23 August 2009

Act 16 | Saint Vincent & the Grenadines


I was in Saint Vincent and the Grenadines (SVG) in order to visit Kelron Harry, my fellow striker from the Dunedin soccer team we played in last year, and to run a free optometry clinic out of the church that he leads. (It was exciting being together again.)


Kel's family were willing to have me under their roof while I was in town, which gave me another golden opportunity to soak up some good family vibes.


Joshua, who has a thousand dollar smile and way too much energy for any one day, is the Harry's first born son and only child.






There is quite a lot involved in running an eye clinic and the members of the church, who hadn’t done anything like this before, did a wonderful job in setting up the church hall and letting members of the poor community in which their church is located know about the clinic.


Ro-Anne (seated in the above picture), Kel’s wife, did an enormous amount of work before I arrived sorting out legalities with the Ministry of Health and organising support from local charitable organisations so that we were able to offer spectacles at no cost to the patients I saw: She is one very capable and compassionate individual (who is currently working on a PhD investigating issues related to child poverty in the Caribbean with the University of Otago).


I trained a number of church members to measure vision and take basic patient details; These people were also charged with keeping the peace and the numbering system in place in the rather warm waiting room.


Another key player in the project was Dr Onu (a local ophthalmologist), meeting him for the first time was a lot like meeting Morpheus from The Matrix Trilogy; except that instead of offering me a red or blue pill, he offered to supply me with the equipment I needed to examine patients and to see the patients (at no cost) that needed the extra attention of an eye doctor (also at no charge); We simply couldn't have achieved what we did without his generous input.


Over the course of four days on consultations I managed to see a little over 150 patients.


The local paper considered what we were doing as newsworthy.



A long hot night was spent at the end of the working week searching through box after box of old spectacles, looking for what we were looking for; We managed to match 70 prescriptions to donated spectacles (which was a mighty fine effort given the poor quality of most of the frames & lenses, and the poor labelling system used for the boxes).


Funds were raised to buy a selection of new glasses for the unmatchable prescriptions; All together, 120 pairs of glasses were issued free of charge to those who had need of them, which I call 'worthwhile work' and 'a big success'.






St Vincent was not all work and no play …


Dominoes is a adults game in the Caribbean, played mostly by men when limin' with one another. (I was so tired this night that I didn’t realise I was playing with a partner until several rounds had been played, or that the guys were actually speaking a language that I couldn't have understood even if I was less tired.)


There was time on the weekend for Kel and I to combine forces on the soccer field again and win the soccer competition at the family fun day run by the local power company.


And there was time outside of office hours to float around the warm waters of the Caribbean Sea.

Kingstown is the capital of St Vincent, boasting some 30000 people; It has a very small town feel as everybody seems to know each other (and their sordid histories).


I did managed to escape Kingstown & chalk up some time in the Grenadines by spending an afternoon on the nearby island of Bequia.


The ride there and back was a rockin' affair.


Swimming with kids is so much more fun than swimming without kids.




There was even time in St Vincent to hang out with one of the local celebrities, Chris is the morning radio host of the popular talk back program “what does get me vexed”.


'Vexed', and all its derivatives, are some of my favourite words, it was good to be in a place where they are well used; Other words/phrases that I like which are given more air time in the Caribbean include 'mashed up' & 'foolish/ness'. (I also grew to love the word 'lime', which means 'to hang out'.)




Carib's are also big on titles, during my week in St Vincent I was variously referred to as:


Uncle luke;



Doctor luke;



and Brother luke;


None of which are strictly true,
but all of which are very nice.



Saying goodbye to the Harry family - who I had very quickly grown very fond of - was made very much easier by the plans we had made to reconnect in Barbados in a few weeks time.


10 August 2009

Act 15 | Cuba


I was a bit fearful that my sixteen days in Cuba were going to be lonesome and therefore good instead of great; Undergirding the fear were the following factors: 1) I don’t speak Spanish; 2) I was travelling alone; and 3) in Cuba you don’t stay in hostels filled with other travellers and like minds, you stay in the spare bedrooms of Cuban homes (like a guest house or B&B, except each home can rent a maximum of two rooms); These factors threatened to make meeting and interacting with locals &/or fellow tourists much harder than in other countries.


