Cuba
CubaMay/June 2004
‘Even a broken clock has the correct time twice a day’ (‘Withnail & I’ movie)
Cuba had been in my Top Ten list of countries to visit for years and I had never got around to it. With Castro’s years numbered and capitalism ultimately replacing the last 45 years of Communist Revolution, and my dad’s pursuit of diving destinations, it was a case of compromise. By zipping across on a week’s package holiday, I could take my dad diving, check out Havana and see something of the countryside and Cuba under Castro and get a taster for Cuba. I would have to return for a proper tour in the future.
To enter Cuba, you have to purchase and fill in a Cuban visa. If you make any mistakes, you have to purchase another one. I only state this to remind my mother that the next time she decides to fill in the visas that she gets it right…still one out of three was ok even if my father’s gender was listed as ‘female’.
We flew from London Gatwick Airport around midday on Saturday May 29th. Since there are only a few flights a week the 320 Airbus was packed. Cubana Airways seemed to specialise in male air hostesses with large moustaches. It was a bit like being served by Freddy Mercury in a lounge suit. The food was largely inedible, the movie (‘Something's Gotta Give’) was the same one that was on my flight to Egypt in early April (and still as crap). Cuban beer ‘Cristal’ was also restricted to two cans - on a 9 hour flight. God help me.
It would have been nice if the flight had taken us directly to Varadero, but no, that would have been too simple for Cuba. First we touched down in Holguin, in the far southeast and sat on the runway for 90 minutes while passengers disembarked and others embarked. We sat and stared out of windows and looked at palm trees around the runway. Then we flew north to Havana Airport and disembarked ourselves and joined the lines of Communist bureaucracy where we were ‘processed’.
This involves waiting in long lines, while some desk jockey goes through every page in your passport, inspects your Cuba visa for any minute detail in a bid to recharge you, ponderously taps in numbers into their computer, grunts and waves you through a door. I particularly thought it funny that you had to stand behind a yellow line and wait until the previous passenger had gone through the exit door and it had closed before they waved you forward. I mean, who is going to try and sneak into Cuba? I thought everyone was trying to sneak out.
On a package tour, you get a transfer bus. This was a bit more upmarket than my usual procedure of walking off the airport to the nearest main road for a bus. The drawback is that you have to wait for other passengers. We waited for an hour for a family who had had their luggage lost or stolen. Eventually, we headed east to Varadero which should have taken two hours except that the bus stopped for a 30 minute break. I didn’t care. It was dark and I slept all the way.
There is something strange about arriving in a new country in the dark. You have no chance to orientate yourself and it all seems a bit surreal. We piled out of the bus at our hotel, the Club de Corelia, after midnight, clueless to where we were. Thus ended 24 hours of non stop tedium.
Still, despite the fact that the large hotel was deadly silent, reception was up and they had doggie bags of food ready. We were shown to our rooms. I had a double room next door to my parents (to ensure that my snoring would still keep them up). It was clean, modern, efficient and completely un-Cuban. A hot jet shower washed the grime away, before I turned on the TV to see what was available.
I was a little surprised to say the least, when ‘soft porn’ appeared (the kind of stuff that Channel 5 used to pad out their late night schedules with). I thought this was Cuba – and such things were outlawed by Communism. (‘Religion is the opium of the masses’ and ‘porn is the opium of the drunken man late at night’. I think both of these quotes are attributed to Karl Marx. I may be wrong). Flicking through the channels, I stumbled across CNN (no news there, then), CNN in Spanish (even less), bored Cuban game shows, HBO in Spanish, and another movie channel. I found it hysterical that the movie that next appeared was ‘1984’ (an old British movie with a very young looking John Hurt’ and a more alive then, than now, Richard Burton). I’m in Cuba watching a movie about George Orwell’s book that symbolised what Cuba became in my lifetime.
Sunday morning. The sun blazed into my eyes. The air conditioning had frozen the room. I stepped onto the balcony to find the huge central complex of aqua blue swimming pools and sunbathing areas below me. Ah… Cuba. It could have been anywhere.
This was my first ‘all inclusive’ package (I’m not proud) which meant a kind of all you can eat and drink food fest that ensures that you do not return home any thinner than when you arrived. Breakfast was a veritable feast of goodies; fruit shakes, fruit juices, fruit salads, cereals, cold meats and cheeses, fried English breakfasts, French toast, crepes, fried bananas, fried beans, eggs anyway you wanted, and virtually nothing involving typical Cuban cuisine. Lunches were… I can’t remember lunches… and dinners were roast dinners and a wealth of International dishes… also very un Cuban. I liked the ‘all you can eat and drink’ element of these meals. Just keep your hands and feet away from my mouth.
After attempting to try the everything in sight breakfast (as you do), I decided to waddle out of this ‘international could be anywhere in the world resort’ and go and find the real Cuba; well, as real as possible, given that Varadero was primarily built in the last two decades to attract western tourist dollars while ensuring that they were kept away from the rest of Cuba.
