 Neighbourhood
chickens put an end to any foolish notions I might have of sleeping
beyond 6.00am. Rather than dwell on this I have a hearty breakfast
on the balcony and look forward to my first full day in Santiago.
As I reach the main square, a girl grabs my hand and compliments me.
Her friend strokes my back and does the same. Embarrassed in a way
that is certainly not a problem, I continue on my way.
Downtown
I ask a man where I might find bandanas for sale. He takes me round
a few shops but we have no luck. We take a walk onto Calle heredia,
the famous music district, Cuba’s version of Bourbon Street,
New Orleans). My newfound guide suggests a visit to Casa La Trova.
Inside I find a famous chair roped off that was once graced with
Paul McCartney’s presence. Above it is a letter of gratitude
from the ex-Beatle, saying how he enjoyed his time at the club.
On stage
is a local band, Pappu Oggun. Whilst very good they are a little sedate
for me. They soon notch it up a gear and I take to the floor. At this
point, the singer has taken to going round the tourists selling copies
of their latest CD, Cosas y Trobadores. In time to the music he sings
in my ear, “Por que no comprar el disco, solo doce dolares”
(Why not buy our cd, only twelve dollars). I reply - also in time,
“Yo no puedo, no tengo dinero” (I can’t, I have no
money). He’s impressed, so am I. I normally have to think out
every response before answering in Spanish.
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Paul
McCartney's bottom once graced this chair!
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They go
into their final number and the percussionists go wild. Bongos and
congas weave rhythms, beats to die for. The whole band build in intensity,
and suddenly it’s all over. I go over and thank the band for
such an outstanding performance. I ask for a copy of the CD and the
singer lets me have it for $10 on account of my smart Alec answer
earlier.
I get
back to the Casa and Isabella is on the phone. She motions me over
and hands me the receiver. She whispers, “Es el professor de
Congas que te repuesdido, diez dollares del hora (It’s the
Conga tutor you asked about, ten dollars an hour).” I take
directions to his house and agree to see him in a couple of hours.
Some time later I take a taxi downtown and arrive at his house.
The door opens and out steps this tall, gangly figure. We shake
hands and go in. His name is Reynaldo, he sits me down behind the
congas and takes me through a warm up session. After and hour of
basic rhythms I ask him am I any good. He tells me sure, but I have
to loosen up the right hand side of my body and connect with the
drum skin with a bit more attitude.
By
this time, it’s dark and we take a walk through the barrio.
It’s a rough neighbourhood and probably not wise for me to
walk home alone. Reynaldo flags down a man on a motor bike and arranges
a lift home for me. The laid back synchronicity of this place is
amazing.
He
drops me off outside the Casa and I drop him a couple of dollars
for the journey. I have a sudden strong urge for chocolate and go
back into town. As I turn the corner a beautiful Afro Cuban girl
accosts me. Her name is Julie, she asks me to accompany her into
a local hotel bar, as she wouldn’t be allowed in on her own.
I am happy to do this because I think the ‘no locals’
door policy in Cuba is nothing short of apartheid. We chat a little,
but I’m slightly overawed by her stunning looks and she doesn’t
seem that interested in me. She has a walk round the bar to try
find her date or friend but they haven’t shown. She comes back
to join me and shows a little more interest, would I like to take
her to a nightclub? I can’t believethat I’m saying no,
but I really am tired and have only come  out
to buy some munchies for my supper. I walk her to the club, pay
her in and leave.
The
views expressed on this page are those of the contributor and the
opinions expressed are not necessarily those of the BBC.
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