Viva la Revolution!

I'm currently in Cuba.  It's a unique place for a number of reasons.  For starters, it is really old.  It is the first place in the Americas that was discovered - by Christopher Columbus - and colonised.  It even pre-dates Cortez.  It was from here, already a settled colony, that Cortez set off to conquer Mexico and Central America.  In the town I'm staying in, Trinidad, there's even Cortez's original - pre-glory - house.  In a church in another town (Baracoa) I visited is actually the cross that Columbus first planted on American soil in 1492 - an amazing relic really.

Havana itself is potentially the world's most impressive city.  On a grand scale, full of wide boulevards, with every house an antique.  I say potentially, because the houses remain unpainted, with many slowly crumbling.  A fading beauty as someone called her.

It's hard to know the exact reason for this.  Certainly, until recently, people did not own their own homes and could not buy and sell them - only swap - so perhaps the motivation to care and repair was not there.  Equally though, there seems a shortage of many things here.  The shops seem to sell an assortment of little things - a doorknob, a couple of showerheads and maybe a packet of pens - bits and pieces really.  Particularly acute seems to be transport here, which is a mish-mash of bicycles and mo-peds, old Russian box cars (which look like Ford Cortinas circa 1960) and those huge pre-revolution Cadillacs and Chevis for which Cuba is so famous.  These are owned by a small minority and public transport is virtually non-existant (such a change from Mexico where buses of all description seem always ready to shoot you off to your next destination).  Here it is not uncommon to see ten or twenty people on a street corner, trying to hitch a lift to work.  Or another twenty crammed into the back of a pick'up truck.  It must be very frustrating.

Still, from the people I've talked to, there seems to be strong support for the Government and for the principles of the Revolution.  People still talk of "the Revolution" as if it was yesterday.  There seems to be a fear that were the Government to change, there would be a return to the divide between the very rich and very poor that jump-started the revolution in the first place.  Ironically the on-set of tourism, badly needed to spur the economy on, is partly contributing to this.  In Cuba, there are two currencies.  There´s the ´Cuba Convertibles´ used by the tourists.  These can be exchanged for US currency (dollar for dollar).  Then there´s the domestic currency which looks very similar to Cuba Convertibles but can not be exchanged for foreign currency.  The real ecomony which lies beneath the tourist´s reach exchanges the local currency for CCs at a rate of 24 to 1.  This means that the CCs are extremely valuable and those with access to the tourist dollar - restaurants, hotels and homestays (where families open a room in their house for tourists to stay - strictly regulated) are likely to become the new financial elite as tourism continues to expand.

Also, in a country with no advertising, political manifestos take the place of billboards.  Here the image of Che Guevara is everywhere and not simply on tourist T-shirts.  He remains the hero of the revolution -  as Castro put it, he was the "new (ie post revolutionary) man", one who put the interests of his country and the world before himself.  Of course, its always easy to create the ideal man of someone who died so early in life.  It would be interesting to see what Che, if he had reached a ripe old age, would make of the Cuban revolution today.

Nonetheless, the Cubans are a proud people, and there is definitely a different demeanour here from Mexico.  They hold temselves upright and proud and see see themselves, probably rightly, as the mouse that roared - the tiny island that has defied the world's greatest power for sixty years while the rest of Latin America has been exploited and politically compromised.  The people also look different - the racial mix is black and white rather than the Indian-white mix you see in the most of Central America.  There is also a liberal attitude to sex, with much of the female population dressed like 70s porn stars - tiny shorts, jeans spray painted on and revealing tops - and these aren't small women either!

Economically poor, Cuba is culturally rich - artists and writers (of the right ilk of course) are supported by the State and the rythmn of salsa and "son" are everywhere.  Its as if Soviet-style politics has been transplanted on a Carribean island in the middle of Latin America, and, hey, that's exactly what's happened!  A strange place indeed.

Mexican Oddity

One thing I love about travelling in the Second World is the lack of the kind of spit and polish we in the West are so used to.  There is no "one stop shop" like Woolies or Coles catering to your domestic needs in air conditioned comfort.  Rather, here, the markets are the centre of daily life and one gets a feel for how people live, simply from wandering through the hustle and bustle, taking in the sights, sounds and smells.

