By Natalie Rothstein
Special to the Journal

01/27/2002
HAVANA, Cuba -- Maybe it's the Buena Vista Social Club. The pulsating rhythm of the group's brand of Cuban music has certainly raised interest in this island nation just 90 miles from our shores.

In any case, on the eve of island-wide celebrations commemorating Jose Marti's birthday, Cuba is a hot tourist destination, in more ways than one. Indeed, at Jose Marti Airport, the temperature in Havana was a warm and balmy 83 degrees during our recent visit. (Jose Marti, born Jan. 28, 1853, is revered as the father of Cuban democracy and the architect of the 1895 war for independence, in which he was killed.)

Of the 100,000 Americans traveling to Cuba each year,

most go through Canada or Mexico, circumventing U.S. travel restrictions. If you want to be ‘‘legal,’’ you must go with a licensed group. Because my husband is a physician, we chose a group that would be visiting a number of medical facilities.

Americans have a real curiosity and interest in Cuba. We not only ‘‘Remember the Maine’’ but the Bay of Pigs and the Cuban Missile Crisis as well. Since Fidel Castro came to power in 1959, toppling the corrupt Batista regime, the U.S. and Cuba have been locked in conflict. The U.S. embargo prohibiting trade and travel to Cuba, in force since 1960, and Cuba’s strong ties to the Soviet Union both contributed to the official enmity and suspicion between the U.S. and Cuba.

But things change. There is no more Soviet Union, and the loss of Russian economic support was disastrous for Cuba. In 1991 Castro initiated what is known as the ‘‘special period’’ — a five-year plan of rationing and austerity.

Tourism is biggest industry

While the country still suffers economic deprivations today, much has improved. In 1994, the dollar was legalized. Foreign investment was encouraged. Since 1996, tourism has taken off. More than 2 million visitors a year have made tourism the country’s number one industry. Pope John Paul II’s visit in 1998 contributed to a more open attitude regarding religion. And then there was Elian. A little boy, his family and his future put a human face on politics.

Our bus made its way through the streets of Havana, a city of 2 million. We drove past once-splendid homes and buildings now faded, neglected and bedecked with flapping laundry hung out to dry. Arriving at the Parque Central Hotel in old Havana, we found an inviting, modern five-star hotel with all the amenities, including buffet breakfasts and a rooftop swimming pool. This was only the first of many contradictions to come.

Our delightful young Cuban guide, Yanelis (pronounced Yen-ellis), was well versed in her country’s history and culture. Slim and pretty, her black hair primly done with a bun at the nape of her neck, she exuded pride in her country. Whenever she referred to 1959 and Castro’s coming to power she described it as the ‘‘triumphal revolution.’’

And indeed it was a triumph — at least for those who had nothing, which appears to have been most of the people. Now it seems that everyone has some things. There is universal health coverage and education in this nation of 11 million people. Life expectancy is 75 years, the same as in the U.S. Cuba has trained so many doctors — more than half of whom are women — that it sends abroad about 3,000 a year as aid to Third World nations. Because of its health and education systems, Cuba is the envy of Latin America.

Supplies are scant

And yet it is a poor country. Physicians’ salaries are about $25-35 a month. Walk into any market and see the meager fare. Food, medicine, consumer goods, even such personal items as soap are in short supply. The first time someone approached us on the street rubbing his arms, I had no idea what that meant. I learned.

‘‘Jab ón?’’ (‘‘Have you any soap?’’)

Traffic is light; there just aren’t that many private cars. Some new foreign models are seen, but it’s the American cars from the 1950s, many of them used as taxis, that really catch the eye. Resourceful owners have used what is at hand to keep them running, and often what was at hand were Russian motors. Polished and cared for, the cars have been preserved out of necessity. Yet, the irony is that classic car buffs could see these autos as objects of desire, coveted luxuries.

Cuba is a country rich in culture — theater and literature and art. But nothing says Cuba more than music and dance. Music is everywhere. All the time. Take a walk on Obispo Street in the heart of the old city and the sounds of rumba or jazz or salsa pour out of the cafes and restaurants. Round a corner and there is a three-piece band playing on the sidewalk. One day, my husband and I stopped for lunch at a Middle Eastern restaurant on the Calle des Arabes and there was a five-woman band playing in the open-air courtyard. There was an evening when we went to a little Italian restaurant with two other couples. Pizza and spaghetti headed the menu. My very good plate of spaghetti cost $4 — all accompanied by a three-piece band.

A word about the food: Not good. I know — that’s two words, but with very few exceptions, that about sums it up. However, maybe you like pork and chicken and rice and beans for lunch and dinner every day. There were times when I just had ice cream for lunch. It’s good. And if you get it at the famed ice cream parlor, Coppelia, it is especially good.

There are ethnic restaurants. As already mentioned there are Italian, Middle Eastern as well as Chinese and Spanish places. But the best choices for authentic Cuban food are the paledares.

Paledares, small restaurants in private homes, were legalized by the government in 1995. The food they serve is usually fresher and better than that found in government-run restaurants. The paladares are regulated to serve a limited number of patrons — either 14 people and/or eight tables — and they are only allowed to employ family members. However the regulations are sometimes exceeded.

There was the night that 30 of us ate under an arbor in a charming patio and were served perhaps the best meal we had in Havana. My dinner of fish was excellent, accompanied by side dishes of the ubiquitous rice and beans but also by delicious eggplant and fried yucca. After the meal, the cook, smiling broadly but shyly, was brought out to take her bows to our enthusiastic applause.

