CUBA - SEASON 5

Our Cuban trip is through the auspices of Trains Unlimited Tours, and it's director, Chris Skow.  The trip started with a late morning flight out of Milwaukee.  The intrepid crew of John, Gail, and I are meeting Jim Peck in Miami.  We had a very short turnaround in Detroit, with the next flight out at 9PM.  I practically always check the monitor screens when I exit a plane, as connecting flight gates often change.  This time, the monitor that featured the “M’s” was burned out.  So we all hustled down to what we thought was our gate, only to find out that the real gate had been moved to four away from the arrival gate.  Damn.  But we got our exercise.  And we finally left the Midwestern cold and arrived in Miami, where it was nice and warm and sunny.  We met Jim, shuttled over the Hampton Inn.  and took a cab down to the Versailles Restaurant (authentic Cuban food), figuring we might as well get acclimated to the cuisine.

There are so many unknowns about this trip, so my anxiety level is high.  We made the Air Jamaica flight without a problem.  The long check-in line moved quickly, and the airline was able to check our entire luggage through to Havana.  I have decided that if I have to fly, Midwest Express is the only way to go.  As my wife says, “If Midwest doesn’t go here, then neither do I.”  Air Jamaica is a second choice.  While the seats are coach and cramped, the service, food, and alcohol were sufficient to make up for it.  So we arrived in Montego Bay, to find the airport under construction.  That pretty much makes it universal, as everywhere we have flown for Tracks, the airports have some construction project.  We were able to purchase our tickets to Havana, and just waited to board the plane.  We finally departed, although a little late, and descended into Jose Marti International Airport in Havana, Cuba.  I never really thought that I would ever get here.  It just goes to show that if you want to do something, you have but to do it.  We got hassled a little at our entrance.  Our visas were different from the standard tourist cards, being official journalist visas.  I don't think the customs guy had ever seen one.  But after a few phone calls and some polite questioning, we were on our way out into the warm afternoon.  We had a rather fun ride into Havana, and found ourselves at the Plaza Hotel, which is a restored wonder at the entrance to Old Havana.  I must say, that if you are into old cars, this is the place to come.  Everything is just like the 1950’s.  So there is a mixture of Peugeot, Fiat, Lada, Moskovich and all ’52-'62 American models.  There are old Chevys, Fords, Chryslers, Edsels, Buicks, Jeeps, Nash products - more than I can name here - that are in great working order.  The Plaza Hotel is a beautiful, restored place, and is crowded with tourists.  The guidebooks say that Cuba is basing a lot of its new economy on tourism, and things are really rockin’.  The bar where Ernst Hemingway drank (well, one of them) is right around the corner.  So we toddled off to La Floridita and had a couple of drinks in Hemmingway’s honor.  We went to Bogadita for a typical Cuban dinner of beef hash, red beans and rice, and fried bananas. Jim and Gail headed out for another bar, but I am pooped. More tomorrow as we explore more of Havana.

