A July Trip to the Town of Cueto that Made Me Happy
HAVANA TIMES – For a long, I’ve wanted to see a town in Holguin Province that’s called Cueto. A friend spoke very highly of a woman poet who lives in that place. Thanks to an idea of hers, a statue honoring singer-songwriter Maximo Francisco Repilado Muñoz Telles, known as Compay Segundo, was erected in one of their public spaces. Since hearing that, back before Covid, I’ve wanted to visit the town. I even called one of their hotels to reserve a stay, but at that time, it didn’t work out.
This month, I scheduled the trip again. I couldn’t find the hotel number among my papers, so I called the Etecsa [Cuban telephone company] Information Center to ask for it. However, they said they didn’t have it. So, then I contacted some friends of my aunt who live there, to ask if they could help orient me when I came. And that’s what happened.
I arrived and introduced myself. I immediately asked about the hotel where I wanted to stay, explaining that I couldn’t find the number through Information, but the last time they were very nice to me when I contacted them – at that time, they took down all my information, and the price there was quite inexpensive.
The friend responded: “Oh, that place doesn’t exist anymore.” “But how? It disappeared?” I asked. “Yes, of course. Everything is disappearing here, even we are disappearing,” she answered laughing. She made me laugh too.
She told me where I could find a Motel that was located at the west entrance to town, near the cemetery. She added that if anything happened and they couldn’t help me, I should come back and see her. I directed my steps back once again to the same place where I’d arrived. The doors to the Motel were closed. Empty of course. Thankfully, by chance I met a man who told me that they might open the following day, Monday, and passed on another address very nearby, where they rented rooms.
I headed there – two blocks further and turn left. It was already rented. I continued on with another address, this time shared by the person in the house where I couldn’t get a place to stay. It cost $2,000 Cuban pesos a night – the same price you’d pay in Camaguey during a theater festival. I don’t know how all Cuba has come to agree on the prices for this and that. Wherever you go now, the prices are the same.
I wasn’t in a hurry. I walked calmly through the streets and ran into a church. I went in, presuming it was a Pentecostal community. I participated in their service, but before it was over I continued on to the Roman Catholic Church, where they told me there was another house they rented out, in the back part. I asked about it, but it too was occupied. I decided to find something to eat – yes, at the familiar kiosks that are the same all over the island, with their malts, drinks, cold salads, cookies. I sat down and had something to drink.
I asked where the statue of Compay Segundo was. The directions were very easy -it was down that same straight street, which ended in a park behind the railroad tracks. Before arriving at those tracks, there was a kind of promenade, with benches to sit down and reflect about ones own life, or that of someone else if we so desired. Standing there with his guitar, in the spot where the promenade began, was the musician who put that nearly forgotten town on the map.
I did my tour and took some pictures. This time, I asked the first passer-by who crossed my path if he knew where the poet lived, the one who had brought this project to life. He told me that, unfortunately, he didn’t, but indicated where the local historian lived, since he would surely know and could tell me. He literally lived right around the corner. I went there, to see Mr. Gambino, thanking him deeply for the favor of receiving me in his home and answering my questions. He ended up giving me the poet’s address.
It wasn’t at all far – right past the high school. I arrived, we greeted each other, and I introduced myself. I was still carrying all my things, because I couldn’t find the lodging I had expected.
I encountered a wonderful woman, around fifty years old, with a teenage son and a daughter nearly the same age. She was chattier than I am. Everything she shared with me was interesting – about her works, her family, her job in Culture. I found out that she was the first woman from Cueto to publish a book while still living there. That’s like a goal kick by Messi, I told her. She agreed.
We’re both very aware, and we conversed for a long time about all the challenges women must overcome from early childhood onward, in order to make their contribution, and in the best of cases, be recognized. Because nearly all the arenas, if not all of them, belong to men. She also remarked that she owed everything she had to her US husband. “What? To imperialism?” I asked her jokingly. She answered with her delicate and healthy sense of humor: “Yes. I sleep with the enemy.” We shared a laugh.
I asked her if she could grant me an interview. No problem, was her reply. We agreed that I would send it to her. She then had the generosity to invite me to stay at her home. I gratefully accepted.
I had the pleasure of eating in her recently opened business – a pizzeria in the town center. They were all very kind, as were all the people I interacted with, without exception. I felt that it made me a better human being.
We took our leave the next day. I returned in an old collective taxi, the same way I’d gotten there. I have my photos, my memories, the time I shared… and a feeling of having grown another little bit, with good values.
In the middle of this country where we usually feel so squashed by circumstances, I felt fortunate.