Narrow alleyways and literal "holes in the wall" selling rows of chicken and fish; slabs of meat suspended on hooks, with the butcher carving off steaks as you watch.  Rows of produce - limes, tomatoes, avocados and of course chillis - the shops repeated ad infinitum so that you wonder how the shoppers make their choice - is it price or quality?  And live animals - ducks, turkeys and of course chickens - picked up from a basket, turned upside down, feet bound and unceremoniously pushed into a bag.  As Hobbes would say, life for a chicken in Central America is nasty, brutish and short.

This lack of sophistication also has its humorous side.  Murals, street-signs and other decoration lack the sort of finesse that we´re used to at home.  It can lead to some strange sights.  The picture on the right is called,  Baby Jesus blesses the Mayans and your guacamole.






This one on the left I call, Hermann Cortez v Wonder Woman.

Lost in Translation

  

The Nuns were right - it does makes you shrivel up...






And in case, you're wondering whatever happened to Hermit and the Hermanns, here´s Hermann... 

And the rest of the band...

Another odd thing about this part of the world are the clowns.   I don´t think it would be going too far to say that the society is obsessed with them.  They´re bloody everywhere.  There's even one on late night TV - an old lecherous guy in greasepaint and wig, interviewing bikini models and local celebrities.  Kinko eat your heart out!  Here´s me with a much less creepy one, but again, this clown, walking the streets, with little explanation and barely a second glance.  There´s a thesis in there somewhere...

I´m currently in the city of Campeche, on the west (Atlantic) coast of Mexico.  It's an UNESCO World Heritage listed city because of the fortress walls which encicle the town.  These were built by the Spanish in the 17th Century, to ward off predominantly
English pirates like Sir Francis Drake.  The skeleton pictures above are actually taken from the Pirate Museum, built into the city ramparts.  As you can see, the exhibits were barely worth the 52 cent admission price!

Mystery of the Maya

I'm currently in the beautiful town of Antigua, the old colonial capital in the heart of Guatemala.  The town is surrounded by three massive volcanoes so, as you can see, the scenery is spectacular.  Also, because the town is in the heart of the Guatemalan highlands, the countryside is full of the original Mayan people who come into town to sell their embroidery.  While the men dress conventionally, the women still wear their traditional costumes, some of which are stunning.

In the last week or so I have travelled down the coast of Mexico, through Belize and into Guatemala, and in the course of that journey, I've taken in three different Mayan sites: Tulum, set against the backdrop of the Caribbean, and Coba and Tikal set deep within the jungle.

Mayan ruins are scattered throughout Mexico and Guatemala, yet the mystery of these people endures.  Each site represents a city-state and the size of these sites - Tulum for example is spread over a 100km radius - suggests a population for each state in the hundreds of thousands.  Yet around 900 AD the Mayan civilisation went into serious decline.  No one knows the exact reason.  Some have argued that the eruption of a massive volcano in central Guatemala around that time created a cloud that caused crop failure over successive harvests.  

Another theory has the Mayan decline more political than natural.  The Mayans had a highly hierarchical society, with the King at the top, followed by the nobles and priests, the artisans, and finally the peasants, responsible for food production, at the bottom.  The focus of the people was directed at the top.  It was the King and nobles who possessed the written language and astronomical knowledge that allowed crops to be planted on certain dates, and this was divined from the gods.  To ensure success, the gods had to be continually appeased with human sacrifice.  This led to an almost continuous state of warfare between the cities and the building of increasingly monumental pyramids where these sacrifices took place.  Yet once crop failure and continual war devalued sacred knowledge,  the Maya civilisation fell apart.  In this sense, the decline of the Maya follows the pattern of those other great monument makers - the Easter Islanders.  

Today of course, the ruins make a powerful statement on what has gone before.  While Tulum is rightfully the most famous: full of towering pyramids largely intact, the site of Coba was probably my favourite.  The ruins of Coba, spread over almost 70 kms of jungle, are connected by tracks through the bush, with the preferred way of taking it in, by push bike.  In the photo below, from the top of one pyramid you can just make out the tip of another, within the jungle. 

There is something wonderfully atmospheric about riding a bike through these mostly deserted tracks, watching butterflies dance in the mottled light, the wind rustling the rainforest canopy, with monkeys and birds screeching above, and wondering what life must have been like here all that time ago. 

