Lost in Salsa fever: A novel with Inspectors Ela and Singe from Berlin

By Eva Kowalski

Cuba, Havanna, Berlin, Crime, passion, Salsa, dancing.
For a long time her passion for salsa has dictated her life. Simone and Julia enjoy island life in the Caribbean, go for walks on the Malecon, listen to one of the best Cuban bands, travel by bus through Havana. When during the last hours of her vacation Simone meets a nice attractive young man, who is also virtuoso dancer, she falls head over heels in love with him. The fact that he wants to marry straightaway is flattering for a woman in her late forties and spontaneously she decides to embark on an affair with the salsero. Just a few weeks later the wedding takes place in Havana. In her excitement over her new relationship she neglects her friend Julia and doesn’t notice that Julia has very mixed feelings about her friend’s plans.
After arriving in Germany Simone and Orlando face exactly the same problems as innumerable other couples who come from different cultures. But their love is great and they’re willing to make it work together.
For a time everything goes well, but then Orlando starts leaving his wife alone night after night and finally begins a relationship with an attractive young businesswoman, Veronika Pieler. One day all four of them meet together and fate runs its course. A crime is committed.
Detective Inspector Ela and her colleague Singe try to shine a light into the darkness of this confused story. In the course of the investigation the two charismatic detectives not only draw the readers with them into the salsa scene and celebrity venues, but also turn into guides through the new cosmopolitan Berlin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Books on Demand
• Release date: Jun 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9783739285900

Eva Kowalski

Eva Kowalski was born in 1956 and grew up in the Ruhr Valley and Frankfurt/Main. She left home at an early age and at that time she was the first girl ever to train as an auto mechanic. In order to satisfy her hunger for intellectual challenges, she studied education at the Johann Wolfgang Goethe University in Frankfurt, where she was happiest attending lectures on philosophy, psychology and economics and she was politically active. After finishing she worked as an instructor for auto mechanics in Hamburg. An attempt to settle in New York failed due to the lack of a Green Card. Shortly after the fall of the Berlin Wall she was attracted to Berlin as a large city and she moved there, a step she has never regretted. Since then she has been working as a social worker. In addition to her work she spend her time taking photographs and doing salsa. In 1995 she visited Cuba for the first time and she succumbed to the fascination of the island, which she has since visited more than 20 times. During this time she has developed an in-depth knowledge of the island and its music scene. The novel “Lost in Salsa fever” is her writing debut and has evolved out of her gratitude to her two favorite places, Cuba and Berlin. At the moment she is working on her second novel.

Book preview

office

Cuba Malecón

With satisfied faces they sat on the wall and passed the rum back and forth. This time it was one of the better brands.

"She gave me all her change and all the notes she had left. She wouldn’t need them anymore anyway and changing the CUC¹ wouldn’t be worth the hassle," he said casually while looking down at his brand-new Nike trainers.

"I brought mine to the airport and then I explained that I didn’t have any money for a taxi. She really thought that you could only get into the city from the airport with a taxi and that at tourist prices. Me a Cuban! She gave me 25 CUC without batting an eyelid. And then she finished by saying she’d fallen in love with me."

They all laughed as the rum was passed round again. And what did you say?

"That I’d like to write to her, but in Cuba that wasn’t so easy. The Internet cafés are so expensive. An hour costs 10 CUC and on top of that the connection sucks. You have to pay a lot even for a little letter. She asked me something about whether they still work with modems or something like that and then she pressed another 100 CUC into my hand. I gave my neighbor’s phone number, maybe she’ll want more after all. But I know all about that already, after a month at the latest she’ll have forgotten me."

Orlando poked his buddy in the side. Not bad, your tip about the Bachata songs.

His buddy gave him a puzzled look.

Yeah, that I should take the lyrics and pretend they were my poems. She believed everything. And do you know what she always said when I read my poems to her? I was romantic and so talented!

The young men roared with laughter.

I’ll have to try that sometime.

