Members of the family were starting to relax, beginning to get to know each other better. I was waiting for the storming phase. All new groups with a mission go through it. If they can work through the issues the group will re-form stronger, but if not there will be splinter groups and possibly counter-revolution. A parallel process for the history we were learning about and experiencing.
That evening in Cienfuegos, a sub group we'd become involved in took part in a lock-in. Not a political gesture but a social one- at the Casa de Trova- the house of music for tourists, that you can find in all the main Cuban towns and cities. Tourists like Salsa and Son. According to the Rough Guide, 'Son is the blood running through the veins of Cuban popular music.' Many younger Cubans prefer Reggaeton or Cubaton, based on hip-hop.
As we supped Ron Collins after Ron Collins and listened for the thousandth time to 'Guantanamera', we shared stuff about ourselves and bitched about other members of the family. Rhys and I were given the title of mama and papa, there was the renegade and the bolshie teenager, apart from uncle of course. Like an Alan Ayckbourne play. It reminded me not to rely on first impressions.
Cienfuegos is a pleasant city with a European feel-largely due to the influence of French settlers in the 19th century. The family saw the city by bicycle-rickshaws. When I lived in Indonesia over 40 years ago, we saw the bicycle rickshaw as a symbol of exploitation. Now in London you can see young people in rickshaws transporting tourists. Cab drivers hate them. It's probably the same in Cienfuegos but it's a great way to see the sights.
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