We flew in to Cuba on the 18th July ready for a change of scene – which is certainly what we got. The contrast between the plush, modern Mexicana aeroplane and the faded brown and cream décor of Havana airport could not have been starker. We were taken through immigration procedures by beautiful Cuban ladies wearing a uniform of mini-skirts and lace patterned tights, and then emerged into a main foyer wreathed in cigar smoke. On the taxi ride into Havana Vieja we overtook huge 1950s American cars (some seemingly held together by hope and a prayer), tiny lime-green Ladas with burly men squeezed into the driving seat, and the occasional horse and cart. Revolutionary slogans and propaganda were painted in bright bold colours onto walls and on bridges. We checked into a state-run hotel with an air of faded grandeur, then settled down with a mojito to watch a band play some beautiful traditional songs. So far, so stereotypically Cuban…
Havana is an incredibly interesting place, though not one that we felt overly comfortable in. It seems to be two cities in one: as a foreigner, with convertible pesos (CUCs) in your pocket (tourists are obliged to use these, the national peso is worth considerably less and is solely for use by Cubans) one has access to luxe hotels, renowned bars and restaurants, and relatively good transport systems. However, for the average Cuban these are all out of reach. One afternoon we sat in the cocktail bar of the art-deco Edificio Bacardi – former headquarters of the Cuban rum magnates – and watched Havaneros queue up with their ration books in the street below to receive their weekly three roll quota of bread.
Lots of love, Susie and Phil xxx
PS. Sorry about the length of this instalment – internet access is hard to come by in Cuba!
Many Cubans live in crumbling houses and work in repetitive jobs on standardised salaries with few opportunities for promotion or change. Travel outside of Cuba is restricted to those who can find themselves a foreign sponsor. A large proportion of the workers we came across in state-run enterprises exuded a palpable sense of boredom and disillusionment. People whose jobs bring them into contact with tourists are pretty much guaranteed to be better off than those who don’t, because it generally means greater access to CUCs in the form of tips etc. The escort industry is big business here too. At times in Havana we did feel like ‘poverty tourists’, and we also found ourselves habitually short-changed and subject to petty scams. However, it was hard to begrudge the locals this ‘alternative’ source of income.
Aside from all of this, we did have some really positive experiences in Havana. We visited the Museo de la Revolution, where the boat used by Fidel and Che to reach Cuba from Mexico to launch their assault is proudly displayed. Next door, the Palacio de Belle Artes was a treasure trove of Cuban art through the ages. However, the highlight had to be our trip to the Fabrica de Partegas, where the famous Cuban cigars are made. Here, around 200 workers hand-make upwards of 25,000 cigars a day. The jobs are coveted, and each worker must serve a 9 month apprenticeship before their cigars are deemed good enough to sell. At the front of the factory floor is a small stage with a microphone – for an hour each morning and afternoon the workers are read to. Some of the most famous cigars are named after books listened to in this way, for example Romeo and Juliet and Montecristo (after the Count).
After Havana, we had planned to visit Santiago de Cuba (at the other end of the island) to see the carnival that is held every July. However, we were soon to realise that travelling in Cuba is not always as straight forward as it seems. We took a taxi (a 1950s Chevrolet) to the bus station a couple of days before we wanted to travel in order to sort out our tickets. There we were told by a dour, unsmiling lady that all the buses to Santiago for the next week were full. Undeterred, we decided to go to Trinidad instead, a lively town with a UNESCO listed centre five hours east of Havana. “You can take the bus in two days” she said as she added our names to a long hand-written list. We got out our pesos to pay, but she stopped us. “No pay here, pay next window” she said, gesturing to a long line of people queuing up at an identical booth.
We got in line, but after ten minutes or so the aforementioned lady beckoned to us, “there is a problem – it is not possible to pay today, you come back tomorrow”. Given that our taxi fair to the station was around £15 this was not a welcome option. “Senora, our bus is not tomorrow though, it’s the next day”. She stared at us fiercely, weighing us up. After a long pause she said “OK. You pay day after tomorrow, but you come two hours early”. Thus, our initiation into the bureaucracy of the Cuban bus system was complete.
