Letter of Cuba, August 2010 J e speaking to you from a patio in the shade of banana, avocado and other exotic species whose name I know not. We are in Trinidad, a colonial town in central island. Beside me, the wife of the host we receive, the state allows individuals to rent out rooms to tourists paying a large fee. She is leaning on a silver platter to sort rice grains. One by one. She will spend the afternoon.
Just behind, a kitchen, open onto the patio. On tap, two parrots, Lala and Lula under concern. They give pecking when I try to make the water flow. A shadow glides over the ground. It's "Aparecida" a big turtle that catches almost on the fly pieces of meat that gives Carlos, our host, scarlet, apparently experienced by the preparation lobsters.
In the big room (70m ² nonetheless), which overlooks the main square, a sleeping dog and a cat at the foot of rocking chairs. Despite the darkness we guess the old transistors, repaired by the grandfather when he does not lie on his bed during the hottest hours. There is also a wonderful secretary imported from Spain, at other times. Above, a rusty Remington. And the rest of the play: religious statues, including the angel who greets me when I close the heavy gate of the house.
Carlos works to museums of fine arts in Trinidad. He recalled proudly that his descendants are Spaniards among the first to have settled on the island ... Only images of television-presenter is dressed as in Good Bye Lenin, he recites the brief on "sister republics" of South America to pull us colonial and tropical languor. What good. Nothing is gained by working more ... There is anyway no fertilizer for growing beans.
The amount of people waiting on their doorstep is frightening. We play domino, we tell the latest gossip, we buy a few lawyers or one just does nothing. Cooks chain of fast food "Rápido" put 20 minutes to prepare a hamburger steak deer. Farmers plow their field with zebu. And on the edge of the highway, it "mowing" the grass with a machete.
women complete their sentences by giving you the "
mi amor" from "
cariño" (my darling) when you ask them your way.
I leave this setting worthy of a novel by García Márquez in a taxi. Arnaldo leads us in a gray car that belongs to the state. "
Here everything belongs to the state, Fidel! . Laughter.
Caps on an atoll in the north of the island, Cayo Santa Maria. A English company has opened several hotels all-inclusive, against payment of 51% of profits to the state. The secret ingredients? The night of hotel costs 140 euros, the monthly salary of an employee, 25!
Back to Havana on the bus for hotel employees. I made very small when a policeman in the middle of a wardrobe rides the bus. Tourists have nothing to do with the employees, the driver made a favor. But the policeman said nothing. The agitated passengers: we drink rum, smoke on the sly. We dredge, we kiss. Jokes fuse, totally incomprehensible. And yet we speak English.
change of scene by arriving in the capital. We pass through a cityscape colonial ruins, the neighborhood of Centro Habana, arriving in the neighborhood of Vedado more modern. A Mexican friend to me staying in a huge green and white building that looks like an open book. Construction of the 1950s that is reminiscent of the Radiant City. During the Revolution, the State has not expropriated families who lived in, but many parties. Some time ago, we hosted here
compañeros Venezuelans who came for treatment. The top floor is inaccessible, restricted to military antennae
... From the 18th floor, old American cars have air toys. In the distance, near the seafront, the building - very Soviet! - Of "American interests" (the United States did not officially an embassy) is facing a tide of white pillars of tens of meters high . They were topped with flags designed to hide the screen from the embassy when the Americans broadcast "propaganda cons. Obama has been terminated.
I begin the discussion with this friend of Mexico. Journalist too. It feels good in Cuba. He found a woman who soon became the mother of his daughter. For this journalist, who was trained on the job, Cuba is a dream. Here we have the health, education and culture free. The power supply is guaranteed. Insecurity does not exist. The inverse of Mexico, it makes me understand. Yes, he deplored the arrests, the police everything. Anyway ... In his country he could not afford to treat his daughter suffering from a serious illness. "
Here, the system is fairer humanely."
The heat is bearable thanks to the clouds that accumulate in the sky Havana. I walk into one garment marcel-possible-in the Columbus cemetery built in the 19th century. An air of Pere Lachaise. Except that the chestnuts are cheese. At the entrance to the eve Marta adorable eyes told me stories of some unusual dead. On this tomb, the kids did burn a domino game in remembrance of the passion of their late mother, according to hearsay, of an apoplexy when she lost for the first time a game of dominoes after being unbeaten for decades. On another grave, the busts of Modesto
and
Margarita.
Margarita, although only 23 years younger than
Modesto, is the first part at the beginning of last century. So every day,
Modesto came to play the favorite songs of his beloved violin. Until one day he too was swept away. Today, their epitaph envelops us with a love for the rose water:
"
amiable way: Escape
yourself some time this ungrateful world and dedicate a thought of love and peace to these two beings whose earthly happiness was swept away by fate, and whose mortal remains rest forever in this burial, according to their sacred oath. We thank you from the eternal. Margarita y Modesto . "
It does not take longer to carry us in the patio and
Margarita Modesto, sorting grains of rice in the warm breeze of an afternoon Summer tropical ...
