It’s Saturday night on the Malecón. Couples and friends perch on the great sea wall that at various times throughout history has been both a barrier and a launch pad for the makeshift rafts that slowly, painstakingly carry their weary passengers 90 miles north across the Florida Straits. Musicians perform for a peso and a promise that you’ll upload their videos when you get home. Even if the tired telecommunications infrastructure could accommodate the bandwidth, YouTube is blocked in Cuba. You take their email addresses. You’ll let them know if their song breaks the Internet. They’re soon replaced by someone who better knows his audience and is crooning standards for the tourists. You’ve now heard Guantanamera for the eighth time that day, but it’s getting better with age.
Yo soy un hombre sincero
de donde crece la palma
Y antes de morir yo quiero
cantar mis versos del alma
These lyrics come more or less from Versos Sencillos (Simple Verses), a collection by the poet and Cuban independence hero José Martí. “I’m a truthful man from the land of the palm trees. Before I die I want to share the poems of my soul.” It’s not just the sea air, or the Havana Club, or the
De donde crece la palma
Kate Maloff
From the land of the palm trees
18 - SEVENSEAS