OUR TRIP TO CUBA
OUR TRIP TO CUBA
April 27th - May 4th 1996
Whenever we told people that we were going to Cuba, their first response was "But that's illegal isn't is?" It isn't actually, although direct charter flights were stopped after the recent incident. Getting there and back proved to be totally routine, but I must confess that until I saw the sign "Jose Marti" outside the airplane window, part of me was expecting something to go wrong.
We went to Cancun via the "air only" component of a vacation getaway charter. My father flew
there on American airlines. From Cancun there are two options, Cubana and Aero Caribe.
Cubana is cheaper ($179 round trip vs. $222) but they suddenly (sometime between mid-February
and late March) stopped flying on Saturdays, so we took Aero Caribe. Unfortunately, the
Saturday flight out of Havana is the most popular (apparently the leaving-and-not-coming-
back-flight) so, despite our best efforts, we had to leave Havana on Friday instead of Saturday.
The flight from Cancun to Havana took 50 minutes. Our fellow passengers, the ones who stood
on line with us as Aero Caribe demonstrated true third world efficiency, included a Polish
diplomat who has lived all over the world and had just been assigned to Havana, a young Italian
businessman, also a world traveller on vacation, who told us that vacationing in Cuba is very
popular in Italy, and two French couples, apparently on vacation.
The only thing that was unusual about getting into Cuba was that they x-rayed our baggage again after we got off the plane and they filled out a special form because we were bringing in a laptop. They were very eager to record some sort of serial number, but were perfectly satisfied to record the University of Missouri, St. Louis ID number which the computer still had from its pre- surplus property existence. Also, a visa cost $15, payable before departure in Mexico and there is another $15 to pay upon departure from Havana.
I will first describe the cast of characters, listed in random order. It would be redundant to
describe each of them as warm and generous. First the group that met us at the airport:
1. Juan Carlos-my original contact. I got to know him after he sent for a reprint of one of my
papers on heart rate variabiliy. I sent the reprint with a note saying that if he had e-mail, I would
be happy to hear from him. One thing led to another....Juan Carlos is 33 years old and an
endocrinologist at the National Institute of Endocrinology. He had to get an exceptional score on
an exam to get the position (one of two in Cuba). His specialty is diabetes. He works 12 hours a
day, at least 6 days a week, and like all of the other professionals, makes $20 a month, of which
he spends 10% on bus fare, riding from his father-in-law's house to the Institute. He does not
have a car or a bicycle. Since he is the head of the union at his worksite, it would look bad if he
awarded a bicycle to himself, so he is stuck. He has a house in Santa Clara occupied by elderly
uncles, which is far from Havana and hope to trade it for a house in Havana and bring the uncles
there. His father, with whom he does not get along, is a general and therefore was not permitted
to meet us, but he may help Juan Carlos find a house. Between my Spanish and his English
(better than my Spanish) we managed about 75% communication. In appearance, Juan Carlos
was a mixture of African and Spanish.
2. Porfirio-Juan Carlos' father-in-law and a hemotologist who has done research on heart rate
variability in sickle-cell anemia. His English is quite good and he was hospitable and charming.
He owns a house and two cars (for some reason), both Ladas. In Cuba when a house or car
becomes available, the state finances it for a small percent of your salary, so there are no financial
barriers to ownership. Insurance is also very cheap but the gas ration is only 5 gallons per person
three times a year, so gas is obtained by unofficial means.
3. Anastasio-maybe the head of the Institute of Cardiology- definitely a cardiologist. In his 50's.
Doing research on heart rate variability in enlarged hearts. Very aware of the limitation of their
techology. Almost wept when I told him at lunch that I thought they were doing very good
research on heart rate variability.
4. Andy-our driver whom we paid $20/day-Andy is in his late 20's or early 30's. He does not
speak English but his warm, laid-back presence and his intimate knowledge of Havana were
invaluable. Andy was patience incarnate. He drove us around in his 19 year-old red Lada and
smiled a lot. He did remark that if Jonah (my son) had come with us, as he originally hoped, there
was no way that Jonah would have fit into the Lada. We usually rode with Andy and Juan Carlos
in the front and Vally, me and my father in the back. My poor father spent a lot of time squeezing
himself into a Lada and then extricating himself again. If you can't visualize a Lada, picture any
small 4-door Japanese car of the early '70s. Andy is a structural engineer but he spends all of his
time driving. He did tell us about a drunken 2-year stint at a sugar cane/rum factory out in the
middle of nowhere. He returned to Havana with serious questions about his sobriety but he was
okay in Havana. When we went to his house, where he lives with his wife and 6 or 7 year-old
son, he showed us his shop. It was amazing. He had managed to create an entire
workshop-welding equipment, lathe, table saw, power sander out of salvaged objects. I think if
anything broke on the Lada, he could simply fabricate a replacement.
5. Roberto-professor of chemistry. Looks Russian, which he is not, although he got his Ph.D. in
Moscow and had to write his dissertation in Russian. Has travelled extensively. Speaks excellent
English. Roberto has a car (a 12 year-old Lada) and basically built his own house out of
scavenged and unoffically obtained materials, which we visited. He lives with his second wife,
also a chemist and two children (6 and about 13). Roberto has such a wonderful laugh and sense
of humor that saying funny things in his presence is a marvelous way to pass the time.
6. Alex-Roberto's student. Alex had originally written to Vally for some reprints and was using a
process from one of his papers. We expected Alex to be older but he was in his early 20's with an
unruly mane of curly blond hair (almost shoulder length). His ancestors came from the Canary
Islands. He has a slightly wispy, lost quality, possibly because he lost his father when he was very
young. He lives with his grandparents and has a bicycle. Alex is a brilliant student with excellent
English. He is trying for a fellowship to study in France or Japan next year. Vally would love to
have him, but I don't think its possible. Alex took my father to the May Day celebration.
Well, that's who came to the airport at 9:40 PM. We went the the apartment in a two car
caravan. I was too interested in talking with my new friends to even look out the window.
These people did not meet us at the airport.