 

The hierarchical structure of the old civilisation left the Maya prone to the Spanish conquistadors.  Once they had wiped out the nobles, the Spanish could quite easily slip into their place and enslave the peasants as indentured labour.  Today the indigenous people, as in the rest of Central and South America, remain on the lowest rung of society.  Indeed, more than most civilisations, one can generally determine social status by skin colour, with the European-looking settlers at the top, the mestizos (mixed blood) in the middle, and the small and dark Maya, at the base.

 

Still, the Mayan retain their belief systems.  Yesterday, I took a bike ride into the countryside and came across this shrine to Saint Simon.  This Saint (with the moustache, red tie and shawl!) represents a blend of Mayan and Catholic beliefs.  It was fascinating to watch the local people enter the shrine and light their candles - red for a love request, green for wealth, pink for health, and black to put a hex on their enemy, while the Shaman at the front of the Shrine (the guy in the red shirt: red being the sacred Mayan colour), shook the worshippers down with the branch of a tree, took a sip of corn liquor and sprayed this over them. 

The photo on the right shows plaques in the same shrine, giving thanks to Saint Simon for providing the various things prayed for and delivered - whether this be a marriage, a child or a car.

Tomorrow (Sunday) I'm heading for a famous Mayan market, Chichiaentengo, deeper into the Guatemalan countryside.  As they say in the movies, there be Indians in them thar hills. 

 

The Colours of Mexico

One thing immediately striking on entering Mexico is the colour.  In place of the "cool", sterilised black and white of urban Western life, the Mexicans aren't afraid to celebrate life through colour.  Its everywhere: in the street vendor's display, in the rich reds and greens of the food, in the colours chosen for housepaint; good lord, its even in my hotel room!

I'm in the coastal town of Playa de Carmen, about an hour south of Cancun.  It was good to escape from Cancun.  The place was full of American college kids on Spring break, the boys with their shirts off, caps backwards; the girls in bikini tops, screeching over the din, both totally smashed - it could have been Surfers during schoolies week; in fact, it could have been anywhere: Kuta, Ibiza, take your pick.

Playa in contrast, is mainly Mexican (or at least Spanish speakers on vacation).  It's a little seaside town with the main street a pedestrian mall, full of shops, bars and restuarants.  It also has a lovely (and unlike Cancun) low-key beach lined with palms and deckchairs - this is the Carribean Coast after all.  Typically for Mexico and Latin America generally, people eat late and as the summer twilight approaches, the streets and central plaza are full of families (theres no early bed for bubba here), young and not so young boys and girls eating their icecreams, sipping their beers and more generally checkng each other out. 
In short, its a pretty cruisy place.  So I've decided to stay put for the week and take some Spanish lessons.  My routine is class from 9 till 1pm (myself and a Canadian girl), then lunch followed by a swim and a doze, maybe a walk through town or the gym, write my journal, have dinner over a couple of cervazas, before turning in and starting all over again.  Its a tough gig but someone has to do it.

New York

New York, New York

It's been almost twenty years since I was last in New York and things certainly have changed.  The much vaunted "clean-up" instituted by former Mayor Rudy Giuliani is in evidence everywhere:  Times Square has transformed from pimp's paradise into shiny tourist mecca, the East Village where I'm staying is no longer full of junkies and punks but looks more like an up-market Surry Hills.  Most surprising of all, the subway cars are no longer smothered in graffiti but are shiny and new, with the only paint job: an American flag posted on each carriage.

That said, NY retains its intensity.  This time around I avoided the tourist pitfalls and instead, wandered the streets, breathing in the ambiance.  One doesn't have to walk far to encounter social history: near where I'm staying, is Charlie "Bird" Parker's former residence (oh, and Madonna's first home); a couple of blocks on, the facade for Led Zeppelin's "Physical Grafitti". 

Further on still, the site of the "Exploding Plastic Inevitable", now a tattoo parlour, where Andy Warhol kicked off pop art.  And of course, throughout the East Village and Lower East Side, those fantastic shop fronts and window displays that seem quintessentially New York.

I avoided Broadway and the big shows at night and instead tapped into the local scene: most memorably, the Nuyorican Poet's Cafe, a collective where for a $5 admission and the price of a cheap wine or two, one can see what this part of New York is about.  The night I arrived it was open mike and the talent was extraordinary:  a punky performance poet confronting the crowd with her take on casual sex; an angry black rapper and a group of black girls singing acapella; a young Asian guy with an experimental violin piece that rarely used a bow but was incredible nonetheless.  All of it mind-blowing and original, so far from the polished blandness of The Voice and other cynical exercises.