I finally roused myself about 7:30 and headed up for breakfast on the roof of the hotel.  I ran into Jim, and as we ate on the veranda, there, spread before us, was Havana, with the Bay only a short distance away.  It was pretty amazing to think that just 90 miles over the horizon, is a land and a culture that is so different from this (and maybe not for the better).  The city has flashes of color, but is pretty gray and beat up.  The government is pouring a lot of money into restoration, but as we were to learn later, the government owns all the land.  You can buy a house, or build a hotel, but it exists on government land.  Even so, there were a lot of new fancy hotels, built with European money and really aimed at the European tourist trade. We have seen very few Americans, and apparently, they are a rarity.  But there is no shortage of old American cars.  As I mentioned, this place is a gear head’s delight.  Rumor has it that under the hood of that '57 Chevrolet BelAir, may lay a Russian engine.  But there are some real finds here.  Let’s face it.  The '53 Desoto was not exactly a collector item.  But here they are. Running around just like 1955. There are Buicks, Plymouth Furys, Edsels, Cadillacs, Nash, Desoto, Chrysler, Dodge, Chevrolet, Ford, Hudson, even '59 cat’s eye Chevys – all running as if it were 1960.  True, some are rough.  But some are immaculate.  It is quite a head turner for me.  But I belabor the point. We grabbed a taxi, and after two stops, managed to find the Ministry of the Interior to see about extending our visas.  It seems that the date range is a window, and we have 30 days of stay after entrance.  It was NOT the International Press Center, which we discovered later by accident.  We made reservations at the Novotel for the 17^th,although Fernando (our guide) has to call his agency and confirm the booking.  So I feel better about all that.  Then we met a friend of Raul’s, Ania Rivera, who does city tours.  She spent the rest of the day with us (for a price – and the price of a driver and minibus) and gave us a brief tour of the capitol, the revolutionary plaza, Old Havana, and the area around Moro Castle (or fort).  We lunched at a private home, which is licensed as a small restaurant (called a paladar).  The food was excellent.  We headed back to the Old town section and got some shots of the street life and the national band in concert. We shot one old woman, smoking a cigar and generally acting as a tourist magnet.  We walked though a craft fair, saw a lot of old churches and office buildings, and then headed back to the hotel.  We went out to Moro Castle again to shoot some of the shore drive, but most of the buildings fronting the road are under renovation, so lights were few.  We came back to the hotel and got the neon La Floridita sign popping on, and called it a day. We had dinner at the hotel and the walked to another hotel for a coffee.  Jim is annoyed because all of the cigar shops are closed.  My impression is that there is a mystique to the place.  But if it was opened tomorrow, I don’t know how many Americans would be repeat customers.  There just isn’t yet enough here to hold a lot of interest.  American’s want amenities and things to do.  Perhaps the rest of the trip will change my mind.  I shall see.  Havana has some Old Spanish charm, although most of it is in ill repair.  And it has some truly ugly buildings built by the Russians that are also falling apart.  It is interesting that since the Soviet Union pulled all their support, the economy runs on the US dollar.  You may get some Cuban change (which off the island is worthless), but dollars are the common currency.

After breakfast this morning, we went to the revolutionary museum, which featured the history of Cuba during and after Castro’s rise to power.  I had my picture taken next to the remains of Che Guevara, who is almost more revered than El Jefe.  We saw a lot of pictures of dead guys, and read of the glories of the great socialist state.  Which got a little wearying after a while.  I wasn't allowed a close look at the aircraft missiles and the one prop fighter plane, but did get to see the “Granma,” which – I found out later – was the powerboat which brought an exiled Fidel and 18 of his compatriots back to Cuba from Mexico.  They landed in Granma Province (southeastern end of the island) and proceeded to start the revolution from there.  We then headed for the market in Old Havana, and while waiting for the crew to gather; I started a conversation with a young street hustler named Tony.  He was an underwater welder by trade, and worked weekends trying to hustle tourists in the market.  He would peddle cigars, entrances to palandars, restaurants, etc.  He was 30, had been married 14 years, and had two daughters, ages 10 and 12. He made 350 pesos a month as a welder and supplemented it with this activity.  The monetary value in dollars is about $15 a month.  A cop makes around $30, doctors around $25, cab drivers about $40, and teachers around $10-12.  Each person is allocated food on a ration system of 6 pounds each of sugar, rice, and flour.  Meat is extra and must be purchased for cash at the supermarket.  Things are available, but at a high price.  He said that his parents originally were from the eastern part lf the island, and had been very wealthy, but while they were pretty unhappy, he was OK with things.  Life was difficult, but he did not seem morose of despondent over his life here. He said he loved Cuba, and really didn’t want to live anywhere else.  He did point out a ferryboat that had been hijacked to the US.  It will be interesting to see some of the outlying areas. We had a mojito on the roof of the old American Embassy, and then headed back to the hotel through the streets of Old Havana.  The cigar hustlers and hookers were out in droves today.  But we made it back to hotel, took a nap, and then went out to dinner a small Italian restaurant close to the hotel.  And then we waited for our Trains Unlimited Tours group to show, which they did about 9:30.  I think we will have to listen to a bunch of revolutionary lectures, but such is the price of the trip.