1. Mercedes-the landlady of our apartment for which we paid $40/day. In her late sixties, short,
buxom with slightly disheveled henna- colored hair. Spoke little bits of English. Took the best
care of us that she knew how. Showed us a photograph of a younger version of herself among a
group of girls, apparently at a party, surrounding a younger version of Fidel Castro. There was a
large poster of Che in her living room but she did not go to the May Day demonstration, saying
she had a heart condition. I didn't get a good sense of her life or her history but got the idea that
she was a party member and had benefitted from that fact. Normally she lived in the apartment
but while we were there she stayed in her daughter's apartment two doors down. People there
seemed to spend their waking hours smoking and watching television, but then I was mostly there
in the morning and the evening. Last year she had hosted some people from Sri Lanka and
apparently they drank their coffee from a glass. She was completely certain that Vally, too,
looking just like those people from Sri Lanka, would want his coffee that way. It was an
unshakable conviction. Similarly, Mercedes and my father participated in what I came to call the
"coffee wars." Cubans have a very fixed idea of what coffee is-expresso served in a very small
cup. What we drink here, they refer to as "coffee soup." Vally had no problem with this. I had
no problem with this because I cut it with warm (reconstituted powdered) milk. My father, on the
other hand, could not STAND Cuban coffee and tried to get Mercedes to make some his way. It
never worked, and on the last evening, he finally made his own coffee (without the proper
equipment) and left it to be drunk at 4:30 AM when we had to get up. Mercedes got up too-to
wake us up and make coffee. She doesn't have an alarm clock, I guess, because her strategy was
to call someone else who would call and wake her up. In light of the erratic Cuban,
pre-revolutionary phone system that could have been risky, although we didn't think of that at the
time. When we left, Mercedes gave us a gift-two Cuban flags.
2. Gilda (pronounced Hilda)-the translator for the Endocrinology Institute, probably in her late
40's or early 50's. When Vally and I were busy with our scientific pursuits, my father went off
with Gilda and Andy. They took him to see anything he wanted. She was incredibly
knowledgable, direct, somewhat skeptical and protective of her charge, my father. Gilda lived in
the US until she was 6, so her English is excellent. I regret that I didn't have time to really talk
with her because basically I only talked with men. I was amused by one vignette. We were
talking about the mango trees, which are all over (as are coconuts and bananas) and how when
the mangos ripen, children love to throw rocks at them to knock them out of the trees, which
creates a big mess. (Vally said he did the same thing as a child in India.) Anyway there is a
mango tree outside the Institute and her office is on the third floor. What she does is, on a Friday,
just before the mangos ripen, she opens her window and using a basket on a stick, she simply
harvests them from her office before the children can get them. I love the image, of this woman
climbing out her office window and harvesting mangos!
3. Alisia-Juan Carlos' wife. All of us were struck by her incredible beauty of spirit. Her presence
was so sweet and pure. She is a physician and they met during their residency. We hardly saw
her- only twice at her parents' house, because she is busy studying for her Endocrinology boards.
This exam will determine her career. If she does well enough, she will be able to work at the
Institute and do research. If she does not then she will be assigned to a community hospital where
the opportunities are much more limited. Only two people, so far, have manage to do well
enough to work at the Institute (not sure of the time scale). She spent a year in Guinea as a
physician (Cuban physicians are encouraged to do this). She got behind because she developed
some unusual form of protracted hepatitis and lost a year of her studies.
These are the people we really saw and got to know. I also met various people in the Cardiology
Institute and Vally met others at Roberto's lab. I wish we had had time to get to know them
better. We also met Roberto's wife and children and Alisia's mother/Porfirio's wife/Juan Carlos'
mother-in-law but we did not get to know them.
We stayed in a apartment in a old building in (I think) the Vedado district. I never even found out
how many floors there were, but we were on the first. The main door was open during the day,
but locked at night. I wish I could describe this building to you. It was once very grand. The
ceilings are all 12 feet high and the floors are marble. The apartment consisted of a living room, a
small sitting room off the living room, a dining room, with the small kitchen off that and a hallway
leading to a bedroom on the right (my father's) and a bedroom at the end (ours) with another door
from each leading to a tiny hallway and a common bathroom. The walls of the apartment are
recently painted. In our room what was once a light fixture has been replaced by a single
fluorescent. The blue-tiled bathroom had no toilet seat anymore (nor did most bathrooms) but
featured a bidet and a tub with a shower. All of the fixtures date from before the revolution. The
kitchen, with its small, probably freon-deficient Russian refrigerator, sink and four-burner gas
stove, smelled of insecticide. Mercedes had an old Osterizer and a crock pot. Hot water came
from an ancient heater in the kitchen. To get hot water you lit a large gas flame under an
aluminum-painted cylindrical tank and then waited. Mercedes lit the hot water heater every
morning for us. The window openings were large and were closed by pairs of folding shutters
which opened inwards. For additional protection, the shutters had hinged wood-framed glass
inserts to close them up. The whole thing didn't seal very well anymore and some of the glass was
damaged. Some of the windows opened onto air shafts, which were like miniature courtyards.
Out the kitchen window we could see a maze of water tanks, extending upwards, with
connections to the kitchen of each apartment. There were some plants in sunny spots.
There was no air-conditioning, but a free-standing small fan was enough to keep us comfortable
at night. The power never went out, although Gilda reported that it did at her apartment about a
mile away. On the other hand, our upstairs neighbors played music and enjoyed their social life
well into the night. Closing the windows helped the noise but not the air circulation. We got
used to the noise. The same neighbors (?) felt it was their patriotic duty to play patriotic songs
starting at 5 AM on May Day.
We had a double bed in our room. Luckily for me, one person had generally slept on the bed, so
only one side was completely broken down. The other side was okay and my generous husband is
a much less sensitive sleeper than I am. I had asked Mercedes for extra pillows and got them,
although all but one could be described as "rigid." The sheets were coarse, thick muslin. At this
point it may sound like I am complaining, but I am not. I AM trying to convey to you the
battered, making-do, patched-up quality of things in Havana. My father was tormented by the
deterioration of the buildings-so many repairs to make and no way to make them. At first, I think
he saw this as neglect, but later as a reflection of the impossibilities of life there. He wanted to go
to a hardware store and buy Mercedes a toilet seat but gradually, he realized, that there aren't any.
SUNDAY - APRIL 28TH, 1996 - Our first day in Havana
I can't even remember who turned up bright and early in the morning to greet us, but certainly
Juan Carlos and Andy were there. They took us shopping to the dollar store, Miramar. At this
point we didn't really understand about the three currencies and how only people who had dollars
could buy much of anything. The dollar store looked like a very run down supermarket. It was
quite busy. Some of the people seemed to be vacationers and diplomats, others ordinary Cubans.
