I got off the plane from Havana around 7 p.m. Sunday into the blessed cool of the Minnesota late spring. Immediately: A stream of conversations.
Everyone wanted to know: "What was it like? What happened? What did you see?"
My responses were easy: "It was amazing, intense. It was an honor to go. It was fascinating. You should see my pictures."
I am telling the truth, but deep down I am still processing what just happened. To go to Cuba at this exact moment, when everything is in flux, with an orchestra that is recovering from what was arguably a near-death experience during an agonizing labor dispute is a lot to take in.
Back in Cuba, just before we boarded the buses for the Havana airport, I chatted with musicians, staff and board members about the trip. Bass player Kate Nettleman astutely observed that the experience was so intense, emotional and layered in meaning it was going to be impossible to really convey what happened to people who hadn't been there. In fact it struck me that there is a danger of slipping into cliche and hyperbole in any description, and that does no one any good.
So let me describe some scenes that stick with me as emblematic of ... well, I don't know. Let me get back to you on that.
Wednesday, pre-flight, at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport:
A security guard waved us into a special line. Traveling in a group of 160 seems to have some privileges. He was a big grizzled guy with gray hair who smiled at us as we passed.
"Where you folks off to today?" he asked.
"Havana, Cuba!" someone cheerily responded.
His face immediately fell. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Why? Have you been there?"
"Once," he replied. "Didn't like it. Not in our tiny spot."
He turned away, and we moved on to have our documents scrutinized, wondering if he'd meant Guantanamo.
A few days later, in the Teatro Nacional de Cuba:
I watched as an orchestra, 200 strong, made up of the Minnesota musicians and members of the Cuban National Youth Orchestra, worked through a side-by-side rehearsal under the baton of Osmo Vanska.
The young people oozed talent, but they played old instruments that hadn't been much good even when they were new.
The Minnesota musicians tried help with this -- and the students' lack of basics such as sheet music -- by bringing with them as many supplies as they could carry.
The Cuban kids somehow were able to produce extraordinary beauty despite their equipment handicaps. When Minnesotans and Cubans played together they produced an extraordinary wall of sound.
As I am wont to do in such circumstances, I watched faces -- the students' faces. I saw deep focus and concentration, occasional surprise, one or two moments of terror, but overall excitement and joy at playing music with their newfound friends and mentors.
That's when I felt the first lump in my throat during the trip.
Saturday, strolling through Old Havana:
Then there was the walk I took with Pedro, one of the Cubans who helped the MPR crew during our visit.
He took me to Old Havana, the historic remnants of the first Spanish settlement on the island. It's beautiful and evocative, although it's always hard to forget the early history of slavery on the island. We walked into Cathedral Square and soaked in the atmosphere.
A half-dozen locals sat on the sidewalk, chatting. Suddenly Pedro laughed as a woman leaned over the balcony above and shouted at one of the men below.
"She says, if capitalism is going to work, you have to do more than that!" he reported. The men laughed, and she went inside shaking her head.
We met Cubans who were well-educated and well-informed, and who were delighted to see us. They were eager for change, and to see the island overcome challenges that hobble the economy.
But they were wary, too, knowing the danger that opening things up would bring: A wave of outsiders who might bring change they don't like. Jokes about the arrival of the first U.S. hamburger or coffee chain only produce uncomfortable smiles.
Saturday night, packing up at the Teatro Nacional:
But then there was the sight after the second concert that seemed to point to the possibilities of a new Cuba. It was after the second concert, during which the audience had been brought to tears by the joint performance of the Cuban and U.S. national anthems, and then exhilarated by a performance from "West Side Story" -- and the Cuban tune "Malaguena," which evoked cheers.
The crowd had gone, off into the hot sticky Havana night. The orchestra crew was already deep into packing up, as musicians began heading for the buses back to the hotel. A few of the players stuck around, talking with and hugging the students they had met and mentored.
The percussionists -- with the most instruments per person out of any of their orchestra colleagues -- had the most to pack up, and so stayed behind the longest. As the stage emptied, a young man walked over the orchestra's vibraphone, which had been moved to one side, waiting to be rolled over to a traveling trunk. It's a beautiful thing, shining in the stage lights, and likely better than anything the students have at their music school.
The young man picked up the mallets and began to play. | LISTEN
The sweet sound rang out strong and sweet across the stage, rising above the crash of stacking chairs and the rumble of wheels rolling to the trucks. The young man smiled and played on, looking out, perhaps just to the empty theater, but perhaps to the future.
His tune finished, he set down the mallets, stuck his hands in his pockets and walked off with his friends, out into the night, and into the future.
Top and bottom photos: Nate Ryan | Classical MPR/Minnesota Orchestra
Middle photos: Euan Kerr | MPR News
