On the Road to Bayamo

Our road to Bayamo began in the early morning, just as the sun began to chase away the fog from the mountain tops which ring the city of Santiago. Our guide told us the trip would take a couple of hours to reach our destination, so there was nothing to do except sit back and watch the scenery unfold through the window.

Barely underway, we were stopped at the first checkpoint outside the city, waved over by a police officer who apparently was not very familiar with the traffic rules that he was hired to enforce. Our driver, angered that he had been waved over, argued a bit, then jumped back onto the bus to locate his rule book for driving in Cuba, then jumped back off the bus to confront the policeman. What came next was an argument in Spanish that moved way to fast for this language challenged American to follow. I can only tell you that our driver did most of the talking, while the policeman stood there like a little kid being chastised by his principal for some grade school infraction.

The discussion, if you want to call it that, ended as abruptly as it began when the policeman apologized to our driver, who turned and jumped back onto the bus and took off, still a little huffy that he'd been stopped in the first place. Trust me, traffic stops don't happen like that in the states. Saying anything other than “yes sir” in the right tone of voice, to an American cop will usually land you in handcuffs,

During my stay in this country, I saw many police, where ever we went. We were surrounded by officers and what I would call “rent a cops,” the cop wannabes charged primarily with crowd control or running after shoplifters. They don't wear guns or tasers or mace, at least not visibly. Yet I had no doubt they were there to serve and protect.

Guarapo, drink squeezed from sugar cane

Things settled down to road trip rhythms once we got past the checkpoint, and the scenery changed from city to rural in the space of a city block or two. We traveled past fields banana trees and sugar cane, two of Cuba's biggest crops. Bananas were in short supply in the cities, more plentiful in the country, where they are grown. Abel, our guide stopped the bus to buy us fruit, tangerines and bananas, and guarapo, a local drink that you won't find anywhere else in the world except next to a sugar cane field.

It is sold at little stands positioned near the sugar cane fields. The liquid is squeezed from the sugar cane and usually poured and served over ice. We took ours without ice because of the cholera scare pervading the country. It was very sweet, but it is also very perishable and cannot be bottled. Which is why you will never find it anywhere else in the world. According to Abel, guarapo begins to oxidize as soon as it is poured, losing its bright green color and good taste, making it undrinkable.

Guarapo can be considered fast food, but like everything else in Cuba, fast is a misnomer when compared to “fast food joints” in the US. The guarapo man literally squeezes the sugar cane in front of you and pours it into real glass, not plastic or styrofoam. And you don't drive off with one hand on the wheel while the other holds the drink as you try to keep from spilling it. No, you sit there and finish the drink, and once the glass is empty, you return it to the stand. The person at the stand then washes the glass to be used by the next customer, as you resume your travels.

We made other stops along the way, primarily to replenish our water supply, as we drank only bottled water, which was necessary because of the cholera outbreak. For this reason, we also only ate fruit that could be peeled such as oranges or bananas. Actually the cholera scare was over before I got there, according to state officials. However everyone was still being cautious and we were no exception.

We traveled on through many nameless small towns, people-watching people, who watched us back. My unintentional masquerade as a Cuban national remained intact until I opened my mouth to answer the questions directed at me. It wasn't just a city thing. Always when approached, I was never greeted in English or with the question of nationality. I was always addressed in Spanish first, assuming I was one of them, apparently working or traveling with a bunch of tourists. I was never mistaken for a tourist. The question that always followed my halting explanations about my nationality remained, “But your family is from Cuba, yes?” To which I explain in the negative, leaving them puzzled and sometimes disbelieving in my wake.

I've been working on family genealogy for a number of years now and none of the distant strands that came together to form me passed through Cuba. At least so far that I can find.

It was hot by the time we got to Bayamo and La Trova, the city's oldest establishment with most of the day still in front of us.

More to come...

CastroCare

As Americans, we are taught that healthcare, like everything else about the United States, is the best of the best in the world. The theory of American exceptionalism that conservatives and tea party aficionados claim as their own, has actually been around for as long as, well, as long as the United States of America has been in existence.

However, it is not until you step outside the country that you understand that American exceptionalism in most instances is political propaganda designed to keep citizens content and under control.  Frankly, America's healthcare system sucks.  America's healthcare system is designed to benefit insurance companies, pharmaceutical companies, hospitals and health care facilities and doctors in that order. The patient, namely us, don't even figure into the mix except as the main source of revenue. Heaven help you if you can't pay or need a procedure that the insurance company, not your doctor, considers too costly. The only option is to die.

The advent of the Affordable Health Care Law, otherwise known as Obamacare seemingly signaled the end of this backward, top-down system. But big money makers like this take a long time to die in the USA and healthcare as we know it is still hanging on despite the fact that most citizens favor a single payer health care system more like what is working in Cuba, except that nobody pays for healthcare in Cuba.