“Cuba thrills the senses with a feast of stunning landscapes, superb beaches, and vibrant sounds…the people are warm, affectionate and expressive” said the package holiday blurb.
Cuba, about the size of England, is the largest island in the Caribbean with a population of around 11 million. Just touching the Tropic of Cancer, it lies at the mouth of the Gulf of Mexico, and anywhere from (depending what you read) 145km to only 90km south of Florida. Cuba’s subtropical location means that it virtually enjoys a year round summer. On average, daily temperatures range between 26’C and 32’C. Quickly spoken Spanish is the official language.
Discovered accidentally by Christopher Columbus (who never realised it was an island), it became part of the Spanish empire and by the end of the 18th Century was an (imported) slave plantation society producing massive amounts of sugar and tobacco for the Spanish. Late 19th Century saw the first attempts at independence from Spain and by 1898 had kicked out the Spanish, only to have a US military occupation replace it until the Republic of Cuba was proclaimed in 1902.
Cuba’s riches kept the US sniffing around and they dominated the Cuban economy. Two thirds of Cuban sugar was exported, to, and two thirds of all imports came from, the US. Cuba was effectively a client state. The rich got richer and the poor got poorer. American corporatism ruled the country. In the 1940s and 1950s it became a holiday playground for American tourists. The mafia moved in to build the casinos. US backed General Batista staged a military coup in 1952 and became a dictator. Everyone not Cuban was happy.
Enter stage left, one Fidel Castro. He had already failed in 1953 to overturn Batista, and had been exiled. The second attempt, which succeeded in January 1959 had been an extraordinary and heroic three year campaign, where at one point, his guerrilla force had been reduced to 12 men.
From 1960 onwards in the face of increasing hostility from the US, Castro led Cuba into socialism and then communism. His mandate was to provide free education, housing and health care to all Cubans. All American companies were nationalised, all assets seized and a middle finger raised to Uncle Sam. ‘Get the hell off my island’. Many Cubans decided to get out as well and fled to America, especially Miami, where they continue to maintain a powerful lobby to ‘reclaim’ Cuba. The US reaction was to isolate Cuba both economically with a full trade embargo and sever all diplomatic relations. The trade embargo hit hard and shortages and rationing have been problematic ever since.
You are probably all familiar with Kennedy’s aborted support of Cuban exiles at the Bay of Pigs in 1961, and even more so with the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962 when Cuba became entangled in the rivalry between the two superpowers. Cuba was isolated and pretty much cut off from the rest of the world. Castro was forced to rely on Soviet support to keep Cuba going. You have all probably heard of the hysterical attempts by the CIA to assassinate Castro with tricks like exploding cigars and an ointment to make his beard fall out! All this and dusky maidens that roll cigars on their thighs; this is the image of Cuba. Unfortunately, thigh rolling maidens are a myth.
By the late 1970s, with the heavy dependence on sugar and the USSR and trade embargoes, the revolution’s progress had ground to a halt and there was a lot of internal dissatisfaction. Castro’s answer was to let them flee to the US and he emptied his prisons, mental asylums and centres of correction while he was at it. I remember visiting Florida in the summer of 1981 and being turned away from Miami which had been shut down due to all the rioting going on at the hastily set up Cuban detention centres while US immigration tried to process all the scum that had washed up on their shores. If you have seen the Al Pacino movie ‘Scarface’ which came out soon after, you know what I’m talking about.
“30 years of isolation were swept away in the 1990s after the fall of the Soviet Bloc. Castro desperately needed dollars to support his brand of Communism and the quick fix was tourism. Hotels sprang up along all the best beaches…Now a decade later, nearly two million visitors come to the island” (Footprint).
George W. ‘Monkey Boy’ Bush has, like his father George ‘read my lips’ Bush, clamped down on Cuba with more trade embargoes and preventing US citizens from visiting it. Cuba is allegedly part of the ‘axis of evil’ (yeah, right, Monkey Boy), but isolation and the embargoes have served only to fuel Castro’s determination to stay put. Cubans see themselves as layers in a David and Goliath epic and the Revolution has become part of their national identity.
The national currency is the Cuban Peso, but the hard currency of Uncle Sam Dollars prevails where any tourist hangs out. The US Dollar is king. Cubans need dollars to buy most goods, with only a limited range available in pesos or on their rations.
Cradle to Grave (or ‘Erection to Resurrection’ as I call it) education, housing and health care hang on by a thread but other promises of the 1959 Revolution have crumbled. The average monthly wage is $10! while a tourist pays $1 for a beer. Consequently, the social fabric is unravelling. Cuba is going tits up faster than anyone realises. History lesson over.
Fine, pale-golden sandy beaches stretch all along the north coast, lapped by warm (29’C when I was diving!), crystal clear water in shades of blue and turquoise. Cuba’s chief beach resort, Varadero, is built on the Peninsula de Hicacos, a 20km long thin peninsula, along the length of which run two roads lined with dozens of “of all inclusive hotels, often producing an unsettling form of tourist apartheid” (Footprint).
