Wednesday 21 September 2016

Pieces of Me, Pieces of Havana

All cities have a unique trait. An element that sets them apart from the rest. This is not a tourist-friendly attraction to be found in a glossy brochure at a travel agency on the high road of an upmarket gentrified neighbourhood. No, this is a quirk that only becomes obvious once one has spent time living in that city. For instance, for me, after living almost 20 years in London, the salient feature of the British capital is its brain-wrecking, confusing urban grid: myriad winding one-way roads and sudden cul-de-sacs. Whilst many visitors look forward to taking a selfie at Buckingham Palace, I like nothing more than getting lost in London’s unrivalled metropolitan labyrinth, whether walking or cycling.

Havana’s unique trait is, on the other hand, its white sheets. Or rather, used to be.

As a child growing up in the Cuban capital, I became accustomed to the sight of white sheets hanging from balconies, especially on Saturdays when most people did their washing. Their ubiquity even merited a mention in what turned out to be Havana’s unofficial anthem in the early 90s, “Sábanas Blancas” (literally, “White Sheets”, by the singer songwriter Gerardo Alfonso). Thus, it was this childhood-era sight I sought out with a mix of nostalgia and eagerness recently when I went back for a two-week visit. Yet, something had happened in the intervening years since I last had been here. The bedding item had almost disappeared from clotheslines. Replacing it on balconies were either Barcelona or Real Madrid shirts amongst other foreign “invaders”. Forget Camp Nou or the Bernabeu, Spain’s La Liga was being played on the rooftops of Havana, with the likes of Messi and Ronaldo jostling for space amongst torn jeans, off-colour shirts and pocked vests.

I had already been exposed to these newly-formed soccer alliances at the aeroport on arrival. A stifling and humid August spouted its all-enveloping raging fire on my face as we came out of customs reminding me that it had been nineteen years since I had last been exposed to this kind of heat. There, it seemed to say, this is for you, just in case you had forgotten.

I had not. In the same way I had not forgotten the hustle-bustle of Terminal 3 at the José Martí aeroport. The welcome hugs and goodbye kisses: from parents to offspring, from sibling to sibling, from lover to lover. In the middle of this display of human affection the logos of Fly Emirates and Qatar Airways stood out conspicuously.

Driving just after midnight to our hotel in old Havana gave me the chance to experience once more the city’s nocturnal fauna: the late-night revellers for whom any day of the week (it was Thursday-cum-Friday) was party-day, the gay corner on 23rd Avenue and L Street as densely populated as it ever was, the seawall, Malecón, decked with drunkards, wannabe singers howling themselves hoarse, prostitutes and couples waiting for their in-laws to go to bed so that they could get some action. The Havana carnival was supposed to kick off the next evening, which meant that some of the main thoroughfares were closed. The detours I took through poorly-lit, back roads prompted me to keep one eye on the pothole-filled streets and another one up on the never-ending clotheslines, festooned from balcony to balcony with myriad garments. But alas, very few white sheets.


The sunrise caught me looking out of our hotel window at a Havana slowly waking up from its deep sleep. Some of the sounds were the same: horn-tooting, kiss-blowing, name-calling. Some of the sights were also familiar: the water-carrier pulling his heavy burden up a hilly road and spilling the precious liquid in the process, the American car-cum-taxi squeezing more passengers in than a normal vehicle, the peanut vendor weaving his way through the still traffic at a red light, paper cones firmly held in his hand. Up in the distance, like a small symbol of surrender (to whom? To what? To the might of Barça or Real, perhaps?) I spotted a yellowed item of bedding which had probably seen better days. As childhood mementoes go, this was one I savoured in the moment. A keepsake to remind me of Havana’s unique trait: the sight of a white sheet hanging from a balcony.

© 2016

Photo by the blog author

Next Post; “Thoughts in Progress”, to be published on Saturday 24th September at 6pm (GMT)

20 comments:

  1. Sure captured it all, as you do. That would be awful lugging water up a hill and then having it spill.

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  2. It must make you feel nostalgic returning after all those years.

