POSTURA REPORT: CUBA TRIP

07-14-00 7750 wordsTo understand this journey, first you must understand what immediately preceded it. Duringour sabbatical stay in Granada, I began to reopen my

décima

research via Internet and readseveral new texts that expanded my knowledge of the poety form in Cuba, in theAlpujarras of Almería, and in the Canary Islands. I also discovered that an annual décimafestival and academic conference was held in Cuba in late June, and I arranged toparticipate and read my paper there.Décima (also known as

espinela

) is a Spanish poetic form consisting of 10 eight-syllablelines and a peculiar palindromic abbaaccddc rhyme structure which was as popular in 17thcentury Spain as, say, the sonnet was in England. But while the sonnet remained a resourcefor academic poets only and is now practically extinct, décima became widespread amongpopular poets and campesinos all over Latin America who improvise and sing in the form.While the tradition hangs on in places like Spain’s Canary Islands, Argentina, Perú, PuertoRico, and Mexico, it is particularly vital and successful in Cuba, where it is more than a formof popular and literary culture, it is a sort of competetive sport. Just to give an idea, in the1950s a “controversia” or two-poet face-off drew over 10,000 spectators. Today’s Cubandécima fans can tune in to prime-time TV and radio shows, and books of décimas sellbriskly.Our 10-month stay in Spain came to an abrupt and devastating end with the unexpecteddeath of my father-in-law. Marilyn had returned home immediately on learning of his finalcrisis, while I flew back on June 16 with the girls and a cache of luggage worthy of an awfulTarzan movie. I had no train of sweating bearers, however; it was me and two little girls.We were not able to check our bags through to San Francisco, so we had to pick ‘em up inMadrid and then take everything to the pension where we spent the night, and then beforedawn back to the airport (it took 30 minutes just to get the bags from the room to the street,using the phone-booth sized elevator). Even with the checked luggage off our hands, wehad seven extremely heavy carry-ons to contend with. In all, an exhausting trip physicallyand emotionally.I spent two days in Saunamento, then Marilyn drove me to San Francisco, where wevisited a few people before Marilyn drove back. I took care of my chores and attended arumba on Wednesday night that Galo had thoughtfully called in my honor. It was wonderfulto see my musical buddies again, especially those who have been in touch with me overthe past year. I was appalled. however, to see just how rusty I was after 10 monthswithout a rumba, and I was worried about making a fool of myself in Cuba, where I wasplanning to sing.

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The next day I spent some time out in the Sunset, and later walked along Haight Street. Ifound San Francisco, the city I love so well, disappointingly shabby and tacky; the first signthat my reintegration into this society might be more stressful than I anticipated. Thatevening I made my way to the airport and had my first travel shock when the zipper pull ofmy brand-new Spanish convertable travel pack broke clean off and I had to improvise a fix.I recount all this just to establish that I began the voyage already jet-lagged, bag-sore,home-sick, overly-hyphenated, and generally out-of-it.The red-eye flight to Cancún, with irritating deplaning stops in Guadalajara and Mexico DF,was OK, but my pack failed to arrive when I reached Cancún. It came on a later flight,minutes before my Cubana flight boarded. The

Cubana de Aviación

experience was thesame as the one I survived in 1995: first, suffocating heat as the plane sits on the tarmac,then the sinister appearance of roiling clouds of thick white vapor, supposedly from the airconditioning, that give one the sensation of being fumigated while helplessly wedged in thewobbly, narrow seats.Immigration formalities in Havana were slow; apparently I no longer resemble thesuperannuated preppie grinning vacuously in my passport picture, made just a few yearsago. But the sullen migra lady smiled when I told her I was headed to the décimaconference in Victoria de las Tunas, Cuba’s poorest province, and one seldom visited byforeigners. She waved me through, I found my ride into town, spent an hour negotiatingwith my unresponsive travel agency Paradiso, and finally checked into the Hotel St. John, inVedado a few blocks from the

Malecón

.Once unpacked and settled, I went for a walk along that emblematic seafront promenade,where Cubans can be seen strolling or sitting 24 hours a day. Seeing the rainbow of faces,hearing the distinctive Cuban Spanish after a year of Andaluz, and especially seeing thesillouhette of the colonial fortress across the bay, I got all choked up. Yes, I was in Cuba atlast!Friday I did not have the energy to do much more. After dinner in the hotel, I walked theMalecón again and at night went up to the hotel’s nightclub, the semi-famous “

Rincón del Filin

” where crooners perform “

filin

” or “feeling”, apparently a genre of sentimental balladsand boleros. The evening’s first singer was histrionic and out of tune, so I followed my “filin”and got out of there before the $5.00 door charge was collected and went to bed.

Putting the RUM in RUMBA

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Saturday I missed breakfast, having failed to set my watch forward an hour from Cancuntime. So on just a thimbleful of coffee, I walked into Havana Vieja where I gawked at theColonial and Neoclassical buildings and bought some old books on décima in the usedbook market near the Cathedral. it turned out that I had scored some very rare texts thatlater excited the envy of the Casa de la décima people in Las Tunas. That done, I ate at a

paladar

(private restaurant) for the first time, unloaded my books at the hotel, and took a

cocotaxi

, an unstable-looking three wheeled sphere that seats two or three intrepidpassengers) to

El Gran Palenque,

the headquarters of Cuba’s National Folkloric Ensemble,for their weekly “

Sábado de la Rumba

” event. I was greeted there by Lourdes, a memberof the troupe, now in an administrative capacity I believe, who I knew casually from her visitsto the Bay Area.Unfortunately the

Conjunto

was on tour (in Spain, I think) and the featured group, whileelaborately costumed and well-rehearsed, was not of the high quality I had been hoping for.They sounded a lot better when they called a friend up from the audience to sing lead. Iwas charmed when several elderly ladies seated in the front, who appeared to be relativesof the performers, got up to dance, and when one lady insisted that I join her in the aisle, Igamely got up and shuffled about as best as I could.Only a few people in this world have had the misfortune of seeing me dance, as I am veryselfconscious of my limitations in this area. Indeed, I am equally inept and anxious in allgross motor activities, from martial arts to ball sports. So you can imagine my horror when,later in the program, I was obliged to take the stage with this venerable grand dame as mypartner and compete in a rumba dance contest alongside a couple of sleek young Cubans.I know the basic step, at least, and I tried to copy the moves of my rivals across the stage,but the whole thing was mortifying in the extreme. When the guaguancó was finally,mercifully over, the MC asked the crowd to vote for the winning couple, taking into accountthe “spirit” of each and generally biasing the public to applaud for us, which they did. Wewere awarded a dinner plate trimmed in gold and full of bee’s honey which the dancerrepresenting the deity Oshún had used in her performance. My erstwhile dance partnerdistributed the honey digitallty (that is, with her fingertip) to the spectators, and kept theplate, or more likely returned it to Oshún.I returned to the hotel to shower and change (all my clothes were soaked in the sweat offear) and then walked to the nearby Las Vegas club to see one of my favorite rumbagroups, Yoruba Andabo. They played an excellent, if too-short, set, and were joined bythe members of Clave y Guaguancó, one of the most popular newer ensembles. I hadfinally heard and seen the high-level rumba I enjoy so much. I ate dinner at the hotel (I had ameal plan included in my fee) and went to bed. No salsa club for me. I was feeling timid

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