Читать книгу 100 Places in Cuba Every Woman Should Go - Conner Gorry - Страница 22

I’M NOT A BIG FAN of churches and cemeteries (nor slums or battle sites) as tourist attractions, but there are always exceptions. In Havana, that exception is the Colón Cemetery, a city unto itself, established in 1868 and interring corpses daily since. Like in most high-demand cities, overcrowding is a serious problem—almost every Habanero wishes to be buried in Colón (formally the Necrópolis Cristobal Colón, but unceremoniously clipped to just Colón; Cubans, a profligate bunch in general, are surprisingly parsimonious when it comes to syllables and words). Alas, people keep dying while the cemetery’s acreage remains the same, forcing loved ones to disinter their dearly departed after two years and move them to mausoleums. It’s not a pretty sight on the day they’re digging up remains, the named and numbered streets littered with scraps of clothing, splintered plywood, and dead flowers. You have to be an unlucky soul to witness this sadness—like I did when we buried my friend Odalys a few years ago. On all other days, the cemetery is a quiet oasis in the heart of chaotic Vedado jam-packed with spectacular sculptures and elaborate aboveground tombs. The chapel anchoring the main boulevard, blazing yellow in the midday sun with its terra cotta cupola, calls all photographers; inside is less impressive, unless the resident priest is blessing soon-to-be entombed remains when the apse is charged with a melancholy energy.

Many of the angelic and profane sculptures date back a hundred years or more and the quirky Cuban character is evident even here, in death. There’s the “Domino Tomb,” the final resting place of Juana Martín de Martín, a fanatic of the game whose tombstone is a three-by-three domino tile; her last game is chiseled into the side of the crypt. Despite being vilified post-revolution and embroiled in a decades-long lawsuit with the Cuban state over the copyright to Havana Club, the Bacardí family pantheon stands tall here, contained inside a wrought iron fence lined with black bats. One of my favorites is the “Faithfulness Grave” of Jeanette Ryder whose devoted dog Rinti padded to her tomb every day following her death, refusing to eat until one day he died right there, beside his beloved owner. Ryder’s friends were so moved by the dog’s devotion, they raised money to commission a tombstone sculpture with Rinti sleeping contentedly at her feet.

One of the most-often visited graves in the entire cemetery, piled high with flowers, stuffed animals, baby shoes, and written supplications for infant health, is that of Amelia Goyri, familiarly known as “La Milagrosa” (The Miracle). Amelia died eight months pregnant; the baby she carried died with her. They were buried together, the unnamed baby placed at her feet. When she was exhumed some years later, the baby wasn’t at her feet, but in her arms. In 1909, a life-size sculpture of the would-be mother with babe in arms was placed at her tomb; today it is festooned with all manner of offerings from parents petitioning miracles for their offspring. Not long ago a friend asked me to do a favor for his neighbor, an elderly compañera charged with administering all the offerings: would I be willing to carry the nickels, dimes, and quarters deposited by supplicants in the box at La Milagrosa’s tomb to New York in my luggage and change them for bills? (Cuban banks don’t change US coins.) The little old lady offered me half for my troubles—around $75. I told my friend I would heft the nearly ten pounds of coins stateside, but I wasn’t risking the health of someone’s baby purchasing my morning coffee with money offered to La Milagrosa. Another cemetery highlight is the Androgynous Angel statue (who knew?!). You can hire a guide to tour the cemetery, wander independently, or buy the detailed map and booklet Guía Turística Necrópolis Colón at the entrance.