WILD TRANNIE CHASE

Before coming here, I read a very interesting article about a drag show in Cuba. The article kept the bar anonymous but mentioned the suburb so I figure I can put it together when I get there. So, I've promised a story on drag queens in Cuba.

For a few days now I have been asking around and the conversation remains consistently the same:

M: Have you heard of a drag club around here?
C: What?
M: You know, women who dress up as men.
C: (recoils) Oh, transvestites.
M: That's right.
C: No, they're banned here.
M: Well, what about a gay bar where I can ask around.
C: No, gay bars are banned too.

I'm not getting far. My new house mother is the awful Irma, whose names suits her perfectly. A cross between irksome and squirmer. She lies without hestitation, even when she doesn't need to and treats the cleaning lady like shit. She's sickly sweet with guests.

I start to mention that I need to go to Lawton but before I even get to the bit about men dressing up as women she screeches:
"Lawton!!!! You can't go to Lawton!!!! You can't go out at night. Not on your own. I mean, go to hotels, tourist hotels. But nowhere else. But LAWTON!!! There is a problem with drunks there. You'll be robbed."

Yes, Lawton is the lowest socio-economic suburb in Havana. I bet Squirma's never even been there.

There's a fine line between investing enough faith in humankind to receive the dividends, and gambling all your money on a bad hand.

I walk that line, from my house... down some dark streets where I can see families through the windows soaking up propoganda that's being churned out of the television. Kids playing on the front steps. Dogs runnign down the road. People buying beer at canteens.

I reach the malecon, an eerie stretch where a big forest of flags flaps in the wind and soldiers line the street.

I turn off to the Hotel Nationale and approach the last driver in a line of old souped up American cars that take tourists around.

He too has never heard of this bar, but proceeds to ask every man in the line until he returns with the information. His name is Miguel and he has a son and a grandson called Michel so we are firm friends by now.

"Street 16, across from the auto station." he announces proudly.

I think I'm in love.

I find a cab, and Orlando quotes me 7CUC to make the trip. He's got a pencil-thin moustache and a Billy Ocean fetish.

"Get Into My Car" is actually playing when I ... get into his car. We share a very special "When the Going Gets Tough", and he even lets me record some natural sound.

When we reach Destination Lawton, Orlando asks me what we're looking for? A house?

"Well, sort of. It's a drag show."
"A what?"
"Transvestites."

He giggles and starts asking passes-by where to find the poofs.

We find a house covered in fairy lights. Given that Cuba has an obsession with saving electricity, I'm not sure how they're working this level of energy consumption, really it's like the beacon of Lawton, but whatever.

I peer through the glare at a delightful woman who tells me the show is on tomorrow night and of course I can come and record some interviews. She gives me a little sliver of paper with the name Rojelio on the back, and I head back to Orlando.

"You have to go back anyway, Orlando. So what price can you do for me for the return trip?"
"Seven CUC."
"But...."
"I could be home with my wife and child. It's 7 or nothing"

On the return, Orlando showcases Kool and the Gang, as well as a glorious "Cherish the love", to which he sings falsetto with reckless abandon.

"This song always makes me feel like crying," he announces.

I happily pay the seven CUC: the cab ride has been my most enjoyable experience as yet in Cuba. I walk back to the house thinking Cuba may be homophobic, but it's far more camp than it realises.