We didn't yet realize that there was no way to just pop into a market and buy something, so we
didn't buy as much as we should have. We bought some bread, irradiated milk in a sealed carton,
strawberry jam, gouda cheese and sparkling and non- sparkling mineral water. (The water in
Havana is safe to drink and we did so). Vally bought some canned fish. We didn't realize that we
were buying our breakfast for the rest of the week.
After that we went looking for some banana liquor which Vally had promised to get for someone
in trade for writing a computer program. There was none at Miramar, although a lot of other
bottled alcoholic beverages were available there. We were driven to a small open-air market near
a large hotel, no luck. We went to a small high-class mall associated with another hotel. All was
modern, sleek and air-conditioned, with imported clothing etc., but no banana liquor. I realize
now that there is a part of Havana that is sleek and air-conditioned for the comfort of tourists, but
that was our only contact with it, aside from driving around past the hotels.
Then we stopped at a farmer's market-one of the few places that Cubans can spend Cuban
currency. Juan Carlos reminded me to keep track of my purse. If the mall was our contact with
Cuban highlife, I am guessing that the market was our closest brush with the opposite. It
reminded me of similar mercados in Mexico, although it was smaller and maybe dingier. We
bought three mameys (breadfruit, I think), some bananas and a watermelon. The people who sold
us the bananas insisted on a group portrait with me and them. Pork was on sale, although my
father was horrified at the lack of any refrigeration. We pointed out that the meat had been killed
that morning which made it unnecessary (although I'm not sure the USDA would see it that way).
Looking back, I can see that I was really disoriented at that point, overwhelmed by all of it.
When we left the mercado, we headed out to Porfirio's house for lunch .On the way, one of the
thing we did was deliver a large gym bag full of things, and a wad of cash to Marino's mother.
Marino and Ana are Cubans who have lived in St. Louis for about 1 1/2 years, after emigrating
legally. Marino is a chemist and we met them through a friend of Vally's, Ron. We spent an
evening with them at Ron's house about 6 months ago, getting the embittered dissident emigre's
view of Cuba. I don't remember the details of what he said. We learned about the emigration
process, which involves being willing to leave on 48 hours notice and being willing to be settled
wherever the US government puts you, without knowing where until you get to Miami. St. Louis
has quietly acquired about 500 Cubans that way. Other cities include Omaha, NB Nebraska and
Albuquerque, NM. Of course, it involves a sponsoring agency and a support system and some
major culture shock on the part of the Cubans. Marino, who works for a paint company is happy
here, but Ana, his wife, who ran a lab in a cosmetics factory, is not working, is somewhat
depressed and misses Cuba. Their son who is a student in the junior college is very happy here
and contemptuous of Cuba. Ana, who has a green card, is going back to Cuba to visit in
September. I do remember Marino saying "The government gave us one pair of shoes a year,
while there still were shoes." They left at around the time that things were at their worst.
Anyway, using Andy's superb navigational skills, we managed to find Marino's mother, who said
that she had told Marino that she didn't need anything and he shouldn't bother to send anything
(the typical mother ploy) but was delighted to see us and very warm. She was watching the boat
race (remember the world class race?) on her color TV when we came. We took several pictures
of her which came out, so we will give them to Ana who comes to Vally's lab once or twice a
week to improve her skills and marketability, although I think her emotional state is the major
obstacle to her having the confidence to find a job.
We then arrived at Porfirio's house for lunch. We wound up on a pleasant, "suburban" street.
The house was inside a high gate and surrounded by a lawn. I have no idea how big the house
was but it seemed a comfortable size. Porfirio owns the house. It has a toilet seat. It was very
comfortable to be a Porfirio's house and we were made totally welcome. We were served
tamarind juice (to Vally's delight) and fruit while we waited for lunch. We turned up a lot earlier
than expected. Also, they thought we were ALL vegetarians, not just me.
They had two parrots on adjacent cages, one medium-sized, like a yellow-nape except its stripe
was orange and Porfirio said it was endangered in Cuba. The other was smaller, like the size of a
robin, and really hyper. Maybe it wasn't really a parrot, I don't know. The bigger one was glad to
see me and started clowning-it was fun to play with him. The smaller one busied himself having a
nervous breakdown. They also have a dog-as do many Cubans-there were, as in Mexico, dogs
everywhere. The Cuban dogs tho' looked a lot healthier than the Mexican strays. Apparently
someone had stolen their "real" dog recently and they had adopted a young stray (picture a Benji
type, although with shorter hair). He had been there about 6 weeks. I didn't meet him the first
time because he was out running but the second time we were there (Thursday) I did. They feed
him and when he manages to slip out of the gate, they let him run, knowing he'll come back. He
isn't quite sure of them yet, but I am betting he will mellow out. By the way, there were very few
cats in Cuba, although we did see a few, and I am not quite sure that some people don't use them
for supplemental protein.
We had a wonderful lunch at Porfirio's-hard-boiled eggs instead of meat, different vegetable
dishes and rice. Homemade lemon ice cream for dessert. His wife was busy cooking and serving
and never sat down with us which bothered my father a lot. We sat and talked for a long
time-really it was our first orientation class, and we asked a lot of questions like "How does
someone get a car" and "How does someone get a house?" and "Is there auto insurance?" which
Porfirio answered with great patience. Vally accused me of spending too much time trying to tell
them what things are like in the US, rather than listening to them as I tried to describe to two
fascinated Cuban physicians what is going on in healthcare in the US. Finally, we pried ourselves
out of there to continue our orientation tour. We drove to Old Havana. On the way, we saw a
very angry-looking woman walking with a policeman. She was a prostitute being arrested. She
was the only really angry-looking person we saw. We were told that she would be released the
next day.
Unfortunately, I will flunk the tourist attraction part of this description. I never got oriented to
what I was supposed to be looking at or why. There are a lot of Hemingway attractions and forts
from Cuba's pirate days, also remnants of the old wall that used to surround the city. There were
a lot of people gathered in Old Havana, which is right on the waterfront because they had a major,
world class boat race there. I don't know the name of the boats, but I would call them high-speed
launches and we saw the winner, a million-dollar item from Dubai. We walked around Old
Havana for a long time and at this moment I cannot remember the specifics of anything we saw.