Typical Tourism Photos of Varadero
More Photos of Varadero
Photo of Varadero's coastline/beach
There is little of historical interest. Well nothing I saw. One taxi driver told me his father had moved here in 1959 and there were two buildings! Our hotel was located next to the Delfinario (Dolphin centre) towards the far end of the peninsula. It was only in the lower 30’s, so I decided to walk into Varadero town about 15km away.
First impressions. Outside the hotel, it was flat, dry, with a manmade feel about the whole peninsula. Large smoking trucks roared along the sole main road taking more stuff out to the new resorts at the far end. Old battered buses shuttled Cuban workers to and from their hotels. A cool breeze coming off the sea. I needed it. It was roasting. I was trying to discover if there was a local bus service, but it appeared that the only public transport was a tourist ‘train’ of small open carriages that shuttled tourists between the hotels and town for a fixed $2 fare. I walked past the vast, empty and completely artificially green Varadero Golf Course with no one on it. What a waste. A Cuba family of tourists drove past in a Lada.
Half way to town, covered in dust and wilting in the heat, I started to stick out my thumb. A truck driver stopped and picked me up. He spoke no English and my Spanish was minimal, but it was a fine feeling to sit up in the cab and look down, with a fan on my face, knowing I had managed to hitch my first ride in Cuba. I gave him a Dollar for his help in saving my respiratory system.
The one thing you quickly realise in Cuba is that everyone is pretty much desperate for US dollars and a dollar here and there goes a long way. Over the week, the Cubans struck me as a very proud yet friendly people (after all they have kicked out both the Spanish and Americans and kept going) and while no one looks for a blatant handout (I was approached only once in Havana), it seems a given that if they are polite, helpful and not pushy, that tourists will take sympathy on their current plight and they will reap the benefit of the occasional dollar which goes a long way.
Climbing out of the cab, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the Varadero town area does feel like a real place, not just a hotel city and Cubans do actually live here. It was based on a grid pattern with the main road to the south and another road running parallel through the centre with few amenities that it has to offer. It was a low level town and the side streets were lined with small pastel coloured houses, and colourful gardens. Yet there were also apartment blocks of a few stories, whose colour schemes had obviously been painted by colour blind Cubans on acid. Flame trees dominated the town. These were spectacular bulging red trees as if the upper half were on fire. The brightest trees I have ever seen.
I checked out the public beach, full of Cuban tourists who also come here for their holidays. It was as nice as the one at our hotel and stretched into the distance. At a local garage, I came across my first classic American cars; a 1956 Pontiac and a 1957 Chevrolet.
1950’s American cars are another familiar image of Cuba. With the post world war two ‘Yankeefication’ (my new word) of Cuba, the island was full of them until the 1959 Revolution and US trade embargo. No more American cars have been imported and due to shortages of both parts and new cars, the Cubans have been forced to keep the original ones going. There are still thousands around and despite having no interest in cars, it was a unique opportunity to see these gas guzzlers pottering along. A 1954 Buick, a 1953 Plymouth, and even a 1939 something. Imagine a 65 year old car being used on a daily basis in your country. Many have been patched up with fibreglass but they are still running. It is an amazing sight that already has a limited shelf life when the economy opens up. Petrol prices were 95c (an American gallon). It had risen from 75c with recent oil price hikes.
Excellent Photos of Classic American Cars in Cuba
More Photos of Classic American cars
Down the road, I saw my first Che Guevara billboard. These are also everywhere in Cuba. Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara is the Cuban Revolution’s unofficial emblem. He was an Argentinean medical student who met exiled Castro in Mexico and joined his cause, eventually leading a second attack force. Repeatedly wounded, he led from the front lines and was lionized by his Cuban soldiers. In December 1958, Che’s badly outnumbered guerrillas ambushed a troop train at Santa Clara which was the decisive victory which sealed the fate of the Batista regime.
Photo of Che Guevara billboard
He was seen as the Revolution’s second leader and as a charismatic orator, appealed to the idealism of the young by calling for a revolutionary society based on moral rather than material incentives. Consequently, he became a global spokesman for the Third World. Frustrated by Castro’s reliance on the Soviet Union, he quit Cuba in 1965 and launched his own guerrilla column in Bolivia where, thanks to the CIA, he was captured and executed in October 1967. His face has adorned student bed sits around the world ever since.
It seemed ironic that the biggest tourist souvenir in Cuba seemed to be a Che Guevara T-shirt or postcard. As I discovered in Vietnam and China, revolution is now sold to tourists as a marketable proposition. Just replace Guevara with Ho Chi Min or Mao Zi Tong and hey ‘instant tourist souvenirs’. I was happy enough to find Guevara’s face on one of the three peso coins I was given as change in Havana. There were many billboards around celebrating ’45 Years of the Revolution’.