Me too. Ernesto took off his sunglasses and shoved them onto his head. Miguelito has really made it, he’s even picked up a young one.

Yeah, but she doesn’t have any money; so how’s he supposed to get to Sweden? Orlando waved the bottle about a bit.

Because she got pregnant on the very first day. She’ll manage to get it done. Ernesto shoved his sunglasses back onto his nose.

The good rum was soon finished and full of energy they got up and headed off to the concert. Life could be so beautiful.

On the bus

Julia and Simone got on the bus and stayed standing behind the bus driver. That was the place with the best view.

The driver had a leisurely driving style and through the bus windows they were able to look at the many old houses with their faded weathered façades. Only a few of them had been lovingly renovated with fresh paint. Small groups of children in beige school uniforms stood in front of tables that had been set up and were stocked with homemade cookies for a couple of Pesos Cubanos². Again and again you could see sales stands with hand-painted price lists that looked a bit makeshift. Here coffee, local fruit juices, buns and fried plantain were on offer. In between there were craft services that were often carried out right outside the houses, the workers surrounded by inquisitive people and old pensioners still participating in social life. In Cuba nobody has to feel alone, that’s what’s nice about life here, said Simone looking at the men repairing bikes and car tires outside the shop.

She was impressed by the Party’s billboards calling on people to defend socialism, the Che Guevara pictures and the exhortations to hold out written in gigantic letter.

Curiously the two of them looked at Cuban women wearing figure-hugging, colorful outfits and elaborately styled hairdos; the women obviously took great care of their appearance. Most of them were probably coming from work or shopping.

The men in the bus liked to get close; they stood right behind Julia and her friend and were pleased when the bus braked, the two tourists swayed backwards and they were able to touch their arm or tummy. It smelled of soap, perfume and sweat – no wonder in this heat. All the windows were open, but only hot air came in; nevertheless it was still fresher than the air in the bus.

Can you let us out just after the tunnel? Julia asked the bus driver of the P1 in Spanish.

Where do you want to go?, he asked back.

"We want to walk along the Malecón."

But it’s a very long way to the downtown area, about 5 miles, he tried to explain to them. That’s too far to walk. His dialect was more or less understandable, only the s was missing most of the time.

Yes, we know, but we want to do it. Slight grins all around them, an older woman also made a barely comprehensible remark and everybody laughed.

I think they think we’re crazy. No Cuban would willingly walk so far, particularly not when the bus is traveling the same stretch, Julia explained to her friend.

Yeah, I heard that too, Jules.

When they got off, the bus driver again asked: Are you sure?

Yes. He let them out into the humid sea air.

In front of the fort with the circular grounds, the Torreón de la Chorrera, there was a restaurant with a lovely view of the sea and the Malecón, possibly the most famous promenade in the world. On the right a stairway led into the old walls. Simone was absolutely set on climbing them to take some photos. Maybe we can get a picture of the whole promenade.

But they decided to wait a while before taking a break and started off straightaway toward the Old City. Simone considered walking the whole way along the top of the wall. But a short distance ahead she could already see that the spray was shooting over the wall and even across the sidewalk onto the road. The cars were driving through the puddles and little jets of water were squirting into the air.

If you turn right here into the street Calle 6, you come to the Palenque. There on Saturdays the Conjunto Folklorico National performs Cuban rumba; maybe we can also ask there again about dancing lessons. I’ve always wanted to learn the rumba. I got this tip from a Cuban guy, one of our landlady’s neighbors, Julia explained, proud of her knowledge. She wanted to take back a lot from Cuba.

For the next few yards there was nothing special to see. On the right there were a few sport facilities and occasional houses. A few vintage cars with a taxi sign on the roof or behind the windshield, full of Cubans, honked at them to indicate that they were prepared to stop and give them a lift. The two of them used hand signals to indicate their refusal of the offers. Those are Chevrolets and Buicks from the 50s. Back home they’re in museums and here they’re driving round all over the place. Isn’t that fantastic? gushed Simone, clicking away with her camera.

