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Growin' Our Own (page 5)

A Trip to Meet the Ladies in Havana, Cuba

By: Travelin'

A friend of mine who works in real estate development invited me to take trip to Havana, Cuba, a no- no place for us U.S. citizens to travel. We can't go there. He made the arrangements and I met up with him in the Atlanta airport. We flew on to Nassau, Bahamas, where we paid cash for our tickets at Mundy Tours [(809) 393-6900], which is all legal in that jurisdiction. We spent a few fun days on the beach in Nassau, staying at the Orange Hill Inn which was across from a deserted Bohemian beach. We met some beach bunnies from Europe, gambled and walked around the swimming pool maze at Merv Griffin's Resort Hotel on Paradise Island, ate the local food, and had a great time in Nassau.

Finally we got onto a Cubana Airlines Russian Aeroflot jet by climbing up the back stairs which dropped down from under the tail. I sat down next to the prettiest lady I could find. She worked for Alpha Cuba Club Resorts. She was on my left with a window and my friend was on the isle to my right. She was French-Canadian, had straight long brown hair, green eyes, and spoke many languages. She surprisingly knew many of my well traveled friend's political and Cuban contacts. They talked about this official and that official in Cuba. She had been to so and so's cabin, and other places that only an insider would know. My friend had many contacts in not only Cuba, but Mexico, South America, and the Caribbean. Thirty years in the real estate business had made him many friends. To tell you about international business, it is different than what you might think. You must have local government contacts to work in foreign jurisdictions. Our government knows what's happening, that people go into Cuba through a third country and really can't stop this from happening. Developments, world bank loans, profits from investments are all part of this scheme. If you're on the inside you can take advantage of all this financing for your enterprise.

Suddenly a white smoke began filling the jet coming up from the floor, but nobody seemed concerned except me. I asked if the jet was on fire and they both laughed. I found out about Russian jet air conditioning, which must be like putting water on dry ice. It makes an odorless white smoke. The young, pretty Cuban stewardesses offered us the usual soft drinks, alcohol, food, duty free gifts and liquor. I bought some Cohiba Lancero cigars and a bottle of Ron Varadero dark rum, anejo 7 anos, which was distilled in the southern rum region of Santiago, Cuba. Santiago is near the U.S. Guantanamo military base where the Al Qaida prisoners are presently being held. I thought about how I was going off limits into a restricted Communist country where I was being accepted, and where we had a U.S. military base which would be off limits to me. This was very strange as I mulled it over in my mind looking out over the multi colored Atlantic Ocean and at all the tiny atolls and islands beneath us. We drank and had a nice visit and flight.

As we flew over Cuba's coral reefs and sandy beaches, beautiful red clay fields full of ripe sugar cane crops, and farm houses and buildings, I could see the Havana skyline, and wondered about what would happen on this trip. Cuba has about 11 million people and more coastline than the State of Florida.

We landed after about 90 minutes and entered the Havana Airport building. The Cuban International Airport is very small, and as we approached the 2 military guards with our bags and slip visas I was glad that I had nothing to declare. [Cubans don't stamp U.S. Passports, as they know you will be in trouble back home. They give you what's called a 30 day slip passport or visa - a small piece of paper which you slip into your passport. So you don't forget, they take it back when you leave.] We went to the x-ray machine and placed our luggage on the belt for scanning. I went first and my friend with his 2 bags second. I took my 1 bag off the conveyer without incident. Then the 2 guards got excited x-raying my friend's bags. As the guards watched the monitor to try to figure out what was in his bag, he quickly removed bag one off the belt and with his foot shoved it across the floor and next to me. The guards turned from the monitor and were now looking at him and his 2nd bag left on the conveyor belt. He looked at me with urging eyes and telepathically sent me a message to pick up his bag on the floor and leave. If I took the bag, what was in it? Were there some spy secrets, drugs, or what was in this bag, now laying on the floor next to my right foot? I was frozen. Would I be stopped by the guards upon discovery that the bag they were examining didn't contain whatever they saw on the monitor? I looked again to see how far the exit door was, and it looked like it was about 70 feet. My glance also caught Monique, the beautiful Canadian, who had a luggage cart and was being approached by her uniformed chauffeur. I called to her to bring her cart to place my bags on, and with weak knees I picked up my bag and my friends hot bag as I walked over to her. She smiled unsuspectingly and said to load them on. I moved like I was in slow motion, like my entire body was in extreme pain, and with my back to my friend and the arguing guards. I hoped I wouldn't end up in some Cuban prison for what he had in his bag. Her chauffeur's outreached hands took the 2 bags from me and placed them on the cart with hers. I walked out of the airport as if I had been with them. It was a smart move getting her involved as I thought she would know what to tell the Cuban customs or she would know who to call if she ended up being searched. If I had stayed by my friend's side and not taken his bag I could have been implicated with him in something worse. I thanked them and asked if they could give me about 2 minutes to find my friend. The man removed the bags off the cart, placing them on the sidewalk which was ready with taxis at the curb. Monique said she would watch the bags.