At Varadero’s Viazul bus company bus station, I attempted to reserve bus tickets to Havana a few days later. The reservations desk was deserted. Someone would turn up eventually. This is known as ‘Cuba Time’. That is, you can get something done, but it can take anything from now until eternity. So chill out, relax and get used to it.
While I waited, I got chatting to a Cuban guy in his late 20’s who was returning to Havana on the last bus. He was a computer consultant and his English was very good so I pumped him for information about Cuban society. I was shocked to hear that he earned just $10 US a month (in computers!). He was wearing a Western designer T-shirt and I said that in England, that the shirt would cost $30US. “I get all my clothes from charity shops in Havana. Sometimes tourists donate their clothes”.
He was quite outspoken about the state of Cuba. I had commented that while his pay was low, he got free housing, medicine and education. “Yeah, but the educational system is very bad. It is not funded well and has deteriorated a lot since I went to school”. His opinion was that every Cuban wanted to get out of Cuba and head to the USA to work and make some money. “I have relatives in the US and a promised job, but I can’t get a passport. You are lucky to be able to travel. If I got the chance to go to the US, I’d do three jobs just to earn as much as possible and make the most of my opportunity. No one wants to work in Cuba. There is no incentive.” I laughed when he said “If we ever get to leave Cuba, it will be a case of the last person turning the light off”.
Naively, I had expected an isolated Cuba to be rather distant from International affairs but he was up to date with Iraq. What do you think of George Bush, I asked. “He’s a c**ksucker” which I thought was a more than valid response. “Blair is a poodle man” (a reference to a tame dog that follows its owner). “Iraq was a big mistake”. Despite his outbursts, this friendly Cuban did not mention Castro once.
I told him that my only reference to what Cubans might be like was having watched Al Pacino in the ‘Scarface’ movie. “Ah… Tony Montana…you (and he reeled off a word for word perfectly pronunced expletive filled dialogue from the movie). About 30 minutes later, someone turned up at the desk and we signed in our names. I had enjoyed just sitting in the shade, chatting and asking questions.
Back outside in the roasting sun, I walked down the main street, past the police station (Policia Nacional Revolutionaria) with Castro’s portrait in the window and various revolutionary sayings in Cuban. Across the road, I saw half a dozen people lined up by a shop counter and decided to see what was on sale. It turned out to be a Dollar shop. This is where Cubans (and tourists) can use American Dollars to purchase various foodstuffs, household good and alcohol. I bought a couple of bottles of ice cold Buccanero beer. They didn’t even touch the side of my throat. My change came back in Cuban pesos.
It was very relaxed. No one bothered me in town. No one asked for money or “what is your name, where do you come from” etc. I suppose everyone is used to seeing tourists all the time. I spotted strange Cuban taxis called ‘cocotaxis’. These were like three wheeler open bubble cars in bright yellow. The driver wore a crash helmet. They looked like something out of the ‘Wacky Races’ cartoon. When you see the photo you will understand what I mean. One of the strangest vehicles I have ever seen.
My last stop was the Barracuda Dive School to book some diving tomorrow. I caught the tourist train buggy back to the hotel and made it back in time for a very late lunch. The rest of the day was spent exploring the hotel complex and beach, sunbathing, swimming and er…trying out as many free drinks as possible.
Sugar was first introduced to Cuba by Christopher Columbus but rum production only took off in the 19th Century. The family firm of Bacardi was the largest in Cuba for nearly 100 years. After the 1959 revolution, when the sugar industry and the distilleries were taken over by the state, the Bacardi family fled the island. Fortunately rum is still the national drink and all cocktails after rum based. I should know…I tried them all numerous times. Some that I remember were the traditional Pina Colada (coconut liqueur, pineapple juice, light dry rum and shaved ice all blended and served in a glass), various Daiquiris, a Mojito (half a tablespoon of sugar, juice of half a lime, some lightly crushed mint leaves. Stir well, add some soda water, ice colds, light dry rum and top up with soda water), rum punch (rum with a couple of fruit juices) and the rather tame ‘Cuban libre’ (Rum & coke) which I abandoned after the first glass.
There were three bars at the hotel. One inside the huge reception area, one by the pool and one by the beach. As I explored on the first afternoon, I would have a Barracuda beer here and rum punch there and then a Cristal beer there and a Daiquiri here at the next bar and so on. Why not? It had all been paid for. The other tourists (mostly European by the look of them) slummed by the large pool or down at the gloriously sandy beach which stretched along the coast. And you only had to walk a few metres off the beach to get to the bar. It was always enjoyable to sip a cocktail and watch the wonderful sunsets.
