Trick-or-Treating (Kinda) in Cuba
I recently returned from a trip to Cuba. I had a wonderful time. Cuba is a beautiful and poor country where the absence of American influence is immediately noticeable and welcome. Called The Forbidden Tour, the theme of this trip was things haunted, spooky, and horror. Okay,… it was really just an excuse for we American tourists to take advantage of a group tour to Cuba while we still have the chance—Donald Trump is working tirelessly to close the door that was opened by Barack Obama. I’m glad our group got in when we did, and while we were there, we knew we were in a window of opportunity that would soon be shut to Americans. And, really, out of nothing more than spite. Sad.
I’ve been on five or six of these haunted horror trips. My friend Charles is the organizer, and his company is based in Connecticut. He keeps dreaming up new tours we can do, which gives us an excuse to go to new countries. Cuba is not really known for its haunted sites, but we found a few. The bunkers at the National Hotel in Havana offered some serious pings on Charles’s ghost-hunting app. We also toured Castillo de Jagua, an old fort that was made of mortar using animal blood and that is believed to be haunted by a “woman in blue.” Supposedly, her bones were excavated during a renovation and are now on display in the castle’s chapel under a thin sheet of plexiglass.
I was also humbled and honored to be a guest at an actual Santeria ceremony. The unsettling part of the ceremony was the noticeable pig’s head at the back of the room and a large plastic bucket that looked like it had the remains of a dog in it. From what I understand, Santerians practice animal sacrifice, and being a vegetarian and an animal lover, I’m not sure how I feel about that. I have tremendous respect for people of all faiths, but on some things, I’ll have to agree to disagree.
The Santerians were incredibly generous and offered us shots of black coffee with sugar, plates of pineapple and watermelon, bags of popcorn, and even gift bags with incense sticks, cigars, a tea candle, a paper cone of what I think is either incense or possibly dried beans, and a chalk seashell. The English-speaking priest asked us if we’d be interested in buying plastic baby dolls in custom Santerian outfits that were supposedly imbued with magical energy or spirits. I declined (even though I’m a toy collector), but now I regret it because they didn’t ask for donations at the end of the ceremony, and selling the dolls was probably a source of income for them.
Our group danced with the Santerians as men played drums at the front of the room and one man sang in a beautiful voice, calling out to the congregation and being answered in kind. I really worked up a sweat and felt the energy in the room. Two women had to be escorted from the dance area when it was clear they were possessed of the spirit. In Santeria, the spirits or orishas ride the dancers and possess them. Instead of being frightened, I was awed. It was a humbling experience to be part of it all.
Other sites we saw included the grand cemetery in Havana, which is the largest urban cemetery in the world. We actually lost an older man from our group and had to organize a search party, fearing he had passed out from the heat somewhere in the forest of mausoleums. Being a loner, he had a penchant for going off on his own, but I finally spotted him on his way toward us on an avenue that was being used for a military drill. Phew! That was the most unpleasant scare on the trip.
Havana is beautiful. I had the opportunity to ride “the oldies”; antique cars from the ‘50s and ‘60s that have been kept in good condition since they were made and are now used mainly as cabs for tourists. Riding along the beautiful Malecon seawall was like a dream and a reminder that my heart belongs in seaside towns.
The people of Havana were stoic and thoroughly unimpressed with Americans, which was both humbling and relieving. It was nice to walk around and not be stared at, even if we looked like goths in our dark clothes, T-shirts with ouija board prints, and (gasp!) facial hair! Everyone looked the same in terms of clothing to me, and I was longing for just one or two university students to come walking along with brightly colored hair… or piercings… or a mohawk. It never happened while I was there. The whole country was so understated. The only billboards were those advertising propaganda. There were no logos or ads jumping in our faces at every turn, and it was hard to know if we were looking at a restaurant or a copy center from the outside. It felt like the whole country was a speakeasy.
And not a single Starbucks in sight! Hallelujah! Although I did have my traveling companions doubled over with laughter when I asked the barista at the National Museum’s snack shop (in a whiny valley girl voice), “Can I get a venti caramel macchiato? I haven’t had a caramel macchiato in days, okay? I am so dying right now.” Of course, the request went way over his head, and he made me a frozen lemonade, one of only about three beverages on offer. It was delicious.
My friend Krys and I got up at 6:15 to run 4 miles on several mornings. We loved watching the sun come up as we ran down by the water. Commuters were out waiting for the unreliable buses even at that early hour. We said, “Hola,” to many of them as we passed, and the Cubans were very friendly. Watching the sun come up as we ran on those early mornings reminded me how beautiful this life can be.
