SCENE ONE "A Donde Es Cuba?"

Well, after considering spending a few thousand bucks stomping around Europe - only to be able to tell similar stories to the hoards of Aussies & Poms gone before me – I opted instead for the unknown & often misrepresented: CUBA. Being a bit of a lefty at heart & not trusting the crap I`d heard or read before, I decided to do a little research via the Net - & was glad I did, discovering there was a great deal of varied info to be found from many a seasoned traveller – although the most useful site was the Cuba-Junky.com.

So it was that, with a little background knowledge & some key words in Spanish I boarded a Cubana Aviation midday flight to Havana from Cancun, Mexico. It was a Russian-built petrodactyl, complete with rust, cracked windows & seats that fell forward when hitting mild turbulence.

Upon landing, the equivalent of a standing ovation was given the pilot by the passengers for his skill in flying one of those dinosaurs.

Waiting in line at immigration consisted of listening to all the yanks practising: “no stampe mi pasaport porfavor”. Yes, there are many Americans that travel to Cuba, not many – but enough. The ones I met? Rum, women & cigars seemed to be the sum total of their motivations for breaking the Embargo, still, I admire them for thumbing-up Uncle Sam`s restrictions. On the other side of customs I negotiate a taxi ride to Havana, 20 mins away. Starting at $20US & eventually down to $12US after rejecting several offers, I`m on my way.

It was late, raining and - for early afternoon - noticebly dark on the road to Havana. The air smelt sweet though & the streets were busy with people criss-crossing in their comings and goings. I checked into my `casa particular`, an alternative to the $60-a-night State-run Hotels,where people rent their homes to travellers for a fraction of the Hotel prices. For anywhere between $10 & $25 you can get a nice room, or sometimes an entire apartment, depending on whether the `casa particular` is a liscenced or an illegal one. The illegal `casas` are naturally cheaper as they don`t pay the huge taxes foisted on the liscenced ones.

Settling-in was an easy-going formality, as Cubans are by far the most hospitable & friendly people in the world; in no time at all I felt part of the family. I ventured out on that first night – only to be robbed by a teenager wielding a hair-comb, hoping I wouldn`t notice that it wasn`t a knife. Instead of participating in what could have become an altercation, I parted with $5, a gesture of thanks to him for `not combing my hair`.

I realized the boy must really need the money. `I hope he buys a real knife`, I thought, as I walked off into the darkness.

Not having much electricity makes Havana appear rather murky at night but despite this – and despite the hair-comb stand-up story – Cuba is in my opinion one of the safest places in the world to travel. The people have an undeniably friendly nature & furthermore, the fact that they can be locked up to serve a 2 year sentence for just `pestering` a tourist, is a great deterrent for them.

The next day saw me being hijacked – albeit, yes, in a very friendly manner – by a young man named Etian. Though I spoke no Spanish & Etian, no English, he insisted, with great charm & professionalism, on being `my friend`, my professional friend. Guiding me to a near-by `paladar` (private restaurant) a co-ordinated attempt at having me charged &10 for a bowl of rice & beans was underway. Having done my research I knew that in this situation the price of the meal translated to a meal-ticket for Etian, who would have been cut a commission for taking me to the `paladar`. I left immediately, on the way explaining – as best I could – to my professional friend that there was no way a bowl of rice & beans could cost $10 in Cuba – but it was useless. I knew I had to cut Etian loose which I only managed with great difficulty, as I did not want to offend him.

A Story by Naranjo

The fundamental rythms of a hundred genres of music can be traced back to Africa and half way there is where I found myself. Naranjo, In Cuba on a musical mission that has become my life’s nightmare ambition immersed in many a wild fantasy come true.
Cuba !!! yeh, like a pseudo socialist in a Che cap sucking down mojito’s in Havanas hot sun. Not quiet, after my delusions of the utopian peoples revolution were destroyed by my own sense of logical analysis. I soon found myself much preferring to be sucked down to empty via the gyrating hips of reggaeton fueled sex frenzied Mulata, whom no doubt, realizes I am slightly more genuine towards her situation than the droves of Italian & Canadian men on the two week banging bonanza. The same goes for the jet streams of Che fans seeking salsa lessons and some Cuban post card credibility with mates back home.
Now I am neither proud nor ashamed to say that there is not much I have not engaged in on a street level in Havana that a regular Cuban hustler trying to survive on a communist diet, hasn’t done. From shaving tourists for private casa & palada commissions, to sale of fake and genuine cigars and even the outright forbidden. Like reluctantly introducing my girlfriend at the time to a financially better off foreigner, as “my friend” so she can gyrate for him for a night so as to feed her family for a month. As opposed to once a week on my then budget.
After some years in this frail amusement I realized no matter what’s for sale in Cuba or the deep emotional pain that comes with it, there is one thing that sedates all shame and heart ache. Music !!! Music is the great liberator. And if there is an epicenter for musical talent it is definitely Cuba.
Many years had passed since my hustling days and before long I found myself embedded in the underbelly of urban Cuban music. So many people I meet find it easy to assume it’s full of glamor and high rolling but the realities I have experienced are nothing like. Of course the girls are hot and the music is slamming but the levels of degradation and manipulation to make it all happen is seldom revealed. The hustles, the counter hustles, the hostage taking, the technical obstacles and the forever impeding state regulations make the facilitation of urban music production in Cuba for the commercial world, one of the most difficult creative situations music has ever faced.

Over the next coming months, you’ll be given a fly on the wall insight into the most bizarre, tragic & triumphant times of this hustler’s evolution into the cut throat world of music from the bottom of the communist food chain to the clawing my way up to scraps of US network TV music placements. They call me Naranjo ! Naranjo is what they call me. That’s Orange in Spanish.