We did go to a tourist shopping area called Caracol and bought some souvenirs, then we went to
an outdoor market (VERY similar to ones we saw in Mexico) and bought some more things. We
realized that it would be our only opportunity to shop for souvenirs and gifts. I bought a
crocheted vest (natural-colored) for myself for $12. I was gradually realizing that I had spent
almost 3 weeks worth of Juan Carlos' salary on the vest and considered it cheap. This awareness,
of the money I was spending so easily (and certainly none of us qualifies as a big spender) in
relation to the salaries of our hosts was always in the background for me. One incident that I do
remember.... The outdoor market was full of vendors trying to entice people to buy their wares,
including one elderly woman who was selling some sort of pins, like tie-tacks, two for a dollar.
We were uninterested. Later as we were leaving the woman ran up and insisted on kissing Vally,
and me and anyone else in our party who would stand for it. We couldn't figure out why. Vally
said, "I only gave her two pesos." That's what he thought-he didn't realize that those pesos were
in convertible money. He had actually given her not the equivalent of 10 cents, but 2 dollars. It
was worth it-although Juan Carlos was less charmed and commented on her acting skills.
We were pretty tired when we got back to the apartment. Everyone wanted to go out for dinner
but I decided to stay behind (and dine on bread on cheese) because I had never practiced one of
the talks that I was to give the next day. I am glad I did that. The others went to a restaurant
where my father had blackened swordfish which he did not like, and Vally had broiled fish which
he did like (and I did when Juan Carlos and I went the next day)
Monday morning, everyone showed up at the apartment. Roberto and Alex took custody of
Vally, Andy and Gilda went off with my father, and Juan Carlos and I walked about 4 blocks to
the Cardiology Institute. The Institute is also the clinic and the halls and available seats were
filled with people. There was also a hospital-dispensary smell (disinfectant??) which I remember
from somewhere, but which, oddly enough, I never smell in the hospital where I work. Anastasio
was there to greet us and we went into the Institute lecture hall, a darkened room about 75 by
20, with fixed, auditorium-like seats and a big speakers table, with the woodgrained formica
peeling off the front edge, across the front of the room, no air-conditioning, no PA system.
Pictures and Lenin and Che looked down on the speakers from the left hand part of the front
wall, the wall behind us and the right hand wall were all windows (jalousie-type). There were
three talks for the morning and two for the afternoon, with a 2 3/4 hour break in between. I was
responsible for talks number 3 and 5. About 20 people were in attendance. Although they had
wanted to hold this conference in English, the idea was vetoed by the head of the Institute, so
everyone else spoke in Spanish. There was a slide projector but no one used it to show more
than a couple of slides. Mostly we used overheads. I quickly learned that I could follow a talk
in Spanish, if the overheads illustrated the speaker's main point, otherwise it was hopeless. That
was reassuring to me, because I knew that my overheads would make it possible for people to
follow my talks. There was one complication, and it think it symbolized the whole thing-just
outside this darkened, jalousied-windowed conference room, with Lenin and Che looking on, as
we attempted to have a scientific conference about heart rate variability, someone was using a
jackhammer. We struggled gamely through the morning. I found that my ability to understand
Spanish was a direct function of whether the jackhammer was on or off. I asked about finding
another room. "It is impossible."
During the lunch break, Juan Carlos showed me his lab. All of the buildings in the area of our
apartment and in the area of the Institute were formerly (although I don't know HOW formerly)
elegant homes. So the Institute of Endocrinology is in an old mansion, with incredible red and
white tiled floors and 16 foot ceilings. The whole building needs major repairs (paint, plaster
etc.) but has a most beautiful wood carved front door. Juan Carlos has one room on the first
floor, in which he sees patients and does his research. It probably measures 16 by 16 but it has a
working air conditioner. He has a computer (with only 2 meg of memory) and a very bad mouse
and some other equipment. There is a cot for patients to lie down and a battered desk. He
showed me his comupter program for measuring heart rate variability and its features. It was
very nice.
After we left the office, we went to the restaurant that everyone else had eaten in the night
before. We sat outside on the patio. I hadn't yet come to understand about the system of small
family-owned restaurants, but I assume now this was one. (Actually, my father, who did know
something about it, had assumed that we were at a family-owned restaurant the day before, when
we had dinner at Porfirio's and kept expecting to have to pay.) We had a nice lunch of fish and
french fries and salad and bread. We also had "congri" which is mixture of rice and black beans
(mostly rice). The congri at this restaurant was, as it turned out, the best of the several I wound
up trying (although Roberto's wife also served some very good congri). Juan Carlos had a beer
and he put some hot sauce into it. This is NOT a Cuban custom, it is something he had learned
from Vally the night before. He continued to do this for every beer I saw him drink while I was
there.
We returned to the Institute and found out, to our relief, that the conference was to be moved to
the conference room. Even though there were too many of us to fit around the conference table
and even though the air conditioner could not keep up with the bodies, and even though we
showed our overheads on the wall, it was a GREAT improvement! So, we did the afternoon
session and it went well, although I didn't follow Anastasio's talk very well. A cardiologist who
actually knew my boss from a conference in Barcelona was there for my talk. He was the only
one who really seemed familiar with heart rate variability as it related to cardiology. I began to
realize though, that I was basing all of my talks on the results of 24-hour Holter recordings and
that there were no 24-hour Holter recorders available in Cuba. The most data they could hope
to collect was perhaps 15 minutes. I was glad I had included some data about short-term
recordings, but it was uncomfortable nevertheless.
After the conference, we walked back to the apartment. Vally was there and we dediced to go
back to Juan Carlos' office (1 block) and install the software that we had brought for him on what
is called a zip drive (which is a sort of portable diskette drive, except the diskette hold 100 meg).
We had brought him a heart rate variability program and also a database program with a heart
rate variability database (about 1100 references including abstracts) and a diabetes database
(ditto). We got everything installed, but the diabetes database did not work. I wound up sending
him another copy when I got back here-because the first version didn't work here either.
Actually, Anastasio explained that they do have the capacity to do database searches, but it
involves going to a central library where they had databases on CD-ROM, leaving a diskette and
waiting a couple of weeks. They still use 5 1/4" diskettes in Cuba-if I had known I would have
brought my old ones with me and left them there.
When we got back from our software installation, my father had rested and it was time to go to dinner and eat another big meal. We ate at a "real" restaurant called El Conejito (which means little rabbit). They do serve rabbit, which Vally had. It was a nice restaurant with a dark-wood decor. There was a pianist who asked what we wanted to hear. My father requested classical music and he manage a credible version of some Mozart, a Bach prelude and Fur Elise by Beethoven.
