Talking about their closed society, how is it that they teach music and choose folk songs that are so natural, beautiful and melodious? One of them teaches and one of them sings with such concentration and dedication, and looking at them, I truly feel that there is always beauty in the world, so why worry about the vicissitudes of the world.
Apart from the beach, it was the countryside. On the way out of Havana and on to Trinidad, apart from the occasional stop, there was nothing but farmland, not even a town or village. We tsked at the fertile soil, much of which was abandoned because it didn’t yield much in the way of crops. The lack of people farming is partly due to the laziness of the people, but the system is really the key.
Within Cuba, although Havana and non-Havana are about as different as London and non-London, Paris and non-Paris, there are small, old towns in central Cuba like Trinidad, Santiago and Santa Clara that are worth seeing if you have time. For those who are not determined to travel the length and breadth of Cuba, a “pilgrimage” to Guantanamo once you reach the centre is not necessary.
Trinidad is at the girdle of this long island, with a mountainous terrain rarely seen in Cuba. The town is built on a hill, like the wreck of an old Spanish ship that was brought into a museum for exhibition. The rows of houses, all low cottages in the southern European style, are covered with layers of red tiles and have beautiful tiled roofs and doors.
The town centre square is bordered by a church, a wide public space, palm trees, Moorish courtyard gardens that show how much thought has gone into their design, and large, blocky stone steps. Except for the rows of palm trees, which are similar year after year, everything else looks tired and weathered: the ornate houses, the rusty barbed wire fences, the rusty tin billboards, bathed in the amber golden glow of the day’s brew, for the rest of their lives.
Up the hill from the town centre, there is a small area of a few dozen square metres that has been almost half destroyed. In cross section, it looks less like a church and more like a bell tower. I’ve been thinking that one day, when the hunter-gatherers are sick of Shangri-La, Pingyao, the Rodin Museum in Paris, the Forbidden City’s Taihe Temple and Shanghai’s Maglev, and are scratching their heads trying to find a new eye-catching location for their show, I’ll strongly suggest that they move their planned corporate ready-to-wear show here.
Our hotel was a stand-alone cottage on top of a hill, and it was a long walk from the hotel lobby to our accommodation. The man who carried our luggage to our room was a middle-aged Cuban man. He was an honest, educated man who spoke perfect English. When I asked him, I found out that he was an English teacher in a primary school who was forced to work as a porter at the hotel, saying that the tips and regular income here were better than being a teacher, or at least enough to improve his family’s living.
If I were to visit again, I would probably not choose to stay at the top of the mountain, but go to a boarding house. Cuba’s restaurant and tourism industry has been partially liberalised, allowing, for example, family restaurants of less than four tables, and allowing extra rooms in homes to be rented out as small private hotels. In the neighbourhoods where the family has a sign like an anchor on the front door, they are government-approved lodgings that are much cheaper than ordinary hotels, not “classy” but not too modest, and mostly cleaned to the best of their ability, with the housewives cooking home-cooked breakfasts and dinners themselves, making the stay very It’s very intimate.
However, you’ll need to knock on doors to find them yourself, and they’re usually full in high season. As I was leaving one of the B&Bs, I suddenly noticed a small bungalow on the side. The door was open and the large living room was empty except for a few benches. The polished marble floor was a reminder of its former grandeur, and the walls were covered with several children’s drawings, making it look like the banqueting hall of a large family had been incorporated into a children’s youth centre.
What attracted me was the sound of singing coming from a small room next door. The door of the small room was half-closed and a middle-aged man was playing an old guitar, while a teenage girl sat opposite, singing along with a pentatonic score. From time to time the man stops and gestures to say something, then restarts the tune for the girl to repeat the joint. To put it mildly, their society was closed, much like ours was in China in the 1980s. But how is it that people teach music and the selected repertoire of folk songs can be so natural, nice and lilting?
Such music itself is enough to support a child’s beautiful impression and love of music. They were so dedicated to teaching and singing, and when I watched them, I truly felt that there is always beauty in the world, so why worry about the vicissitudes of the world.
