Measuring Distances

Alice Sun-Cua

Birds note silences;
between calls they listen well,
measuring distances.

What is not heard
is the birds’ true song.

—

Los pajaros notan los silencios;
escuchan bien entre las llamadas,
y miden las distancias.

Eso que no se oye
es el verdadero canto de los pajaros.

−Marjorie Evasco and Alex Fleites
Peces de Luz

The zunzuncito, a very tiny hummingbird, iridescent green and red under the sun, was almost imperceptible until Marj pointed it out to us. The little bird’s wings were beating so fast we could hardly see them. In an instant, it was gone. We all became silent, feeling the magic of the moment, time’s passing, the unredeemable instant. Whipping against our cheeks was the cool and refreshing sea breeze from the Straits of Florida. My husband Alex, very good friend Marj Evasco, MayAnn (Marj’s daughter), and I were seated on chairs lining the terrace of the Hotel Nacional in La Habana, Cuba, facing the famed Malecón (the long esplanade along the sea) one Sunday afternoon, waiting for Alex Fleites, Cuban art critic, poet, journalist, and close friend of Marj.

We had been in La Habana for almost a week, yet I still had difficulty believing that we were in Cuba, a trip that I had only dreamt about. Looking out into the blue waters of the straits, I remember how all these started. Marj was the Philippines’ poet representative to the prestigious Festival de Poesía de Medellín in Colombia in 2008, and among the many international poets she met was Alex Fleites from La Habana. During the festival, Marj and Alex found themselves reading their poetry in many venues, among them in Tunja, a colonial town in the eastern range of the Colombian Andes and capital of Central Boyacá province, where they got to know each other better. Despite the language barrier, they became very good friends. In March 2010, Alex was invited to the Philippines to give a talk on Severo Sarduy, a Cuban poet, playwright, and critic, during an art exhibit at the Instituto Cervantes de Manila. Alex also gave a craft lecture, “Poems Found in the Belly of a Whale,” at the De La Salle University, sponsored by the BNSCWC. I met him for the first time at the Ariston Estrada Seminar room as he expounded on the poetic craft. I found this prolific and multi-awarded poet and art critic very down-to-earth and funny, who jocularly called my husband “tocayo.”

From there, an interesting idea for a unique book was born. In the next two years Marj and Alex Fleites embarked on an outstanding collaborative work of tanrengas in English and Spanish. Alex would send three lines of poetry in Spanish, and Marj would answer with the last two lines in English. Then she would send three lines, and he, in turn, would answer, completing this with the last two. These exchanges of poetry lines became “Fishes of Light” (Peces de Luz), published by Sipat Publishers in 2013, a beautifully-rendered book of lyric poetry illustrated by the eminent Chinese painter Chua Keng Keng with fish cavorting and jumping through a moving current as if in a swift stream, across the seemingly unending pleated pages of an ancient Chinese scroll.

So when Marj invited my husband and me to join her for a trip to Cuba, who could say no? It took us several months to assemble our own itinerary, flying from Manila to L.A., spending a few days in Mexico D.F., and then to La Habana.

In the Cuban capital, we stayed at the Casa Particular of Jorge Coalla Potts and his wife Marisel in the quiet and leafy neighborhood of El Vedado, their impeccably clean and shining home greeting us warmly with oversized cushioned wicker chairs in the living room. The bedrooms were ample, with en suite bathrooms, and the bed was a welcome respite from the trip.

The next day after we arrived, Alex Fleites and his daughter Amanda came early to meet us, and oh, what a joyous reunion that was! They both had a lot of things to show us that day, they said, around Habana Vieja (Old Havana). We got inside a freshly-painted blue 1957 Chrysler, which was our taxi. We all marveled at the many jewel-colored cars of the bygone days being driven around the streets. We got down in front of Hotel Inglaterra, along Paseo de Martí, which was abuzz with people and cars. The iconic hotel opened in 1856, is the oldest extant hotel in the country, and has appeared in many movies.