Tuesday was a repeat of Monday. I think Vally gave a talk both days also. We met in the
conference room again. Tuesday there were 4 talks and a demonstration of computer software,
and I had numbers 2 and 4. Juan Carlos spoke first about heart rate variability in diabetics
compared with normals. In the afternoon, Profirio spoke, in English, about decreased heart rate
variability in sickle cell patients. I wish I had a copy of the computer software which they
demonstarted. It included some Russian-derived measures of heart rate variability that we are
not very familiar with, but they weren't interesting in sharing. I wound up giving away the hard
copies of all of my overheads, both to the programmers who work with Juan Carlos and to a
medical student who attended the conference. Also spent a little bit of time talking with a
neurologist name Orlando who is interested in understanding heart rate variability as a marker for
brain damage and death. He gave me part of a chapter he wrote in an English book on brain
death called "Whole Brain? Higher Brain? A new formulation of death" which includes such
phrases as "Any realistic concept of human life must be understood as a totality and a unity of
biological, psychological and spiritual life." I wish I had had more time to spend talking with
Orlando, but it didn't work out.
I took Juan Carlos and Anastasio, a cardiologist, to lunch. Anastasio's English is better than Juan Carlos'. One of the things I brought up was how bizarre it felt to be spending money which was not that much to us and so much to them. A typical meal costs $7-10, so if we took 5 people (us and two more) to dinner it would cost from $35-50. This, on a daily or twice daily basis, in front of people who took home $20 a month. There was no resolution, of course, but Anastasio express his profound sadness they we came to visit them and share information with them and they couldn't even take us out to eat. I think since Anastasio was around before the revolution it was even more poignant. Also, although he is Cuban, he did his medical training in Venezuela and had permanent resident status there. He returned to Cuba because he believed in the revolution. I wish I had more time to get to know Anastasio-he struck he as a man of very deep feelings and a very big heart.
After the conference, we asked to go to the beach, although my father had already been there earlier that day. I forget the name of the beach we drove to. Vally and I walked along the beach while my father and Juan Carlos and Andy relaxed outside a beach-side cafe about 75 feet from that water. Someone had a hydraulic water scooter (whatever they're called) and was out playing in the water. There was one area of the beach which had some people sunning themselves and listening to radios and dancing and swimming, but other parts were deserted. When we got back, Vally decided that he wanted to go into the water, so he stripped to his underwear and went in. My father went to sit on a rock nearer the water to make sure he didn't drown. Andy, and Juan Carlos and I got into talking about Ouija boards and other non-rational phenomena. I was surprised at the degree to which they were open to that sort of thing. One of them said, half-jokingly, that one of the national sports of Cuba is asking the Ouija board "When is Fidel Castro going to die?" Also, to my surprise (although I know from Chile that it has been translated into Spanish) Andy was very familiar with the writings of Brian Weiss ("Many Lives, Many Masters") a psychiatrist who writes about past-life regression.
That night we went to a chinese restaurant called The Mandarin which was across the street from
the Havana Libre Hotel. The food was pretty good, the decor very elegant. The air conditioner,
however, a huge old thing in one corner of the restaurant, appeared to have a human thermostat
and we froze whenever they turned it on. We taught Juan Carlos and Andy how to use
chopsticks and Juan Carlos had more hot sauce in his beer. There is a beer in Cuba called
Hatuey. The legend is that Hatuey was a native chief who was somewhat resistant to conversion
to christianity. At one point he is said to have asked if there were Spaniards in heaven. Upon
being assured that there were, he said "Then I don't want to go there." Ultimately, the Spaniards
burned him to death.
May Day-the great holiday in all communist countries. My father expressed a strong desire to see
the May Day celebration and we had discussed it the previous night with our guides. We had the
impression that public transportation would be jammed, many streets would be closed and that we
would have to walk about 40 blocks to see anything. I lost my enthusiasm for the project, but my
father did not. Both Alex and Juan Carlos volunteered to take him, so we sort of left it at that.
Alex showed up at 9 AM ( he has a bike) and he and my father set off-although we made him take
a water bottle. Juan Carlos showed up, I think, at around 10 AM, totally wasted, having taken a
crowded bus and then run the rest of the way (he's also a smoker). He was devastated to find out
that after all of that effort, my father and Alex had already left, but it got turned into a funny story
for later consumption. We told him that we did not need him, and he was happy to go and work
in his lab for a few hours.
Meanwhile, Vally and I, happy to be alone together for awhile, found out what the general
direction of the parade was (the line sort of paralleled the street we were on) and set out to
intersect it, taking careful note of our route and of where we were staying. (Mercedes and the
gang were watching it, and parades from other Cuban cities, on TV.) We walked about 10
blocks, looking at the buildings and the plants and the people and the cars, and arrived at a large
park/square. It was clear that something was happening. We could hear a loudspeaker and lines
of people and children in school uniforms were moving towards something. Vendors were selling
an iced drink (or maybe just ice water??) in cones made of ordinary brown paper. People were
carrying paper Cuban flags on sticks. We tried to follow the crowd but were turned back. I had
the impression we were supposed to stay away completely, since we had no credentials, but I
think I was wrong. I saw a grey-bearded man in Birkenstock sandals. I knew, by the sandals,
that he was not Cuban, so I asked him where he was from. He turned out to be a Canadian
professor of economic development who was escorting a group of students on a annual trip (his)
to Cuba. They were staying in a youth hostel run by a Baptist organization (Pastors for Peace)
which charged $20 per day (possibly Canadian, don't remember-Canadian $=0.6 American) for
room and 3 meals a day. The professor was a staunch advocate of the regime and its successes. I
am uncomfortable with people whom I perceive as not seeing the full complexity of a situation,
but it was interesting to listen to him. He told me that the people were going to some sort of
awards ceremony. He himself was trying to catch up with another Canadian group that was in
town and might be found leaving the ceremony. He also told me that 25,000 Canadians visited
Cuba last year, and the rate was up by 5% in January of this year. After about 25 minutes or so,
Vally returned, with excitement in his eyes. It turns out that, unbeknownst to us, we were AT the
May Day ceremony, and he had gotten to see it from about a block away. He had seen Fidel and
about 1 million other people. What struck him was the genuineness of the enthusiasm and love
that were evident at the rally. These were the people who had chosen to come (and again, it was
clear that attendance was totally voluntary) and their love for Castro and support of the
government were overwhelming. Cuba is no place for people who want their realities simple and
straightforward!