There are two officially sanctioned opportunities for private enterprise in Cuba, one of which is the casa particular (the other is the paladera, or private restaurant). In the ‘special period’ of the late 1980s and 1990s, when the Soviet bloc dissolved and Cuba lost the financial support of Russia, people fell on very hard times indeed and many Cubans were simply desperate for an alternative way of making money. Castro’s response was to allow families to rent a maximum of two rooms in their houses to paying guests, in exchange for a hefty registration fee paid to the government. We thought that staying in a casa particular would give us more of an insight into day-to-day Cuban life, and so when we arrived in Trinidad we headed straight for a house recommended to us by a taxi driver. The family were reasonably sociable, and the house infinitely more inviting than our slightly dingy hotel in Havana. We therefore vowed to stay in casa particulars for the rest of our time in Cuba.
The old centre of Trinidad is exceptionally pretty, full of cobbled streets, pastel coloured houses and tree-lined plazas. In the evening, the Casa de la Musica hosts a string of fine Cuban bands, whilst outside in the streets the menfolk play dominoes in the cool air. Outside of Trinidad is the Valle de los Ingenios, which in the 19th century was the most important sugar-producing region in the world. We took a ride on a steam train to check it out, and were struck by the lush countryside and abundant wildlife of the region. One of our fellow passengers was a stray sausage dog who hopped on the train for the ride. When we reached our destination, he dutifully trotted round the old sugar plantation with the rest of the tourists, then waited patiently for the next train to take him home. Though not big fans of the dachshund breed (due to an unfortunate incident in Brazil) we couldn’t help but admire his attitude.
We got in line, but after ten minutes or so the aforementioned lady beckoned to us, “there is a problem – it is not possible to pay today, you come back tomorrow”. Given that our taxi fair to the station was around £15 this was not a welcome option. “Senora, our bus is not tomorrow though, it’s the next day”. She stared at us fiercely, weighing us up. After a long pause she said “OK. You pay day after tomorrow, but you come two hours early”. Thus, our initiation into the bureaucracy of the Cuban bus system was complete.
There are two officially sanctioned opportunities for private enterprise in Cuba, one of which is the casa particular (the other is the paladera, or private restaurant). In the ‘special period’ of the late 1980s and 1990s, when the Soviet bloc dissolved and Cuba lost the financial support of Russia, people fell on very hard times indeed and many Cubans were simply desperate for an alternative way of making money. Castro’s response was to allow families to rent a maximum of two rooms in their houses to paying guests, in exchange for a hefty registration fee paid to the government. We thought that staying in a casa particular would give us more of an insight into day-to-day Cuban life, and so when we arrived in Trinidad we headed straight for a house recommended to us by a taxi driver. The family were reasonably sociable, and the house infinitely more inviting than our slightly dingy hotel in Havana. We therefore vowed to stay in casa particulars for the rest of our time in Cuba.
The old centre of Trinidad is exceptionally pretty, full of cobbled streets, pastel coloured houses and tree-lined plazas. In the evening, the Casa de la Musica hosts a string of fine Cuban bands, whilst outside in the streets the menfolk play dominoes in the cool air. Outside of Trinidad is the Valle de los Ingenios, which in the 19th century was the most important sugar-producing region in the world. We took a ride on a steam train to check it out, and were struck by the lush countryside and abundant wildlife of the region. One of our fellow passengers was a stray sausage dog who hopped on the train for the ride. When we reached our destination, he dutifully trotted round the old sugar plantation with the rest of the tourists, then waited patiently for the next train to take him home. Though not big fans of the dachshund breed (due to an unfortunate incident in Brazil) we couldn’t help but admire his attitude.
Unfortunately though, we never really felt at home in Trinidad, largely due to the large amount of hassle we faced every time we stepped out of the front door. Every initiated conversation seemed to be a front for a business transaction of some kind, with us inevitably coming off lighter of pocket. We were even expertly hustled by a pensioner whom we naively asked for directions. Harder to swallow though, was the sense that we were not welcome here, and that the local people tolerated tourists solely because they needed the income. There was certainly none of the friendly openness that we had experienced in Mexico and, more frustratingly, there were so many questions that we wanted to ask, but no-one to ask them of. On the one occasion we mentioned the government in conversation with a Cuban she looked visibly concerned and looked over her shoulder to see who might be listening.
