Marcia Mayne travels a world full of books, music, art, fun people and great food. She raves about them constantly. Currently, she is journeying through Jamaica, her home country, to discover the places she missed.
As we meandered around Havana, these are a few of the things we saw.
Sidewalk homage to Ernesto "Che" GuevaraAnother sidewalk homage CheMonument to Che at the Plaza de la Revolucion
A few mornings we walked the Malecon, from Vedado, where we were staying. to Old Havana. We’d always see people sweeping the streets and cleaning up in front of their buildings.
We were impressed by many of the metal gates, fences and window grills we saw.
Impressive gatesAnother impressive gateMedallion from the gateGates at the Union of Writers and Artists BuildingSculpture garden at the Union of Writers and Artists buildingSculpture
One of the things that struck us right away was the absence of graffiti and advertising. We did see one or two political signs and lots of signs reminding Cubans not to litter, etc.
I live in a free country
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More than anything else, meeting local people who are warm and friendly is what I remember most when I travel. To increase my chances of interacting with locals, I prefer to stay in smaller hotels, guesthouses, Bed & Breakfasts, and when possible, with families.
So when my friend, Lett and I decided to visit Havana, there was no question where we’d stay – we chose a B&B or casa particular.
The casa particular we ended up staying at was not the one we booked initially but we wouldn’t have met the wonderful family who embraced us and with whom we now stay in touch.
And if we didn’t walk almost everywhere, we wouldn’t meet the Cubans we encountered while out and about. Some left quite an impression.
People like Reina.
Reina greeted me as if I were a long lost friend. And from what she said, I realized she thought I was someone she had worked with years before. I started to tell her she was mistaken but she kept on talking. She realized her mistake only when I switched to English and told her I was Jamaican.
Jamaica!, she repeated and without missing a beat, invited Lett and me to a reception that was being given in honor of the visiting Barbadian Prime Minister at the Caribbean Center that evening. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to attend. But I’ve not forgotten her generosity.
Alex and Lett
Alex is a member of one of the bands that plays at the Hotel Inglaterra where we spent a few afternoons listening to music and drinking Cuba Libres. We chatted with the musicians after one of their sets and Alex offered to show us around. It was our last day in Havana and a slight drizzle fell quietly on the morning. But Alex arrived exactly at the time he promised he would. We took the bus to Old Havana (Habana Vieja) and he showed us several places we had missed, then accompanied us back to the casa particular.
Minia
Then there was Minia.
Lett and I had gone to the Hotel Nacional to use one of their computers. As we were leaving, an employee approached and asked, in halting English, if we were Jamaicans. A smile of relief spread across her face when I responded that I was. So were both her grandparents, she gushed.
I should not have been surprised to meet someone of Jamaican heritage but I was. Long before migration north became the dream of most Jamaicans and other Caribbean people, Cuba was the place to go. It is estimated that between 1916 and 1940, nearly 300,000 Jamaicans migrated there in search of work in the sugar industry. Relatives of mine on both sides, including my paternal grandfather, went as well. However, only my grandfather returned.
Before I left for Cuba, one of my father’s sisters urged me to try to find an aunt who had never returned. But with only an old address and just a week in Havana, I knew the odds of finding her were slim – I didn’t even try.
I didn’t count on finding Minia or on being busted as a Jamaican — not that I was hiding. I have a pretty normal face, with African features, that equal numbers of Ghanian and Nigerian friends have claimed could be from their respective ethnic groups. But I wonder if there were some characteristics typical of Jamaicans that telegraphed to Minia our real identity.
I have to admit, she could well be a distant relative – her grandparents are from the same area in Jamaica as my maternal grandparents – I’ve yet to trace our genealogy. But for someone whom I met only briefly, I feel an inexplicably strong connection. So I’m glad that she busted me in Havana.
Five years ago, on February 6, 2006, these black flags – 138 of them – each with a white star, were hoisted in Havana to commemorate the lives lost during the 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion and several other tragic events the Cuban Government has attributed to the United States.
Black Flag Monument
Was it a true commemoration or an attempt to block the illuminated crawling sign on the side of the U.S. diplomatic building where news and political messages are shown?
We’ll never know for sure.