We walked back to the apartment and Alex and my father were safely back. My father had also
seen the rally and was as impressed as Vally was. This might be a good point at which to tell the
story of the videotape. On the Sunday before we went to Cuba there was a special on PBS about
the Jewish population of Havana. My father taped it and brought the video with him. Getting in
touch with Havana's Jewish population was pretty simple- we were across the street from the
Jewish Center. My father and, I think, Gilda, went over there on Monday to present the tape.
Unfortunately, they had such a high-tech VCR and TV that it didn't work right and no one knew
what to do (something about the closed caption option). My father left the tape and they said
they would make a copy. We went over on Monday night to try to figure it out but they wound
up solving it themselves by Tuesday. Anyway, my father got to be a hero, as groups of Jewish
Cubans came over to the center to see themselves on the video-I think they had some official
public viewings. Vally and I never got to be part of it, there was no time. We didn't even make it
to the Museum of Decorative Arts which was also across the street. It was always closed by the
time we got back to the apartment.
After the morning's May Day excitement, we decided to go out to eat. I couldn't remember
where Juan Carlos and I had gone the day before, so we decided to consult with Mercedes
(reliable source) again. She wasn't home, but her son was and he recommended an Italian
family-owned restaurant. It was about 10 blocks away, but he volunteered to drive us there,
which he did. I think we had Juan Carlos and Alex with us. The meal was very good-we all had
pizza-a little more pie-like than what we are used to, but really good. We walked back. On the
way back, we passed some ambassador's residences-I remember the British and the Korean for
sure. What a shock! Here were the same style of house that we had seen in our neighborhood,
although with considerable lawn around them, except the houses were immaculate-fully painted
and repaired, the lawns green and lush, the cars Jaguars. The contrast felt obscene.
Back to the apartment, and Roberto took custody of us. We piled into his Lada (including Alex)
and went on a tour. I am sure tomorrow I will remember more of what we saw, but right now I
remember driving past a lot of technological institutes. It is interesting that the Institute of
Biotechnology, a very modern facility, was written up in TIME magazine the week we got back. The TIME article was consistent with what Roberto told us, that Cuba has a very strong biotech
industry with advanced vaccines and that the people who work in biotech work 18 hours a day
and live and sleep at the facility. Roberto also told us that he is a member of one of the research
co-ordinating committees, which allocate resources and allow scientists to know what everyone is
doing. This is probably not an accurate description of what they exactly do. I asked if it works in
practice or if it hinders research, and Roberto gave me the impression that it does both. It think it
gets him an extra gasoline ration or something like that.
Oh yes, Roberto took us to the Marina Hemingway, a guarded facility for wealthy people who
have yachts. By the way, in many places, like hotel driveways, there was a guard who required an
explanation before your could proceed. Similar to the private resort communities in the US.
Anyway, Marina Hemingway didn't seem too busy, but we did see yachts from all over the world
docked there. We got out of the car and walked to the seawall which was pretty broken up.
According to Roberto, about two years ago, there was a very violent sea storm which totally
demolished one of the seaside hotels there (now clearly rebuilt) and tore up the concrete sea wall,
so that although it is still here, chunks of the upper part are scattered everywhere.
At the end of the tour we headed to his house which is right near the sea. We stopped first a
block away where the cobblestoned street dead-ended at a beach, of sorts-except there was no
sand, only big and small boulders and a seawall. Roberto told us he swam there regularly. It was
filled with people relaxing on the seawall and surfing in the water. It seemed like a pretty
dangerous thing to do, to surf into all those rocks, but the surfers expertly managed to topple off
their boards in time. We spotted one girl who although she looked quite at home, also looked
Indian. I asked her, and yes, she was Indian but she was from Mexico City where her parents had
emigrated about 30 years ago. Apparently Mexico City has the largest Indian community in
Mexico. She was vacationing in Cuba with her roommate, the guest of a young man whose
mother was a co- worker, in Mexico City, of her mother. She had no goal for her trip to Cuba
other than to relax and she was happy with her success. My fellow travellers grew impatient and I
had to end the conversation. We went to Roberto's house, a block away.
Roberto's house was behind another house, accessible through an alley with a gate across his part
of the driveway. It was built of concrete with floors made of marble scraps inlaid into mortar. It
consisted of a small living room, larger eat-in kitchen and slightly larger back bedroom with a
bathroom (and a toilet seat) with a staircase off the kitchen (also mortar with inlays) up to two
bedrooms and a patio. The patio also had a scrap-marble floor and part of it was covered with a
corrugated fiberglass roof. The patio included a sink with a built-in scrub board. (I asked if his
wife did all of their laundry by hand, but he said that since their Russian washing machine broke
down, a neighbor does most of it.) On the roof above the upstairs bedrooms was a grapevine on
a trellis, although the root system for the grapevine was in the ground three floors below. I wish I
could recount the tale of the construction of this house but I don't remember the details. I know
that the first section downstairs was built by someone else and that that person became
unavailable for some reason. However, Roberto had been watching him closely and felt like he
knew enough to continue. Construction took years of weekends, and a lot of wheeling and
dealing to get materials from the black market. The last batch of concrete was especially poor.
But, Roberto finished the house himself. Actually, I think the patio was finished recently.
Roberto also built the furniture. The effect was simple and balanced. Roberto also had some fruit
trees in the side yard which he referred to as his "plantation."
We ate a wonderful dinner, which included some fish, and got some instruction about how a
Cuban coffeemaker works (I think the same thing is also sold as an Italian expresso maker). We
learned more about Cuban life, of course, including being present when the fresh milk was
delivered (1 liter every other day) for Roberto's daughter. His wife proceeded to boil it so that it
would last longer, and told us that the government encourages families to dilute the milk with
water, which she does, but only to a limited degree. It was almost 10 PM when we got back to
the apartment.
Roberto showed up early to take us to the airline office in a futile attempt to change our departure
to Saturday. We tried all day, but it turns out that the flight we wanted is the most popular, the
"leaving and not coming back flight." Across from the airline office, we saw a wall of colorful
cartoons that we had driven past on a couple of occasions. The cartoons were all anti- American
and included captions like "Heil Helms", Uncle Sam saying to the sun "You are forbidden to shine
on Cuba" and some fat cats at a kindergarten pointing at two small children saying "Stop playing,
I want to put my casino here." Vally took a lot of pictures of the cartoons. He also took a lot of
pictures of a unique Cuban bus called a "camelo" or camel. It is a bus, except it is a
tractor-trailer-the bus part is the trailer and it rises in the front to accommodate the trailer hitch
and again in the back to accommodate the wheels. I got the feeling from Juan Carlos that they are
singularly uncomfortable due to the practice, universal in the third world, of packing as many
people as possible into them. The fare is 1 peso, which is about 4 1/2 cents.