A grand hotel

We ate one other exceptional dinner, at the Hotel Nacional. This legendary hotel in the Vedado district, first opened in 1930, is in the grand tradition of international hostelries. Through the years, everyone from prime ministers to movie stars has bedded down here. Having undergone a recent $15-million restoration, the Nacional is splendid. We ate in its main restaurant, the Comedor de Aguiar, where the bill of fare is much as it would be in any luxurious hotel around the world. Flaming shrimp and Chateaubriand are specialties of the house. Not exactly Cuban cuisine, but very, very good.

The Nacional stands on a hill overlooking Havana Harbor and the Malecon. A walk along this boulevard is a must. On one side is the sea and sea wall, and on the other, former pastel mansions, fading from sun and neglect but somehow beautiful nonetheless.

The architecture of the colonial period is a stunning reminder of past glories. And with repair and renovation — and a lot of money — this city could regain its beauty. Some restorations are under way, frequently spurred by joint ventures. Our hotel, the Parque Central, was built by the Cubans and the Dutch and is part of a European hotel chain known as the Golden Tulip.

A wedding cake of a building

Looking out from the Parque Central onto Central Park, a large open area dominated by a statue of Jose Marti, one sees the splendor of the surrounding buildings. The Hotel Inglaterra’s turn-of-the-century design shows its Spanish influence. Next to it is the 19th-century theater named for Federico Garcia Lorca, a grand wedding cake of a building, the current home of the National Ballet Company. And next door to the theater is the Capitolia. With its 300-foot dome, the grand design of this former seat of Parliament is reminiscent of that of the United States Capitol.

Other American influences abound, not the least of whom is Ernest Hemingway. His home sits on a hill just outside the city. Hemingway lived for 20 years in this open, airy one-story house, still furnished as he left it, books everywhere, animal trophies mounted on the wall. Outside is a now empty swimming pool, and up on dry dock is his boat, the Pilar, named for the fierce and courageous partisan in his novel, For Whom The Bell Tolls.

In Old Havana is Hemingway’s favorite bar, El Floridita which he immortalized as the ‘‘best joint in the Caribbean,’’ also his favorite hotel — the Ambos Mundos where he wrote A Farewell to Arms and where, in the lobby, the walls are covered with photos in homage to ‘‘Papa.’’ A stone’s throw away is his favorite restaurant, La Bodeguita Del Medio where he drank mojitos.

You can, too. And not just at the Bodeguita. The popular Cuban drink is made with mint leaves, lime juice, sugar and rum. My husband and I enjoyed our mojitos but with some modifications. I don’t drink alcohol, and as a diabetic, he doesn’t have sugar. So, I ordered mine sin (without) rum and he ordered his sin azucar. Hemingway would not have approved.

$100 in cigars

In addition to rum and sugar, the other major product of Cuba is, of course, tobacco. Cuban cigars, though world-renowned, are prohibited in the United States. However, people returning from Cuba after a licensed visit are permitted to bring $100 worth of cigars back to the U.S.

Our group visited a tobacco factory one day and we observed the process, all done by hand. My own immigrant grandfather worked as a cigar-maker and I thought of him as I watched a lineup of people work an eight-hour-day rolling flat tobacco leaves on wooden tables. About 800 workers are employed there.

When our presence was announced over a loud speaker — ‘‘doctors from the United States’’ — we were greeted with applause and grins. It never stopped being intriguing: the contradiction of a warm welcome for Americans as against the anger toward official America.

Attending a baseball game in the 60,000-person Estadio Latinoamerica, we again felt friendship from the smiles of people around us. Buying tickets on the way in, we purchased box seats, in the first row behind home plate, at a cost of $3. The stadium was not full, but everyone there seemed to be having fun in an easy, relaxed way. And the teams were good, very good. By the way, the Industriales defeated La Isla. I knew you’d want to know.

Social agency

We visited several medical facilities, including a mental health clinic. Established just 10 years ago, it was the first of its kind in the country. As described to us, its focus is on preventive medicine in all kinds of social health situations: pregnancy, physical abuse, alcoholism, depression, the elderly and adolescents. It is community-based care, more social than biological. That means that the Cubans don’t have the sophisticated medicines that we do and therefore must concentrate on what they can do. And they do it well.

‘‘Hoy y Siempre Revolution. Today and Always the Revolution.’’ It’s not just slogans and billboards such as these that keep the revolution alive. The presence of Fidel Castro is palpable — as befits a nation whose president has been in office for 42 years — even if people don’t know exactly where he lives. And they don’t. But it is Che Guevara who is omnipresent.

His image is on view in art galleries, on the covers of books, in statuary and, most spectacularly, in Revolution Square where the outline of his head is reproduced in wrought iron and covers the entire side of a building. In 1997, 30 years after his death in Bolivia at age 39, the remains of Che Guevara were brought back to Cuba where they were laid to rest amid great public excitement. Che is a mythic figure, one who seems to embody the combined aura of John F. Kennedy, Elvis Presley and James Dean. A martyred hero who dies too young is ripe for that kind of reverence. Castro is now 74.

At a visit to the Beth Shalom Synagogue in Havana we got another insight into the Castro mystique. Adela Duorin, the vice-president of the Jewish Community, spoke to us about meeting El Presidente. ‘‘Why,’’ she asked him, ‘‘have you never come to the Jewish Center?’’

‘‘Because, madam, you never invited me.’’

With that savvy political answer, Castro was met with an equally smart rejoinder. ‘‘All right, Mr. President. Come for Hanukkah.’’ He did, and spoke for two hours, undoubtedly one of his shorter speeches.

Surely, Fidel Castro is one of the most intriguing figures on the world stage. And the nation he leads is no less fascinating.