Cigar Story

This morning i did a bit of early walking before meeting Stripes and Noodles. I tried to visit a few churches, but all were closed or under construction. Nevertheless, all walks in Havana Vieja are entertaining with much to see.

We met up at Partagas and had a cigar before Stripes and Noodles' friend, El Jefe, found a car and convinced the driver to take us to Pinar del Rio.  With us was a lawyer from a certain South American country and his girlfriend. We bounced along in the utility vehicle for about two hours, making stops just for the boys to buy beer. The countryside was green and filled with palm trees. The vehicles included far more horse and cart configurations. Occasionally we saw large signs with pictures of a young Fidel Castro promising death to invaders. 

In Pinar del Rio we stopped at the Vegueros cigar factory. Not open to the public, but El Jefe said he had a friend that worked there. We stopped and went inside and with a bit of talking, El Jefe organized for us a tour of the factory.  So this was one of the things i was really looking forward to on this trip. I've read dozens of books on cigar production and i've been to factories in Miami, but to actually see Cuban cigars being rolled and sorted in person was incredible. (Unfortunately no pictures were allowed according to a government ordinance passed that day.)

The first area we entered was the rolling room. Rows of men and women of varying ages sat at wooden desks rolling cigars. They start with a pile of leaves that have been pre-approved and de-veined, and they gather a group of leaves (the filler; again, pre-organized to have the correct composition and blend for whatever cigar they are rolling) and they roll the together in an outside (binder) leaf. Too much or too little tobacco and the cigar is not smokable. Uneven distribution of tobacco and the cigar will not burn evenly. From there the cigars go in a wooden press, which looks like it has been in use for a century or more, and they sit for 20 minutes. After that they go to someone who puts on the outside leaf (the wrapper). The wrapper must be aesthetically perfect and perfectly applied for a uniform, smooth appearance. This person also applies the cap (the bit you cut off when you smoke it). Each of these jobs was done by a different person - mostly women but some men. A man sits at the front of the room reading newspapers and books to the workers, just as they have for nearly two centuries. 

The sizes and varieties of cigars they rolled varied, but all of them passed on to the next step: testing the draw. 

A man sat at a simple looking machine and one by one he placed each cigar in it and, somehow, forced air into it or something to test the draw. If a cigar did not fall in the required range, it would be rejected.

The cigars that passed the draw test were passed on to the next room. The first stop was something i have always been curious about seeing: the color sorting. The cigars that go into each box must be sorted so that they are all exactly the same shade of brown. Some boxes are darker and some lighter, but each must the uniform. The man's station was covered in rows of robustos, which he stared at and reorganized like he was playing Tetris. 

Behind him at other stations, girls applied bands to the cigars, one by one, using a ruler to ensure they were uniform and perfect.

Next, women adhered colorful paper and images to the wooden cigar boxes to differentiate the Partagas from the Hoyos and whatnot. Finally (out of sequence) we visited a room where women sorted through giant tobacco leaves, keeping the good ones, de-veining them, and preparing them for the rollers.

It is simply amazing, the amount of detail and handwork that goes into each cigar, each one passes through probably 20 sets of hands before it can be sold. We tipped our guide and he gave us each three cigars that had yet to be banded.

Our next stop, down a dirt road was to the Robaina tobacco plantation. Alejandro Robaina was Cuba's most celebrated tobacco farmer and his farm grown what is probably the best tobacco in the world. Alejandro died a few years ago but his grandson, whom we met (and who Stripes knew previously) carries on the family business. We walked the grounds and smoked cigars and were served a lunch of fried lobster, pork, black beans (with pork), rice, and beer. I had rice. I must have been hungry because that alone satisfied me.