Photo of Cuban sunset
Every Imaginable Cocktail Recipe
I remember the tale of my old friend Steve Grainge who went to Spain in the early 1980s with some of my other friends. The hotel bar was between the swimming pool and the main door. It took him four days to finally leave the hotel for the first time (he could never get beyond the bar!). At dinner, which was an International cuisine of endless dishes, I could have Spanish red wine and glasses of Cristal beer. I attempted to count the alcoholic units one day (and I only started drinking at 4pm upon returning from diving) and I estimated a conservative 24 units. I must be getting old. I am reminded of a Michael J. Fox quote from his autobiography “It’s a good job I don’t have a drinking problem because I don’t think I could give it up”.
Day 2: Diving time. My dad and I were picked up after breakfast with our diving gear (which we had lugged from the UK) and driven to the dive boat which was actually only a 10 minute walk from the hotel (not that we knew that then!). We filled in various forms that said that we wouldn’t attempt to sail to Florida and then assembled our gear and boarded a packed motorboat with mostly Europeans. Cuba’s marine environment is pristine compared with most Caribbean islands. The majority of coral reefs are alive and healthy and teeming with assorted marine life. Varadero is one of the most developed areas for diving. There are several sites around the offshore cays. It was an attractive ride on the boat past the beautiful islets until the captain opened up the twin engines and suddenly the nose was in the air and sat at the back, I was soaked.
We roared out for 40 minutes or so for a couple of dives. At El Jocu, we dived to 23m and I was amazed by the soft corals. They were completely different from any I had seen. One variety was shaped like a multi candlestick holder. I also saw my largest lobster/crayfish to date. Its tail was the width of a man’s arm. At Caribe, we made a second shallow dive to a small wreck; the remains of an old German merchant ship sunk in 1943. It was teeming with shoals of colourful fish around it. The water temperature read 28’C. Read and weep. Back on land, the, er, drinking started…
Photos from Diving off Varadero
Day 3: More diving. This time we motored out past different islets and stopped at a moored lobster boat, where lobsters were purchased for lunch. I’m afraid I had eaten enough breakfast not to worry about such delights. We dived to 30m to a Patrol boat wreck. This was a 1945 Koni class, 97m long Russian Patrol boat which had been used by the Cuban navy until the 1980s and then sunk for scuba divers. It still had all its surface to air missiles on the decks. It also had its 30mm and 57mm guns on the prow and some smoke dispensers originally used to confuse the enemy as to the position of the ship. I guess the Americans didn’t get around to testing it after the ‘Bay of Pigs’. You can peer through open portholes at several points.
The second dive was a really slow and enjoyable shallow dive taking in more soft coral, more lobsters in holes and large shoals of slow moving fish (groupers, snappers) and the usual suspects like angelfish, butterfly fish etc. We only had a couple of days, but I was very impressed. I’d like to return and explore other areas.
The hotel had a couple of ‘a la carte’ restaurants and everyone could book a table during the week. My mum wasn’t interested, but my dad and I decided to check it out. The restaurant was in a huge, dark, empty room and looked like and behaved like an old Communist restaurant. The menu was limited and the service slow. Fortunately, the free drinks passed the time. When the food finally arrived, I declared ‘Now I know why rich people are thin. The portions of ‘a la carte’ are tiny’. As we hungrily downed the food, someone tickled a piano on a stage. We made our exit and headed for our usual all you can eat restaurant and had dinner all over again. Guess it wasn’t my week to start a diet.
Day 4: It was time to visit Havana. There were only three buses a day and the earliest was at 8am which I had reserved. We swallowed an early 6.30am breakfast and were forced to grab a taxi down to the bus station. It cost $10. Our 15 minute taxi ride cost what a Computer consultant earns in a month. Such is the parallel state of the Cuban economy.
Arriving shortly after 7am (I wasn’t quite sure what to expect so we arrived early) we were approached by a taxi driver. Havana? How much? It was going to cost $10 each on the bus one way. He was happy to take $25 and off we went, an hour earlier than anticipated. Result. He was a jovial chappy. Not much English, but he attempted to point out things along the way.
We were crossing Matanzas, the second largest province in the country. The first impression was of the numbers of people on the roadsides trying to get lifts. Thousands of them. Many held signs that said they would pay for the ride. The public transport system seemed to be antiquated. I was also amazed to see 1950s Cadillacs chug alongside horse drawn carriages. Horses became popular again with the fuel shortages and are still going strong. Another impression was how pretty Cuban women are. They dress to cope with the heat with low tops, bare midriffs, short skirts (down, boy!). They all seemed to take a real pride in their appearance. I also noticed that very few Cubans smoked. They may be famous for their cigars, but I only saw one old man puffing away. In Havana, a few men approached me to sell cigars but it seemed to be like selling shortbread in Scotland. Everyone knows it is what the country is famous for, it’s just that no one wants to eat it.