I shared my anxiety with a handful of friends and asked them to be praying that I would meet people to travel with, ideally who spoke both English and Spanish – and the good Lord heard our prayers and answered in the most wonderful ways.



Habana

The heartbroken son of my host family was my first amigo, he invited me (in broken English) to spend my first night in Cuba with his friends at the local discotheque. (I was feeling a bit tired on account of the transit from Jamaica, but there was no way I was going to turn down the opportunity to see how the kids in Cuba get their rocks off on a Saturday night).


It was quite an experience, the disco turned out to be an alt rock club (my club of choice); the first three songs played by the DJ were easily recognisable: Blink 182, Rage Against the Machine, and The White Stripes (somewhat predictably, Mr Jackson got a song played that night too).


A lazy fiver that I handed over to my new best friend somehow managed to buy a whole bottle of rum for all the kids (who I assume were older than minors, otherwise they couldn’t have got into the venue, right?).


The band played mostly covers – all but one of the songs were originally done by Western bands – the most memorable renditions being ‘Rock Around the Clock’ (The Rockets), and ‘Highway to Hell’ (ACDC); The most memorable and bizarre moment of the night was watching the young kiddies, dressed in any (imitation?) brand label they could lay their hands on, singing the bridge of Rage Against the Machine’s ‘Killing in the Name Of …’ (F.U. – I won’t do what you tell me!) over and over again.


The entertainment and unexpected weirdness didn't end when we were forced out the venue, as two of my mate’s mates started rapping at one another in a head-to-head duel; they battle-rapped all the way down the street, at the shelter while waiting for the bus, and on the bus (much to the amusement of all the other commuters); I’ve never wished harder for the ability to understand Spanish - it was all very surreal.



The next morning at Breakfast I met a couple from Italy (who where staying in the other guest room) who spoke English & Spanish (and about politics a whole lot); after an engrossing conversation we went to explore the city together.


I could be convinced that Habana in its current state gave rise to the phrase ‘faded grandeur’, as I’ve not visited a place more worthy of the description: not only are all the crumbling old buildings that line the streets truly grand, but the bright coloured paints they are smothered in are dulled with neglect.


In Havana you really need a video camera rather than a regular camera, because everywhere you look there's a picture to be taken - the place is alive with colourful action.


Every street seems to have a Cuban head (or two, or three) under the bonnet of a very old vehicle.


We took time out of the heat of the day to order a Hemingway from the El Florida Hotel (that’s the man striking a bronze pose behind us).






That day happened to be the 26th of July, which marked the 50th anniversary of the beginning of the Revolution; I was keen to hang around town so as to take in the evening celebrations.


While waiting for night to fall, I struck up a conversation with one of the local guys down at the waterfront (he had some basic English), who - in the middle of one of his sentences - stood up and rushed away; He returned a few minutes later and explained that he had seen a police officer and didn’t want to get harassed by them for talking to a foreigner (in this way the Cuban government tries to minimise the amount of information swapping that occurs when tourists and locals talk).


A few minutes later we were joined by a friend of his, who was recently converted to the Christian faith, and who spoke excellent English on account of having taken English classes at University; for the next hour I heard all about the frustrations of living in a social state as young men with drive, dreams, and abilities.


I offered to buy them dinner at a nearby restaurant, they explained that I needed to follow them from a distance so as not to raise the suspicions of the police officers who we needed to walk past; following them through dark and dirty streets was very movie-esque, I needed to be far enough away to conceal our friendship but close enough to be heard if I got into trouble and needed to call for help.


After dinner we joined the national celebrations that stretched the length of the waterfront, some several kilometres. (One stage I wandered past was showing an old Tina Turner concert on the big screen?)


