Entering Habana

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Soft light comes thru the slits of the heavy wooden folding blinds and kisses my forehead with dawn.  I hear a rooster crow and a child cry in the distance and I feel a surge of delicate bliss pulse through me remembering where I am.  I love the morning sounds of a village awakening.   I love the way his body feels next to me and the rhythm of his breath.  Even his morning breath is sweet.  His black body looks divine laying naked next to me and my desire for him stirs gently as I curl in deeper to him. 

The cacophony of roosters, barking dogs, laughing and crying children all serenaded by the rhythmical incantations of street vendors selling food and chatting with their clients is a musical soundscape that comforts me in a way that I can’t quite explain but that is profoundly soothing.  I lay motionless listening to the orchestra of life unfolding with a huge smile inside. Even though I would have loved to sleep longer, I absolutely love waking up this way.

As the house began to stir and the family started it’s day, I found myself a little anxious to get to the city and get settled in to my own space. Mostly I know it’s because I am concerned that his family might ask me questions I didn’t know how to answer.  He is my lover, much more than a friend.   I’m not sure what he has told them or how it is perceived here in Cuba for a man to have an affair, although I have a feeling it’s pretty normal and not much of a big deal.  I can’t imagine that they would be so nieve to think that we shared a bed without being lovers.  I walk into the kitchen and his mother is showing his sister pictures of the baby and something in my heart sinks a little bit. 

But what can I do?  We’ve been lovers for almost three months now.  I am the one he seeks comfort in from the stress of his unhappy marriage.  I am the one he’s with in Cuba, not his wife.  I don’t know how it’s perceived that we shared a bed, but I am very happy when his mother comes in and gives me a warm welcome and a kiss on the cheek in the morning after he arises.  I feel like at least she has found a way to accept me for now, whether she knows or not, and for that I am grateful.

The brother of another Cuban friend of mine who lives in Miami shows up to take me to see some casas in Habana.  Alexander is dressed head to toe in white with a big thick gold chain, a  big gold tooth and some of the biggest lips I’ve ever seen.  I can’t help but think he’d be the perfect model for a cartoon character with lips like those and I have a hard time not staring at them when he talks.   I’m pretty sure that he speaks at least 1000 words a minute although it all sounds like one big word to me.  Still I get the gist enough to understand that the ex wife of a friend of his has a room he thinks would be suitable enough for me at a decent price and that he’d like to show it to me.

Something about his energy and the way he talks and moves makes me feel uncomfortable, on edge and protective.  I can’t quite figure out what it is, but I don’t feel safe with him so I am grateful when Manuel offers to drive me to Habana to be sure I am safe and settled before he leaves to visit the rest of his family in another province. I also notice that he’s a little jealous of Alexander and I enjoy watching him be protective of me and the way he puts his hand on my knee in the car to claim me as his novia. 

Driving into Habana I feel a mixture of emotions.  Moments of “what the fuck am I doing here” are followed by feelings of total excitement, opportunity and bliss.  As soon as we get into the city, Manuel turns up the volume and I feel like I’m in a Cuban hip hop video.  I’m starring as the bad ass crazy white bitch sitting next to a super hot black Cuban guy rolling thru the slums of Habana.  The comic relief comes from Alexander’s cartoon character’s lips flapping in the back seat giving us directions as the melodramatic visual play of Habana begins to imprint itself on my mind.

The city is an insane maze that unfolds thru the car window in a flurry of faces, smells, and sounds.   The men look thru me fearlessly with an intense animalistic sexual hunger that both scares me and excites me at the same time.  The women don’t meet my gaze.   Undeniably, Habana stinks.  It smells of piss, shit and diesel fuel.  We cruise slowly like gangsters into the heart of the city on skinny cobblestone streets packed with bike taxi’s, food vendors and pedestrians with the music blasting.

It’s a city of total contrast everywhere I look.   It’s one of the most incredibly beautiful cities I’ve ever seen on one corner and the most wretched decaying pile of rubble and shit on the next.   I’ve been here once before so some things and places are familiar, but the part of town we are driving through right now is deep in the heart of non-touristy Habana and the energy and vibe is dark, intense and poverty ridden. 

I am every emotion possible in addition to being exhausted and mentally stretched by trying to speak and understand Spanish at warp speed.  I find myself slapping my hand against the side of the car in rhythm to the music to keep myself grounded.  I feel the edges of doubt creeping in about everything I’m here to do.  Can I really survive in a city this big?  How can I possibly penetrate a city this big to find anything or offer anything?  It feels intimidating, scary, and like the buildings could just collapse on me at any time. 

I remember reading stories about buildings collapsing here in the city from old age and I ask Manuel and Alexander about it.  The answer I get isn’t so reassuring.  “ Oh yes it happens, one just collapsed close to hear last week, but don’t worry, the house I’m taking to you is two blocks away and totally safe.”  I find myself wondering how two blocks in this neighborhood could make any difference whatsoever. 

We turn another corner and I start to feel an increasing anxiety as Manuel translates Alexander’s words for me while we pull up to the house.  “He says here you shouldn’t walk alone. If you want to go out at night, call him and he will walk with you.  Don’t walk with your camera or computer anywhere here, it’s not safe.”   I’ve already decided I won’t be staying here and we haven’t even entered the house. 

After an hour or so of driving me to look at different places in Havana, I end up choosing the one I had made my original reservation at and making a good deal with the owners of the casa, Orlando and Darlene for 10 days.   I am grateful to Manuel for helping me land here and giving me some time to explore my options and a little bit sad when he leaves to get back to his family after lunch together.  “Be careful here.  I care about you and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” he says before he leaves and I am touched by his sincerity.

My new home for now is a small room in Havana Vieja.  It is very safe, very clean and incredibly quiet for being in the heart of a city of 2 million people.  I realize that these old buildings create an effective sound barrier and actually afford people here some peace in the midst of chaos. 

My first night in the city and I am completely exhausted at 8 PM.  I don’t feel ready to take on anything else.   I am alone at last in my room, and all I want to do really is go to sleep and rest.   My wild side wants to go out and wander Habana, to dance all night and rock it, but my wise side reminds me that I have 3 weeks ahead of me and that rest and some quiet time are what’s needed.  It’s hard to resist the sounds of drums bouncing off the walls into my window, but I dig out my ear plugs and in minutes I am fast asleep.