B-Side Fall 2018 | Issue 5

In a
Yellow
Submarine
in Havana

It’s 5 PM and still sunny, 90 degrees fahrenheit with a There is a small flight of stairs strategically designed
humidity percentage equally as high, my constant to make you descend down to swinging doors that
reminder that it’s mid-August and peak hurricane lead into the dimmed, air conditioned venue. I pay
season in Cuba. I have a hyper-awareness of the fact the 2 CUC entrance fee charge, and pause as my
that I’m always blanketed in a layer of moisture, eyes adjust from the bright day to the underground
equal parts sweat and bug spray, because most of cave. Immediately, I am fascinated by the the fact
the local Cubanos seem to never be. I think I am that there is a TV screen further back in the venue
actually finding the heat comforting, since it’s a playing a Rolling Stones live set. I then come out of a
consistent factor on this trip, or I’m just feeling the trance to realize that I’ve made my way to the second
side e ects of extreme dehydration from my constant row of small tables and chairs placed in front of the
state of sweating. To ensure I don’t pass out, I take large TV set that sits to the right of the main stage.
periodic breaks in between the walk of several
blocks from the Casa Particular I’m staying at to the After my eyes have adjusted, I notice that the lyrics
edge of suburban Havana - the location of a rock to “Hey Jude” and pop-out 2D strawberries garnish
venue I saw in my “Lonely Planet” guide book. the walls of the tightly-packed venue. This rock
venue is more of a cinematic experience as goers
The slight pale mustard yellow tinge and classic watch and listen to a mix of music videos and live
Beatles font of the sign that reads Submarino Amaril- sets of shows that are being played on the monitor.
lo (Yellow Submarine) make the venue sitting on the The people in the venue enjoy and react to the
corner of Calle 6 and Calle 18 universally recogniz- videos on display like they would any live event --
able. I approach the entrance, and the perfume of singing, swaying, and stomping or clapping along. A
humidity mixed with cigarette smoke wafts my nose woman standing stage left waves her hair
as I pass by a group of adults of mine and my side-to-side and shakes her bangled wrists to the
parents’ age hugging, chatting, and greeting each music, her loud outfit and statuesque height make
other with a kiss on the cheek. her an unmistakable Bianca Jagger doppelgänger.