I went back inside and immediately saw that the Cuban guards had the most disgusted looks on their faces. They were examining 2 very raunchy gay bondage sex magazines. Black leather and chains all over the covers. They shook their heads at my friend looking at him as if he was the worst pervert to ever enter Cuba, and placed his magazines into a drawer. I had never seen anything like these hard core magazines and they made me wonder if this guy was a real life pervert. He turned and winked at me as the guards finished searching the rest of his bag. He was then cleared by the Cubans for entry, less his 2 raunchy gay bondage magazines and his bag already outside the airport.

My friend apologized for our hassled entry and assured me the magazines were a normal ploy to distract and throw off the guards. He claimed it had worked dozens of times and that the ploy was standard for certain operations. He said they saw something in the 1st bag, which he quickly whipped off the belt and I reluctantly took away. The officers were so intent on watching the monitor that they never saw him pull his bag. They went from what they saw on the monitor, to his identical bag thinking it was the same bag on the monitor. Then seeing the gross magazines, they forgot about what they were looking for on the monitor. He said they had to find something so he had placed the magazines on top for them to find and be distracted. I still don't know what he had in his first bag as he refused to tell me other than it was a bottle of wine from Oregon. Outside and free again, we took our bags from the sidewalk, thanked Monique, and were quickly approached by a stocky, dark skinned, white haired Cuban man. The Cuban man was a friend and there to pick us up. He had been a early very close friend of Castro in the revolution of '58. He later became a government bodyguard. There were rental cars, taxis and lots of traffic in front of the Cuban Airport as we climbed into this local man's small white 1982 Russian made 4 door car. Introductions made, my friend now to my left in the backseat, noticed that he had no window handle and he couldn't roll his window down in the sweltering heat. Our woman driver passed her window handle back to my friend and he rolled the window down, passing the crank handle back to the driver. We drove past more red clay sugar cane fields and I inquired about the unusual tall towers we were passing which were all around the city. Water storage, I was told.

We traveled along the ocean front, past the old Mafia hotels - the Riviera, National, etc. - and I noticed there were not many cars on the roads. Most people were riding bikes which they could take inside buses. Finally we arrived at a 3 story building near the old Fort presently used as a jail and across from the Havana Channel, historic 15th century Spanish Fortress and world famous lighthouse. After climbing all the stairs we met the family where we would stay. They had a huge patio outside their modest penthouse apartment with a spectacular northern view of the gulf and city. This modestly adorned home with a small Russian black and white TV and small Russian refrigerator was where we stayed. This forbidden country, Cuba, was like a Russian colony where Russia was able to sell excess production. Russia not only gave products but financed Cuba and helped this country survive the US blockade. I remember that a black and white cartoon with some rooster was on the TV as we walked into the home. All the windows had big wooden shutters to protect the homes from hurricanes. I loved the outside open 'L' shaped patio area where you could see the ships going in and out of Havana Harbor. The famous lighthouse was visible from every window. Then after greetings the family left and we had their place to ourselves. We paid only $20.00 a night for this most beautiful penthouse. Ten days in Havana, what a holiday.