Today we are off to the main station, to see the train from Santiago pulling in.  Then it was off to the locomotive shops where we were shut out.  Lunch was in Old Havana – fortunately a place we had not already eaten.  Then we were lead to the passenger car shop, where saw only self-propelled Russian rail car in the country.  All the passenger cars look grim, caked with dirt and generally beat up.  Then it was back to Old Havana, and a stop at the Hotel International, were I saw another mint '59 Chevrolet Impala.  Finally it was back to our hotel for an educational meeting, two interviews, and dinner.  My phone card won't work in this area code.  Bummer.

We got out of the hotel at about 9 AM, after having to fight our way up to breakfast, the elevators were all locked out of the fifth floor.  Instead of the water ferry, we drove over across the bay via a tunnel to Casablanca, which was the end of the line for the Hershey electric line.  We boarded two old Brill cars, and headed east to Hershey and Matanzas.  It was very crowded, as there are 68 people on this trip, which is a tad to many, in my opinion.  And these are serious rail fans.  We did a couple of run bys, and ended up in the shops in Hershey, which was also part of a sugar mill.  There was no steam here, but we did see old GE box cab electrics hauling cane cars.  I had wanted to do a short standup with one of the tour director, but he was ill, and we had to put it off.  We, along with about 8 other people, bailed on the rest of the Brill car ride and took the bus to Veradero.  The land is very pretty, with rolling hills and farm plots.  Everything is pretty green, and it was even better as we used the road along the north coast.  Veradero is a resort area, and our hotel is quite nice.  The bellman told me that in the summer it could get as high as 40C (112F)  degrees here.  This would not be to my liking.  The resort is all-inclusive, and we had a few drinks by the pool and dinner.  Jim and I walked around a little bit. This is cleaner and better kept than Havana.  We saw a lot of people visiting, playing with their kids – one father and daughter flying a plastic grocery bag!  Everyone was friendly and spoke to us.  Wanted to know where we were from, etc.  Everyone thinks we are Canadian, and are surprised to learn that we are from the USA.  Enough.  Tomorrow we are back on steam, and several sugar mills.  And back to Havana and the Plaza Hotel.

We headed out this morning via bus to a sugar mill named Jose Comas.  And true to the ads, they were running old Baldwin locos.  Steam at last.  The trains would haul the cane out of the fields to the mill.  As usual, everything looked pretty run down.   But it all still works.  It is rather strange watching a guy plow a field with an ox team.  We did a number of run bys at the mill, which took forever. And it was hot and dusty. If it hadn’t been for the breeze, it would have been a lot worse. Around Noon, we hopped back on the buses and headed for the Cuba Libre sugar mill, which was a larger and seemingly more prosperous enterprise.  They too, were still using Baldwin 2-6-0 to haul the cane around.  They also had a rotary dumper, which cost me about 10 bucks in “licensing fees” to shoot.  Everyone here has “dollar fever.”  We got a standup with the tour director done, and hopped on two passenger cars in a mixed consist with double headed steam for more run bys.  The land is pretty flat and agricultural, and as I said, it was quite something to see an old man driving a horse cart, with his dog by is side, as we rode through the cane fields.  We have passed through many small towns, and everyone turns out to see the train.  There is a lot of colonial architecture, which is just beautiful, but is in poor repair.  It would take billions to bring this place up to an American standard.  But I guess that is a poor way of looking at it all.  We ended our train ride – very plain coaches and sun blasted window laminate- and we going to do another run by at the station, but the train had a car derail.  So we are headed back to Havana by bus on (initially) really bad roads.  As it got dark we could see the cane fields being burned off, which made for spectacular fires.  We finally hit a freeway, and pulled into the Plaza in Havana about 8 PM.  There was the usual screw up at the desk with 70+ people all trying to get checked in.  Everyone is hot and tired and dirty.  We just headed up for dinner and then back toe room.  My room is a definite improvement over the last one.  The A/C works well, and it is quiet.  It is unfortunate that we are out of here so early tomorrow.  As a final note, the tour director found his lost person.  The guy wandered off in Hershey, missed the bus, and took his own little tour. First he went to Veradero, got the wrong hotel and then made his way back here.  I think children are easier to deal with than rail fans.  At least children listen.  Rail fans see a train and just are lost to time and place.