More impressions: The smell of petroleum filled the taxi constantly. As we headed west, we passed endless gangs of ‘nodding donkeys’ pumping up low grade crude oil for industrial uses such as Havana’s glue factory which we passed on the outskirts. There were police speed traps everywhere…on motorbikes, in cars, on bridges, behind trees and along fast stretches of the well sealed road. I counted 50 during the day. At least oncoming drivers flashed their lights to warn you. My dad counted 13 broken down classic American cars. We passed over Cuba’s highest bridge (see photo) with a spectacular lookout (Mirador de Bacunayagua) over the Yumani valley. Lining the sides of the road were fields of sisal (used to make ropes) and coco trees. Their seeds hung down in shrivelled pods like used condoms.
Photo of Cuba’s Highest Bridge
Matanzas (115,000 pop) was a large but sleepy city and provincial capital. Driving right through it, I can only remember the busy, ugly industrial zone of oil storage facilities, chemical and fertilizer plants, sugar, textile and paper mills. There were six bridges. It was originally named ‘massacre’ (Matanzas) by the Spanish after the new owners bit off more than they could chew. In the late 19th Century, it was known as a bastion of intellectual thought (‘The Athens of Cuba’ apparently). Many old colonial buildings still exist but we had bigger fish to fry and didn’t stop. Police patrols increased as we approached Havana. There was no rush hour gridlock. We passed a large baseball stadium (the national sport).
Founded in 1519 around a natural harbour, it’s strategic and commercial importance is reflected in the extensive fortifications, particularly on the east side where two large fortresses still stand; El Castillode los Tres Reyes Del Morro (1590s) and San Carlos del la Cabana (1760s). We passed between these and headed under the Canal de Entrada and were dropped near the Cathedral in the heart of La Habana Vieja (the old city) where ramshackle streets were lined with decaying colonial mansions.
‘Probably the finest example of a Spanish colonial city in the Americas’ (Footprint). Many of its palaces were converted into museums after the Revolution and more work has been done since La Havana Vieja was declared a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1982. There is also some stunning architecture from the first half of the 20C, although most of the city is fighting a losing battle against the sea air – many of the finest buildings along the sea front are crumbling and emergency work is underway to save some of them.
Photo of Old Havana
Another Photo of Old Havana
Photos of Streets of Old Havana
Photo of Typical Restoration in Old Havana
Another Typical Photo of Old Havana
“Of all the capital cities in the Caribbean, Havana has the reputation for being the most splendid and sumptuous….There has been no tacky modernizations, partly because of the lack of finance and materials. Low level street lighting, relatively few cars, no junk food franchises and very little advertising (except for political slogans), all give the city plenty of scope for nostalgia” (Footprint).
Photo of Typical Old Colonial Architecture in Old Havana
Another Photo of Typical Old Colonial Architecture in Old Havana
The old colonial city of Havana is full of old palaces, mansions, museums and plazas and I took my parents on a walking tour. We had arrived around 9am and the area was just starting to wake up. There were very few tourists on the streets.
The Catedral de San Cristobal de la Havana was finished in 1787. On either side of the Spanish colonial baroque façade are bell towers, the left one being half as wide as the right. In front of the cathedral lay a quaint square (Plaza de la Cathedral) with colonnaded stone porches. Under one of these, a group of Cubans did aerobics.
Photo of Havana’s Old Cathedral
Another Photo of Havana’s Old Cathedral
We walked on down narrow streets to the Plaza de Armas; Havana’s oldest square and the seat of authority and power in Cuba for 400 years, contains the church of El Template which marks the spot where the first Mass was said in 1519. Surrounding the Plaza was the Palacio del Segundo Cabo. The baroque Palacio de los Capitanes Generales (1870) was a charming example of colonial architecture. The Spanish Governors and Presidents lived here until 1917 when it became the City Hall. The square had book sellers setting up stalls for the day.
Splendid old cobbled streets of colonial architecture accompanied us to the bright orange exterior of Hotel Ambos Mundos where Ernest Hemingway first based himself in Cuba in 1932 (Room 511). ‘For Whom the Bells Toll’ was apparently started here. Earnest Hemingway gets a lot of tourist press here because he spent many years in Cuba; drinking, screwing, fishing and some occasional writing. On my return, I would like to check out his old hang outs around Havana, but today, there was no time.
Photo of Hemingway’s Hotel: Ambos Mundos
Nearby was an old colonial hotel that catered for Jewish visitors. A baggage boy beckoned us in for a look at the fabulous interior and art deco glass panel roof. We got chatting. He told us that he earned $6 US a month. A double room in the hotel cost $120 US for one night. Work that one out. We worked out that he would have to work 20 months just to stay one night.
Much of this part of the old city had already been given a face lift with building repainted in glorious pastel colours. The streets were narrow enough for an occasional car. But there were many streets were the buildings were being torn apart and rebuilt. There was scaffolding and dust everywhere.
There were various Cuban girls dressed up in spectacular blue or cream gowns walking around and having their photos taken. At first I thought they were brides to be, but it turned out that they had just reached their 15th birthdays and it was a ‘coming out’ tradition to dress up in luxurious clothes and have your photo taken.