Just a stone’s throw away was the Parque Central, where we paid our respects to José Martí, Cuba’s national hero. Here the white-washed statue of the hero shone under the morning sun, his right hand raised and caught in mid-air as if in speech. Around us were lush plants and hedges, tall palm trees, and groups of locals, mostly males, huddled together, talking animatedly in Spanish. Looking up from the park, we noted that the dome of the Capitolio Nacional, obviously a copy of the U.S. Congress building, was surrounded by scaffolds. Renovations were going on then, and it was closed to the public.

We crossed the wide Avenida de las Misiones (also called Monserrate) and reached Calle Obispo. Alex pointed out the El Floridita, the famous restaurant and bar where the legendary Ernest Hemingway loomed large. We were too early that morning, and the place was still closed, but later that week, we went back and greeted Papa Hemingway in his special corner, leaning his elbow upon the bar, smiling at his fans, and inviting them to try his favorite daiquiri.

Along Calle Obispo, the famed pedestrian-only busy street of La Habana, we found many small busy art galleries, souvenir shops, cafés, bars, and hotels. There were many colonial houses, like the Hotel Florida and the Drogería Johnson, an old apothecary, and a drugstore, where we saw medicinal herbs in jars, mortars, pestles, and small weighing scales. Huge columned buildings, like the neoclassical edifice that used to be the Banco Mendoza (now Museum of Coins), lorded it over the busy street.

The street was filled with tourists and locals, and Marj and I held each other as we jostled through the crowd. There was a long queue of locals buying staples in front of a grocery.

We reached the Hotel Ambos Mundos, where Ernest Hemingway stayed during the 30s, at Rm. 511. Curiosity got the better of us, so we took the elevator and visited the well-preserved dark room, with a bed and writing table and even a Spanish edition of Don Quixote on one of the night tables.

Back in Obispo, we turned left at Mercaderes, all the while admiring the old-world charm of the buildings and streets, and walked towards the Casa de los Marqueses de Aguas Claras, a beautiful old mansion, its first-floor patio turned into a restaurant. Alex Fleites led us to the Callejón de Chorros towards the Taller Experimental de Gráfica (Experimental Graphics Workshop Studio).

There we were met by the enticing smell of ink, and no wonder, it was a printmaking shop and art gallery with vintage printing presses lining the walls. Alex was obviously well-known here, and many greeted him aloud in cheery voices, some even coming over to us with broad smiles and warm handshakes. The taller was also a place to study art and printing, and in one area, there was actual printmaking done, an abstract black and white work of a local artist. On the second floor was an art gallery where one could purchase a frame or two.

Just outside the studio was the Dulcería Bianchini, a cozy restaurant with its logo of a black and white cat. We went in and were captivated by the atmosphere: bohemian, its tangerine walls with white hand-drawn figures, colorful raffia décor, gold-rimmed ceramic cups and saucers, and wooden cats. Strong coffee with dainty sugar biscuits shaped into cats and hearts and convivial exchanges reinforced us, and we were eager to explore some more.

We walked north and reached Calle Empedrado to pay our homage to the La Bodeguita del Medio, the bar that Hemingway made popular as his favorite watering hole and where his mojito (a rum mint julep drink) still attracted a lot of visitors. The place was indeed a trove of Hemingway memorabilia, and I could imagine him lording it over this place, his favorite drink in hand. A quip allegedly ascribed to him was, “Mi daiquiri en La Floridita, mi mojito en La Bodeguita.”

We walked further and found the house where Alejo Carpentier, the popular Cuban writer, set his well-known novel “The Enlightenment” (El siglo de las luces). This was the Casa del Conde de la Renuión, built in 1820 with an arched doorway. Visitors were welcomed in the courtyard by walls covered in blue azulejos tiles and luxurious plants in a light-filled atrium. I reminded myself to read more of Carpentier’s works.

