"Across Cuba, the devil again.

Gut 1100 Cuba kilometers from west to east, many people only see the beaches and the chic Varaderos pages Havana. Roland Schulz wanted more - and went on a discovery trip to fishermen, farmers and the rocker-youth of Camagüey.

 

They sat in the rocking chair, looking up into the mountains addressed. It was the hour of the midday sun, just a movement, and the people passed in welding. It was wearing a flimsy shirt, which their poor air was arid as well as a headscarf. Your mouth angle welkten already on their hands Old wound cores, but their eyes had the stabbing of a young blue sky.

Regardless of age, received a untamed force of her from. She heard all the questions: why, why, why, who is the first time comes to Cuba, before flowing on issues. What brings her the tobacco, Doña Adelaida? How much you earned with the leaves as pawns in a socialist state? What is left in memory, what do you think about the future, as it lives in this country? She spoke not a word.

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GEO Special No 1 / 2009

Cuba

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They sat there silent. An indulgent smile on her lips, she saw the sun, like all life that inexorably led to a halt. The dog dragged itself hechelnd below the bread fruit trees, chickens examined under the wooden planks of the shadows, from the fields around were ridden brothers and sons in order to cool their horses into the river to rise. Then finally she said.

"These are but a lot of questions," she said. Her voice had notched the sound of a man, a lifetime of smoking has. Then they put themselves one question: "Y cómo viniste?" She asked in what way did you come, stranger, you are so inquisitive stand before my door? By train, by plane, bus, Doña Adelaida, from Germany to here, into the deep valley of the tobacco in the west of Cuba, where the journey begin: once across Cuba.

They immediately lifted from her rocking chair, in the face smile, and called across to the other: "Hey, come time ago, the guy here wants to ride across Cuba!" To do this she laughed loudly. It sounded like a rattle. All were gone now, children, parents, grandparents, when Adelaida Nuñez calls, it promises to be funny. Time of her life she has these hamlets with their songs, entertain, with décimas spontaneously sealed satire songs, until her fingers when she no longer could bend, she gave the guitar to. "Germany, eh?" She said. "Find me a man there. But he should be nice! Ugly am myself" She laughed.

They pushed now chairs on the veranda, ranged in small cups of coffee and brought tobacco, leathery leaves, fresh from the dry house, Adelaida on the back of her rocking chair to loose rolled cigars. Then they told. As Doña Adelaida beguiled everyone when she was young. As the river was once the flood and the fields fortspülte: The tobacco was destroyed, the Yucca, the corn. Or how Miguel is one Sunday in his bed and put away. So it is lived in this valley: "Here we come to the world, we die here," said Adelaida. It has dawned, when the parting came. Adelaida asked: "And how can I find?" With everything that goes Doña Adelaida, somehow all the time. That's the plan. "Across Cuba," she giggled, "the devil again."

On the street there was silence, no car, no motorcycle, nothing. Only the night. Ten, maybe twelve kilometers were up Viñales, accompanied solely by unruly mosquitoes, the sound of their steps - and questions. Who many questions to Cuba has, it does well, even on the questions to hear in this country are. "Cómo viniste?" How did you come? To catch a lot of talks - a prelude, the speeches made easy. Who here is taking a trip, never know when, how, what and whether it will ever arrive. The trips are plenty of substance to any conversation going to bring.

Pig feed - lost and found

Shortly before Viñales penetrated suddenly a roar from the darkness. It sounded like a vehicle, but was approached, was a mythical creature: a roaring monster machine. A Mas 500th An old Soviet-designed trucks, big as a tank. The driver pushed the door and shouted one word: "Where?" His truck was a Hörenswürdigkeit. Everything knatterte crash and a thunder of noise, the engine choked any human voice.

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Therefore, the driver in character to understand, he must very briefly ... Since he already is boosting the steering wheel around and turned his machine sharply to the left. He drove to a friend. The worked in a fattening farm. The friend would today night Four lost pig feed sacks, and he himself would today night Four sacks pig feed can be found. So it happened. Ten minutes later he was back on the road and drove to Viñales.

On the horizon stood out the table mountains of a valley dark sky, like animals crouching to leap. Advance shone the lights of the city. Viñales was sleeping, long streets, lined by pine trees, lit by bare bulbs. The houses were small, single buildings from mud bricks, but always with a stately veranda provide. On two or three people were sitting still, sucking on cigarettes, which ends in the darkness of the night like fireflies glommen.

The next morning, the bus in the East. On his flanks he wore the symbol of a blue highway: Viazul. The FX line. Tickets must be paid with pesos convertibles are hard currency, so mainly use this service foreigners and Cubans with foreign funds.

The air conditioner blew cold air clanking in the bus. The windows were like a fine mist over, mist the glass. Cuba was nothing more than faded green and past Husch the shadows. When the vehicle the mountain Viñales had left behind, he turned it on the Carretera Central, Cuba's main interurban road that once across the island runs. On the roadside there were dozens of Cubans who wagged with money when a vehicle approached. They also wanted to east, by car stop.