Bula Fiji!!!!! Back to Tavarua after a few years off. Still has all the charm of my first visit. Two Hope Diamond lefthanders, ridiculous fishing, warm Fijian island smiles, big hands, bigger feet, and small giggles.
Bonus was realizing my dream of kiting Cloudbreak.
Reef cuts and these vinaka photos (many from pro photographer Scott Winer and a few of mine) remain.
I felt as if I sailed with Long John Silver and first gazed on Treasure Island.
Here was a place where anything might happen.
Here was a place where something would certainly happen.
Here I might leave my bones.
- Winston Churchill upon first sighting Havana, 1895
Embarked on an extraordinary baseball pilgrimage when I joined a traveling team to play a series of games in Cuba in March. With an official State Department license in hand exempting us from the US travel embargo, we flew directly from Miami to Cienfuegos on the south coast for the first game, then traveled by bus to Havana for four games in the city that enjoyed the moniker “the Paris of the Caribbean” half a century ago. Also visited the west end of the island exploring the tobacco region with my cousin Kyle who happened to be in Cuba at the same time on a sanctioned arts-related visit.
Wow – what a cultural haven! The music, the architecture, the dance . . . Pulsing salsa in Havana alleyways, passionate sports debates on street corners, pasadores home restaurants serving rice, beans, fish and plantains. Somehow everything is more charming because of its authentic crumbling state of being. Facades of beautiful buildings eroding, late 1950’s model Buicks and Chevys with Russian engines, half finished highways and power plants. Most items are rationed, even soap (one bar per family per month). There is popular saying in Cuba that Fidel provides everything except breakfast, lunch and dinner. I am in a time warp transported back 50 years.
To experience the country and its people through the baseball lens was special. Cubans are more passionate about baseball than anyone. Everywhere we go, we see people playing. Young kids to old men. They are good; um, very good. Perhaps better even than their well-regarded Caribbean brethren the Dominicans because they are more disciplined in their approach to the game (there is a network of Soviet style institutionalized baseball training camps for promising youths on the island). Cuba’s success in international play is unmatched. There have been 50 major international tournaments involving the Cuban national team since Fidel’s 1959 rise to power (World Baseball Classic tournaments, Olympics competitions, the Pan American Games, etc). The Cuban national team has won all but six of these events. Between 1987 and 1997, the Cuban squads captured 159 consecutive matches without losing a single individual contest.
Our opponents for the week are some of the former players from these squads, although many of them are considerably older than our team. They are cagey and competitive in their approach to the game, but always gracious. If we start to get ahead of a team, some younger guys show up in the middle of the game to defend the national pride. After the games, they politely ask if they can have our gloves, cleats, and jerseys as they have so little gear available to them. These are guys who would have been Hall of Famer baseball players in the US had they been allowed to play. Imagine a 55 year old Tom Seaver asking for your cleats. I happily give away all of my non-essential gear.
I did bring a duffel bag of donated kids baseball gear courtesy of a work colleague and the local Palo Alto Little League. Everywhere I go, I hand out balls, bats, gloves and even a full set of catcher’s gear. The smiles and grateful hoots from the kids are rewarding beyond words. I fantasize that some future baseball superstar will be born from the donations.
It’s my first time in a communist country and a few things strike me. First, there is no advertising. It’s refreshing not to be bombarded with commercial pitches. There are, however, billboards with political slogans. I even see one with pictures of Bush and Hitler suggesting a comparison . . . Second, there is a strong sense of community property. When I hand out gear to the kids, they are quick to share it with their friends. There is no, “Hey give it back to me. It’s mine. He gave it to ME.” Third, people are afraid to speak openly about the government. Supposedly there are police everywhere although I don’t notice them. Upon arrival, Cuban customs officials took my “Pitching Around Fidel” book (about the history of baseball in Cuba) into a back room for 15 minutes to determine whether I could keep it (I could). Finally, the Cuban people are suffering. They are not violent or aggressive, but they are barely getting by, if at all. Whether the cause is the US trade embargo or the failure of a form of government is a matter of perspective.
I leave grateful that I was able to see Cuba in its “preserved” state, but hopeful that the embargo will end soon and the people will be able to live a better life without Castro. I also leave with a deeper passion for and appreciation of a game that has been a part of my entire life.
More pictures here.
Macroliciousenesia, Translucenesia, Polyamnesia, HolySmokesanesia, Endoftheeartheanesia . . . Buzzing from a dreamlike adventure into the nesia of nesias. Three legs - two by air, one by boat. Some islands bubbling with local culture, some islands inhabited by smiling villagers who hadn’t seen outside visitors in more than two years, and some islands so remote that I didn’t see a soul for days on end. Crazy translucent blue water as warm as the tropical air, ancient ruins built by levitation, local leafy and Golden Goose remedies for a slipped disc, insane waves / wind, and pre-historic fishing. Getting tube after tube at a world class surf spot, racing down long blue walls of water at a sideshore kite spot, bottom turning around a 5' black tip shark, catching an 80lb yellowfin tuna, and seeing local kids jump for joy when the kites went up shouting (translation) "love to you, love to you". All capped by a “best ever” session. The laughter from every hut of a village at this end of the earth location was testimony to the notion that happiness does not require material possessions. No credit crisis blues here. How will I ever get back? Already scheming to repeat this experience.