Out into the street, I espied a lady who must have been in her eighties with red roses in her hair, her face gaily painted, and wearing a gold vest over a white blouse. She had a Cuban cigar between her fingers, and when our eyes met, she smiled. I was hooked. She was obviously one of those who welcomed tourists for photographs. I asked Alex to have our photos taken, and even until today, those photos with “Lola Cubana” remain one of my cherished possessions.

We reached the Cathedral of La Habana (also called the Cathedral of the Virgin of the Immaculate Concepcion) with the wide, cobblestoned Plaza de la Catedral in front of it. Ladies in colorful Caribbean costumes were also there for photo shoots with tourists. Two towers flanked the façade of the cathedral, one thinner and shorter than the other. We went in, and the scarcity of light (there was a threat of rain that day) made it difficult to see the frescoes on the vaulted ceiling.

More discoveries were made along the way, including the Plaza de Armas, with its wooden parquet-tiled streets and numerous stalls selling second-hand books. We succumbed to the temptation of browsing around the book stalls surrounded by verdant palms, tall kapok trees, and impressive colonial houses, some of which had seen better days. We walked over to the St. Francis de Assisi church and convent with its quiet cloister and garden, where Alex pointed out a small plaque on the ground with the name of one of his friends, “Bonchoy,” who died of aneurysm at 52. The church of St. Francis had become a venue for many concerts in La Habana. There was also a Greek Orthodox chapel on the grounds, and we discovered that it was a well-lit, opulent intimate place for prayer with gold Byzantine paintings on the walls. Just off the church was a curiosity Alex wanted to show us: a life-sized bronze statue of a former tramp-turned-national character, El Caballero de Paris, and we took turns touching his flowing beard for luck.

It was lunchtime, and ever the kind hosts, Alex and Amanda, ushered us into nearby Plaza Vieja, where we found a booming place for restaurants, boutiques, and shops in one of the corner entrances to old two-storied buildings. We spotted the Café Bohemia and, captivated by the name, we went in. To our delight, they had “literary” baguette sandwiches, which we excitedly ordered: my husband Alex had the “Memorias de mis putas tristes” (a nod to Gabriel García Márquez) while I had “On the Road” (Jack Kerouac). The others had pasta and salads. It was a day of companionable repartees, exchanges, and quiet conversation. A quick visit to a nearby beer-making factory opened our eyes to the delight of their brewing processes, and while walking among the tall, wide tanks, we could smell the strong fermentation odor. A restaurant on the premises was filled with diners, and a red vintage jalopy by the bar.

That afternoon, Marj, MayAnn, husband Alex, and I walked towards the Malecón, which had been beckoning to us since we set foot on this Caribbean Island. We sat on the low stone wall of the wide esplanade, the sea before us, the sky cerulean and cloudless, and a strong wind coming in. It was the perfect place to people watch and “car watch” as well, as we could not get our fill of the 1950s cars of all styles and make. I could only make out an old but gaily-painted Chrysler Bel Air and a Chevy. From time-to-time Marj and I would smile at each other as if reminding ourselves that yes, indeed, we were finally in La Habana, and we were by its Malecón, this esplanade that we have read about so often, especially in poems and= even in noir novels both in English and Spanish! The afternoon sun took its time to set, and it was good just to be there with the sound and smell of the sea.

These thoughts ran through my mind that afternoon at the wide terrace of the Hotel Nacional facing the sea, waiting for Alex Fleites. From our vantage point, we could see further, and we asked ourselves if we could identify Key West, Florida from here, a “mere” 90 miles away. As we discussed the distance, Alex Fleites suddenly appeared, with the red-visored black baseball cap with the letters “Texas,” wearing a jacket over the black “Manila” T-shirt we gifted him. He was, as ever, in a jolly mood and brought his professional-looking camera. And like old friends, he and Marj spoke of many things while MayAnn, Alex, and I listened in. Another zunzuncito flew in, and again we exclaimed at its size. Alex Fleites then regaled us with facts about this hummingbird. The most delightful of these was that the bird’s heart also beats very fast because of its energetic flapping and “como el corazon filtra también el amor” (like the heart that also filters love). We realized that the terrace had a good view of the curve of the bay, and we could see the crowded city with its tall buildings far away to the right. We went around with our cameras taking innumerable photos, including the restored cannons on the terrace and flying geese overhead that formed a perfect “V.” Alex Fleites though had to leave early because he was meeting up with a German artist for a collaborative work. The four of us stayed on and on, watching the changing colors of the sky over the Malecón as more people sat by the sea wall. When darkness fell, we went inside the Hotel Nacional (opened in 1930) to discover its charms, the thick carpets, the mirrored walls, dripping chandeliers, the grandfather clock, and the old-fashioned elevators.