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  3. How fascinating. And how sad that it seems the white sheets have gone. What replaces them in your head and heart as Havana's defining trait? Does anything? Can anything?

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  4. Sadly, that saying becomes more and more true for me, the older I get....You can never go home.
    How lucky you are that so many of those memories are vivid for you.
    I can't think of much of anything more beautiful that white sheets blowing in the wind on a summer day.

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  5. I went through a phase during which I did not return to my hometown for twenty years. There were a few reasons for this, but the primary one was that I knew it was changing, as all things change, and I had loved growing up there so much as a boy that I did not want to see those changes. I wanted my boyhood memories to remain intact.

    I have been in Cuba twice, but never to Havana. I would like to see it, even more so when I read your descriptions, CiL .... but I prefer to postpone my journey until the Castro boys have begun one of their own to their eternal reward.

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  6. How amazing and fascinating! Thank you so much for sharing this. I love to reminisce about days gone by (fond memories, of course), and since I still live in Montreal, was born here and have lived here all my life, whenever I walk by my old elementary school I am brought right back to my childhood. It is actually still there and still in use, unlike my high school, which although the building is still there, the high school itself closed in 1979, I believe, and I graduated in 1973. The building is now a residential one.

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  7. Hi ACIL - I'm always amazed by the whiteness of the Surpluses worn by religious persons ... especially when I was in Africa - seemed almost incongruous. The sheet story is fascinating ... everyone hung their washing out back in the days ... in the 1920s the St Pancras and Humanist Housing Association developed by the social reformer Jellicoe - had washing lines with finials put up in the housing developments. I saw a tiny exhibit down stairs in the British Library 4 years ago ... fascinated me - hence finials and washing lines! Can see them full of washing on wash day ... Cheers Hilary

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  8. Thank you for this - I didn't note the white sheets while I was there a couple of years ago, but there was plenty of washing hanging over balconies. And I heard on the news this morning that a big wifi hotspot is planned for the Malecon - it left me wondering if gizmos with internet access (phones and tablets) will be far too expensive for most Cubans, and this is how the government will effectively control internet access for local people while making it possible for rich people and tourists.

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  9. I remember sheets flying proud at windows but I cannot remember which country I was in at the time. Enjoyed reading this. You have evoked a happy memory, thank you.

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  10. Nunca uno encuentra lo que dejó. Yo cuando vuelvo a mi pueblo me gustaría encontrar las casas viejas que han sido demolidas.
    Un abrazo

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  11. Excellent writing. I am glad that there was at least one sheet hanging out there for you to see. In 20 years' time things have changed in most places, not just Havana. It is easier to travel to Cuba these days, so maybe you will go again in a little bit?

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  12. You capture the atmosphere so well! One of the things I like most about southern Europe is that washing still hangs out on streets for all to see!

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  13. i love your writing
    Have to be great also in Spanish

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  14. Never been to your home country but would very much like to visit :)

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  15. me encantaría conocer Cuba, me gusta mucho tu forma de escribir. Gracias por tus palabras en mi blog.
    saludos

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  16. The visual image of the old Havanna wiht white sheets blowing in the wind is nice and made me sad that I won't experience it. Nice memories. Thanks for taking us back there.

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  17. that image of the sheets on the balconies reminds me of the some of the hilltop villages in northern Italy

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  18. What a beautifully nostalgic piece. I think all of us who have moved away from the area where we were born and raised can relate to this. We moved away from all of our family and friends back in '71, and after that, we always felt a little like outsiders when we visited. The only thing that had remained the same were our memories.

    "...I wasn't homesick for anything I would find at home when I returned. The longing was for what I wouldn't find. The past and all the people and places there were lost to me." [Alice Steinbeck]

    "I think what you notice most when you haven't been home in a while is how much the trees have grown around your memories." [Mitch Albom]

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  19. Ha-- a lovely post. I'd really like to go there-- thanks for the glimpse. k.

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