After only a thousand yards Simone started to complain that she didn’t have any sun cream with her and the left half of her face was getting red. The late afternoon sun was still scorching hot and they could still get sunburn. Simone stopped the next coco-taxi. They sat down on the padded seat of the coconut- shaped yellow vehicle, the driver stepped on the gas, turned up his little radio a bit and with the wind in their hair they drove along beside the sea.

"We want to go to somewhere in the middle of the Malecón," they shouted to the tanned, very slim boy. Si, no hay problema.

How pleasant and relaxing. Simone took out her camera again and took pictures of everything that passed or drove by. At a fascinating, magnificent statue they asked him to stop and gladly paid him four CUC. So what’s this statue called? Simone asked him good-humoredly. "Monumento ao General Calixto Garcia. He was a leader in the three wars of independence against the Spanish colonialists. In 1898 he made the preparations for the landing of US troops. I can also take a photo of the two of you. I can show you lots more of Havana, too," he explained in a businesslike manner, happy for the opportunity to earn an even bigger tip.

They gratefully accepted his offer of a souvenir photo. But now they wanted to experience the flair of the Malecón again on foot. Meanwhile things had started to hop.

Of course the USA doesn’t have an embassy here – after all there’s still the embargo – but they do have a sort of representation here, explained Julia as they passed a six-story building. And precisely for that reason Castro has always arranged for the loud rallies against the US government to happen right here, looking Goliath in the eyes.

How long has the economic blockade been going on? For that matter, you could expect of Obama that he would not just loosen it, but do away with it altogether. Things would be much better for the people here. How can America feel that such a small country is a threat? Simone asked full of interest.

The embargo was imposed when the new Cuba seized the estates and factories in Cuba that belonged to the big landowners and the Americans. I think it was in 1960. Our landlady explained to me that there are still lots of exiled Cubans sitting in Miami and the US waiting for the country to collapse so that they can get back their old property. There are politicians, and they aren’t all Republicans, who would never vote to end sanctions. And those are powerful people who also support artists, even celebrities from the salsa scene, people who’ve got lots of money and influence. Since then Cuba has been allied with countries whose governments are more or less active opponents of the USA.

You mean like Russia and China and now Venezuela.

Right. I can still remember postcards where you could see Russian Ladas on the streets of Havana between the vintage cars.

And our landlady’s pressure cooker comes from China. She got it from the government a few years on Mothers’ Day, just like every other Cuban woman.

"Nowadays Cuba survives mainly on the tourists and the dollars sent by Cuban exiles. Sure things would be better for people here if there was no embargo and they could trade normally. It’s hardly possible to do business with Cuba. That’s why there’s so little modern technology here. At the moment only certain groups of Americans are allowed to travel directly to Cuba. A few years ago there were posters hanging here showing US President Bush as a murderer or a vampire. But since Obama has been in power there’s been a sort of ceasefire between the two countries. Only occasionally do you see posters of the five heroes who were given long sentences for alleged espionage."

But I’ve met Americans in the hotel. How come? Simone asked.

Well, maybe they’re social workers or belong to a church. A while ago there weren’t even any direct flights from the USA to Cuba. Americans traveled to the country via Canada or Mexico. Obama has already changed a few things.

Soon a large square, La Piragua, appeared on the right – here a large music festival had taken place the week before. It was mainly young Cubans who met, performed their own music, showed the latest dance steps or simply enjoyed themselves with rum and music. Salsa was something you heard fairly rarely, most of them preferred techno, house or reggaeton.

Do we want to buy ourselves another bottle of water at the gas station? I really fancy having a couple of chocolate cookies. Sure, Simone had planned to avoid eating candy and stuff while in Cuba, but sometimes she just couldn’t resist. For a while she didn’t want to depend on her beloved chocolate to provide her with feelings of happiness, she’d sworn to her best friend two weeks earlier as the two of them got off the plane. Julia had pulled her leg a bit at the time and said to her All that’s missing now is you wanting to fall to your knees and kiss the Cuban ground.