We went to Roberto's lab which was large and high-ceiling with many benches for experiments,
but, with the exception of the small room in which the computers lived, not air-conditioned.
Pages from a large chemical supply catalog were re-cycled as toilet paper. Otherwise, by the way,
Cuba does not recycle at all-everything reusable is reused, but glass, cans and plastic are not
recycled. We tried to get the diabetes database to run on Roberto's PC (which has more memory)
but it did not. We returned to the apartment. My father and Gilda had gone off with Andy. My
father wanted to be taken to the worst slums of Havana and he was. This is where people who
have not yet been given housing have constructed their shacks. Tin shacks with color TVs. We
bid farewell to Gilda and squeezed ourselves into Andy's Lada. Juan Carlos said he was taking us
to lunch-he was very delighted to be able to do this. We wound up at a sort of permanent
fairgrounds. The guard wanted to know where we were going and did not fail to observe that
some of us were not Cubans. We were headed for a restaurant somewhere on the grounds (we
weren't sure where) that only serves high up Cuban officials. Juan Carlos told him that we were
scientific guests of the national government, or something like that, and we got in. It took us
awhile to figure out where we were supposed to be, and while Juan Carlos dealt with that, we
went through some exhibit halls on Cuban products. We saw some beautiful marble, some
beautiful bathroom fixture and a system of construction that involved reinforced concrete posts
with sort of flat, wide cinderblocks that slide in between. The exhibit halls were bright and sunny
and open and not air-conditioned. Thursday was a hot humid day and we were tired.
We were happy when Juan Carlos appeared and led us to the restaurant, which may be the most
elegant in Cuba. It was called Dom Cuba and we got in because a friend of Juan Carlos' father
(the general) arranged it. Juan Carlos was able to pay in Cuban pesos-1 peso = 1 dollar, although
usually it is 22 pesos=1 dollar. The restaurant was large (probably 50 tables, no more than 3
occupied at one time) with all of the requisite linen napkins, glasses, crockery and silverware.
There were more than enough people waiting on us, and I kept reminding myself that this place
does not need to make a profit. There were large windows and french doors and polished marble
floors, also a bar area in a center courtyard. There was some poor workmanship evident on the
ceiling and the tablecloth had some light permanent stains on it, but otherwise the effect was of
elegance. The food was good. We were supposed to meet Porfirio and his wife, so we had
reservations for 7. They did not show up and Juan Carlos was very disappointed. On the other
hand, Juan Carlos and Andy managed to eat the entrees (I can't remember what they were but
they involved big chunks of meat) that were designated for the missing guests, in addition to their
own. Beer glasses, for those who drank, were kept continuously refilled. My father liked the
beer, which means it must be similar to American beer, Juan Carlos did not but managed to drink
it anyway (with hot sauce). Our dessert, was sweetened fresh coconut-which was very good but
probably could induce diabetes in a susceptible individual. I tried to order cafe con leche but they
were out of milk. The restaurant also featured mariachis (or whatever the musicians are called in
Cuba). We had them at the Chinese restaurant and learned at that time that Andy played the
guitar. Anyway, Vally looked up and saw the mariachis bearing down on us and an involuntary
"Oh no" escaped from his lips. Juan Carlos heard this and cracked up totally. I can still see this
scene in my mind, Vally saying "Oh no" and Juan Carlos finding it so funny, and it still makes me
laugh.
We left Dom Cuba absolutely stuffed and made a feeble attempt to look at the pavilions. We
were too hot, and stuffed and tired, although we did see one on Cuba's food exports. Juan Carlos
referred to the food displays as "fantasies." We did learn about a coffee that is grown for export
called "Cubita" and decided to try to get some. We went back to the car and drove to Andy's
house, which is actually a half a block from Porfirio's house. There we saw his shop, which I
mentioned before, and met his wife and son. The house was simply furnished with the sort of
furniture we buy here at the supermarket and put in the back yard. Andy's wife was coming back
from having her hair done (she doesn't work) and was clutching a bottle of weight loss tablets
from the USA. The ingredients consisted mainly of vitamins and nothing that would actually have
any effect on weight, but she was excited about her purchase. She also wasn't fat, although I
guess she thought she was.
We wanted to go back to the supermarket , because even though we had only one night and one
morning left, we were nervous about having almost no food. We hurried to get there before they
closed. My father wanted mango juice-which he had fallen in love with in Cuba. There was no
bread left in the store, so we got some crackers, made in Chile. The gouda cheese was gone, but
there was some swiss cheese instead (which is what my father had wanted in the first place). I got
some flavored yogurt (terrible! inedible!). We also got some vacuum-sealed packages of Cubita
coffee. I got some orange-banana juice. Then we went back to the apartment to pack. Roberto
volunteered to get up at 4 AM and drive us to the airport. We hugged and said our goodbyes to
Juan Carlos and Andy. Juan Carlos said "I miss you already." He was very sweet and his hug
was warm. Gilda came by at around 9 PM to say goodbye. I was sorry not to have spent much
time with her and I know my father was sorry to see her go, she was invaluable to him.
We managed to get up and get ourselves together with no mishaps. Our camera broke down, so
the photographic record is incomplete. Mercedes bid us farewell and gave us the flags. Everyone
spoke in terms of our coming back-which maybe we will when things improve. I have to mention
here, that should it become possible for Cuban scientists to visit here, every one of our hosts
would jump at the opportunity. They don't want to emigrate but they do want the change to work
here for awhile. Roberto drove us to the airport. It was somewhat light at 5 AM and the streets
were full of people, I guess going to work. He made sure we got through customs, which was
very simple and no one asked what we were carrying. We were carrying two boxes of Monte
Cristo cigars, and my father was carrying one, but that was within legal limits. (We gave away
most of one box and are saving the other one for the person who wants them the most, whomever
that is.) The night before, Vally and I had decided to give Roberto some money. We debated
whether his pride would be hurt, but decided that he had undoubtedly spent a lot of money on gas
(which costs 90c per liter). We gave him $20 and my father gave him $5 and said "This is for the
gas you bought." His voice said "You don't need to" but his eyes nearly wept. We were glad we
did it. In the airport we bought some souvenirs at reasonable prices and then walked out onto the
plane.