I had breakfast with a delightful couple from Hattiesburg, Mississippi.  She was very much the Southern woman – steel wrapped in warm velvet.   I think we shall interview them, as rather than being rabid rail fans, they just like to ride trains.  We were late getting to Havana’s Central Station (no surprise) and found the Budd cars in place.  It seems that a wreck on the main line compromised the original plan for today.  So we are trying to do Friday, today.  We did one run by with the RDCs, and otherwise just pounded down miles to Moron, which is pretty much in the center of the island.  The A/C is in bad shape, and as the windows are sealed, it is hot, hot.  Pretty much everyone is asleep.  We ran through some small coastal mountains. and are now off in flat agricultural plains again.  It has been so hot on the trip.  Sealed units are fine, when the A/C works.  But it is just miserable when it doesn’t.  We finally propped the doors open for the movement of some air.  The Cuban railroad is in great shape.  The use of concrete sleepers helps, and the track is smooth and level.  The engineer got these old RDC's going flat out.  At one point the speedometer read 150 kilometers per hour, which I think is around 92 miles per hour.  Whatever the speed, we were really hauling.  After several stops we arrived in Moron.  Rather than wait for the second bus to ferry us from the station to the hotel, we took a horse drawn carriage.  The hotel is nice, and I lucked into a suite.  Cuba is interesting.  It is a land struggling to get by in whatever way it can.  The people are friendly and pleasant to be around.  There are reports of some crime, but the crime rate is still very low.  Everyone is hustling.  I read an article in the Washington Post (I think) in which the author was traveling with a Cuban traveler in Mexico City.  They were passing down a street, which was filled with KFC, McDonalds, Pizza Hut, etc.  The author asked the Cuban if this is what the Cuban people were afraid would happen when Fidel dies.  The Cuban answered, “You don’t understand.  This is what we want.”  There will be changes here.  In reading some history of the island, I think that the Cuban national spirit will prevail, whatever the changes of time will bring.

We hit breakfast and then did a short interview with the Hattiesburg couple (Mary (Widgie) and J.C. Bell) at the pool. We then grabbed two horse drawn carriages and shot a tour of Moron, with some architectural footage (crumbling colonial) and ugly Russian concrete housing boxes.  John and Gail went off on their own, and Jim and I got some water in a local store.  We then waited in the station and got accosted by three young women, who just wanted to talk and have a good time.  My Spanish is terrible.  Non-existent, really.  So it was a struggle.  Jim started to feel rather unwell, and so he begged off on today’s trip and stayed close to more up to date facilities here at the hotel.  It is just as well he did, because the charter train consisted of former Romanian boxcars, which had been converted to local passenger service.  They were a little short on comfort, ride, and any other amenities.  We slowly made our way to Ciego de Avila, which was a distance of about 60 Km.  The station had a double diamond cross over right in the middle.  This is unusual, to say the least.  We saw a local school, and one of the train crew, and Michel Martinez, said that we could talk to the children, and see some of the school.  And then we ran up against the principal, who accused us of being with the CIA, blah, blah, blah, blah.  The guy was most apoplectic.  But principals are the same in Cuba as in the US.  They run their own little fiefdoms.  So we shot what we could, and moved on.  In talking to Michel, he said that he was almost finished with is degree in what turned out to be computers, and was working for the railroad on their signaling systems (FerroCarriel de Cuba - FdeC- still does not have ATC).  He had to work for two years for 200 pesos a month once he graduated, as payback for his state funded schooling.  I didn’t want to get into a debate about they pay/you pay back vs. you pay/pay them back school loans, etc.  He was interesting to talk to and once we discovered our mutual attraction to computers, just kept at it. He told me that in all of Cuba there is one copy of Windows 2000 Professional, and one copy of 2000 Advanced Server. He said every one knows the key code, as they have been duplicating it like crazy.  But, he shrugged, the US has us under embargo, and so what can Microsoft do?  He said that when the embargo is lifted, they are all dead (figuratively).  It just goes to show the ingenuity of these people.  Who, by the way, are making great strides in the development of vaccinations (which I read).  Then it was on to the Venezuelan sugar mill, where they were still running steam.  After we poked around the workshops a bit – where they had several steam locos under repair – we hopped on a 2-8-0 Baldwin for a ride back to Ciego de Avila and return to the mill.  Enroute we picked up about 18 loaded cane cars.  We had several nice run bys, with the engine really working.  On one of the run bys, the engine’s whistle spooked a horse carriage, which in turn ran over a bicyclist.  No one was hurt, but we have it on tape.  We got some great footage in a golden late afternoon light, and then, given the choice between riding the bus back to Moron or the train, everyone bolted for the bus.  Free money wouldn’t have moved this crowd any faster.  We got back to the hotel, showered, had dinner, and got ourselves mentally prepared for the long, hot ride back to Havana tomorrow.