The following morning I reconnected with Italian couple and shared with them the salient points coming out of my conversation with the young Cubans the night before; I was quite enjoying talking political theory morning and night, it almost goes without saying that the couple who were not living in the socialist state were far more favourably disposed to the socialist ideals than those for whom it was a daily reality.



It’s probably no coincidence that a whole bunch of Cuban flags were built in front of the office space that the United States had been using to broadcast messages from (via a big screen in the window).


At the one end of The Plaza of the Revolution, where Fidel would address the nation, is a huge monument to poet and national hero Jose Marti.


At the other end of the plaza is the all too familiar image of Che Guevara, the same image is present from one end of Cuba to the other (and in many other countries too).


Che was a man trained to preserve life as a doctor who went on to become responsible for the killing of thousands of Africans and Cubans, It puzzles and troubles me that so many people in the West choose to bear his image on their clothing.


To be completely honest, I find the way the image of Che is worn around the world truly tormenting, simply because I consider Che to be a poor (& violent) man’s saviour, who is getting the sort of world wide respect that my main man Jesus is far more worthy of. (Surely, Jesus is a more admirable and successful revolutionary figure, who effected more widespread and lasting change - through non-violent means – that brought much love and justice to the world.)



Santiago de Cuba

I had read online that overnight buses were ‘hostels on wheels’, so I chose to take one to the other end of the island in the hope of connecting with people that I could then travel back to Habana with.


It was on the bus that I met the J-team from Britannia, Jo and Jesse, a non-couple who had just finished a month long film making course in Cuba.



We stayed in the same home together and planned our attack on the sites of Santiago de Cuba over a scrumptious breakfast.




During our visit to a local rum factory, where we hoped to take a tour that was no longer running, we chanced upon Martin and Jolanda, another non-couple, from the Netherlands, who were also their to take non-existent tour.


After Martin had shouted us a round of drinks, we all caught a truck to an ice-cream parlour …


… and then a taxi to the fort at the top of headlands.



Later that night I decided that these four people were the answer to my prayers; as such, I decided to travel on to where they were all headed (which wasn’t a place I originally intended to see).


Martin is a teacher (who goes by the title ‘Mr G’, no, he hasn’t seen the ‘Summer Heights High’ series) and Jolanda is a physiotherapist (and Elle McPherson look-a-like, who speaks some Spanish – isn’t God good!); They were gracious enough to spend their holidays speaking English so as to include me in their thought life, and even kinder to tell their rudest jokes in Dutch so as not to further destroy my last remaining threads of innocence. (I could’ve described them as perfect travelling companions if it were not for all the burping, farting, and giggling.)



Baracoa

So the next day the five of us, the J-team from Britain, the Dutch Duo, and myself caught the bus to Baracoa.







The Dutch Duo and I booked ourselves on a day trip to the bottom of the local mountain. (The top was an unattractive option on account of the heat, and its lack of water to swim in.)


Martin competed at the highest level in the Netherlands in breaststroke, and Jolanda was a synchronised swimmer before she found salsa dancing; As such, enjoying water activities was high on our list of daily priorities.


We spent time on the local beach close to town, where Martin displayed a very convincing impersonation of David Hasselfhoff.


Another day we hired a gansta vehicle to visit a white sand beach located outside of town ...


... where we enjoyed a wonderful meal of fish on the shoreline …


… and played frisbee with the locals under a magnificent sunset …


… before the night swimming began (which promptly ended the night).



The failed attempt to find the white sand beach that was within walking distance of town was the first of three unsuccessful expeditions made on foot.



Trinidad




Our second failed mission was to a waterfall that we had been told was a short walk out of town.


The expedition ended at this brown swimming spot no where near a waterfall.


The club in the local cave didn’t turn out to be half as interesting as the lightning show that was flashing over the city.



Not long after arriving in Trinidad it was time for Jo to head back to the UK (‘… and then there were four’) which gave cause for a splendid farewell dinner (let me tell you, when in the tropics ‘always order the fish!’)


Jesse wasn’t feeling well and therefore decided against joining the Dutch duo and I on a day outing to a nearby island for some snorkelling action.






