival pass. Yes, among my many flaws is not liking jazz. I respect it, in the same way I respect opera acknowledge the musicians are talented, but it kind of bores me. I like singers who incorporate jazz, like Steely Dan and Bruce Cockburn. And I like tuneful jazz from the thirties and forties, but well, a pass to the festival would have been wasted on me.
The cost of the ticket was 50 Cuban pesos, which was equivalent to U.S. 17 cents at the unofficial exchange rate. The great majority of people who attended the Jazz Festival were not Cuban because Cubans could never afford ticket to it, but La Colmenita was for the people.
Afterwards we rested at our B&B, Michael went to the airport to pick up Camila. We had stayed with Camila when we were in Bogota last year and thought we would return the favor by inviting her to stay with us in Havana and attend the Jazz Festival with us. Originally, Camila had planned to fly from Bogota to Colombia via Panama, which was cheaper than a direct flight. After Trump threatened to invade Panama, she made arrangements to fly directly to Havana.
El Floridita In the evening we walked around looking for something to eat and at the entrance of Old Havana saw El Floridita, which a 1953 issue of Esquire Magazine dubbed “one of the 7 most famous bars in the world.” The Catalan immigrant bartender Constantino Ribalaigua Vert invented the daiquiri there, but we also found the non-alcoholic piña coladas superb. Most of its fame comes from its association with Earnest Hemingway, who patronized it frequently. Even after he moved out of the city to the country (which Michael and I visited last time we were in Cuba), he would still drive into Havana to visit the bar often. Below is a picture of him with Fidel Castro.
We all agreed the band was stellar. The electric violin and guitar were miked, but the singer was not. He had an extraordinary voice. I wonder if he had studied opera. Adding to the entertainment were people who got up to dance in the meager space around their tables or just in front of the band. Most of them were very good. I later asked a Cuban whether men have hip problems there, given how fluid their dancing is. He said hip and back problems are rare. Camila would later join us at the bar. Dawn and Jose arrived after her. Dawn is an American Sign Language translator and has volunteered at the Gandhi Center in Rochester, where she met Camila when she worked there years ago. Jose works with a non-profit that advocates for the release of elderly prisoners and supports those who have left prison. Cuba was the first trip he had taken outside the country.
Danielle had not yet arrived in Cuba, but we thought we would walk by her B&B to see where she was staying. Jose took this picture so we could prove to Danielle we had shown up.
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