Reminiscing about our trip to Cuba made me realize how fortunate I was to have Marj as a friend, mentor, and fellow traveler (literally and metaphorically). I had heard of her and read her poetry long before I met her personally for the first time in 1994 when I took up graduate studies in Creative Writing at DLSU. In her Poetry Workshop class, I was fascinated by how she motivated us to look beyond the common, the ordinary, to look closely. She taught us to identify the constellations and pointed out books, including many enriching and uplifting reading materials. With her encouragement, I finished my MFA and finally published a poetry book after successfully defending the poetry portfolio. Through the years, we have become closer through so many book publications and launches, challenges for another academic degree, deaths of loved ones, loss of poet friends, medical emergencies, worrisome family situations… Through it all, our friendship grew and deepened, and the generous person she was, she was always there when I needed her, patiently listening and sharing love and kindness through her own stories. She encouraged the growth of our poetry group, the ALON Collective, and sometimes sat with us, giving invaluable comments. She introduced ALON to Ma’am Edith Tiempo sometime in 2003, who very kindly agreed to have a one-on-one workshop with us in her home in Dumaguete.

When our schedules became crowded, we carved out time to have dinner or lunch together in many places in the city, stealing moments to tell stories that meant a lot to both of us. Typical of her kindness, she recommended me to be the country’s representative to poetry festivals, like the Internacional Festival de Medellín in Colombia, in Granada, Nicaragua and Hanoi, Vietnam, where I met and made friends with so many poets all over the world. These were also critical times of growth for my poetry writing, as I was exposed to many forms and expressions. Marj often freely shared her insights, and I could only sit and listen, enriched by the life that she led.

So it was that during our two-week trip to Cuba, I was a front row audience to her generosity, her open-hearted personality, and her friendship. Together with her daughter MayAnn and my husband Alex, the four of us explored La Habana, its rich museums, the Plaza de la Revolución (¡Hasta la victoria, siempre!), the University, even out of the way small Napoleonic museums, sports bars, the now-unfrequented Rio de Almendares, the Hemingway house and the fishing village of Cojimar, where Papa Ernest docked his boat Pilar when he frequented the place. The Hemingway trip was made with Berta, a soft-spoken Cuban lady guide who took her university studies in Bulgaria and delighted us with funny stories about Hemingway’s personal life.

One of the highlights of our trip was an evening of Swan Lake performed by the Cuban National Ballet, choreographed by Alicia Alonzo, the world-renown Cuban prima ballerina, and choreographer, at the Gran Teatro de La Habana. Tickets were tough to come by, and Alex Fleites had to wake up before dawn to buy them for us. The day of the performance was Valentine’s Day, and from Jorge’s place, we couldn’t find any available taxis, with streets full of people hailing cabs. We decided to walk to the venue, crossing busy Avenida de los Presidentes, as we enjoyed a pleasant hour’s walk under the cool evening sky. The ballet was in the Sala Teatro García Lorca, and every seat was filled. The role of Odette/Odile was performed by a different ballerina every night, and as we immersed ourselves in the magic of music and dance, we forgot everything but the swan and her prince, the haunting Tchaikovsky scores, and at the end, we rose with the audience to give the dancing company a rousing applause, again and again.