Last night the hotel was overrun with German tourists, who kept the disco hopping until 2.  And they overloaded the breakfast facilities to the point where I didn’t get any coffee.  As I got back to the room, the maid, who kept trying to tell me something in Spanish.  Fortunately one of the tour directors came along and after a torrent of Spanish, simply laughed and said, “Pay for your laundry at the front desk.”  We were ready for a hot and steamy ride back to Havana.  Rather than wait for the buses, we followed the old rail fan trick of grabbing horse drawn cabs to he station, and nabbed seats (on the wrong side again) before the rest of the group showed up.  The cars were delightfully cool, which only lasted about two hours into the day.  About twenty people opted to take the bus back, so it was a little less crowded than on the way out.  I promptly fell asleep, and the crew amused themselves by taping me snoring and tickling my nose.  I’m sure the tape will show up at very inopportune times.  We did a couple of run bys, one in a small town. Everyone is so friendly and cheerful.  And they are glad to hear we are from the US.  I definitely wish I had brought pens, instead of pins, but the children like the latter.  The kids are all so cute.  We just kept hammering away on the miles until we hit km post 170 east of Havana.  Every rail trip must have an adventure, and this was no exception.  The disk brake rotor on the front truck broke away.  After much debate, and numerous suggestions from the fans on what to so, the rail crew uncoupled the second car, which only had one operating transmission, and we all climbed on board and headed for Havana.  It was hot.  Oh my, but it was hot.  The rail crew went as fast as they could, and finally threw caution to the winds and fired up the second engine, put it on line, and ran us (despite the engine warnings) at 80 km per hour into the closest station in Havana.  We headed back to the Plaza Hotel (another good room), peeled our clothes off, took showers, and went up to dinner.  By the time we arrived, things were a little bare, but they did have lots a rabbit, which was very good. I did go across the street to the next hotel, and established that they have Internet access from 8-8.  Perhaps I shall try first thing in the morning when traffic should be light.  We have two interviews to do, starting at 9:30.

I was up early and out to breakfast today.  The place is pretty over-run with tourists.  I wanted to get to the hotel across the street right at 8 AM for Internet access.  I got there at one minute past eight, and found three of the tour group already there.  I did manage to wait long enough to get in about 30 minutes, which cost about $7.  I headed back to the hotel, for another interview, this time with tour operator, Chris Skow.  We put the Cuban capitol in the background, and it really looked nice.  It was very hot, but the interview went well.  Chris has been running the train tours since the mid 1980’ and does – in my opinion – a superb job.  We then headed down to the tea garden and did an interview with the people from northern Wisconsin. They did well also, and then we had a sit down meeting with our hired guides concerning the rest of the trip.  We got things pretty well lined up, and headed off for the Novotel for check-in.  The motel is great. It is much better than anyplace we have stayed in the last week.  In fact, it was suggested that we blow off the rest of the week and just hang out here, working on our tans.  We barely had time to dump our gear, before we had to get back to the group for a tour of the shops.  That took pretty much the rest of the afternoon, and we had time to do some stand-ups with Jim on the Plaza roof before we headed back to the hotel, show, and go to a departure dinner.  You meet some great people on these trips, and are sorry to see many of them leave.  I am sure we will run across some of these people again.  We then sat around the pool, and had a beer, before turning in.