We took a slow steam train out further into the country to see the high tower (Manaca Iznaga) that was used to keep on eye on the sugar cane workers.




Watching the afternoon lightening storms and torrential rain became a much anticipated highlight of each day.



Goodbye to Trinidad was also goodbye to Jesse, who didn’t have enough time left in the country to travel on with us to our next destination (‘… and then there were three’).



Vinales


Vinales was by far the most picturesque placed visited - the best was indeed left for last.


We got up early one morning to watch the sun rise and fill the local valley with its soft light.


We spent a long hot day riding through the national parklands like cowboys (and cowgirl).




Surprisingly, Vinales was also the place where I had my first Cuban cigar; I only smoked three in two weeks (still way above my usual average, but less than I thought I smoke while in the home of smoke).



The second cigar was enjoyed while engaging in an interesting conversation with its creator!


He is a teacher by trade and he explained to me that he makes cigars to supplement his pay; There is much more money to be made in the tourist industry than in professional occupations, so much so, that the government had to create laws making it illegal for professionals, like doctors and teachers, to quit their jobs to become taxi drivers or the likes there of.


The third and final failed expedition was a journey in which we set out – again on foot – in the hope of finding solace from the midday sun in a cave with a swimming hole; the adventure ended in more dirty water (and no cave).


Not surprisingly, having swum in unclean water on several occasions (and having fiddled with my ears with unclean instruments), I had developed a problem with one of my ears.


It was arranged for the local GP, who was on vacation at the time, to make an illegal house call to the room that I was staying in (also illegally); Another bizarre moment was ensued in which I found myself hiding out behind my bedroom, at the back of the house, finishing the last of a cigar, while waiting for a doctor to arrive on the sly. (She was quite embarrassed when I insisted on paying her for her expertise).


My last full day with the Dutch Duo was spent at another white sand beach some distance from Vinales - which was just perfect for posing:



Marto and I joined forced to beat a couple of local Cubans in a game of beach volleyball.



Much later that night we headed for another club in a cave; the night hadn’t really got going before a power-outage threw the party into darkness and silence (a very Cuban end to the night),; slowly but surely the gathered guests started heading back to town as they realised that there would be no solution to the darkness before sunrise.




Habana (again)

The next morning I found myself alone again sitting on the bus that would take me back to Habana (‘… and then there was one’.)


It was sad to not be in the company of the friends who I had become very attached to.


I had a day and half to spend in Habana before my time in Cuba was through, I wandered in to town all on my lonesome.


Again I had the good fortune to sit somewhere where a good conversation was struck up with a local Cuban (who wasn’t trying to sell me something or slowly getting around to asking for money); (Again) it turned out that he was a Christian with an interesting story, he had fled the country by boat making it to Florida as a legitimate refugee, and lived in America for many years before needing to return from the States because of health issues in his family.


Not a minute had passed after my last friend had vacated his seat before it was filled by a couple I had met in Vinales, who providing me with more stimulating conversation (summarising the political discussions they had had Cubans during their stay) before they needed to leave to catch their plane.


Later that afternoon I met up with the two Cubans who I had befriended when I was in Habana two weeks earlier; we went for a swim at the waterfront.



The following morning, before flying out, I visited the Capitol, where a local boy band was recording their latest video clip.


There is no place in Cuba to stand where a Jose Marti bust cannot see you – he has the eyes of a big brother.


I spent my last few minutes in town on the rooftop of one of the inner city hotels praying thankful prayers for the experiences I had had in Cuba, and praying for the country I was about to leave behind.



It was a good thing I gave myself an extra hour to get to the airport, my infantile Spanish caused me to wait twenty minutes for a taxi that wasn’t coming, then the Lada that I hailed broke down before we’d got half way to our destination, and the second taxi (to whom I’d given the last of my local currency) dropped me at the wrong terminal.