But it doesn’t matter now, as according to a recent ABC news item, the flags have come down.
Maybe now, restrictions on U.S. citizens traveling to Cuba will be lifted. It’s about time. The U.S. is the only country whose citizens cannot travel freely to Cuba.
Following our visit to Callejon de Hamel, we went to the Centro de los Orishas in Regla, a municipality located about a half an hour’s drive from Havana.
The Centro is an open air exhibition space where performances are held. There is a small restaurant as well as a little shop at the back.
The main attraction for us was the sculptural representations to the Santeria gods Eleggua (also Eshu), Obbatala, Yemaya (Yemonja, Iemonja), Chango (also Shango and Sango), Ochun (Oggun), Babalu Aye and Ochosi.
Santeria is derived from the Yoruba religion of West Africa. Followers believe in Olodumare (God) and his manifestations (Orishas) that help them in their daily lives, if they follow the appropriate rituals.
Shango and Ochun (or Oggun)
Shango represents virility, strength and sexuality. His color is red and white.
Ochun (or Oggun) is the god of iron and mineral and anything made of iron or steel.
Yemaya
Yemaya is the queen of the seas. Her colors are blue and white.
Obbatala
Obbatala is the god of peace, the creator of the world and the father of the Orishas. His color is white. As I write this, I’m listening to Bobi Cespedes‘ Rezos. Listen to her tribute to Obatala.
Babalu Aye
Babalu Aye can tell the future. His color is purple.
Eleggua
Eleggua (Eshu) is guardian of crossroads and roads and the protector of travelers. His color are red.
Santeria deities Babalu Aye, Obbatala, Yemaya and Ochun
When Africans were brought as slaves to the New World, one of the traditions they brought was their religion.
In Cuba, this religious tradition is known as Santeria and it exists side by side with Catholicism. Each Sunday afternoon, Callejon de Hamel, a block-long shrine to Santeria located between Aramburu and Hospital Streets in Havana comes alive with rumba music and dancing.
Callejon de Hamel Mural
Artist, Salvador Gonzalez, whose studio is located in the middle of the Callejon has been creating these artworks, sculptures and murals since the 1990s. Now the entire block is awash in vibrant colors.
Statue from Callejon de Hamel
Callejon de Hamel underscores the significance of Santeria to Cubans.
Statue in Callejon de HamelMural in Callejon de HamelAnother statueCallejon doll
This doll was embedded in the ground near the entrance to Callejon de Hamel.
with artist Salvador Gonzalez
A friend who had met Salvador in Havana more than 10 years ago, gushed that I had to meet him. She didn’t know if he’s still be there 10 years later and I didn’t know that Callejon de Hamel was where his studio is located or that he was the artist behind the sculptures I was looking at. But something about the work made me think of him, so I asked and was shown his studio. He wasn’t there. But my friend, Lett and I, hung around admiring his paintings. Luckily, just as we were getting ready to leave, he showed up and graciously agreed to take this photo. Of course, I had to tell him about my friend who had spoken so glowingly about him.
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I have a confession: I’ve never had a Valentine – well, not one that I remember.
Somehow, I always seem to meet guys after February and we break up before the next
Happy Valentine's Day!
Valentine’s Day.
Or, the ones I end up with don’t believe in Valentine’s Day.
So while other girls are getting gussied up to go out to dinner, expecting the obligatory hearts and flowers, I wait patiently for the day to end.
Why does that happen to me, a romantic?
It is just one day, I console myself.
But yesterday, I decided to do be honest with myself. Rather ignore it or pretend it doesn’t matter, I thought, I’d be proactive and face it heart on.
So today, I’m sending myself a hundred roses. I’m going to buy the biggest caramel heart I can find (No chocolate for me, I hate the stuff with a passion. Speaking of: what do guys buy a girl who doesn’t like chocolate?), and if I can still get a reservation, take myself out for the most heart soothing meal there is.
Oh, and I’ll wish myself a very Happy Valentine’s Day.
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Living in New York City, summer means looking for places to recharge. One place I’ve come to love is Cape May, New Jersey.
Cape May is a picturesque seaside resort town on the southern tip – the last exit on the Garden State Parkway – of New Jersey that comes alive in the summer, swelling ten fold to about 40,000 residents.