We all got up late and fought with the crowds for breakfast.  This may be a better hotel, but it pretty much a tourist factory.  And if you are familiar with Novotel, you know they are a French outfit.  It is geared to serving large groups – very large groups.  Normally, this is the kind of place I shy away from.  It lacks the charm of the Plaza, but has much nicer amenities.  Like the fact that all the light bulbs function, and all the plumbing pieces function as they should.  In true French fashion it is wired for 220, so I’m glad my hair dryer and computer charger are dual voltage.  I went to the hotel stores and bought a polo and T shirt, as well as the requisite refrigerator magnets.  I also bought a box of ten cigars and a bottle of seven-year-old rum, which is kind of odd, as I don’t smoke and really don’t drink rum. But I figured if I’m in Cuba, everyone will ask if I brought any of that stuff back.  As a journalist, I am supposed to be able to bring back $100 of stuff.  We shall see.  After laying in the sun – real easy to get scorched – and drying my socks at the same time, we headed for the Hotel National de Cuba, and an interview in the bar with a local singer who is apparently a very big deal here- Carlos Verela.  He is apparently internationally known, and sings songs, which are protest songs of the Cuban government. But he is pretty much left alone.  He was initially a little hesitant, but Jim brought him out (took 40 minutes of tape) and he warmed up.  It was a good interview with thoughts on his love for Cuba and the Cuban people.  He said – and I would agree from my short, short time - that when Fidel dies, it really won’t change too much.  Leave these people alone with their system of choice, set up some trade, and move on.  If people want to leave, they will find a way.  Twenty thousand leave every year as a result of the lottery, in which over a tenth of the population participates.  On the way back from the interview we stopped at a little flea market that I have been eyeing for the last week. I bought some old Cuban stamps, and browsed through some old books.  Old books seem to sell here, and there was a copy of HG Wells and Jules Verne in Spanish.  And of course the usual Che and revolutionary books (the life of Lenin, that sort of thing).  We tried to get a shot of the “Elian you idiot” statue, but were told it was “top secret.”  I think the monument is very funny. It was erected after the return to Cuba of Elian Gonzales, and shows the boy being carried by José Marti (gee, who else?).  Jose has his arm outstretched and pointing.  Since the pointing arm is roughly in a westerly direction, the Cubans interpret that the statue as Jose saying, “Elian, you idiot. Miami is that way!”  Back to the hotel for dinner and a boatload of tourists.  Then off to the Parisian where we were supposed to shoot some of the floor show.  However, our filming permits have not materialized so it was a bust.  The hotel also took a power hit and fried both our power converters, so we were afraid the charger was dead as well.  Fortunately it still works on 110. Who but the French would build a hotel that only runs 220 in a land of otherwise 110 AC.