After lunch a man gave us a tour and explained the delicate and time/weather sensitive process of how they plant and harvest the tobacco. How it can only be picked on certain days and only two leaves can be picked from each plant per day. Then he showed us the barns where the tobacco leaves are strung up and rotated to keep them at the perfect temperature and humidity while they ferment. Then we watched an in house roller demonstrate how cigars are rolled. The lawyer from a certain South American country tried his hand at rolling. (I have tried this previously and know it is a lot harder than it looks.)

We left and made the long, bumpy drive back to Havana. Back in the city we all went to the beautiful Hotel Inglaterra for drinks and cigars. We sat on the front patio and listened to live music and watched a lonely prostitute try to cozy up to various men traveling solo. At the Inglaterra, the lawyer from a certain South American country told us that as a criminal prosecutor in that certain South American country he was constantly under threat from violent retribution and had to carry a gun which he had had to fire on more than one occasion. As civil lawyers in Canada, Stripes and i had nothing worthy or comparable to contribute.

After that we walked across Parque Centrale to La Floridita: a bar made famous by everyone's favorite international alcoholic, Ernest Hemingway. Allegedly this is where the daiquiri was invented and for Hemingway they made a special grapefruit one. It is a fairly fancy place and quite charming, although the lighting is too bright and it is packed with tourists there for the same reason as us. The Daiquiris were refreshing, but not amazing. What was amazing was smoking inside and listening to the excellent band which inspired a couple of couples to take to salsa dancing between the tables.

Leaving there, cigars in hand, we left El Jefe, the lawyer from a certain South American country and his girlfriend. Stripes, Noodles, and i walked down the bustling, pedestrian Calle Obispo to some outdoor tables at Cafe Paris, where we had very cheap and very bad cheese pizza, cigars, and listened to another band. Kitty korner to us was an unassuming bodega outside of which a group of teenage-looking prostitute stood looking bored, occasionally approaching interested looking men.

After that, past midnight, i left Stripes and Noodles and made my way back to my casa, accompanied only by a stray dog who staying by my side the whole way. A very long and thoroughly enjoyable day.

Cigars and the Perfect Piña Colada

Day two in Havana began with breakfast at my casa (fruit, coffee, juice, bread and honey) before going out to walk aimlessly a bit more in old Havana. Everything was quieter in the morning, but just as lovely. 

I was meeting my friends, Stripes and Noodles, at the Partagas factory at noon so before that i walked out of Havana Vieja and to central Havana, where i walked around the currently reconstructed capitol building (which bears an uncanny resemblance to a certain government in the US), past some lavish hotels, then beyond, into a grid of streets which still bore the same once beautiful buildings, but they were less restored, far from postcard perfect. This was actually more to my liking in some ways than Havana Vieja - fewer tourists, more locals shopping at sparse bodegas with blaring salsa music, butchers, fruit sellers, and windows selling greasy looking pork sandwiches.

I met Stripes and Noodles at the Partagas factory. It technically is no longer a factory, with the manufacturing having been moved elsewhere, but it still houses a great cigar store and a "vip" smoking lounge. The selection of cigars was terrific and i helped myself to a Partagas Serie P No 2 as we headed into the smoking lounge. The lounge was crowded with men from all over the world, here for the same, annual Partagas cigar festival that we are here to attend. Stripes and Noodles knew a lot of these people from their past visits and so they visited and i sat and smoked and ogled the well-stocked humidor. Rum was plentiful, but i stuck to coffee.

After a long smoke at Partagas, Stripes, Noodles, a friend of theirs, and i walked to a new restaurant operated by a fiend of theirs (i'm not sure if "owned" is the right word, given that everything is owned by the government.). The walk was nice, the weather humid, but not too hot. The neighbourhood was relatively quiet and situated near the Malecon and the sea. We had lunch there at the surprisingly fancy cafe, which was great - few veg options, but i had enough to eat - and then we retired upstairs to the rooftop patio for a cigar. The spot was lovely, but unfortunately it was already populated by a group of Canadians - two dopey men and three shrill women who prattled on about their periods and shopping at Walmart. We didn't stay long. From there we walked along the Malecon (the thoroughfare that runs along the sea) to the National Hotel. The walk was glorious. The waves crashing along the wall and drenching pedestians in showers of seafoam. Locals had begun to congregate for the evening, listening to music and hanging out. Fishermen wrapped up their hauls before the dark set in.