We also had our share of happy surprises at restaurants in La Habana. From the intimate Paladar de Monedas, where we were served peto fish, the very kind owner emphasizing that it was rich in omega-3 fatty acids, “muy bien para el corazon” (very good for the heart), the festive Paladar de Doña Laura, near Amanda’s working place where people from all walks of life came in to eat or buy food to go, and the more upscale El Bodegon in the area of the Parque Histórico Militar Morro-Cabaña after an exciting look-see during the Feria del Libro. Alex Fleites, too, took us to El Carmelo, a restaurant giving homage to Cuban theater, with its rich array of movie posters, in the Vedado area, where we enjoyed their post-Valentine atmosphere among soft red lights and balloons. He also invited us to La Habana’s Chinatown for a Chinese New Year dinner in a restaurant aptly called Viejos Amigos (Old Friends). We also enjoyed spur-of-the-moment decisions to dine at the Meson Sancho Panza and Paladar Nereis; and with Amanda at Las Razones.

Marj and I shared our love for walking. During the Habana trip, we were able to walk around the city and discover not only the astounding mix of baroque, neoclassical, Art Deco, and Art Noveau architecture (a confession: I had to do a quick, self-taught Architecture 101 lessons on these before we left!) but also the warmth of the people. MayAnn and Alex were eager to discover the city on foot, so all four of us found ourselves walking around Vedado, where our Casa Particular was and reached the Lennon Park (yes, the Beatle John Lennon). We found him comfortably seated on one of the benches, his elbow draped nonchalantly on the bench’s back. This life-sized bronze statue was unveiled in 2000 in the presence of Fidel Castro. We also walked around the backstreets of Old La Habana and immersed ourselves in the day-to-day activities of the locals.

Marj suggested out-of-town trips arranged for us by Lianne, our Cubatur travel agent with offices on the first floor of the tall Hotel Tryp Habana Libre, the former La Habana Hilton. Many mornings found us seated there, waiting for her to book our trips and also for money changing. She arranged two trips for us, one to Soroa, an “eco-retreat” valley at the Piñar del Río province, where Alex Garcia, our tour guide, and Wilfredo, our driver, showed us a beautiful orchidarium, the waterfalls at El Salto Cascada, and lunch at the Odily’s Hospedale Paladar. That day, we also visited the Las Terrazas Community. This self-sustaining community grew its own coffee, samples of which were enjoyed on the wooden porch built around a large tree-filled area with a gracious, elderly matriarch called María.

Along with Alex and Wilfredo, we also visited Viñales, a beautiful valley in the Sierra de los Órganos range of mountains. We were awed by the karst mountain formations called mogotes (literally, “haystack”), where the locals plant and process tobacco and maize. At the vega or plantation of Eduardo, we saw how green tobacco leaves were hung out to dry—the ceilings of the thatched cottage filled with them in neat rows until they became wrinkled and brown. We witnessed how cigars were rolled and tried to enjoy one of them, all for photo opportunities. Up at the terraces of the Hotel Jazmines, we could see the valleys, the mogotes, and the entire sweep of the green pastures.

On the eve of our departure, we walked over to Alex Fleites’ house in Calle 10, and the stories and laughter flowed no end. Everyone felt at home, like old friends. I sat on a cushioned rocking chair, enjoying the very many paintings and art installations on the orange living room wall. Amanda served hot coffee, cookies, and lemon tarts as Alex, our Cuban friend, did his many funny impersonations that left us all in stitches.

So many recollections, indeed, of this trip to Cuba, a picturesque backdrop to my long friendship with Marj. Every so often we reminisce about this trip, and some interesting and often funny detail comes up. We laugh at the memory, not unlike children sharing secrets. Yet like the zunzuncito’s flight, we feel time’s swift passing as we look back through the years, as we try our best to live in the present filled with challenges during this time of the virus, but like the weaver in one of the Fishes of Light tarengas, we will always look towards the morning light:

The weaver uses
the finest threads of energy
to cover the bed.
Warm under her blanket
the lover dreams till dawn.

—

La tejedora usa
los finos hilos de energía
para cubrir la cama.
Arropado en esa manta
sueña el amante hasta el alba.”