Cuba visitor visas were hard to get at that time. There were twelve categories/reasons that could qualify for Cuba-visit approval. Our application fell under one of those categories—“cultural exchange”—and, after completing stacks of government paperwork, we received we were good to go.
Since then, the entry rules have become looser ( under President Obama), but at this writing they are being tightened (by President Trump). Policy regarding Cuba is a bit of a political football.
Back to softball, I assembled a team of folks willing to play and willing to pay their own way for a 6-day trip. That meant we didn’t put the best team on the field; we put players on the field who wanted to be there. Fair enough.
We designed and bought uniforms, we brought our own gloves, bats and balls, and we brought extra equipment to give to the Cubans. We expected that their gear would be shabby. That was true.
We arrived in Cuba the night of the 2008 U.S. Presidential Election. We woke up to the news that Barack Obama had won. In the city center and large park across from our hotel, about seventy-five Cuban men had gathered. There was quite a buzz. They were excited that a man of color would be the next American President.
It was an electric morning in the park. The men greeted us warmly and chattered enthusiastically about politics and…spies. After welcoming us to Havana, they told us to assume spies were everywhere…on street corners, in every apartment house, even our hotel. Where there weren’t full-time spies, there were snitches—people who would report “inappropriate activity” to the police. Speaking negatively about the government was one of those infractions. That’s why it seemed extraordinary when one of the Cubans shouted, “Welcome to Havana! Two million people, one million spies.” We laughed, but we also felt “on notice” about surveillance.
When we told them about our scheduled softball games, “the park amigos” howled. On any other day, the lively talk in the park—Cubans speak loudly—would be about baseball, not politics. Before the NBA and NFL became so big, baseball was called “America’s Pastime”. Baseball is Cuba’s passion.
The baseball guys were in the park every morning. They didn’t seem to have jobs. We eventually learned that Cuba’s proud claim of “full employment” is technically true. But in reality, it is a smokescreen. These men, and the many other folks filling the streets all day, were out to find bread or milk or other basics. They had jobs of some kind; they just didn’t go to them regularly or for a full day. Put another way, there wasn’t enough work for all the people “employed”.
We had a set schedule for our visit. It involved bus tours, walking tours, set meals, three softball games, one outing outside Havana, and a bit of free time. Wherever we went, the locals were very friendly and surprisingly happy.
In such a poor country, we expected to see more grim faces. In addition to the poverty, there was a housing shortage, utility problems, and crumbling buildings. Nearly one roof, balcony, or building collapsed every day. It was not uncommon to see multi-storey apartments with the outside wall missing. This decay had been going on for years…and it still is. Many people go to bed wondering if they will be swallowed by a cave-in. Last, it seemed that every hurricane developing in the Caribbean passed over some part of Cuba’s relatively large landmass.
We concluded that the Cubans were a resilient group of people.
They were also clever. After the bankrupt Russians cut off aid to Cuba, the economy faltered and money for machinery and infrastructure projects dried up. Cubans had to make do with what they had. And they found a way.
This is most apparent with the colorful vintage cars cruising the boulevards. For a fan of American cars from the ‘50s and ‘60s, Cuba is a dream destination. During schedule breaks, we sat on the wide, cordoned hotel sidewalk and watched the car show pass. It felt like a time warp.
The most remarkable thing about the cars was that they were running at all. We bought an hour’s ride in a vintage Cadillac convertible. Up close, we could see that the car had a recent, imperfect paint job that covered decades of dent-filler and replacement body parts. The engine was Russian; the transmission was Japanese. The interior, while tidy, had some interesting “customization”.
All the cars we saw up-close fit this description. They were not show cars. They were salvaged vehicles kept operational by the guile and creativity of their owners. SomeONE or, more likely, a group of guys threw every car part they could scavenge into a yard or alley. A year or two later, a full car chugged out. And if you squinted, it looked pretty good.
Each day, we had breakfast of bread, butter, juice, and coffee at the hotel. We enjoyed group lunches and dinners at local restaurants. A lot of pork was served…with Mojitos—”the traditional Cuban highball”—at every lunch and dinner. (A Mojito is made with soda water, lime juice, sugar, white rum, ice, and a sprig of mint.) The meals and drinks were tasty and our hosts were efficient and friendly. Better: none of us got sick.
Our tours included some historical sites, including the vast parade grounds where Fidel would perform his interminable rants against the West. We were told people would often faint from the sun exposure and heat during Castro’s marathon speeches. A large black steel profile of Che Guevara decorated the side of an adjacent building. Surprisingly, we saw more public references to Che than to Fidel Castro. Fidel was in charge, but the late Che had achieved mythical status.
We also saw statues of Jose Marti—a hero of the Spanish-American War that began in 1898; the war that achieved Cuba’s independence from Spain. We saw the now-shuttered mob casinos from the Fulgencio Batista era…the first half of the twentieth century, when the island was a “the adult playground of the Caribbean”. Much of the debauchery was financed by the American mob. The services were bought by American tourists..
The corruption and brutality of Batista government facilitated the rise of a rebel leader. Fidel Castro and his small, rag-tag band of freedom fighters ignited a wide-spread movement. The revolution was expected (and promoted) to bring democracy to Cuba. Instead, it brought communism and dictatorship…a terminally flawed system that has managed to lurch forward for over sixty years.
Havana’s dusty museums showed all of this through an idealistic lens. Marti was a poet/journalist visionary. Batista was a corrupt puppet of the evil United States. Che and Castro gave back the Cubans their homeland…sort of.
This narrative is rife with plot holes. At the National Museum, one display shows the “decadence” of the Batista era through a photo of a faux-shy, shapely prostitute in a white bathing suit looking away from the camera. Each of us was approached many times by hookers right out front of our hotel and in restaurants. Shameful that a woman should be so degraded.
However, we were often approached by hookers while sitting outside our hotel (broad daylight) and at restaurants and bars. One such woman handed me her business card as a group of us sat in the famous El Floridita bar next to the life-size Hemingway statue. We had put one of our blue USA-Cuba ball caps on Ernest’s bronze head, so I guess we looked like we were in a playful mood.
Museum of the Revolution displayed military artifacts from the failed “Bay of Pigs” invasion. It was a major blemish in John Kennedy’s Presidency, and the Castro regime is all too happy to ridicule American leadership.
And yes, we played softball. The field was a practice field outside a major ballpark. Eight player wives came on the trip. They were our cheering section. Of course they sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the seventh inning of each game.
We wore crisp jerseys, matching caps, and black shorts. Our Cuban opponents looked like they had stopped at Goodwill on their way to the ball yard. Never mind: they were great guys and good sports. Many of them were very old. One had played for the first Cuban National Team after Castro took charge.
Others had played at varying levels of Cuban professional baseball. Two were ministers of specific sports: one martial arts and the other track/field. They were both young and fit athletes, and they could hit the ball a country mile.
The President of the National Institute of Sports attended and watched the games. He told us that Raul Castro—Fidel’s brother, successor, and the head of many important committees—was aware of our presence on the island. We hoped he would make an appearance. He did not.
We played three games over five days. The third game was cut short when the cold beer arrived. We stopped play, lounged around the grassy infield, and we drank cans of very cold brews with our Cuban hosts. The fun of the games overcame the language challenges; the mood was all smiles and laughter. Because their equipment was so bad, we gave the Cuban players our own gloves, bats, jerseys, hats, and softballs. That was in addition to the equipment we brought along to donate.
The softball results in games won? Cubans 3, Gringos 0.
Didn’t matter. We had a great time.