Cuba is one of those places where you can actually use your rudimentary Spanish and not get an eye roll, like you do when you’re in Europe—where everyone is fluent in English and doesn’t have time for you to struggle with verb conjugation. I was pleasantly surprised to see that my four years of high school Spanish and subsequent years of reading the language and eavesdropping has made me decidedly conversant. I was able to help my friend Lynn find a souvenir map of Cuba at the airport, told the cashier in a grocery store that Cuban coffee is reputed to be among the best in the world, and had a conversation with a man in front of the National Theater about how he’s happy to see tourists but the government takes all the tourist dollars… speaking of which, could I spare a peso or two and maybe a couple bars of soap?
We Americans are spoiled for choice, and it’s something you take for granted until you walk into a Cuban grocery store and see only two choices of coffee, three choices of shampoo, and hear rumors that a shipment of Gouda cheese can cause a near run on the store. Some of our group complained that hotel cleaning staff were stealing toiletries. I don’t think this was due to need so much as an actual hunger for choice. At one stop, a man asked me if I had Ivory soap on me, something rare in Cuba. It’s human nature to want choice and variety in all things, and we Americans don’t know how lucky we are.
And that brings me to the part of my story about the kids. In our emails prior to the trip, Charles recommended that we bring cheap toys and toiletries to hand out to the Cubans. The weekend before leaving, I went around to the dollar stores in my neighborhood picking up bars of soap, cheap Barbie knock-offs, coloring books, crayons, pencils, Matchbox cars, and Pez dispensers. It seemed like every time we ran into a group of school kids, my goodies were stowed in my suitcase under the bus where I couldn’t access them. It happened outside Hemingway’s house and again outside Castillo de Jagua. Just seeing the looks on the kid’s faces was priceless. Finally, I got smart and started carrying my goodies around in a canvas tote bag with the tour logo on the front. I was like a wide-eyed, maniacal Santa Claus on the lookout for kids. When we got to the National Theater, I spied a little boy with no shirt on and a pair of shorts hanging out in front of a restaurant. He must have been about five or six. I was across the street and couldn’t get to him in time because he disappeared when I crossed. I was heartened that some tourists walking by handed him a green tennis ball before I could get to him.
A few minutes later, I spied a little girl holding the hand of a man who I assumed to be her grandfather. Quickly, I reached into my bag and handed her one of the knock-off Barbies. I’ll never forget the look on her face! Her mouth formed a little “o” and her eyebrows shot up. Isn’t it the best feeling in the world to make kids happy? I had read reports that girls actually line up on the playground to play with a single Barbie doll. And I think that sucks!
As I continued walking with my group, I looked back and saw that the girl and her grandfather had stopped. She then came running back to me with the doll. I shouted to her, “¡Es tuyo! ¡Es tuyo! (It’s yours! It’s yours!)”, thinking she was bringing the doll back to me because her grandfather wanted to teach her a lesson in modesty. Boy, was I ever wrong! She pointed to the other two dolls sticking out of the top of my bag and said that she wanted those, too! I obliged. So, now she either has a whole set of new dolls for herself or she’s going to give the others to her sister(s) or classmates. I admired her enterprising spirit!
The rest of my goodies went quickly. It gave me such a great feeling to hand out each item. The girl on her dad’s shoulders who cheered when I handed her a coloring book and a box of crayons. The little boy who shyly turned away from me when I handed him an Optimus Prime Pez dispenser. (His mother assured him it was okay.) The parents were always so appreciative. But that little boy who got away will always stay with me. I send you positive vibes, little man!
At the end of the week, our group customarily has a costume ball where we get dressed up and compete for prizes. Although I won “Crowd Favorite” on our last trip to Germany and Prague, my Spring-Heeled Jack costume was an utter failure. No one knew who I was supposed to be. I decided not to wear makeup with it because it was so hot and muggy. You won’t find many pictures of me in our shared group photos. I think I just weirded everyone out in my skeleton shirt, bat cape, and cut-up rubber Batman mask. (I was having flashbacks to a similar experience when I was a child.) No matter. I’ll wear the costume again for Halloween and then retire it. I love the character and was glad to wear him in costume form.
So, that was my haunted mystery tour to Cuba! What an amazing time. It’s sad to think that if you’re an American and are reading this, you might not have the chance to visit Cuba for a while. The Trump administration is moving quickly to slam that door shut. And thereby taking away one of our freedoms. “Make America Great Again,” he says? My advice is to get there this year (2017). If you’re interested, Charles is offering the tour again next year, if Americans can still travel to Cuba. But the next trip will be more of a tour for music and food than a horror tour. Tropicana and Buena Vista Social Club were some music venues we got to enjoy, and I highly recommend you check them out if you’re in Havana.
And be sure to bring lots of toys for the kids!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RMhS5Xt_sRE&list=PLPd7HOSqosr5QPRTrdJiwt9dVaFmz7UpF