I hung around in the designated area of the lobby pointed out to me by the receptionist, until what appeared initially to be a wishy washy group of mainly women began assembling in the lobby and I was offered a wishy washy undrinkable mojito in a plastic cup.  I hovered around behind the unpunctual crew, eager just to obtain some basic details without having to linger too much and then to go off for dinner.  The ensemble were somewhat delayed as they had had to wait in the airport for someone who didnt turn up.  This whole group dynamic of waiting around for people is particularly tedious, especially if they dont turn up.  Maybe this particular anonymous would be writer didnt even want to enter the country when in full possession of the news I was about to receive.

I already had a particular first night close by restaurant earmarked for dinner (Trattoria Maraka’s on Calle 0 between Calles 23 and 25, just around the block) having no interest or patience for bonding and dining and the ‘oh where shall we goes?’ just yet.  A reluctant loiterer in the background, ready to slope off any moment, I was asked if I was who I was and handed a schedule for salsa dancing which I didnt question as my patience had reached its limits, there are only so many irrelevant questions addressed to the whole group one can endure.  Its extremely tedious when some people think it’s necessary for a whole group of strangers to listen to the ponderous answers of a non native to “Is it safe?, ‘can you drink the water?’ and ‘how can my husband contact me?.

Waiting for the lift, a small mousey man asked me ‘are you one of mine?’, this instantly rankled but not wanting to get off on a bad foot I stopped myself from demanding ‘one of your what?’ and replied in an sniffy manner that I was here for the writing course and that I had been given a schedule for salsa dancing.  The small Antipodean’s rather disconcerting reply was ‘Its probably about the same but we dont know what time George wants to start’ to which I replied ‘who’s George?’

‘The tutor’

‘I thought the tutor was Steven Berkoff’’

‘ Ah.. you didnt you get the email… he was unable to come’

‘No I was in Vinales for a few days and havent checked my email…’

Three days before the start date of the course wouldnt really have been a great time to reschedule in any case.  This really wasnt what I had wanted to hear.

George, George, George.  George started the first session in his suite, he kept referring to his room with an adjoining room as his suite as if he hadnt been out much before.  Im pretty sure he hadnt been out much before.  He was wearing some sort of a kimono and kept telling us all about his recent milestone birthday and his engagement.  He started his first tutorial (numbers already depleted by several members who had defected join a concurrent salsa course) by asking us to add another descriptive word to out given names.  He kicked the whole thing off with Gorgeous George.  This kind of thing is what makes group ‘activities’ detestable.  So we had Sassy Sue and Mellifluous Mel and Kindly Kate and Amazing Ailon and all sorts of silly rubbish which would have been unbefitting of the august Mr Berkoff.  We were prompted to write and perform a bit and some of it was great fun.  The emphasis was on the acting out of what we had written, George being a stage actor and a thespian.  I’d never heard of George.  More people were to defect to salsa.

George had an obsession with Edgar Allan Poe and in particular with his narrative poem the Raven.  During one hilarious reading of which a cleaner burst into to room with a hoover just as him was shrieking, ravenesesque ‘Nevermore’!

 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,’

George often had visitors at his chamber door and held court out of hours.  He was insecure and in need of reassurance often repeating tiresome personal details that were of no interest and made one long to be out of his suite and by the pool.  He built up a small fan base of which he slept with at least one, upsetting others in this pack of women (more men it seemed prefered to salsa).  He had exclusive dinners to which not all of the group were invited.  It was obviously an all expenses paid trip but it transpired he was losing out because he was an out of work actor on the dole and couldnt claim benefits for a week.

 

Havana was wonderful in spite of the absence of the big draw, our original intended mentor.  The disgruntled ones along with all the others were offered a free weekend of coaching with Steven Berkoff (who had had contractual obligations) on The Isle of White and the best fun ones went along and it served as a marvellous reunion.  Hours were spent in elegant high ceilinged rooms and ye olde pubs with the mesmerising and formidable thespian and captivating raconteur.

 

http://www.nytimes.com/2000/12/15/world/15PUTI.html

 

His hilarious book does touch on in parts the brutality of Batista’s regime more that the film (a cigarette case made of human skin, class distinctions in torture :- ‘there are those who expect to be toruted and those who dont, one never tortures without mutual agreement’.  For the brutatity of Castro’s regime read Reinaldo Arenas’ ‘Before Night Falls’.

We bought tickets to the ballet at Gran Teatro de la Habana, and worrying whether the the ancient van would get us there on time was not the only bad start.  Half of the people went in and to the other half of which I was one, Rita said ‘we have a problem’.  The problem was that they didnt have our tickets at the desk, someone suggested we simply go the following night.  This possible solution was not addressed.  After we were lead into a rubbish strewn side street were we caught the attention of one of the (few) town crazies it became apparent that the plan was to have one of the make up artists meet us at the stage door and usher us through narrow corridors full of tutu and tight-clad performers while Rita hissed ‘quickly!, quickly!’.  I dont think it would be terribly cynical of me to assume that half of the (30 CUC or $30)tickets were not bought.

The ballet was exquisite and I recognised some of the elegant and beautiful dancers I had seen walking around the old town (and in the audience the girl I wrote about in ‘Treat Me Like a Princess).

Alicia Alonso Cuba’s Prima ballerina assoluta  said  “The Cuban style comes from deep within the Cuban spirit, from our joys and from our sadness,’‘ Alonso says. “Some people are turned inward. The Cubans are always out, sensual. The Cuban ballet style comes from me, from my way of projecting my whole being. ‘What looks natural on the Soviets,’ she says, ‘would have looked mimetic, like a mannerism on us. We had a hard time explaining that to our Soviet friends.’  Many Cuban danseurs and danseuses, just like their Russian counterparts have defected whilst on tour.

The group I joined in Havana noted an absence of hangovers in spite of all the late night partying and we put it down to the organic rum.

‘It sounds absurd, of course. But the headwaiter at the Hotel Nacional said you gave his dog poisoned whisky. Why should you give a dog whisky at all? I don’t understand. Nor does he. He thinks perhaps because it was a German dog. You don’t say anything, Mr Wormold.’  From Graham Greene’s ‘Our Man in Havana’