Cuban music has a soothing tropical feel that recalls warm nights and exuberant smiles. The rhythms bewitch your feet; the melodies whisk away your cares to some nameless tropical isle. You muse, “This is what paradise must sound like.”

Actually being there, however, is a totally different story.

I ventured into this purported heart of darkness during spring break, hoping to catch a glimpse behind the curtain so carefully guarded by the powers that be.

Although the reality was nary the socialist utopia trumpeted by Fidel Castro, neither was it the bastion of festering evil those on this side of the Caribbean propagandize.

Revolutionary slogans graffiti the streets and walls instead of advertising. A woman sits on her front porch selling shots of strong coffee and singing songs from her past. On Sundays, locals gather at their respective churches and worship. Sweet, smooth rum overflows under a cloud of Cohiba cigar smoke.

What I witnessed was just people trying to get by, living their lives the best they could under the conditions they were dealt, and in more places than most, content.

For a country straining under the restrictions of an asphyxiating embargo, there is a surprising aura of calm amongst the people. Though the buildings around them were crumbling from disrepair, and the public transportation recalled the stuffed train cars headed for Auschwitz, the people I spoke with seemed gripped with a healthy pride for what they have made for themselves despite their living conditions.

People gathered to construct and paint an anti-war mural at a major intersection. A musician who worked on a sustainable farm project had a determined glint in his eyes when he described how hardy Cubans were, that despite daily difficulties of putting food on the table, they were trained since infants in the art of living frugally, but richly. Whether it be an appreciation for what little they had, or reveling in fireside tune with friends, he spoke of how much they treasure little luxuries, a tape recorder, a toy car. And if anything, how they were resourceful to a fault. If anyone really desired something, they could find a way to get it. Poverty has forced Cubans to have a set of priorities vastly different from those of us who are accustomed to Chinese takeout and a disposable lifestyle.

And what of the glory of an infrastructure that provides universal health care, free education all the way to university, and socio-economic equality? Your family doctor could be a day’s bus ride away, you could have no money to pay for books or a school uniform, and your job could be one hour from your house. Monthly ration coupons provide enough for only two weeks’ worth of basic foodstuffs. A relatively new monkey wrench has been the introduction of the dollar as an accepted co-currency. It has already begun to erode the already rickety, quixotic system. Since the mid-nineties, this quest for the almighty dollar has created a widening maw of classes ripped open by the tourist industry. Called a ‘necessary evil’ by the director of a seminary in Matanzas, something is definitely awry when a doctor earns less per month than the vendor selling cheap trinkets to foreigners. The average monthly salary is $10, excluding politicians and Castro himself, of course.

It is estimated that between $30 and $80 million unaccounted dollars flows into Cuba each year, and because of the lack of a personal income tax, a thriving black market of goods can exist. How else can a tourist dine in a government-licensed home restaurant on prime rib, lobster and Argentinian beef while the peso market shelves gather cobwebs? The teenagers are clamoring for a capitalist revolution for sure. In the bare-bones clubs, they grind and pulsate to the beats of Jay-Z, Fat Joe and Nelly while decked out in the finery of American urban ghetto chic. No one knows what the government has up its sleeve. A recent election showed Castro was re-elected by a 99% majority, but people like the musician I spoke to did not vote. The not-so-hidden agenda reveals itself in the opening day of the American war with Iraq when Castro orders the arrest of any minor civic leader who dared speak out against him in the past.

These days, the two roads to happiness are converging. In order for anyone to survive, he has to turn to his neighbors for help. Socialism and capitalism are not mutually exclusive. Walking up the streets of downtown Havana, I saw people and things I could relate to, but I know I could never give up the comforts I have always relished. But both sides of this ideological chasm have something to teach each other. We should not have to force people into a corner, naked with fear and want, to get them to appreciate the intangible goodness of life, love and joy. Knowing how much suffering could be eased by the lifting of this embargo made me realize that political selfishness only hurts the ones the laws claim to defend: the average Jose.