It was, however, easy to understand why there might be resentment towards foreigners with their seemingly privileged life styles and freedom of movement. The micro-capitalism brought in by private enterprise has led to a widening of class divides in Cuba in recent years and the people here are now a lot less equal than they once were. The advent of mass tourism (which Castro once discouraged) can only add to this sense of ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots’. One evening I find myself sending up a silent prayer of thanks that I was born British. I also catch myself having bizarre bourgeoisie fantasies about going shopping in Waitrose. There are hardly any goods available for tourists to buy – we have no choice but to eat in expensive restaurants, and basic items like razors are almost impossible to find. We can’t work out where people buy clothes or household items as there are no shops to be seen.
After three days in Trinidad we left for Santa Clara, where Che Guevara’s remains lie. It felt like a working town, rather than one reliant on tourism, and we were pleasantly surprised by the low level of hassle we encountered. People here seemed friendlier and more open too. We were lucky enough to be in Santa Clara on the 26th July, which is a national holiday in Cuba. It marks the anniversary of the day in 1953 when Castro and his guerrillas made their first (albeit unsuccessful) attack against the dictator Batista, and is considered to be the start of the revolution.
As part of the celebrations there was a large political rally early in the morning, and rumours were flying around town that Fidel Castro and Hugo Chavez (Venezuela’s president and Cuba’s ally) would speak. We decided that this was something we couldn’t miss, and so we got up at 5.30am and headed down to the Plaza de le Revolution along with 90,000 or so Santa Clarans. Sadly, neither of the top men made an appearance, but it was a fascinating spectacle to observe. Groups of impassioned middle-age women chanted ‘Viva Fidel’ over and over, like a gang of revolutionary cheerleaders, whilst others sipped illicit ‘Cuban agua’ (rum) out of mineral water bottles and got slowly wasted in the baking morning sun. Our landlady seemed quite impressed that we’d gone; she’d watched it on the telly in the comfort of her own home instead. In the evening, carnival started, and it was great to see our hosts dressed up in their finery and excited about their night out on the town.
It was, however, easy to understand why there might be resentment towards foreigners with their seemingly privileged life styles and freedom of movement. The micro-capitalism brought in by private enterprise has led to a widening of class divides in Cuba in recent years and the people here are now a lot less equal than they once were. The advent of mass tourism (which Castro once discouraged) can only add to this sense of ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots’. One evening I find myself sending up a silent prayer of thanks that I was born British. I also catch myself having bizarre bourgeoisie fantasies about going shopping in Waitrose. There are hardly any goods available for tourists to buy – we have no choice but to eat in expensive restaurants, and basic items like razors are almost impossible to find. We can’t work out where people buy clothes or household items as there are no shops to be seen.
After three days in Trinidad we left for Santa Clara, where Che Guevara’s remains lie. It felt like a working town, rather than one reliant on tourism, and we were pleasantly surprised by the low level of hassle we encountered. People here seemed friendlier and more open too. We were lucky enough to be in Santa Clara on the 26th July, which is a national holiday in Cuba. It marks the anniversary of the day in 1953 when Castro and his guerrillas made their first (albeit unsuccessful) attack against the dictator Batista, and is considered to be the start of the revolution.
As part of the celebrations there was a large political rally early in the morning, and rumours were flying around town that Fidel Castro and Hugo Chavez (Venezuela’s president and Cuba’s ally) would speak. We decided that this was something we couldn’t miss, and so we got up at 5.30am and headed down to the Plaza de le Revolution along with 90,000 or so Santa Clarans. Sadly, neither of the top men made an appearance, but it was a fascinating spectacle to observe. Groups of impassioned middle-age women chanted ‘Viva Fidel’ over and over, like a gang of revolutionary cheerleaders, whilst others sipped illicit ‘Cuban agua’ (rum) out of mineral water bottles and got slowly wasted in the baking morning sun. Our landlady seemed quite impressed that we’d gone; she’d watched it on the telly in the comfort of her own home instead. In the evening, carnival started, and it was great to see our hosts dressed up in their finery and excited about their night out on the town.
