I learn you could get into Cuba from San Francisco, just by starting out on a particular hill and walking right in. No ocean to cross, no passports needed, no border guards, no customs, no nothing, just come on in. So we set out.
From the top of the hill, we can see Haiti across the water, beyond Cuba. We are excited; it looks beautiful and very close. I try to take a photograph, but every time I look through the viewfinder, Haiti lengthens wider and wider, to the point where the whole island no longer fits in the frame, so I give up.
Once in Cuba, on the beach, Fidel Castro greets every group of visitors, changing his clothes to match their varying economic statuses. For poor refugees, he wears dirty, tattered clothes. For middle-class tourists, he wears khakis and T-shirts. For wealthy visitors, he wears expensive suits. He wants to look "authentic" to each group, but it's all just theater to him.
He also runs a bar where a lot of tequila is sold. At the bar they pour part of a shot into a shot glass, cover it with a napkin while it foams up a little, then deliver it to the customer, ceremoniously uncovering it and topping it off at the table. The customer is expected to down it in one gulp. The tequila has no taste or mouth-feel.
Suddenly Lucille Ball enters, in the character of a Broadway show she has been in, accompanied by the cast, all singing and dancing and interacting with the bar patrons. Fidel hangs around chatting with the patrons, trying to force them into ignoring the distraction. It is a ploy of some kind. I try to get video of the chaos but my camera requires several setting changes to get the video going and I keep forgetting a critical one, so the camera is ready but never actually starts recording.