Resolviendo: Epic adventures TCOB in Cuba

On my last trip to Cuba, I had the kind of day that perfectly illustrates the Cuban concept of resolviendo. That is, “resolving,” solving your latest problem in a country where everything is a problem.

A friend of mine jokes that resolviendo is such a constant of Cuban life, it’s the second national sport. (after baseball, of course)

In this case, the problem was, I needed a washer. I was helping a friend get her bike fixed. Took it to a bike repair shop, where the mechanic pointed out it was missing a washer. “See how that nut is tearing up the frame? You really need an arandela there.” I didn’t even know that word – had to look it up – much less where to find one. The mechanic wasn’t sure either, but he suggested the hardware store at Havana’s Carlos the Third shopping mall. That was kind of a hike, but whatever. I wanted the bike to be right, so I needed that washer.

I start walking down the street, and I see a guy working on his car. Mid-50’s – the guy, not the car – heavyset, parked at the curb and tinkering around with his old Russian car. I ask if there are any hardware stores nearby where I might get a washer. That’s very normal in Cuba, going up to someone randomly on the street and asking them for directions. People do it all the time. And whoever’s on the street typically tries to be helpful because there’s a mentality that we’re all in this together. Kind of nice.

He says, “Let me see if I’ve got one.” So he digs around in his toolbox, looking for one to give me. He doesn’t find one, but he does find a larger piece of metal with the right size hole in it, just a scrap he was saving in case he needed it someday. He gives it to me and says if I can’t find a washer, I could ask someone to cut this piece of metal down to size and use that. Doesn’t want any money for it. Super nice of him, the kind of solidarity you often find in Cuba.

He doesn’t know where I’d find the right kind of shop to cut it down, but he’s got an idea for where to buy a washer. He sends me to a little hardware store a couple blocks away, “next to the gas station.” I go find the gas station, then the hardware shop. No washers.

So I go to Carlos the Third, which is an important shopping mall. Find the hardware store, ask for a washer. The attendant looks doubtful, but he calls over to his coworker. “Do we have any washers?” Nope, they don’t have any washers either. But they send me to another store maybe 15 blocks away. They describe how to find it, and I head out.

At this store, I get in line and wait my turn. This is already turning into an epic odyssey, and this is when I decide to start taking pictures as I go along. When it’s my turn, the guy behind the counter says, “Oh, no, we don’t have any washers. Where you really need to go is blah-blah-blah, but you’ll never find it.” So this other customer says, “I’m on my way there right now. I’ll take him.” He looks to be in his early 30’s, dressed for construction work in coveralls and rubber boots. I don’t really understand where they’re talking about taking me, but whatever.

So we start walking and chatting. Nice guy. We’re heading down Reyna, one of Havana’s big avenues. When we approach a major cross-street I know, we turn the other way, and suddenly I’m in a part of Havana I’ve never seen before. It’s grittier than I’m used to. Or maybe it’s that there’s nothing but gritty. All the buildings look dingy and poorly maintained. In many areas of Havana, you see a mix of gritty and more upscale. Here, it’s all gritty. I’m the only foreigner.

After another 5 or 10 minutes, we get to this little flea market where all they sell is hardware. There are stalls and stalls of private vendors with a crazy variety of stuff they’ve imported for resale. And lots of them have little bins full of screws, nuts, bolts, etc.

We ask around, and finally at the very last stall, we find a guy with little bins of washers. But I don’t see the one I need. I’m looking for a big washer with a big hole. He’s got small washers with a big hole, or big washers with a smaller hole, but not big with big. I buy a couple of each, but they’re really not what I wanted.

I thank my construction-worker-cum-tour-guide and head out, back to the part of town we’d come from. I’m thinking, maybe I can find a jewelry repair shop with a metal file or a Dremel, and they can open up the hole in one of the big washers for me. So I’m wandering along, and I see a watch repair shop. I ask. They say what I need is a jewelry repair shop, but there isn’t one nearby.

I keep walking. Visit a designer clothing store I like. Buy a shirt. Keep walking. See some guys hanging around and ask where I can find a jewelry repair shop. One of them takes me around the corner to a shop with people selling varied stuff, including a guy selling washers. I check, but he’s selling the same washers I’ve already got. Then there’s an older guy with a little jewelry repair bench. He says, “No, I can’t do that, what you need is a tornero.” (I don’t know what that means, but it sounds like “turn,” and I guess it means someone who specializes in drilling or something. I’m close, it’s actually a lathe operator.)

He says, “I don’t know where there’s a tornero. But a couple blocks from here, there’s a tire repair shop. They’ll definitely know where you can find a tornero.” He points me in the right direction.

So off I go to find the tire repair shop. I get close, ask somebody where the shop is, and they point it out. The tire repair guys tell me about a tornero named Yuri whose shop is some blocks away, at the corner of Campanario and La Una. “La Una?” I ask, confused. “Laguna!” Oh, ok. Laguna. Sure. I thank them, find it on my map app, and start walking again.

I get to the intersection of Campanario and Laguna, and again, I ask somebody where I can find this shop. Nobody seems to know what I’m talking about. I walk up and down the block, can’t find anyone who’s ever heard of a tornero named Yuri. They’re not saying he closed the shop, or he died, they’re saying there’s never been such a shop anywhere around here.

At this point, I’m kind of at a dead end. I could go back to the tire repair shop and ask again, but it’s been a long afternoon. I’m hot, I’m tired, and I don’t know if they’d steer me any better the second time. So, maybe it wasn’t meant to be. I give up and start walking home.

After three blocks, I see an elderly man working on a mattress. I ask if he knows where I can find a tornero. He says, “Look, you see that girl?” Down a block, on the other side of the street, there’s a young woman walking down the sidewalk. “Wait… waaait… waaaaait… there! That house she just passed, that’s the place.”

So I go. And there on the door is a little sign: Yuri Ramirez – Tornero.

Hope rises in my heart.

I knock. Yuri comes to the door. Middle-aged guy, paunchy, shirtless, not particularly friendly. A woman, presumably his wife, is sitting just inside watching TV. I show him the washers, tell him, “I need these washers to have a hole as big as this other one.” He looks at me, and in his look I see that this is a piddly little job, not worth his time. I already knew that. I offer to pay enough to make it worth his trouble. He says, “Wait here,” and closes the door on me.

A few minutes later, he comes back with my washers drilled to the right size.

Total time elapsed on this ridiculous crusade: Damned if I know. Three hours? Four? I’m tired, and I’m sweaty, but through a combination of optimism, persistence, luck, and help from others, I’m ultimately victorious.

This kind of story is just so Cuba. When a friend calls and says, “Hey, what are you up to?” If you say you’re resolviendo, this is exactly what it means. You’re running around town trying to buy something you can’t find in any store, following random people’s advice on where you might be able to get it. Or you’re going from one government office to another to deal with some kind of paperwork, and it goes without saying that the person you need to deal with isn’t at their desk, but they may be back later if you want to wait, or they say you have to go to a different place entirely, or you need some extra piece of documentation you haven’t brought, so come back once you’ve got that.

Everything in Cuba is like that. If you go for dinner, the food they serve may have been easy to get or very hard. The clothes people are wearing. The paperwork for their business license. The plumbing supplies that keep their water running. The toilet paper in the bathroom. Everywhere you go, everything you see, there are stories like this behind it.

This is Cuba!