From Santa Clara we wanted to take the bus to Vinales, at the western tip of the island. We soon found that this would be impossible (a familiar story?), as all the buses for the next ten days were booked due to the national holiday. Fortunately, we managed to find the one car rental agency in town that still had any vehicles left, and set out gingerly on the open road. Driving in Cuba gave us a great sense of freedom, and we were able to see parts of the country otherwise inaccessible to us. It was, however, an ‘interesting’ experience at times. There are two ‘motorways’ in Cuba: the A-1 and the A-4. What happened to the A-2 and A-3 is anyone’s guess. Whilst trying to find our way from one to the other we realise that the A-1 simply runs out just before Havana. Like, literally. One minute we’re on tarmac doing 100 kph and the next the brakes are being slammed on because there’s nothing but grass ahead. Due care and attention was also vital in order to avoid the enormous pot holes on the road, the numerous hitchhikers, mango salesmen, oxen, dead dogs being devoured by vultures etc etc.
Vinales was a breath of fresh air. For a start, the scenery was absolutely stunning. Huge vegetation covered limestone mounds, or ‘mogotes’ rose out of the valley floor, looking down over fields of tobacco, rice, coffee and maize. We couldn’t help thinking that it was all a bit Indiana Jones. We are met on the road by Jorge, the 17 year old son of our host family, who guides us through the dusty streets (complete with free range pigs) back to his house. His mother greets us as if we were old friends, and as we drink beer on the porch and discuss rock music with Jorge, we finally feel like we’re getting to see a different side of Cuba. That evening Jorge and his girlfriend Tina, a dance teacher, take us out to the local bar. We are asked if we want to dance, but frankly the calibre of the movers in the place is just way too intimidating. The next day we visit Cayo Jutias, a beautiful beach reached by crossing a causeway from the mainland. It’s pretty idyllic, and utterly relaxing.
Vinales was a breath of fresh air. For a start, the scenery was absolutely stunning. Huge vegetation covered limestone mounds, or ‘mogotes’ rose out of the valley floor, looking down over fields of tobacco, rice, coffee and maize. We couldn’t help thinking that it was all a bit Indiana Jones. We are met on the road by Jorge, the 17 year old son of our host family, who guides us through the dusty streets (complete with free range pigs) back to his house. His mother greets us as if we were old friends, and as we drink beer on the porch and discuss rock music with Jorge, we finally feel like we’re getting to see a different side of Cuba. That evening Jorge and his girlfriend Tina, a dance teacher, take us out to the local bar. We are asked if we want to dance, but frankly the calibre of the movers in the place is just way too intimidating. The next day we visit Cayo Jutias, a beautiful beach reached by crossing a causeway from the mainland. It’s pretty idyllic, and utterly relaxing.
When we leave Vinales, our landlady urges us to pass on her details to friends who might visit Cuba in the future. She tells us that the world-wide recession has badly affected Cuba’s economy as fewer tourists can afford to visit. Thus we have the odd situation in which the financial health of a communist, independent, self-sufficient state fluctuates with that of the capitalist world – just one of Cuba’s many conundrums and contradictions. We swap tunes with Jorge, who is obsessed with Papa Roach and Swedish electronica, and head off, swerving to avoid the chickens and tractors on the road out of town.
Our final destination in Cuba is Jibocoa, a lovely beach resort surrounded by mountains where we meet Phil’s parents, Alan and Chris, for a few days of R n’ R. It was great to spend some time with them after not seeing them for so long and we felt truly spoilt staying in such a nice place. The majority of time was spent lazing around, reading English newspapers (such a luxury!) and drinking cuba libres. It also gave us some time to digest our experiences of Cuba, truly a fascinating and thought-provoking place.
Our final destination in Cuba is Jibocoa, a lovely beach resort surrounded by mountains where we meet Phil’s parents, Alan and Chris, for a few days of R n’ R. It was great to spend some time with them after not seeing them for so long and we felt truly spoilt staying in such a nice place. The majority of time was spent lazing around, reading English newspapers (such a luxury!) and drinking cuba libres. It also gave us some time to digest our experiences of Cuba, truly a fascinating and thought-provoking place.
We spent our final night in style by travelling to Havana to watch the cabaret at the world famous Club Tropicana. It certainly lived up to its glamorous reputation: dozens of dancing girls (and boys) in large sequinned head-dresses and not much else danced the night away in expert fashion. Perplexingly, all Phil could talk about on the way home was peaches….
Lots of love, Susie and Phil xxx
PS. Sorry about the length of this instalment – internet access is hard to come by in Cuba!