We arrived at the grand National Hotel, which sits perched impressively on a hill overlooking its surroundings. There is a wonderful courtyard area with seating for the bar. Fortunately, some of it was under cover, because as we arrived, the rain began to pour. We sat comfortably and watched the rain and wind assault the palms from our cozy spot, enjoying cigars and perfect piña coladas. I mean, seriously, these drinks were amazing. Not since Cartagena have i had such fruity perfection in a glass. It was lovely.

We traveled to our respective accommodations by way of a speedy Lada taxi. I got off a few blocks from my casa and enjoyed the walk home down the wet, silent streets.

Dinner Rolls and Love Songs

I've always had sort of a mental block about Cuba as a travel destination. It always looked nice, but i was never drawn to it. Then when i was quite young i became a cigar fanatic, worked in the business, smoked and smoke cigars nearly everyday, so Cuban became more interesting for that reason. But the problem then was since then everyone i know goes to Cuba regularly. I hear about it, i see pictures and it loses all sense of wonder and mystery. Time spent living in Miami did nothing help this. So for years i didn't go. Finally, with the US embassy opening and the likelihood that all manner of capitalist horrors will soon follow (chipotle, walmart, real housewives havana), it seemed like a now or never situation.

The weird thing is that while i am here alone, the trip was coordinated with two friends from Canada - Stripes and Noodles (to preserve their anonymity) - so we could all attend the annual Partagas cigar festival, which encompasses a couple of events, dinners, and specially rolled cigars for the occasion. I never travel with people except my mother, so i had some serious trepidation about this idea, but we are flying snd staying separately so i should still have enough alone time. It shall be a new experience.

I arrived in Varadero on a sunny sunday afternoon. The flights to Havana were crazy expensive, but not Varadero, which caters to the all inclusive crowd. I have to say rarely have i seen such an unattractive group of people as i did on that flight. Fat, sloppy, slack-jawed hicks traveling with Molson Canadian t-shirts and boxes of Tim Hortons Timbits. The couple next to me were so large that the use of arms rests were an impossibility. 

Anyway, on arrival i opted for the more expensive one hour taxi ride to Havana over the inexpensive three hour bus trip. I was happy with my choice. We sped past the lush countryside, empty beaches, and industrial complexes, past the odd cow, policeman, or boy selling fresh cheese and guavas by the roadside.

Arrival in Havana was pleasant. It really does look like all of the pictures: beautiful 2-3 storey buildings in poor repair but wearing colorful paint jobs. Bicycle rickshaw taxis. Fortresses by the sea. Sidewalk cafes with live music. Endless shops selling colorful knick knacks and anything and everything with Che Guevara. It is all very visually appealing. The downside for me is, it all looks familiar. Mostly it reminds me of Cartagena, which is fine in that i liked Cartagena, but so far i haven't gotten that rush of excitement on seeing something new, but it really is lovely. The two things that do seem special and unique are the 50s American cars, which really are ubiquitous and not just for tourists; they actually use them and they are beautiful. Also the amount of buskers is notable. There are on every corner almost small bands playing Cuban music and jazz and they are great.

It is worth pointing out at this point that all of these observations have been made by me while walking in Havana Vieja (the old city). This is the postcard perfect area which is the city's oldest and filled with churches, squares, and wonderful streets lined with appealing bars and cafes. This is the area in which i am staying, just off the Plaza Vieja, at a casa particulares called Marta y Israel. A casa particulares is basically someone's house in which they rent out a room or two and provide breakfast. By far the cheapest option for accommodations. I really like this place: easy to find with a great location, a nice interior, a rooftop patio, clean, hospitable and it has AC and hot water. What more could i want?

