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Even today, getting to the command post feels like a covert mission. In the hamlet of Santo Domingo, we filled out paperwork in quadruplicate to secure access permits, before an official government guide ushered us into a creaky state-owned four-wheel-drive vehicle. Rains had turned stretches into muddy streams, and the near percent humidity had us soaked with sweat after only a few steps. Its 16 thatch-roofed huts were home to some rebel soldiers and had the ambience of a self-contained—and strikingly beautiful—jungle republic.
At the summit, Radio Rebelde was transmitted around Cuba using an antenna that could be raised and lowered unseen. There is a pleasant kitchen table and gasoline-fueled refrigerator used to store medicines, complete with bullet holes from when it was shot at while being transported on the back of a mule. Raised in a well-to-do family of landowners, Fidel enjoyed his creature comforts, but Celia also thought it important for visitors to see the rebel leader well established and comfortable—acting, in fact, as if the war were already won and he was president of Cuba.
She would serve guests fine cognac, cigars and potent local coffee even as enemy airplanes strafed randomly overhead. At one point, I lay down on the bed, gazing up at a window filled with jungle foliage and mariposa flowers like a lush Rousseau painting. It was the ideal place to channel —a time when the revolution was still bathed in romance. It worked. And it was filled with these extraordinary, larger-than-life characters.
Although he has a university degree in agricultural engineering, he said he makes far more money in tourism than he could on a state-run farm. It was a startling admission at such a hallowed revolutionary spot. Ten years ago, he might have been fired for such a declaration. To me, the coming anniversary was an ideal excuse for a road trip to untangle a saga whose details I, like many who live in the United States, know only vaguely. Recalling that moment of hope can be as startling as seeing photographs of the young Fidel without a beard.