Santiago de Cuba

CastroCare is state run healthcare and everyone has it. It is free. Clinics are situated in every neighborhood and I was told by the doctors at the clinic that there is a physician and at least two nurses for every 150 families. All minor stuff, checkups, exams, minor emergency care, babies born, are done at the clinics. Major medical procedures and life threatening emergencies are done by bigger hospitals nearby. It should also be noted that Cuba encourages the use of natural remedies, accupuncture as well as other forms of what we would call alternative medicines.  Doctors in Cuba don't just find a big pharma created pill to treat anyone and everyone. If a cure can be affected naturally, it is the one used. When doctors finish their rounds at the clinics, they make house calls. For real!

Much of the daily procedure done is preventive medicine. In other words, if a diet change is needed or a young girl needs instruction about birth control, or she's had a child and the baby needs to be breast fed. These things are handled by the clinic personnel, who then follow up when necessary.

It should be noted that Cuba has one of the lowest teen birth rates in the western hemisphere. Much lower than the United States. Their health care system seems to be built around what is good for the people and grounded in reality instead of pseudo scientific/religious beliefs, put forth by out of touch xenophobes and religious fanatics.

Women get full and complete health care, as do men. The inequality of being able to buy Viagra but not birth control does not happen in Cuba.

We were told by doctors during our tour that Cuba does not have a drug problem nor alcoholic problem. In answer to our questions we were told that putting kids on drugs like Ritalin to control behavior or adults on sedative type drugs is also not done, mainly because there is no need for them. This is an official state mandated answer, and we made note of it as such. We were also aware of the official party representative in our midst who toured with us throughout the clinic, quietly watching us as we observed them. It was amicable and understandable given the on going adversary situation between our two countries.

We were told by our tour guide that doctors in Cuba make around $1600 per month, which doesn't begin to compare with what doctors consider a living wage in the US. Our tour guides also requested that we not breach the conversation with monetary questions and so we didn't. 

Neighborhood Clinic in Santiago de Cuba

Suffer the Children

A moment of honesty here, I don't suffer children well for any length of time. I am child-less by choice in my personal life, and while I have many, many younger relatives, nieces and nephews produced by my three sisters, as well as great nieces and nephews produced by my nephews and nieces, I prefer living with dogs instead. I love my young relatives, but I love sending them home to their parents even better, when I've tired of their company.

My siblings and friends who are only now enjoying the freedom that I have always had, seem to act as though being happy your kids are no longer in the house, is a guilty pleasure, rather than the nature of things. In other words, you have kids, they grow up and they leave and you get your sanity and life back. I don't see any reason to feel guilty about that at all. It is the way the universe works, right? So while, I do like little people, my philosophy has always been, if you choose, give birth, raise them until they are aged 3, then send them off to boarding school until they turn 18, when it is time for college. Painless child rearing, but not what a “parent” should do. I fully admit that I'm not “parent” material. Just wish others would be more honest with themselves instead of treating their offspring like an acquisition, a designer handbag or something that matches their latest pair of designer jeans.

At least publicly, the children of Cuba seemed well loved and cared for. Many of the cultural events that we attended in Cuba were put on by children, students mainly from what we in the US would consider middle school. Since I've spent my entire life avoiding organized kid stuff, Disney world performances, I was not exactly thrilled, but resolved to put on a good face and enjoy the moment.

I have to admit that I was pleasantly surprised at the various performances and programs we observed and took part. I had fun, actually. We were treated to song and dance and instrumental music, from a quintet of young women singing an old black gospel hymn to welcome us, to an orchestra made up entirely of guitars. We met the quintet at a school with a music and performance curriculum. The students were selected from all over the city to sharpen their skills with the future intent of teaching or performing. The overall intent is to preserve Cuban culture and pass it on. The school, like all schools was state run and also free for students and parents.

The Orquestra de Guitaras was a neighborhood culture club, so to speak. State sponsored but put together as a result of a neighborhood banding together to teach, and provide practice and performance space and a built in audience. For instance, the only requirement to joining the orchestra was that the child have a guitar. The lessons are free, done by volunteer directors who teach the kids to play the instrument. in three weeks. Most of them don't read music so all songs are memorized. The special performance was nothing short of amazing.

Without exception, even the street urchins, who begged for money or whatever we would give them, were squeaky clean and didn't smell, as Marie remarked. They were pushy but polite as they hustled us. After all, we were tourists there with spending money to burn. Our tour guides cautioned us on the first day that giving to the people was our choice. We needn't feel guilty because all children in Cuba had state provided free health care, free food, and free schooling.

I noticed that the kids always asked for money, but the adults always asked for items like pens or soap or paper. We were told that this was merely a conversation starter in the hopes of getting other items that could in turn be sold on the street for a high price. I ended up giving away small items such as my extra pens and pads of paper and the soaps, shampoos and other courtesy toiletries from the hotel. I was traveling without my computer and had loaded up on writing materials which became dead weight when it became apparent that writing longhand and pictures proved difficult.

There was no quiet time built into the tour to pause and write, or to write at night, so I resorted to mental notes, scribbled notes and many many pictures to jolt my remembrance for when I started to write as I am doing now, after I've returned from my adventure. In my past professional life, I was a news reporter during the time when cell phone cameras and recorders as well as other modern conveniences for documenting life, did not exist. I had to rely on my camera and my memory in order to get the story and get it right. I found and was pleasantly surprised that I have not lost that skill in my older years. My powers of observation are still intact and functioning properly.

More to come....