La Plaza Vieja (Old Plaza) dating from the 16th Century and was two thirds restored. Many of the old buildings around the plaza boasted elegant balconies overlooking the large square with a fountain in the middle. School children played in the plaza. A man approached us and asked if we would like to see the school. He was a teacher there on his break. He led us into a building with an open atrium and large plants. Off to the sides were small classrooms. We visited the computer class where a dozen 10 year old boys sat at PCs. I was impressed that the technology was pretty modern with Windows and MS-Office. The boys wore smart school uniforms and were very well behaved – probably shy.
Nearby, we paid a dollar each and ascended to the top floor of the Gomez Vila building to see the ‘Camara Obscura’, where lenses and mirrors provided us with a panoramic view of the city. This was the first camera obscura in the Americas and only one of six left in the World. The female guide swivelled levers to get close ups of buildings, but since we couldn’t understand her Spanish, it meant nothing. However, from the roof outside, we had a marvellous view of the Plaza below and much of the city around us.
We pushed on towards the Capitolio and Parque Central. The streets were pretty run down and there was a lot of reconstruction work going on. We could peer into lobbies and see the inside of the tall ceiling colonial buildings now housing many extended Cuban families. A few peso food stalls appeared, but the choice was very limited for the locals. Cold fat hamburgers with salad, chicken rolls, guava juice served by the glass. We opted for the hamburgers, and I paid in dollars and got my change back in pesos which is difficult to do in Cuba. Three hamburgers and three fruit juices cost about £1 English (less than $ 1.50 U.S. We sat and ate them in a grubby area under shady trees like the locals.
We checked out the fabulous old Bacardi family building from the 1930s, one of the finest examples of art deco extravagance I have ever seen. Shame that they had to flee the country after the Revolution.
Photo of Bacardi Building
Another Photo of Bacardi Building
In Havana, there are huge double jointed purple buses pulled by a truck called camellos (camels) because of their shape. Also known as ‘Saturday night at the cinema’ because they are full of ‘sex, crime and alcohol’. They were the strangest looking city buses I had ever seen.
Parque Central was a very pleasant park with a monument to Jose Marti in the centre. We saw about two dozen Cubans arguing furiously between themselves. Initially, we thought it was a political argument – it was very heated! But chatting to locals, we discovered this was where the passionate baseball fans met daily to swap the stories and argue between themselves over the games. Locals who spoke some English seemed more than happy to have a chat with you. Surrounding the Parque were lines of old American cars, used as taxis for tourists. There were also famous old hotels like the 130 year old Hotel Inglaterra with a Cuban band playing guests into the lobby. The Gran Teatro de la Habana was just up the road. This was a beautiful building and a neo baroque monument dating from 1838 and used by the National Opera and National Ballet.
Photos of Parque central/Hotel Inglaterra
Photo of Gran Teatro
Next door, on its own and dominating the city was the Capitolio. Built in the style of the US capital in 1930 by the then current dictator in an attempt to impress his US paymasters with his loyalty. The white dome over the rotunda is 62m high. The interior has large halls and stately staircases of marble and sumptuous decoration. I will have to return for a tour. Today time was pressing on and we decided to head for the bus station.
Photo of Capitolio
Another Photo of Capitolio
And Another Photo of Capitolio
Photo of Street Across From Capitalio
Up to this point, we had been capitivated by old Havana. It was a lovely place to visit. Downtown Havana was busy but not overwhelming. It was nice to just wander down the streets and look at the old architecture, stick your head into somewhere and take a peek or stop and chat to someone. Around 1.30am on Wednesday June 2nd, my holiday pretty much ended.
We were walking south down Avenue D’Italia near Parque El Curita and the junction of Avenue Simon Bolivar on the right hand side of the road about a mile from the bus station. I was walking ahead of my parents who had slowed in the afternoon heat. The street was crowded with local shoppers.
Without any warning, I felt my knapsack being violently jerked off my shoulder from behind. I spun around and saw a tall thin black youth with red shirt, shorts and red cap sprinting off. I yelled ‘you bastard’ and took off after him down the street. I think he was running with another youth, but I was concentrating on the kid in red who had my bag. He took off down the first lane to the left into a residential area. I gave chase as he zig- zagged through 3 other blocks. Other people pointed out the way he had gone so I could follow him. Then he turned into a narrow lane full of doorways. When I got around the corner, he was gone. He could have disappeared into any number of alleyways.
I was very angry. I had taken some great photographs that morning and now they were gone. As a previous councillor of Victim Support I was used to dealing with people who had been burgled or robbed. For the first time, it had happened to me. Now I knew how they really felt. I felt violated. I felt very stupid. I also wanted to kick the shit out of that kid. This was my 85th country. I am used to taking care of myself and my possessions. I am street wise and usually aware of any situations. This one just hit me out of the blue and coming from behind, I didn’t have time to react. My bag contained my passport, camera, a couple of guidebooks, a water bottle and at least $100 in cash.
