At the dawn of the final stretch of every foreign trip, there comes the evaluation of one's financial situation; do I have enough to make it through, but not so much that I return with excess (esp since I dont know if Cuban pesos can be exchanged in the US)? I counted my monies, projected how much more I should need, and asked my host Odalis directions to the bank. Having received those and a "bueno suerte, mi amor!", I was on my way.
I found the bank... and the long line outside of it. One of the common practices is to allow only enough people into the bank/Etecsa shops/etc who will fill the teller stations, and to put the line outside the guarded door. After asking loudly, "Último?", I stood at the end of an unmoving line. After some time, I asked the lady in front of me if there is always a long line for the bank. She responded regretfully that yes there is, but that I could go to a Cadeca to change money. I had thought that they only interchanged CUCs and CUPs, but they also have other bank-like services. She gave me directions, and I was on my way. Again.
I followed her directions for five minutes, but was a bit worried that Id missed the Cadeca. I started asking passer-bys for additional directions and had started to turn around when I bumped in the lady. "Where are you going? Im going to show you the cadeca! Im tired of waiting in that line." She was a nice older lady who, upon seeing the first bicycle taxi, declared that she was too tired to walk and we hopped on for my first Cuban bicycle taxi ride! Quite a few blocks later (I dont think I could have found it alone) we arrived and she directed me to my cadeca line and she went to the bank line adjacent to the cadeca. Im not so sure that bank's line was any shorter, so I felt especially grateful to the lady who literally went out of her way to help me.
The cadeca line did move faster and as the day warmed up, I noticed my back started to itch more... I had entered the itchy phase of a sunburn. Looked like a trip to the farmácia was in my future. The line passed in front of a repair shop where I saw guys sitting at three desks with tvs, a microwave, a blender or fan, and rice cooker around them in various stages of repair. Thats certainly a sight you dont see often in the US.
I asked for and followed directions from multiple people to make my way to a pharmacy. I waited in that line for quite a while before inquiring of another patron if the pharmacy would carry oral antihistimines. "Huh?" (Oh dear, this was going to be like France all over again.) I described how I was itchy from a sunburn. "Oh, this pharmacy is for prescriptions. You need to go to that pharmacy for over the counter medications." She pointed to a pink mall down the street. Okay, the adventure continues.
The pink mall was... actually a mall! This central part of Havana was very different and modern than old Havana (duh?). The interior of the mall was cube-like with a food court in the center ground floor and an inclined ramp along the perimeter that led to four floors of shops. At a tiny pharmacy I described my symptoms and the lady pulled out a cream. "No I dont have anyone else to apply the cream to my back."--plus can you imagine how fast I would sweat off cream??--"Do you have any oral antihistimines?" She presented a box of loratadina tablets manufactured on Spain. Well, loratadine sounded familiar, and after I confirmes that it would address my itchy symptoms, I coughed up the $11 (twice my budget). I asked for the administration directions and misunderstood to take one every hour. "But then the box will last only one day." She laughed and replied, "No, one every 24 hours. If you take the box in one day, sweet dreams." (I later read that loratidine can cause drowsiness.)
After stopping off at a cathedral to tap the previous day's journal entry, I walked to a Napolean museum. Apparently there'd been an Italian guy living in Cuba who amassed a fortune as a cigar czar and collected a gajillion Napolean artifacts. I walked around the first floor, thinking about how uncomfortable the clothes looked and took a seat ln the outside terrace. There were perhaps only 8 other museum patrons, so when one of the museum officers (whats that word for a person who guides/watches/guards at a museum?) saw me sit down, she rebuked me with a smile, "There are three more floors and if you sit down, you won't have enough time!" I guess I couldnt use the excuse of "absorbing the environment" right then.
A library of 3000 books about Napolean and his family filled the top floor where a museum officer volunteered herself as my guide. I knew that she was going to ask for a donation, but her guiding was actually quite helpful, so I didnt mind. As a side note, she wore patterned tights under her skirt (I didnt take a photo for obvious reason). This is a fashion Id seen among many professional women in Havana.
The museum is situated on the edge of the hilltop Havana University, so I walked through there a bit. It lacked any central campus quad, as is common among American universities, but rather consisted of many impressive buildings. Well, mostly impressive; the sports stadium was, well how should one say, it wouldnt attract many D1 recruits. The guard lady who encouraged me to enter, then encouraged a donation for her scant services as I left. This time I did mind a bit, as she acted a bit like a bridge troll.
After the unversity I walked to a famous ice cream shop that my guide book told me is famous and so I shoukd therefore visit it. Well, it doesn't take much to get me to eat ice cream. The main building itself is of unique architecture--the book describes it as UFO-like--but I didnt get to it. At the main entrance the guards turned me away, saying perhaps that that entrance was for Cubans. I circumnavigated the dish and found a shack serving the dessert. There may have been a tourist entrance for the main building, but lets get real: I was only there for the ice cream. I got a scoop of orange-pineapple for the surprisingly affordable $0.55. It was good, but not Tillamook good.
From there I found my way towards a monument for José Martí, a founder and martyr of modern Cuba. A stretch of park blocks lay in front of the monument, so I sat on a bench and absorbed for a while (totally justifiable). Behind me two blocks a saxaphonist practiced chromatic arpeggios, and closer to me, three or four trumptets practiced drills brass musical passages. Im not sure why they practiced together; their notes didnt seem to go together. But "birds of a feather." Half a block in front, a young man had set up shop with a cooler and sold to passing bus passngers. At first his gestures looked like he scooped ice cream, but I couldnt quite tell. My curiosity getting the best of me, I approached him and found that he sold guyaba jam-filled empanadas for about $0.08 each. Um of course I wanted one. Wait no I wanted two. He asked if I was from Argentina. I said no, the US. And he responded that I sounded like an Argentinian. Im pretty sure he was just being nice, but then again the way many Cubans slur like theyre recovering from the dentist, I suppose my enunciation could sound crisp like Ive heard the Argentinians are. But he was probably just nice.
After another block or two, I arrived at a big asphalt plaza preceeding the monument (not nice grass like we have for the Washington Monument). Bleachers had been set up for Monday's march and rally ("You really need to be here to see that!" one guard remarked). But then I saw a huge cluster of bees swarming or forming a hive on the bleacher structure. I notified another guard who said, "No there arent any bees." "Yes, I saw them under the chairs!" He probably thought I was crazy. We we'll see who's crazy on Monday!
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