El Almendrón y Perros Vagos

Cuba is beginning to change as various reforms are made by
the government. But some parts of Cuba
seem immutable, frozen in time. I'm
thinking of the old American cars and the dogs in the streets. No visitor goes home from Cuba without
pictures of both of these especially Cuban sights branded into his or her
brain.

The cars make you feel you're in a time machine—going back
to your youth or perhaps your father's youth.
The mental images are particularly vivid because they were already there
in our heads. Yes, these aren't new
sights, but instead they awaken memories of our own lives many years ago. Fifty some years ago a revolution occurred in
Cuba—not just in the government, but also in the cars on the street.

As Fulgencio Batista's grip on power slipped away, 71
percent of Cuban businesses were American owned. A huge share of foods, house wares,
furnishings, appliances, and, of course, automobiles were made in America. In Cuba, as in the US, Japanese and European
car brands were hardly known in North America.
So, if you think there are lots of old US cars in Cuba now, they were
nearly all American brands in 1959 as Cuba threw out its government.

But, as luck would have it, the two neighbors fell out, and
after a very few years and a nationalization of US businesses, an embargo shut
down all Cuba-bound trade with the US including American cars and their repair
parts. The message was clear, if you had
a car, you'd better take good care of it.
As a result, Cuba developed a huge corps of shade tree mechanics who
keep the fleet running decade after decade.
If you're lucky and rich and well connected, you can buy a Russian or
French or South Korean car in Cuba today, but most people think if they have a
car it's the only one they'll ever have.

Those bulbous, chrome decorated behemoths of the 1950's have
attracted their own name in Spanish. The
guajiros call them "almendrones", which means big
almonds. The "ón" part is a suffix that means "big" in Spanish,
and almonds have a simple, almost streamlined shape like the cars of the
'50's. In fact, can you picture a more
almond-like shape then the upside-down bathtub design of the 1950's Nash?
That's the best example, but they're all of a type—bloated,
maybe even a little silly looking.

So these iconic cars move and rest all over the city of
Havana. As they wear out, they spend
more time in front of the house on the side of the street, up on jack stands,
with the hood off, one guy on his back underneath and one leaning over half
swallowed in the hood cavity.

Now, as to the dogs of Havana's streets: You can't be sure when you see a stray dog on
the streets if he is homeless or not. As
most Cubans here have no yards, they let their dogs out to relieve
themselves. The best way to guess is by whether
or not his ribs show, suggesting he isn't well fed. But other signs can be found. A dog that has been on the streets long will
likely develop mange, which is easy to recognize. Collars and leashes are nearly unknown as are
ID tags. An owned dog will return to his
master's doorstep—that is, if he doesn't get grabbed by the dogcatcher. So does that dog have an owner or not? You can't be certain, but there are clues.

And why did I compare the old US cars with street dogs? Here are my ideas:

·
Stray dogs and old cars are both slow beasts
whether due either to the
Cuban heat or to a tired old engine.
·
Stray dogs are always hungry and the 10 mpg almendrón always needs a tank of gas.
·
Mange, scratches, and lesions on their fur
attest to the hard life of a stray, while rust, bent fenders, and cracked
windows form a parallel for old cars.
·
We can't help loving the old cars, and the same
emotion stirs when we see a dog we think may not have a home.

Cuba and the US can never really become enemies as the
streets there are filled with icons most of us love.

Les Inglis