We rolled out of the hotel at 8:30 and headed straight for the press office.  Wonder of wonders, we had our credentials in about fifteen minutes.  And the office relieved us of $61 each for the privilege.  If I had any advice to give to anyone coming here, it would be to bring lots of cash. No, bring a truckload of cash. In a cash economy, you can roll through money like there is no tomorrow.  And everyone has his hand out.  We headed down to Pinar del Rio, which is a very pretty area.  We will continue to Vinales, which is even hillier.  We ran into some rain, and it looks as if we will fight tropical showers all day.  I am seriously out of money, as is Jim.  Our guide is out, and everybody is mad at everybody.  At least Jim and I are still speaking.  We got to Pinar del Rio, which is kind of a neat little town and went to the prearranged tour of the cigar factory. The tour was now off.  Then it was on, then it was off unless we paid, then it was on for only the non-professional camera, then it was on for all cameras but only for 15 minutes.  It still cost $5 per head.  But that was only for the factory, where assembly line techniques churn out the cigars.  At the retail shop, we could talk with a single hand roller and shoot as long as we liked for free.  We took advantage of it and got a nice interview.  Then we headed out to the tobacco fields and found some guys cutting and drying the tobacco leaves.  Jim did another nice interview and then the farmers wife took us on a tour of their home.  It was pretty humble. He farmer said that he is a third generation tobacco farmer and that he had been to the city, but it scared him. He liked it in the country.  I think this segment will be great if the rest of the interviews go as well as the last couple.  On the other hand, Estavio Leal wants a thousand dollars for his interview tomorrow.  We are going to show up on his doorstep and see if we can schmooze him.  I am trying to get my plane tickets changed and leave early.  We are so cash short, that one less body will help. I need to get back o the US and get to an ATM. Our guide was correct in that we would not be as fortunate with dinner as the previous night.  So there goes another thirty dollars.  Lack of cash sure slows one down.  There are bad, bad rainstorms in the area and power hits on the hotel.  We are back to 110 VAC and a hit takes out the charger.  Isn't that special.

Where has the month gone? By the way, did I mention the Russian Embassy?  I am sorry that I did not take a photo of it, because it is truly ugly and out of place in Havana.  Rather than conform to the graceful lines of colonial architecture, the Russians built this 5 story concrete monolith on the beach.  And then added a square spire of at least another three stories.  Yikes.  What a horrible, horrible thing.  It is just so – um, “Soviet!”  People here just shake their heads in dismay.  We were up and out early –even before breakfast, and on the road to Havana.  The roads were still wet, but we were ahead of the tourist buses and all the Kamas Transporters.  Those things were not built to any air pollution standards, except to pour out as many unburned diesel hydrocarbons as possible.  We showed up at Estavio Leal’s office promptly at 9 AM.  And sure enough, we did get an interview.  Actually, getting him to not talk was more the issue.  This is going to be a great story that Jim is getting together.  An amusing part is that John, the cameraman, and the only one with any cash left, had to make a donation of $200 to the “Save Havana” fund.  We are all still laughing – well, except John.  Then it was off to the Partegas Cigar factory, where we did more interviews with cigar makers.  It was- in my opinion – just OK, as it duplicated what we saw yesterday.  And then, it was back to the French at the Novotel.  We still have no money.  Later.  I was able to change my Air Jamaica tickets to tomorrow.  So I shall be leaving early, mostly to conserve money.

After a restless night, I got up at a quarter to six for my 9:15 flight.  I checked out and owed 30 cents.  For what, I have no idea.  I got to Jose Marti Airport about 7 AM, and had to wait for about a half hour for the Air Jamaica people to show up.  But I wasn’t alone.  The monitor showed the flight on time at 9:15, but 9:15 came and went.  I asked one of the other passengers in the waiting area, and we checked our tickets and they said 10:15.  You check the monitor, and then the boarding pass is different.  I can’t win.  We had an uneventful flight to Kingston and then Montego Bay.  However, I sat, and sat, and sat in Montego Bay.  Unless you go down to the duty-free shops, you have to sit in this long aisle.  It is uncomfortable, but a great place to people watch. And the flight was first pushed back twenty-five minutes, then an hour, and finally and hour and a half.  The Jamaican security had to search the luggage by hand, even though I was a passenger in transit.  And the skies kept getting darker and darker with storms.  But we finally got off, an hour and a half late, and arrived uneventfully in Miami.  I put on my customs declaration that I had been to Montego Bay and Cuba, and that I had a box of cigars and a bottle of rum.  After a lengthy wait (45 minutes) for the luggage, the customs guys didn’t even blink.  And I purposely left the Cuban transfer tags on my bag.  So I’m back.  I’m checking into a motel (Hampton has a shuttle and gives me points) and then I’m going to find a big, greasy cheap cheeseburger.  I’ll pay later in indigestion, but that sure sounds good.  Tomorrow I’ll see if I can get a gate agent from Northwest to take pity on me and move my flight up.  And I’ll find an ATM.