enabling everyone in the huge crowd
to see Mick Jagger bouncing across
the stage like a spring lamb. If any
of the Stones were weary of playing
the same songs which made them
famous, there was no sign of it.
Starting with ‘Jumping Jack Flash’,
they played non-stop for two hours
finishing off with ‘Satisfaction’ which
fired the frenzied crowd into jumping
up and down with exuberant delight.
Despite a direct plea from the Pope
to not play on Good Friday, the Stones
respected their contract. The stage
turned black and red with under-
world, satanic imagery for ‘Sympathy
with the Devil’ which was received
with gusto from the 500,000 audi-
ence. Throughout the event, there
was no trouble, no pushing and shov-
ing; just good-natured fans out for a
good time. We made friends with our
temporary Cuban neighbours, getting
kissed by the whole family as we left
at the end of the concert.
The music in Cuba won’t leave you
alone. It’s everywhere. That rhythm
gets into your bones and makes you
wish you’d learned to salsa before you
got here because everyone else is up
and dancing. Everywhere. By the
table before and after dinner, on the
pavement, in the bar with a mojito, in
shops. How does anything get done
when they’re dancing all the time?
Salsa, salsa, salsa. Early in the morn-
ing, all day and all night.
Chris took me on Hector to ‘El Gato
Tuerto ... The One-Eyed Cat, for some
music. A bottle of rum, ice, some
glasses and cans of cola were put
on the tables in the darkened room;
wooden chairs scraped the tiled floor
as people shuffled towards each other
for drinks and conversation. Others
were leaning at the bar. Cuban music
was coming from loudspeakers.
Finding it impossible to sit still, I was
grabbed for a dance by a Cuban man
who immediately pulled me close,
very close with his leg between mine,
guiding my movements with his.
Gosh!
I looked at women’s gyrating hips.
How do they DO that? The men
dance with hip-thrusting and shoul-
der-shrugging to the rhythm. Women
here do not dress to keep cool. Tru-
ly liberated, they dress to look hot!
Cuba grows sugar, the evidence all
TRAVERSE 60
around. No matter what age or size,
whether they show bulges or not,
tightly fitting tops and leggings or
jeans are worn by all. Buttons, asked
to perform an almost impossible job,
strain across tight blouses. Men are
similarly liberated. Covering up is
neither required nor in order.
The first act performed on the
tiny stage in the corner next to our
table was an exceptional singer-gui-
tarist. She preceded the main act, a
five-piece band of bongos, keyboard,
double-bass, guitar and drums.
They played a Cuban rhythm which
was wonderful enough but then,
onto the stage stepped a glamorous
woman in her seventies, dressed in a
sparkly dress and with as much pres-
ence and majesty as Mick Jagger had
two nights before.
Short and squat, she sang the
songs of pre-revolutionary days.
Nobody could take their eyes off this
captivating woman especially when,
during an instrumental section, she
lifted her skirt to her thighs whilst
salsa-shuffling and ended with a high
kick before finishing the song.
Two of us had arrived at the night
club but five of us piled on poor Hec-
tor at three o’clock at the end of the
night. Neither he nor the police liked
it. Although diplomacy and apologies
saved a fine, they did nothing to stop
Hector spearing the gear selector
spindle into the gear-box. We had to
leave him in the street and get a taxi
home, collecting him with a mechan-
ic the next day. Nothing had been
stolen, not even the bottle of rum in
the pannier.
A large hotel changed my British
Sterling into CUCs, the Cuba Converti-
ble Peso. There are two currencies in
Cuba, Fidel’s finance minister mak-
ing the most of the huge pool of U.S.
dollars he knew many Cubans and
tourists were itching to spend. So the
interchangeable CUC was introduced
with the same value as the US dollar.
The National Peso, used by Cubans
for inexpensive purchases has a far