Patrick Springer has more than 20 years of reporting experience covering a wide range of public affairs, features and special assignments. He first joined The Forum in 1985, and has covered police, courts, legislative news and politics as well as health care and the environment. He was a reporter for the Argus Leader in Sioux Falls, S.D., from 1981 to 1985. He covered North Dakota Guard and Reserve forces in the Persian Gulf War in Saudi Arabia and Kuwait in 1991. He was awarded fellowships with the Knight Center for Advanced Reporting at the University of Maryland in 1988 and the Bush Foundation in 1996, which helped support his graduate studies. He has a bachelor’s degree from South Dakota State University in journalism and economics, and a master’s degree in nonfiction writing from Emerson College. He was a visiting journalist and assistant professor of English at Concordia College from 2000-2002. |
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Monday,
September 30 After a frantic search, I found the folder containing my ticket; I'd left it at the Spam booth, my last interview of a hectic day. Fortunately, they spotted it and kept it for me. On the last day of the expo, talk is a mixture of whether more deals will be done and the weather. But Lili's approach overshadows many conversations. I had a chance to swap seats with someone and leave early this afternoon, but I'd miss out on the last developments; three possible sales were lingering late this afternoon. I have an invitaton to a Cuban couple's apartment for a visit tonight, and I'm looking forward to the opportunity to talk to "ordinary Havanans." Keeping my fingers crossed in the hope I can depart, as scheduled, tomorrow afternoon. (We had a torrential downpour this afternoon; it rains a lot here during the rainy season.) Otherwise, it looks like my stay will be extended a few days until the storm passes. I'll be stuck in my hotel room. Wish I'd brought along a good novel.
Saturday,
September 28 With little business being done -- and little hard news for reporters to scrape together -- people are preoccupied with two things: 1) the weather: Lily, whether a tropical storm or hurricane in the making, appears as of late Saturday evening to be headed toward Havana. It's too soon to tell what it will do or where it will go, but the charter airline service is making contingency plans to try to bring in extra planes if people make plans to leave early ... 2) the banquet. Castro sent out 800 invitations to a dinner tonight at El Laguito mansion, and people are maneuvering to get them; most, if not all, of the official exhibitors are on the list. Meanwhile, the temperature and humidity in the Pabexpo trade hall are oppressive -- the air-conditioning can't keep up with the hundreds of people milling around, sampling milk shakes and chicken fillets. Tomorrow, Sunday, promises to be more crowded and probably hotter. The public -- whatever that means in a rigidly controlled country -- will be allowed to attend the food fair. A lot of the North Dakotans, including yours truly, can't wait to return home to cooler temperatures. Until then, though, the scenery is beautiful and the people are extraordinarily friendly. Everyone, it seems, from Castro to the last taxi driver, wants to make a good impression on the Americans.
Friday,
September 27 After lots of checking with Luis, the liaison assigned to the North Dakota trade delegates, the word came back that the reporters could go along -- but they couldn't bring cameras or tape recorders. I complied; I didn't want to cause a big hassle. Security here is rigid, as you might expect, with thorough "technical" inspections that are basically the same as getting through the airport security gauntlet. We could only imagine the security involved in a visit to Castro's office and reception compound. You guessed it by now: Everyone was allowed to walk right in, without even a cursory search. (Of course, we'd all come from the expo, where security and credentials are tightly controlled. Still, we were all surprised at the informality -- Cuba is infamous for its heavy police presence.) Castro didn't disappoint his guests -- he was generous both with his time and with his wine and cigars. But as the clock kept ticking -- one hour, two hours ... finally, as the third hour approached, Castro looked at his watch. "This is the enemy," he said, referring to his watch. A formidable enemy: I barely had time to write a story and file it via the Internet. The press center here shuts down at 6:30 or 7; Casto bid the North Dakotans good-bye at 5. I might not have been able to send my story had it not been for the help of Anita Snow, the Associated Press bureau chief in Havana, who let me use her web connection to let me file the story. If only there had been a picture to go with it.
Thursday,
September 26 For me, one of the most humorous efforts at translation came today when one of the aids at the International Press Center at the Pabexpo hall was trying to invite me for a press reception this evening at Karl Marx Teatro, um, theater. He was asking me if I had a personal car. No, I said, I take a cab. Cab? Taxi. Oh, taxi. He painstakingly wrote out the address in my notebook. Forty-five minutes later, he appeared with printed invitations. Once again, he asked me if I had a personal car. Nope, I said, wondering if his memory was as bad as my Spanish. To clarify, I moved my hands, as if steering a car. No, he said, smiling. Suddenly it dawned on me. He was asking for a business card, my personal business card. I obliged by taking out my card. He wanted to know what people in North Dakota and Minnesota thought about the trade embargo, and he left to distribute more invitations. Before he left, he said he hoped The Forum would send someone with better Spanish. Ouch. Thanks, Hamado. Gracias, amigo.
Wednesday,
September 25 Organizers had their own press passes, but Cuban officials told them they weren't worth the plastic they were printed on. Sweltering heat at the pavillion -- the air-conditioning keeps blowing out the lights. The free rum and cokes at the airport yesterday were nice -- but reliable electricity would be even better.
Tuesday,
September 24 This was U.S. customs service, embargo-style. Early arrivals to the U.S. Food and Agribusiness Exhibition departing Miami International Airport Tuesday had to run a gauntlet of security before making the charter flights for Havana. Expo-bound business people grumbled that this was Uncle Sam’s way of making it difficult to travel to Cuba, forcing passengers to board at the furthest gate, and putting passengers through two X-ray checks before boarding. Two and a half hours of tedious lines and checkpoints for a 55-minute flight. That’s how Americans fly to Cuba – those who have obtained the business credentials to make the trip. But what a flight: the 737 skimmed the Strait of Florida, above glistening emerald waters, keys chalky reefs and feathery clouds. Upon arriving at the charter terminal of Jose Marti Airport, the passengers, all agribusiness people attending the expo, were greeted by glasses of rum and Coke – a drink called Cuba libre. A few sips helped to wash away the frustration. It seems that Fidel Castro’s government was happier to see the trade delegates arrive than Uncle Sam was to see them depart. Airport workers on the tarmac waved to passengers; nearby, two men in security car looked on. On the plane and in the queues, people exchanged cards, stories and anecdotes. The woman representing Hormel worried aloud whether Cubans really want to buy Spam. John Mittleider, vice president for public policy for the North Dakota Farm Bureau, arrived a day ahead of the rest of the 24-member group. He was eager to make contact with the top Cuban trade official, who sent word he wants to meet with both North Dakota and Minnesota groups. The bus ride to the Hotel Palco, located near the expo site, passed through some of Havana’s outer municipal districts. We passed an agricultural university – looking very much in need of paint and repairs – and Havana’s only sugar processing plant. It looked somewhat like those in the Red River Valley – but quite dilapidated, with a smoky, grimy exterior. Apartment buildings and small, one-story homes were a sobering site: slum tenements, with clothes flying on the lines and people loitering outside in sweltering 87-degree heat, including shirtless old men. The signs of pervasive poverty made an odd visual accompaniment to the travel guide’s running commentary, including tips on how best to buy expensive Cohiba cigars, which can sell for more than $200 a box. Gradually the tired, working neighborhoods became the fashionable business section in the Playa district of Havana, filled with embassies that once housed wealthy businessmen before the revolution. If you are reading this, it means the Internet connection at the hotel’s business center works. And that is even more refreshing than a chilled Cuba libre, muchos gracias.
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