They paid one CUC for the cookies and one CUC for the mineral water, which was bought exclusively by tourists – and no wonder at those prices. Otherwise tourists risked catching diarrhea and fever if they had a drink with ice cubes outside the hotels. In Cuba people drank water that had been boiled for at least 20 minutes.

On the right a bit further on appeared a large rocky crag with a bubbling waterfall pouring down the middle. The crag bordered the grounds of the Hotel Nacional, a huge neoclassical building complex that from the distance was already radiating elegance and grandeur.

"We really must go back into that hotel – you feel like you’ve been transported back into the last decades of the 19th century; classic pictures of Cuban and world-famous celebrities, actors, singers and so on hanging on the walls. Magnificent mirrors and furniture, such a fantastic atmosphere. And huge grounds with a view of the Malecón and the sea. I once saw a photoshoot of wedding outfits for a magazine, a bride with windswept hair, her veil fluttering in the wind, a dream in white."

Again and again they looked out to sea at the tube fishermen, the pneumaticos as the Cubans call them, who were catching their dinner or some fish for their neighbors near the shore, right beside the rocks. This was more than a little dangerous. When they were further from the shore with their big truck tubes, you could only see them as black dots and some of them were paddling back just using their hands. Two lovers walking in front of the friends were wrapped around each other. A guitarist and two boys were singing a romantic song: enamorado en ti. Simone would have loved to stand near them much longer, it touched her heart; what warm voices; who were they possibly thinking of? An older man everybody here seemed to know was offering little bags of peanuts. A group of young men were drinking rum and dancing to reggaeton – wow, they could really move! Julia and Simone stopped and were immediately surrounded and addressed in Spanish: Where do you come from? Do you want a shot of rum? Do you want to dance?

Within seconds they were the focus of attention of the small circle. Everybody laughed. A really good-looking guy was moving his body in time to the music, dagadagadada, dagadagadada. It was just like a movie. The week before Simone and Julia had attended a dance course in Havana, reggaeton had also part of it; they showed straightaway what they’d learned, letting their hips swing in one direction and their shoulders in the other. The guys were enchanted: Just like a Cuban woman. Where did you learn that?

Julia pulled at Simone’s dress: We still want to go to the concert, let’s go.

Do you want to come with us to the Casa de la Musica, there’s a concert there, Charanga Habanera are playing, Simone asked the guys.

Oh, Charanga, que bueno, pero no tenemos dinero, they replied with a laugh holding the bottle of rum up in the air. Simone had already guessed that they had no money.

Come on, Simone, urged Julia.

The guys shouted declarations of love after them: Hola! Lindas.

On the right there were a few beautifully renovated houses. Next to them a modern hotel with lots of glass and a small restaurant in front of which some Cubans were standing on the street and listening to salsa.

I’d move right away into one of these colonial buildings with a direct view of the sea. Imagine drinking a mojito in the evening, daydreaming, watching the action and then rounding off the evening with a spot of dancing, knowing you can dance the whole night through. Nothing in the world could be nicer, gushed Simone. The next house, which looked as if it came from the century before last, was supported by wooden beams, the façade eroded by wind and salt. UNESCO World Heritage Site said a sign. They had to cross to the other side of the street – an old truck emitting a thick cloud of diesel fumes approached them and then the street was free.

"It isn’t far now, we’re already in the Centro, in the middle of Havana," said Simone with a touch of relief. Their bottle of water was now empty. They turned into a busy side street.

Well, I wouldn’t like to run around here alone at night; the area isn’t exactly well cared for. The state of the houses is much worse than in Vedado, and the Old City looks prettier too, commented Simone gesturing again with her camera.

Maybe you should stop taking photos for a while, it makes us stand out as tourists, suggested Julia carefully. They know that anyway; you only have to look at our skin color and our gear, replied Simone. I need some water.

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1 CUC (Peso convertible) is the Cuban currency linked to the US dollar that is used to pay for imported goods and services for tourists.

2