CANCUN - OUR TRANSITION TO THE FIRST WORLD
We saw our night in Cancun as a "transition" from Cuba. We used the guidebook to find a
reasonably-priced hotel in the strip, right on the beach, the Aristo Cancun. It was $55 a night,
including a free lunch or dinner buffer (feel sorry for anyone who actually paid for it!). I cannot
describe to you how awesome it was to be in an air-conditioned (well even if the air-conditioner
was a bit noisy) hotel room, with a good king-sized bed, soft sheets and towels of relatively recent
vintage. I won't go into detail about the Cancun part, except to say the Vally managed to get a
tan (even if almost no one noticed) while bobbing in the incredible turquoise gulf waters and that
on the way back to the airport (we rented a VW again, it was much cheaper than taking cabs) we
stopped at a Mexican luxury supermarket. The thing that was the most poignant was that outside
the supermarket, among the well-dressed Mexicans, we saw three little girls, aged 5, 4 and 2 1/2
(probably), barefoot, dirty and in rags. We never saw anything like that it Cuba-in fact we saw
very few infants and children, except in groups in school and at the parade, because the birthrate
is low. It was a stark contrast.
I have tried to put this trip into some sort of context and I want to add just a few things. One is
that comparing Cuba to the US is not helpful. Cuba needs to be compared with Guatemala or
perhaps Haiti. The other is that, once I got back, I realized that being in Cuba was, among all of
the other emotions I felt, very painful and I had to spend some time crying to release the pain that
I stored up. I also seem to be left, for now, with an awareness of the excess which we take so for
granted here. It was a very powerful experience, and I would like to see my friends there again,
somehow.
A
I returned from 5 days in Havana on Saturday, just in time to catch Jane Ciabattari's column in
the Parade Intelligence Report in Sunday and to read Ron Ridenour's and Dr. Cesar Chelala's
columns on Cuba in Monday's Commentary section. Although I found Ridenour's views
somewhat one-sided, I could not disagree with much of what was written in any of the columns.
I visited Cuba to speak at a small scientific conference. My hosts were ordinary Cuban
professionals and I did not get the "official" tour. I am still trying to sort out my impressions of
a very complex situation.
On the one hand, the Cubans I met were warm, wonderful, open, friendly people. There was no
sense that their situation was keeping them from having joy and pleasure in their lives. They
were not frightened and distrustful, as people seem to be in other communist countries. The
climate is warm and sunny and it helps. On the other hand, it is hard to overemphasize the
difficulty of their lives. The phrases I heard most, on a daily basis were "It is very difficult" and
"It is impossible." I cannot convey to the degree to which ordinary things that we take for
granted are unavailable. My hosts were physicians and their monthly salary was $20. About
80% of this went to buying food rations, things like rice and black beans and sugar and coffee,
potatoes, onions and bananas. The basics, including 3 bars of soap per person per year, plus
whatever fresh food is available at the time. Cuba is a nation of reluctant near-vegetarians. The
lack of meat is probably the most painful of the shortages. Also, the government sells surplus
produce from trucks, seemly at random. I saw onions, potatoes, plantains, garlic, oranges and
green peppers sold at various times. There is also a farmer's market where we bought a
watermelon and some mameys. Pork was also on sale there.
Cuba has three currencies. For ordinary people there is the Cuban currency which only buys
goods which are produced in Cuba. Officially this currency is valued at 22 pesos to the dollar.
There is also a convertible currency at one peso to the dollar. It can only be bought with dollars.
Dollars are the third Cuban currency. With dollars, anything can be bought. There are many
special dollar stores for food, clothing, etc. There are also many private, family-owned
restaurants where food can be bought for dollars. It was a bizarre experience, as we took our
hosts out to lunch and dinner and spent several months equivalent of their salary on them. On
the other hand, many Cubans do receive money from abroad and that money makes a huge
difference in their lives.
I did experience some of what Ron Ridenour tried to convey, that the emphasis in Cuba is
basically on fairness and social welfare. The resources are limited and they are distributed as
evenly as possible. For example, a certain number of cars, bicycles and homes become available
each year and they are divided up among the worksites. At each worksite, the workers decide
who should receive them, based on need and seniority. To me this is a combination of a
theoretical good idea with my worst nightmare of personalities and politics, but I don't know how
it really is. Children and their health are of vital importance in Cuba, clearly more so than here.
For example, every child under 7 years ago receives fresh milk daily, although it is otherwise
unavailable. Most Cuban women stay at home for 1 year after childbirth and free childcare is
provided after that.
On the other hand, one of my hosts was a diabetes specialist. All of his patients get one week of
free hospitalization during which their diabetes is brought under control and they are taught
diabetes management. Their insulin dosage is determined. However, there is no way for these
patients to measure their blood or urinary sugar in order to adjust their dosage of insulin, so they
are not permitted to exercise or otherwise vary their routines. Tight metabolic control, which has
been shown to drastically reduce complications in diabetes, is an unattainable dream.
My sense if what it is like to live under the Cuban government is that is is very similar to being an
employee of a large corporation (see Dilbert). The government, like corporate executives, says
certain things, as if they expect to be believed, but their pronouncements are received with a
certain scepticism among the people in the trenches. No one who wants to keep his job makes
too big a fuss. No one who works for a large corporation feels like he or she has a lot to say
about corporate policy. I got the sense that Cubans feel that the government treats them like
children from whom information must be withheld for their own sake. Certainly we have
experienced that here in corporate America, but it Cuba it is less subtle, maybe because they are
not pretending to do otherwise. Also, since papa-government can't be everywhere at once,
people are very good at getting around the rules in small ways.
Finally, although I sensed a universal uncertainty and anxiety about what will happen when
Castro dies, no one had any enthusiasm for the Miami Cubans as potential liberators or role
models. The fervent hope is for a stable, orderly transition. Cubans are well aware of what
happened in Eastern Europe and don't want to repeat it. It was pointed out to me that when the
Russians left, the Cuban economy contracted by over 30% in a couple of years. Things got very
bad but, importantly, the country did not fall apart. The net effect of our embargo, as was
pointed out in the columns, is to make life unnessarily difficult for the Cuban people and to
deprive American businessmen of a huge potential market. It may offer some satisfaction for
those who enjoy making Cubans miserable because they don't like the Cuban government but
otherwise it accomplishes nothing.
Phyllis K. Stein
Bel-Nor