Arriving in the Capital

The night flight from Cancun to Havana was on board a Dutch-built Aero Mexico Fokker-100 airliner that had probably been in service since the late 1980s. It was spacious and quiet, plus it had a characteristic new for this air traveler. About 45 minutes into the 1-hour flight, a bilingual announcement prepared the passengers for the approach, and then something was said about the “fumigation” that I couldn’t catch. I asked a fellow traveler what that meant and before I could answer I saw other passengers trying to cover their noses and mouths with their shirt collars, scarves and hands as a heavy chemical mist fell on us from the compartments. superiors. It appears that the Cuban government has insisted that any cargo coming from Mexico must be sprayed with disinfectant before it is allowed to land. Apparently, passengers are also considered cargo.

Neither of us knew what to expect when our group of 24 Americans arrived bully-eyed and germ-free at Havana’s José Martí Airport around 11 p.m. local time. The 20-minute bus ride to the hotel didn’t reveal much in terms of views or scenery; the city was dimly lit with only a scattering of functional sodium streetlights. However, what could be clearly seen through the windows of the bus were the billboards and murals, all brightly painted slogans proclaiming the blessings of Unity, the Party, Socialism and the Revolution. Was it by design that even in the last few hours, when everything was dark and shipped, the message of “The Revolution” could still be seen so clearly on the shadowed streets?

The hotel we stayed in was listed as four stars and the exterior and lobby looked clean and modern, but the journey to the room revealed worn and stained carpets, unpainted and patched walls, and the unmistakable smell of mold. The constant water pressure in the building was unpredictable and the bed was hard like a picnic table, but other than that the rooms were comfortable. After an 18-hour day of travel, I spent my first night in Havana in a peaceful sleep.

The next morning, looking out the third-floor window, I was surprised to see how close Old Havana seemed, almost in ruins. In all directions I saw buildings blackened by decades of mold, in various states of decay or near collapse, and yet still inhabited. Clothes were hung to dry on makeshift clotheslines on balconies of buildings that would otherwise appear abandoned or condemned. It took me a minute to understand what I was seeing: This was the capital of a nation in which no pre-1959 non-governmental city structure had been repaired, washed, or even marginally maintained for half a century. I realized that I was a long way from Starbucks. This was Cuba. The authentic communist dictatorship of the third world, the last vestige of the cold war, which I learned about in school, which was ruled, until recently, by the most famous (and oldest) bearded revolutionary Marxist in the world, Fidel himself. . . I suspected, as I looked at the spectacular but ruined architecture, that in my amazement and excitement in the weeks leading up to this trip, I might have over-romanticized this adventure. And not knowing exactly what I was getting into here made my stomach turn undesirably. As I looked down the narrow side street where a morning line of shoppers formed in front of a dingy little market, I wondered if I would be heading back to the airport the next day, transporting my privileged gringo ass back to California. I’m sorry I traveled to this depressing place. But thankfully this gloomy first impression would turn out to be just misplaced apprehension on my part and would soon dissolve. I would quickly find a comfort zone in this foreign environment, and instead of my misgivings, a surprising perspective and an indelible impression of a country and a people would form.

Softball Diplomacy

I entered Cuba as a member of the USA / Cuba Senior Softball team made up of 13 “Senior” players ranging from the youngest (58 years) to the oldest (76). We were scheduled to play a 4-game series against high-level Cuban counterparts. At the time of our visit, there was no Senior Softball League in Cuba, so we did not know exactly who or how many different teams we would play or under what playing conditions. We would know when we got there. The tour was organized as a kind of adventure of goodwill and hands on the other side of the gulf formed by the late Bob Weinstein, then president of USA-Cuba, LLC and founder of USA – Cuba Sports Experiences. Bob had brought other softball teams from the United States to Cuba before his untimely death last year at the age of 66, but this was the first “senior” team formed solely for the purpose of traveling to Cuba to play softball. . We were not an All-Star team by any means, but simply a collection of softball fans with the time, inclination and finances to make the trip. The team did a practice or two before we left, but we understood that we were more of an ambassador trip than a competitive softball team. Our group managed to pack an additional 250 pounds of clothing, medicine, and personal items that we planned to distribute while we were there, making this trip a combination hurricane relief / sports adventure.

