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The scenery in the far Oriente province became suddenly spectacular. Most of Cuba is relatively flat and monotonous. It's also rather depressing as it lacks agriculture and livestock. Here, though, the fields become lush with tropical food and fruits. Bananas everywhere. White Brahma cows roaming about. The shape of the land though, is what really took my breath away. Sudden drops into valleys and rises to steep mountainous highs show the tumultous volcanic history of this region. Then, down one bend and up a single rise, we were in the real tropics. The cool cloudy sky left us behind and we were in the hot, steam bath of true jungle climate. The temperature rose 20 degrees in that mile...   Santiago de Cuba is the second largest city. Like Havana and many towns here it's also 500 years old. The big difference here is that the streets were really built for horses and carts. The impression, then, is of cramped quarters and automobile fumed-up streets. Like San Francisco it's built up and down large hills that didn't allow for space and sprall. I felt it was over-rated and didn't care for the fumes, so I only spent two days there.

. Santiago de Cuba A colonial city in southern Cuba .

  The second night back was Valentine's Day, or "Day of the Lovers". It may be the biggest holiday of the year. Next to their kids, Cubans adore romance. Third would be cash of course, which is scarce. I couldn't find a restaurant which wasn't jam-packed and didn't have a line of a dozen couples waiting. Everyone had on their best and the streets were alive with giggles and smiles-but I was hungry. I finally found a state-run cafe (famous for lack of service and poor food since the help isn't paid and gets no tip) with only one couple inside. I sat down, famished, and hardly noticed the salty toughness of my ham steak. The boiled potatoes were fine and the bill was $1. The problem arrived when I discovered I only had a $20 US bill and no Cuban pesos. I presented it to the waitress, who, confused, came back a few minutes later with a $1 change. I explained to her that I needed another $18. She eventually understood and sent another person out to the streets for change. I thought this was just another typical Latin American change problem until all of a sudden, the manager appeared and proceeded to chew me out. He kept saying I knew better and would be in big trouble if I ever tryed THAT again. I finally realized that these restaurants weren't even allowed to accept dollars. He would've been subject to a big fine had an inspector come in just then...!

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New levels of gastronomic experience are available in Havana: We were eating in the restaurant "Vietnam" the other day. It's on a quiet side street and has a sunny patio inside. We were seated and noticed several patrons who'd been waiting for some time, drumming their fingers on the table and such. Two minutes later, to their stares of chagrin, plates of food were set down in front of us. Surprised, we took a few bites, to discover neither of us had what we'd just ordered!

 "Mine's chicken, not fish." "Me too, Pork, not steak!" So we hailed the waiter, who stared at the plates. "You're right." he proclaimed, and proceeded to take our partially eaten food over to the next table. The hungry customers seemed not to notice, or care, whether their food was all there or had been nibbled upon...

  Our wait stretched to the more appropriate 45 minutes. We completed lunch and were picking our teeth when a truck stopped just outside. The noise level suddenly increased a few decibles and we began to fidget and try to get the waiter's eye. Two men, then, with large hose, climb through the window next to us, proceed through our room to the patio and on to the kitchen. It was the water suppliers. The noise then really began, as the pump-motor outside on the truck kicked in. This was promptly followed by screams and squeals from the patio inside. Leaping from our seats to get a look we suppressed our giggles. The hose had been full of small holes and every other table in there was being sprayed big time. Another memorable lunch in Havana...

   The only axiom for the place is that, in Cuba, nothing is quite what it seems. A symbolic perpetration of this oddity is the construction of amazing plastic flowers. These critters had me bending and sniffing for aroma several days before I could control myself. I don't feel quite so stupid today as I watch 1/2 a dozen fruit flies being fooled. In front of me they're clamoring over the perfect pink and green leaves of a synthetic hyacinth bouquet. They don't seem to get enough for they're still there hours later.

  Another evening I sat finishing a chicken leg at an outside cafe in China town. As I paused, deciding whether to eat the last 2 bites, an old, ancient, dude in straw hat crept slowly up to my table. Not wishing to encourage a begging scenario I turned my head away for a few seconds to let him know that. With close to the speed of light the old man snapped out of his creeping mode, snatched up that mostly gone chicken leg, and high-tailed it out of there, down the street, so fast that I and a few patrons next to me stood up in fascination. My jaw hanging open, the other locals around shouted: "Pollo bandito, pollo bandito (chicken bandit)...

  Well this is beginning to ramble and go nowhere so must be near the end. This trip was, as usual, fascinating and provocative and a bit of a trial from the lack of the usual luxuries. The incredibly gorgeous buildings falling down or needing paint elicit the same melancholy depression. I still gag when I see the police regularly stop, search and arrest people. I smile
when I see the people taking this all with grains of salt, dancing and singing through the dreary day. I get somber in the evenings when sitting in unpainted rooms with only small flourescent bulbs for light (Castro has banned incandescent lighting to save current !). I get hungry for real food. I miss hot water but at least spring/summer has arrived so that becomes a minor issue. I get pissed when the Cuban Customs and freight handlers open all the passengers bags at outgoing flights and rip them off, watch out(!), I lost a pocket-knife and some cigarettes but my seat-mates lost a digital telephone and a camera.

   I got sick of watching demonstrations and TV blackouts in favor of "returning" Elian, the little boy who reached Miami and is being used in a massive propaganda pitch by the government. They whip the people into a froth of emotion, making them even more schizophrenic. Cubans almost to a person wish to get to Miami but they also place the children and family above most all else so they make up songs about the poor little boy who's lost his country, "the son of the fatherland..." and such) to please the Party apparatus.

  And especially, I have sweet melancholy dreams of my lover, Yaisy, who I can never see again unless I return to her hot home in Santiago de Cuba. Our passionate moments together were the spices which, more often than not, concealed the bitter cake of evry-day Cuban life.

  The quick 40 minute air-hop back to Cancun provoked the usual "culture shock". Civilization, in all it's incongruent glory leapt out, feeding the hard-to-imagine fantasies and nightmares of my 21'st Century mind...