May Day
Today, I had plans. Not exciting plans, but I did have plans.
I was going to have coffee at
Starbucks, then pay my rent and my internet, then get my phone fixed. It isn’t letting me access Facebook and
Internet away from the house. Then I
planned to stroll to the Plaza around lunch time and eat some buffalo wings at
La Pascana. At least that was my plan.
Looking out the window at 8:00, I
should have realized something was different about today. There were no cars. It was quiet outside.
At 9:00, I said good morning to
Nestor, the doorman, after interrupting a video he was watching about the
world’s worst drug dealers on his phone.
I crossed the Plaza Blacutt, noting the only person there was the lady
sweeping the leaves and toborochi blossoms from the sidewalks. When I saw Tigo, the phone company, was
closed, I knew something was going on.
The Banco Ganadero, where I pay rent, was also closed, so I headed home,
not wanting to carry so much money around.
“Nestor, what’s going on? Nothing is open.”
“It’s a holiday.”
“What holiday?” I asked.
“Labor Day.” I should have known. The entire world celebrates May First as a
holiday, except for the United States. I
dropped off my money so I could at least complete the rest of my plans.
Iralá, normally a busy street,
was so quiet I could cross the street at a red light. There was a bus and three cars, a lady out
walking, and the guard at the Foianini Clinic.
The streets are not this quiet on Sundays!
Instead of coffee at Starbucks, I
headed to the Café
Patrimonio, a block off the Plaza on Sucre.
I’ve mentioned this delightful little place before. It is an old house, built around two
patios. All the rooms open to the
patios. Now those rooms contain art
exhibits of young Cruceño
artist (a Cruceño is
someone from Santa Cruz). They have good
coffee, cookies, and sandwiches. Classical
music is usually playing, though sometimes jazz.
I can imagine having a house like
this, filled with books, comfortable couches, and colorful tropical
flowers. I bet if I did, I’d have more
visitors from the States and Europe.
I discovered where the crowds had
gone. The Plaza was quickly filling
up. I checked the Manzana Uno to see if
they had a new art exhibit, but it was closed for the holiday. It was difficult to find a place to sit in
the Plaza, but I managed to find a place, so I could write for a while.
As 11:00 approached, even though
I wasn’t hungry, I went to La Pascana. I
told Fabiola I would take a coke for now, and order lunch later. I did get my buffalo wings later, but mostly
I had a nice hour and a half to write in one of my favorite places.
The Plaza exploded at 11:30! People were shooting off Roman candles and a
loud speech was blaring. I stayed at my table and
finished my lunch and the chapter of Onesimus that I was writing. But eventually I had to go outside.
The Plaza was shoulder to
shoulder crowded. I thought of my wallet
often, but nobody was paying me any mind.
Various groups were being announced as they paraded in front of the municipal
building next to the Cathedral. What
saddened me were the posters and banner extolling the greatness of Lenin, Stalin,
Trotsky, Mao, and Che Guevara, men who oversaw the murder of millions. It was a celebration of Communism, a system
that has robbed from the rich, only to make everyone equally poor. Seriously, are the people of Cuba better off
today than in 1955? I won’t get into a
preaching against communism.
I went home after that, still
enjoying the sunshine and glad I am free.
“It is for freedom that Christ
has set us free.” Galatians 5:1
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