For our first game, we disembarked from our bus at the “Sports Practice Field” next to the Juan Ealo Stadium on the outskirts of Havana and walked across a vacant lot to the softball field. Most of the activity in the park came to a halt and the locals stared at the Americans as we quietly crossed the two hundred meters to the visitors’ dugout with our US and Cuba hats and jerseys and carrying our gear bags. . The Cuban team was warming up when we arrived and looked at us suspiciously. We put big excited smiles on our faces and quickly introduced ourselves, posed for photos together, and expressed our gratitude and pleasure for being a part of this event. When they saw that we were more focused on friendship and camaraderie than fierce competition, the collective nervousness and reluctance we detected quickly changed to friendliness and enthusiasm. A kind of ceremony was held before the first game and an official from the Cuban Softball Federation spoke describing this occasion as an important step in the continued goodwill between the sporting countries. They gave us Cuban Olympic pins in exchange for the commemorative pins we gave them. We felt a genuine camaraderie between us and the Cubans and we could tell from the smiles and expressions we saw on their faces that they felt it too.

We learned that the Cuban squad we would be playing had been hastily assembled as high-level softball was still unheard of in Cuba. In fact, the idea of ​​a league comprised of players well past their prime was … well, alien to them. From their appearance, they looked like a ragged bunch of old Cubans, some in uniforms that they must have kept from the 1960s and 1970s, judging from their worn and faded condition. Not everyone had baseball gloves or bats, so we shared what we had with them and did these team swaps between innings.

When the Cubans took to the field, any idea that they could be taken lightly as competitors quickly faded. They executed on the field crisply and fundamentally, making few mistakes defensively and obviously taking pride in their performance. A missed shot or a missed cut would provoke the ire of other players. We later learned that most of the team members played organized baseball in Cuba at some point in their youth and some of them even made it to the Cuban National Team. Baseball it is the national sport in Cuba, far above soccer in participation and interest. The Game itself is a favorite topic for lively debate in the city’s parks and the baseball season is followed with nationalist fervor, so this dedication to the sport was reflected in the Cuban game. We had four games scheduled, but we only played three because Hurricane Paloma crossed the center of the island during our visit bringing rain and winds to the western tip of Cuba, causing the cancellation of one of our contests. We were beaten in all three games, but the scores were respectable by slow pitch standards and seemed unimportant given the unprecedented circumstances. After the last game, our organizers arranged for some cases of beer to be delivered to our dugout, an act that is strictly forbidden under normal circumstances, but this time the ordinance was apparently overruled, and we all stayed and laughed, we took some. the cold ones posed for more photos and exchanged uniform shirts, wristbands, gloves, hats and other souvenirs. Two of the players I met had brought programs from international competitions that they had played in when they were young. It was all they had to share with us and it was very moving to receive something that was clearly very dear to them. I asked the Cuban players to sign the inside covers of those shows and they were all very happy to please them. In this astonishing atmosphere of brotherhood and respect, one had a sense of what “normal” relations between American and Cuban citizens could be, if the political gulf between us somehow disappeared.

After our series on the field, the Cuban Softball Federation met with officials from the United States Senior Softball Association who had joined us on the trip and together they discussed the possibilities of forming a Senior League in Cuba. We were happy to think that our trip and our experience could be the necessary springboard in the formation of a league for these wonderful Cuban players. As a result, the Cuban Federation later announced that the first Annual Cuban-American Senior Softball Classic will be played in Havana next year, featuring the four new Cuban Senior Softball teams that have been formed. Therefore, it seems that the idea of ​​the own league has become a reality for some Cubans as they go out to the field again to play softball, or they say in Cuba, “The Big Balls. “