So, i arrived, i settled, and i walked all over the old city. Many tourists and many people who make their living from them, though the restaurant touts and taxi drivers are polite and far from aggressive. I walked, i smoked, i sat, i walked some more. Finally, after getting hungry to the point of irritation, i found the perfect restaurant. 

The seating was outside on a narrow cobbled lane. White table cloths, candles, a band playing soft Spanish music, and a vegetarian meal on the menu. I stayed and had cigar and ate my dish of bland but delicious (extreme hunger leads to lower expectations) rice and vegetables and the softest, tiniest, whitest dinner rolls. After eating the rice and one of the rolls, i was stuffed but i didn't want to let them go to waste, so i began surreptitiously slipping the rolls one by one into my bag. My attempt at remaining invisible was cut short when the band - a group of six musicians, whom i had fatally tipped 5 Cuban pesos earlier because i hadn't a smaller note, encircled me at my table and began to serenade me at close proximity with romantic songs. The main singer sat down next to me and, with his face no more than 12 inches from mine, made ceaseless, soulful eye contact while singing Bessame Mucho. The whole restaurant looked on at my visible discomfort and the dinner rolls poorly concealed in my fists. Three songs this went on for. I smiled and tried to find a place to look other than the eyes of the singer, but that just made it more awkward. At least the music was nice though at that moment i longed for the comfortable anonymity of recorded music. I had a laugh when it was over and again when i ate the successfully pilfered dinner rolls for breakfast the next morning.

The walk back to my casa was pleasant, past throngs of people congregating in the streets for drink and dance and get lost in the warm, dark air.

The Broad

Today started by taking the Metrolink from Burbank to Union Station. 

Once downtown, i skipped Olivera Street this time to grab some sushi in Little Tokyo. I then had a cigar at the 2nd Street cigar lounge where i had a lovely chat with a boxing manager/promoter about our shared love of international travel. After that i headed to The Broad.

The Broad is a new (opened last month) modern art museum downtown showcasing the private collection of a local billionaire/art collector who is now sharing his amazing collection of post-war modern art in an incredible building. (Take note, billionaires who are inexplicably reading this blog: this is a worthwhile use of your otherwise unjustifiable wealth.) 

It is like a pared down NY MOCA, sans the Pollacks. A fantastic collection of Beuys, Twombly, Cindy Sherman, Jasper Johns, Koons (not my favourite, but fun to look at), Murakami, Wharhol, Lichtenstein, Damien Hirst, and more. And terrific customer service. The staff are more than happy to talk with you about the art.

It delights me not only to see the art, but to overhear the reactions of people. A lot of "i could paint this" and "i don't get it". But at least they're there. 

As i write this i am post gallery at the 7 Grand, a cozy bar with a cigar nook, downtown, enjoying some cigar time before training it back to Burbank.

Disney at Halloween

What would a trip to Los Angeles be without a trip to Disneyland? D and i made the trip there yesterday. We've both been to Disneyland and Disneyworld multiple times but i had never been in October when the park gets a Halloween makeover. 

Mainstreet USA (the america that never was outside of film and nostalgia) is decorated with jack-o-lanterns and the Haunted Mansion gets a Tim Burton theme. It was wonderful. It amazes me how attractions and rides that are 60 years old still delight and awe. I still love the Jungle Cruise, even though the replicated sights are now things i have seen in real life in my travels. The Pirates Of The Caribbean is still cool with its obvious animatronics (i do believe though that they have taken out some rapey bits). (Allegedly this is this ride that terrified me as a toddler due to a fear of men with facial hair.) it's A Small World is a kitschy delight. And tomorrow land feels more retro than anything, but it still great. 

