Cuba Calling | The Genre Journey Begins
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Cuba is a melting pot of African, European and indigenous cultures. It has produced more music genres than you can shake a stick at: bolero, son, chachachá, mambo, guajira, guaracha, habanera, criolla, canción, rumba and conga, amongst many others.
One of the effects of Cuba’s political system has been the insulation of its culture from outside influence. However, with the recent opening of the US Embassy in Havana, and the information age slowly but surely filtering in, it looks like change is coming to Cuba. And its pristine music genres could be under threat.
I want to take this opportunity to get in there and learn from the last of a golden generation.
[/vc_column_text][vc_separator color=”green”][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row top_margin=”0″ bottom_margin=”0″][vc_column][vc_custom_heading text=”Arriving in Cuba” font_container=”tag:h1|text_align:center” google_fonts=”font_family:Lobster%3Aregular|font_style:400%20regular%3A400%3Anormal” css=”.vc_custom_1592906960174{margin-top: 0px !important;}”][vc_column_text css=”.vc_custom_1596052338037{margin-top: -15px !important;margin-bottom: 15px !important;}”]
My flight arrives into Holguín in Cuba’s East and I’m praying that my gear doesn’t get confiscated by the infamous Cuban border control.
I wait in the long queue whilst other tourists take turns filing into what can only be described as an interrogation booth. Their body language isn’t all that encouraging. Once I finally take my turn, the officer only wants to know whether or not I’ve been to West Africa recently. Maybe it’s something to do with Ebola virus. I answer in the negative and continue onwards.
There are no pings through the X-ray machine as my hand-luggage passes through. I catch a glimpse of my travel-friendly Baby Taylor guitar sitting in the sensitive items area looking safe and sound. Breathing a sigh of relief, I head towards the exit.
Stepping out of the airport, I’m mobbed by a mass of Cuban taxi drivers smoking cigars and it hits me that I’m doing this for real. I sit in the back of a battered 1970s Lada with two lively Cubans up front waxing lyrical in thick Cuban accents with a musicality that reminds me of home. As we career through the Cuban countryside at breakneck speed, zigzagging to avoid potholes, I giggle to myself and wonder what’s in store for me.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]
