(First of two parts)
Photos by Brad Geiser
WHAT if I told you that the Philippines has a parallel soul sister where the similarities and differences are unnerving. That place is Cuba.
In my work designing tourism branding campaign strategies for places like Mindanao and areas that carry the most risk, my take on special situation areas vary. I see opportunities rather than threats. Cuba had only been officially open to tourism for 30 days when we stepped into its tiny airport. There is nothing more satisfying than debunking “risky” travel labels early.
Imagine a tropical island nation, a product of Spanish colonization for centuries, picked up by the Americans in the same deal that netted them the Philippines, who ultimately rejected American ownership and also had a long-term relationship with a strongman leader for whom there are divided feelings.
You find what Intramuros could have been if the devastation of war didn’t visit upon us when you walk though Havana. Its Spanish colonial architecture jostling with art deco and early American modernization create an otherworldly effect only a Filipino can really appreciate.
This is the closest thing to the frustrated time traveler in me: years of isolation and economic decline render an impression of a great crumbling wedding cake; beautiful in parts, rubble in others.
Black-market food
While Cuba is in the process of opening up to the West, no one is exactly sure what that will ultimately mean, or what the rules for the new economy will be, least of all the entrepreneurs themselves. So, technically, most restaurants operate at some level of gray market. Some grayer than others. At one point our guide took us to one of his favorite spots. Immediately we could see this place was different. The dark wood furnishings were all new. The portions were generous, and the food quality was excellent. They made for us a partly brined pork chop that is among the best experiences I have ever had with that cut. The bill was substantial but still quite surprisingly value for money. I asked our guide how this was possible given the limitations. He gave a jaded smile and told us that the real owner lived in Miami and is trying to bring his business back to Cuba by quietly importing everything from the US. He told us that it’s necessary in order to prepare food up to foreign standards—a little black-market dining to make the guests feel at home.
There is just not much food in the country. There are a few emerging restaurants in the new tourism-friendly Cuba like Carbon, but don’t expect the culinary depth you experience in Manila, it’s not there yet. A couple of things to try are the Cuban version of lechon, which is more flavorful than ours, and brewing derivative called Malta (it’s like soda with a soul) mixed with condensada into a really delicious combination called Maltiado.
Sure, it’s the home of the daiquiri and you can step into one of the many bars claiming to be Hemingway’s second home (he is both god and ghost in this town), but they are ordinary and available everywhere, whereas Malta, for reasons I cannot fathom, is not. Another thing to try in Cuba is fresh lobster, emphasis on “fresh” because most will try to sell you frozen, which just won’t cut it. But if you can get it, it’s sweet and juicy and totally worth it.
Style Afro-Cuban spirituality
A spiritual journey in Cuba, unexpected yet inevitable: Santeria, Regla de Ocha. As a spiritual practice rooted within a world of oppression, whether it’s the African slaves from Spanish or other forms of revolutions so pervasive in the Cuban collective psyche, the Santeria as a spiritual practice is shrouded in secrecy.
After centuries of underground existence, so deeply honored to have been part of a Santeria, celebration and practice in my last weekend in Cuba—a combination of humbling sincerity, sheer tenacity and the unrelenting pursuit of the unknown and spiritual.
Unlike in the major religions, there is no unified written text like the bible or Koran, everything is passed via oral tradition and secret practice. To have been allowed into this sacred secret practice is a spiritual privilege that I cannot begin to articulate.
Within the confines of the “real Havana” in the bowels of a private home-temple is a sacred space that is permeated with achè, a mystic, primordial energy, divine knowledge of everyone who came before us, and the sweet smell of Orishas (they say the presence of saints have a sweet flowery smell around them). My mind was experiencing major cognitive dissonance between the physical surroundings and the smell of the sacred. Too sacred and spiritual for any Facebook photo or Instagram video.
Of that sacred weekend, I only have this photo with Carmen, a Santeria priestess (es tu Mama en Cuba) for a two-day coming together that has provided me with life-long clarity and an affirmation of purpose.
Image credits: Brad Geiser