After settling down and unpacking we took off for a night on the town. It was still daylight and after walking about 2 blocks we passed the gray colored Spanish Embassy. A cop was on every corner, and I was told that Havana was a safe place for tourists like us. The locals faced death and the foreigners like international fugitive Robert Vesco who had crossed Castro in some business deal faced only jail time. It sounded like a fair system of justice to me. I felt like 'spies R us' after the airport incident, and for having all these friendly Cubans at our disposal. As we walked we came across European style cafes with tables and umbrellas set up on the sidewalks. We decided to stop and sample some of the local beer. I tried the green can, Cerveza Cristal, and then the red and gold can with an Indian, the Hatuey Calidad Superior, which were both fine Cuban beers. Remnants of Castro's take over were everywhere as most of the former business store fronts were turned into living quarters for the Cuban people with bars on the windows. You can look inside of all these sidewalk level living quarters. Castro was explained to me as "Papa," the one who looks out for his Cuban people, and who took the people out of a farming slavery, who crushed the corrupt remnants of the Al Capone/Bautista mafia. The National Hotel has old rare black and white pictures of Capone, Costello and other Mafia crime figures. Papa gave the Cuban people a higher standard of living and they respect him for their liberation from the dictators. Papa Castro is getting old now, and he gave up smoking his trademark Cuban Cohiba Lancero cigars, but he still has his shot of Santiago rum and any Cuban woman of his choice. There is no permanent Cuban White House where Papa Fidel lives. He moves from place to place to keep ahead of his supposed assassins.

Remember if you get in trouble in Cuba you go to jail, but a Cuban will die. Don't smoke dope in Cuba. Still, under these risks the Cubans will find tires and other car parts stolen as these simple items are difficult to get. Black market street vendors, carrying sacks full of cigar boxes of approached us as we sat drinking beer. I bought a sealed box of Cohiba Lanceros for $50. I had 25 Cuban cigars for only $50 which were forbidden to me back in the USA. Back home, if I could find these cigars, they would sell for $40- $75 each. I bit the end off a Cohiba cigar and lit it up as we walked along back past the Fort, a prison still in use. There were many beautiful parks and the city is very European, somewhat like New Orleans but displaying much more color in the different painted buildings. Eager beautiful young ladies approached us for companionship [sex] from everywhere. Many Russians have moved to Cuba and the Russian mafia run the prostitutes, the young girls from the farming regions who come to the big city and can't find skilled jobs. Prostitution is a way of life in Cuba. I met a guy from North Carolina who sailed his yacht to Nassau and then flew to Havana like us. He had a 15 year old girl who he sponsored and visited each month. He would stay with her family and made regular financial contributions to them. He denied any sex with the young beauty. To keep the herds of young ladies from bugging us my friend would say "Gayo," which didn't seem to slow them down from grabbing us.

We explored Havana until nightfall, when the locals were out for the biggest block party in the world. All along the gulf retaining wall, were hoards of people drinking beer, and local girls looking for a tourist to take them out on the town or straight home to bed. They would grab us and feel us, as we walked along looking for the right woman. When we headed to the B del M for dinner, a man stopped us on the street and got into a hassle with my friend. He said in perfect English that he hated Americans as he had been a soldier in Angola and knew how we fed money and weapons to corrupt governments. I thought how strange, back in the USA we were told just the opposite. A stranger came up and told the former Cuban soldier to go away and he did. We went to the B del M which was Ernest Hemingway's favorite hangout, for drinks and dinner. Hemingway's autograph is about 2 feet long and hangs over the colorful bar at B del M. His favorite chair hangs upside down from the ceiling above his favorite table in the corner. The plaster walls have been painted about 10 times and people from all over the world are invited to scratch something into the plaster. I saw Kilroy was here, Chicago '69, and thousands of other entries adding to the local atmosphere of the B del M. I ordered the sampler dinner which included my first introduction to horse meat. The food, rum, cigars and everything was perfect at the B del M.

We left and went night clubbing. I was surprised by women at the clubs, who were dressed up so fine and were enticing me to no end. Still we pressed on looking or shopping for the perfect Cuban lady.

To be continued...with pictures of Cuban women.