Friends talked glowingly of the Victorian houses, the beach, the restaurants. They kept saying it was a place I’d like. It took me a while but when I finally visited, I fell in love.
Beautiful Victorian
With stunning Victorian homes, some converted to Bed and Breakfasts, and vistas such as this, it isn’t difficult to see why this little New Jersey destination is such a draw.
A gentle sunsetAntique fire truck
Our visit coincided with the weekend of the Classic Car show.
1950s Ford at the Classic Car showClassic Car Show – They sure don’t make them like this anymore
I felt a chill shortly following our presentation of the gifts and supplies we had brought
Taking off
from the U.S. for students at St. Peter Claver Primary School in Soweto. Then a general feeling of weakness throughout my body that forced me to grab the nearest seat. I felt drained.
I took an aspirin that I got from Sandra, one of my traveling partners, and waited for it to take effect. All I wanted to do was go back to bed, pull the sheet over my head and sleep. But our flight back to the States was leaving in less than 7 hours.
Up until lunch time, I still had no idea what was wrong – just that I felt lousy. And a few hours later when we were having lunch with the teachers, Judith our other traveling buddy, started to feel sick as well.
When the coughing started, I knew for sure – it was the dreaded cold – the last thing I wanted to have on any flight, let along one that lasted 17 hours.
A cold in an enclosed space is bad for everyone so after checking in, we stopped at a pharmacy at the O.R. Tambo International Airport and bought cough drops and other cold remedies. Once on the plane, we got blankets and pillows so we could sleep.
Despite taking the cold medication and continuing to pop cough drops throughout the flight, we coughed sporadically. We felt badly about being sick and I hope we didn’t infect anyone else.
Two things come to mind on looking back: if there is a optimal time to get a cold while traveling, it would be on the day of. A day or so later, when a full blown cold developed, would probably have forced us to postpone our flight. It is never advised to travel with a severe cold as changes in cabin pressure on takeoff and landing can cause serious hearing problems.
Since our bodies were dealing with the onset of a cold, it was easy to sleep. We did for most of the 17 hours and it made the time pass quickly.
If you feel a cold coming on or get one before you fly, take the same precautions you would if you were at home. This is what I usually have on hand: Vitamins C, D and zinc – great immune system boosters and cold fighters; my personal favorites – Alpha CF and Kold Kare, taken at the start of a cold to reduce its severity and duration. If I’ve waited too long, I take over the counter remedies such as Sudafed, Afrin, etc., which help to relieve the symptoms.
So, do you think we should have flown with the early signs of a cold?
New York City boasts an impressive array of attractions and activities – from Central Park to Broadway – that draw about 40 million American and international visitors annually.
Where to go, what to see
And we love that you come, because last year alone, you pumped $39 million into our economy.
But for people like me who work in the middle of some of the City’s most popular tourist areas – Times Square, Broadway, Rockefeller Center, Grand Central, etc., it feels like all 49 million of you descend on those areas right at rush hour.
So, if you happen to find yourself in any of these areas during rush hour, here’s what not to do:
Don’t Hold up Traffic: Between 7-9 a.m., New Yorkers rush to get to work and between 4-6 p.m., they will almost run you over to catch the bus or train or subway that will take them home. Since you’re on vacation, you stroll. So if you’re caught during rush hour, rather than have us swearing, “Tourists!” under our breaths (or sometimes, at you), move to the side and let us rush past so we can get home to pick up the kids, send the nanny home, feed the cat, walk the dog, etc.
Don’t Walk More than Two Abreast: A lot of sidewalks in the areas mentioned are wider than normal but it’s not an invitation for you and your entourage to spread out. Be mindful of us trying to get home, so walk don’t walk more than two abreast.
Pay Attention: With some of the most interesting buildings in the world, like New York Public Library, the Chrysler Building, the Empire State Building, etc., we understand that you will want to stop, look up and take photographs. But during rush hour, don’t stroll and look up at the same time or turn around quickly. We wouldn’t want to run into you.
New York
Living in this magnificent city has taught me to be a more thoughtful visitor so when I go to other countries, I follow my own unwritten rules.
