Part 6. In which the police yell at me.

So, we now have money, a room key, and cool air in that room, so we decide to have something to eat and then go for a stroll. There were 3 restaurants in the hotel, a fancy-schmancy one that we passed on, the buffet, which is only open for breakfast and dinner, and this nifty little one tucked away in a corner. We had "a sandwich", and yes, that was exactly what it said on the menu. It turned out to be a very tasty panini w/ham/cheese/onion/tomato and cucumber, with a small handful of fries. The waiter kept calling Steven "Your Highness" and my Grandmother always said that he really does look like King George. Who knows?

After eating we decided to go for a walk along the Malecon. The Malecon is a 7 km (4 miles for my US friends) seafront promenade that winds all the way from Vedado (where we were) to Old Havana. It truly represents Havana, and is normally crowded with people, families, young lovers, fishermen, just a plethora of people who enjoy the view and the cool sea breeze. Steven stopped and carried on huge conversations with every fisherman we pass...they spoke no English and he speaks not a word of Spanish, but I guess the language of fishermen is universal. He even picked up that they fish for small fish that they then use for bait for larger ones. From our hotel, Old Havana was to the right (the direction my feet are pointing) (you can just see the tiny dome of the capitol building in the upper right of this picture) Since we knew we'd be spending lots of time there, we decided to walk in the other direction.

We went about 2 miles, and the area was filled with what seemed to be apartment buildings and perhaps office-type buildings. No stores, not very many pedestrians, it was heading more into what might be considered a governmental area. We wandered down just past these flags and saw a large cement building with quite a few armed guards in front. I thought it might be a prison of sorts, there were high wire fences, sally-ports to get in and out, no signs at all. The embassies are usually quite fancy, so I didn't think it was any kind of embassy or consulate, and besides they always have their flag outside.

I stopped to look, it was pretty bland, so we turned around and were looking at the ocean, and just chatting and in the distance I could hear whistles. Steven walked a little further and I was doing nothing. Just staring, as I am prone to do. The whistles were getting annoying, it was like a referee whistle, and then I could hear hollering and shouting. I turned around and to my utter amazement, realized that the shouts were directed to me, along with wild, waving angry gestures that I knew meant "Get out of here...now." More pointing and jabbing of fingers. It was like the money Nazi all over again.

I called to Steven and told him we had to leave, and he said "What did you do NOW?" As if I am in the habit of getting in trouble with police on a regular basis! *sheesh*.

Anyhow, apparently it's what is considered an American mission, not an embassy or consulate as there are no diplomatic relations between the two countries at all. The US does have a small presence in the country though, because of Guantanamo.

They are also apparently very paranoid and do not allow anyone to stop and glance at their building.

I was going to turn and snap a picture as I walked away, but I kinda didn't want to see Guantanamo first hand.

So the building is just on the other side of these Cuban flags. The empty flag poles that you see are the poles where they fly 138 black flags, sort of an "in your face" to the Americans that work there. The flags symbolize the 3400 Cubans who have died at the hands of US sponsored violence since 1959. The flags are lowered every night and we just missed seeing them. On subsequent days as we drove by, I was too leery to take a picture.