I love it. All of it....well, except for one thing. There are just too many children. I know, it is a family theme park and i don't begrudge people taking their kids, but there are just so many strollers and babies screaming and kids that are just way too young to enjoy or remember any of it. We thought/hoped that by nighttime they would leave, but they didn't. If anything, they multiplied and got exponentially louder and more unpleasant as the day waned. 

In the end they beat us. Families with their strollers (including fat kids who should not have been in strollers but lacked the ability of sustained walking) stayed and camped out, awaiting the fireworks display as they cried and bickered. At that point, we had had enough and left.

It was great though. Always magical.

A Day in LA (on foot)

Los Angeles has a reputation for being a city you cannot see or navigate without a car, and, true, in terms of transit, New York or London it is not, but i know from previous trips that there are people that live here who don't drive at all, so i figured i could spend a day on foot and train seeing the things i needed to see. I have taken the subway here before, but only a few stops. I've never covered much ground without my sister driving me. Yesterday though she had to work all day and so i headed out solo and on foot.

I started in downtown Los Angeles, which is absolutely my favourite area. It feels like LA but it doesn't. The buildings are tall and gloriously old (on a west coast US scale) and the area is sprinkled with cafes, restaurants, galleries, and shops but the area still retains a lot of the character from its recent, seedy past. It is just a bit grimy and has old bodegas, pawn shops, and less than reputable looking taco eateries by the roadside. More and more though the area is becoming gentrified, so soon much of the grittier bits will be polished away, and then it will all just be...too lovely. But right now it is good.

I started at the Grand Central Market for a perfectly pulled espresso and then walked up and down the tree lined streets as the neighbourhood was waking up with dog walkers and street sweepers leading the parade. With all day ahead of me i looked for a place to have a morning cigar and read my book. A bench perhaps? But then i found a little cigar/hookah lounge on Spring street that was open (at 7am). The cigar selection wasn't great, but i grabbed the best of what was on display and made myself at home on their front patio with a book, a churchill, and a coffee. All was well.

After that i paid a visit to The Last Bookstore. Between its rambling aisles, random book architecture, awesome selection, nooks, crannies, slopes, corners, and hideaways ( not to mention the artists' studios and vinyl section) this may be my new favourite bookstore (sorry, Powell's).

After a sufficient browse i walked to the 2nd Street Cigar Lounge: a comfortable neighbourhood tobacconist with ample leather chairs for cigar No. 2. After that i wandered downtown a bit more, photographing the swell and often disused theatres.

From there i walked to Olivera Street - the historic and touristy Mexican area, crammed with stalls of colourful souvenirs and fragrant open air eateries.

 

I've been there a couple of times previously so i didn't linger but took a turn around the square before entering the grand Union Station to catch a subway to Hollywood.

A word about the LA Metro: while it doesn't cover every area, it is fairly far reaching, well mapped, efficient, and cheap (and air-conditioned).

I disembarked into the hustle of Hollywood and Vine and made my way down the strip, past the souvenir shops, the cheezy looking bars, and sleezy looking stores, dodging the guys touting tours of Hollywood homes and the scrawny Spiderman and buxom Marilyns posing for pictures with tourists. I smiled and was careful not to trod upon the stars of certain celebrities, namely Frank Sinatra and Bela Lugosi. There's not much on Hollywood worth stopping for if it isn't your first time, but it makes for an entertaining stroll.

I walked all the way down to La Brea and then from there down to Melrose - not so interesting a stretch. I turned right onto Melrose and walked to and past Fairfax. Melrose is great if you are inclined towards shopping or eating, neither of which i was, but it was great for looking around and the long walk passed quickly.

I finally reached my destination: the well appointed and well stocked V-Cut cigar lounge where i whiled away an hour and a half with two cigars and the chatter of a decent crew of locals.

From there, as it was getting dark and i was not inclined to walk back to Hollywood for the Metro, i took a bus to the nearest Metro station, then back to Union Station where i caught the Metrolink (a long distance commuter train) back to Burbank.

A wonderful day. And car free.