INFRASTRUCTURES

What follows are a few loose thoughts on life in Cuba:


Energy

US led trade embargoes and the collapse of communism landed Cuba in the energy crisis we all face years ahead of schedule; Some of the energy conserving techniques I observed there were:

  • Not repairing buildings or roads.
  • Allowing cars to roll down hills with the engine turned off.
  • Having buses and taxis stop along their routes to collect and drop off goods. (The most bizarre example of this was when our taxi driver pulled over on the side of the highway to buy fruit from horse drawn cart (which was also travelling along the highway) for his family during a heavy rainstorm)


  • Only turning the lights on in an art exhibition when someone was actually looking at a piece in the collection.
  • Not putting lights on all the streets.
  • My personal favourite was the way they use a lit cigarette from who ever happens to be nearby in order to light their own thereby avoiding the need to use a lighter or a match.




Transport

Because of the shortage of (new) cars for personal use, there are many interesting ways of getting from here to there in Cuba, during our stay we used all of the following forms of transportation:

truck



bus



horse



boat
(i'm on a boat!)



private taxi



train
(not always the cleanest form of transport)


bicycle taxi



We really only missed out on a ride on a horse and cart (& tractor).





Technology


Cuba was first place I ever saw car stereo systems that you could plug a USB sticks directly into and which had pop out video screens.


Cuba was also the first place I saw a cart that hailed from the days before wheels were invented.



Housing / Architecture

I tried my hardest to keep a straight face when one my hosts, who was an architect, explained that his expertise was in renovation and restoration; Nearly all the houses and building in Cuba are coming apart at the seams.




Health

Cuba exports more medical doctors to areas in need than any other country in the world; They have also flown countless numbers of people from around the Caribbean to Cuba for medical attention.


In addition to getting my ear looked in to, I also interacted with the local health system by using my English-spanish dictionary (and a lot of exaggerated hand gestures) to convey to the pharmacist that Jess had a sore throat that require some medication, which they handed over in exchange for but a few national pesos.



Banking

Tourism in Cuba is really all about raising revenue for the government; Banking is a case in point, if you withdraw $100 in Cuba $108 is taken from your foreign bank account, the extra $8 dollars goes straight into the Cuban government’s coffers. (The same applies for exchanging cash into the local currency, unless your exchanging American dollars in which case there is another 10% charged on top of the 8%.)


The lines outside the banks are long and rowdy.



Stuff

Private property makes for private people the absence of which produces a more open cohesive society.




Fashion


Men’s fashion in the Caribbean is all about the mesh singlet &/or getting your puku out.


Only one side of any Cuban street ever gets walked on during the daytime – that being the side with the shade.



PREDICTING THE FUTURE

Cuba is going to change; In fact, that statement is not so much a prediction as an observation, for Cuba is already changed and changing. I predict that with the demise of Fidel, despite the way that he has spread his power and ideals throughout his government & handed on leadership of the country to his brother, that things in Cuba will change even more rapidly. This seems inevitable to me because of the conversations and interactions I had with Cubans during my stay, and in particular the behaviour of the young people in Cuba. The youth know what they are missing out on (that being the material goodies that capitalism churns out) and they want it. Not only that but they are aware of the violent past of the current ‘dictatorship’ (their words) and the freedoms available outside Cuba. Everyone seems to be unhappy about the restrictions that are placed on their activities (they even need the permission of the government to change which towns they are living in within Cuba). They only people who are pleased with the communist regime are those who are privileged by it and even they seem to appreciate that they would be wealthier if not cut off from world trade. There is a mass of discontent among the well educated population who believe that the socialist system has not been able to deliver on its promises (especially since the collapse of the old Soviet Union) and who are the victims of a topsy-turvy salary reward system. In short, I don’t think the government has been able to instil a socialist mindset, or the desires that produce it, in the hearts and minds of the generations that are soon to assume power. They behave, talk and conduct business like capitalist wanna-bes. Hopefully the next revolution will be less bloody. The changes it will bring will be good for Cuba and its citizens (most of whom are hungry at some point of each month), but will cause travel on the island to be as expensive as the rest of the Caribbean, and far less an experience that parallels stepping back in time. If you want to see Cuba the way it has been and - to a lesser degree - still is, then I say go sooner rather than later.