I retraced the route back to my parents who were waiting where the incident occurred. It had happened so fast, they hadn’t had any time to react either. My dad had heard me yell and saw someone run past him. My parents were also carrying bags. In retrospect, we suspect that we must have been followed for some time, because I had been paying for everything and I obviously had the money. Surely, the kid could have removed one of my parents’ bags with equal surprise.
I didn’t know what to do next, but I knew I had to report it to the police, for insurance purposes. No one spoke English in the streets, but my basic Spanish helped me to ascertain that there was a Police Station (#2, Central Havana) on Zanja which was a street off Avenue D’Italia. We found it about 1.45pm and then the waiting started.
I stood in front of the counter which was at head height. The policemen stood above me on a platform and I was not allowed to touch the counter. No policeman spoke English. I tried to explain in basic Spanish and sign language what had happened. When the policeman then asked me for my passport (having just explained it was in my bag), I knew it would be a long afternoon. I had explained that I needed to report the crime for insurance purposes. He said he would type up a crime report.
We sat and waited and waited and waited. There was a iron gate near us where detainees stood and yelled at their visitors or whoever had come to pay bail to get out. The public toilet was full of floating shit and piss ands did not flush. It was breezy but you just feel so helpless sitting there not sure what is going on because you cannot communicate. A hysterical woman made a scene in the station and was dragged into the back still screaming. Policemen came and went. Lots of laughing. Typical inefficient communist officialdom. It was an eye opener on how locals were treated in Cuba.
Our return bus was leaving at 4pm back to Varadero. At 3.30pm, I asked what was happening. Still producing the form, I was told. 4pm came and went. I finally found another young policeman who spoke a smattering of English. He told me that because we were tourists, they had special police to deal with tourists, but they were based across town. They were on their way with a translator.
The two detectives finally appeared around 4.00pm with no translator. They drove us to the 5 Star Parque Central Hotel, where a Cuban Tourist Liaison lady kindly offered to translate the detectives questions and my answers. After explaining the incident, she then translated what I needed to write on the Victim’s Declaration. She was very helpful and pretty much saved the day for us. The detective and I both signed the form.
I asked for a Crime Number. The lady translated and explained that first the form had to be translated into Spanish and typed up, then taken to a different place for a number. If we wanted a number, we would be waiting for hours. She suggested that she made a photocopy of the form for insurance purposes.
Having missed our bus (the last one that leaves Havana for Varadero), we still had to get back to the hotel 140km away. I haggled with a taxi driver and we fortunately got back by 8.30pm that night. Even more fortunate, my father had enough US dollars to pay for it. $50 was cheap to get us back to civilisation and let me get things sorted. It was a fortune to the taxi driver (the first offer from someone was $100US. In your dreams). On the way home, local men were selling tomatoes and oranges. They didn’t mess about. Their sales technique was to step into the road in front of oncoming cars almost forcing them to stop or at least swerve around them.
Day 5: Originally, we had planned to rent a car and drive down to the Bay of Pigs and explore the countryside. So much for that idea. I was leaving the country tomorrow, so I didn’t have much time. Back at the hotel, I had phoned the Rep about what I should do about my stolen passport. He seemed more pissed off that we hadn’t visited Havana on an organised tour (ie for his commission. We learnt later that one of his coach party had also had her bag snatched) but at least he did call the British consulate in Havana in the morning. They told me to get up to Havana before 12pm to get a temporary passport issued. My dad offered to come. It was either that or lie around a pool sunbathing and drinking rum. Tough choice. In Varadero, I haggled with a taxi driver to get to the Embassy. $80. We had no other choice but at least we had the driver for the entire day.
So we retraced yesterday’s journey back to Havana. The same oil smell, same coco trees, same industrial areas of Matanzas, same police speed traps, same crowds of people looking for lifts, same 154km. This time we headed for the district of Miramar which was originally the pre revolution wealthy foreign ex pat community of mansions. Embassies had now taken over the old buildings. En route we drove along Malecon, the famous old ocean front esplanade. The buildings which looked stout and grand with arcaded pavements, balconies, mouldings and large entrances were salt eroded, faded and sadly decrepit inside. At least half the lengthy road was being gutted and restored. It will look spectacular when it is finished. There were occasional statues of old Cuban leaders in bland non descript squares. We also passed the famous Hotel Nacional.
Photo of the Malecon
Photo of the Hotel Nacional
Photos of Miramar District
We reached the British Embassy around noon. The staff at the British Embassy knew I was coming and were sympathetic to my plight. With the rise of tourism, bag snatching was becoming an epidemic in Havana. I had to fill in numerous forms and hand over my Cuban Police report. Then they asked for two passport photos. Oops.
They told me that there was a photograph shop nearby and we fetched our taxi driver in for directions. He drove us around a few blocks. I walked into an empty studio. Yes, I could get a couple of photos but since I was wearing a T-shirt, I had to put on a jacket and tie. The jacket was four sizes too small and the tie looked ridiculous against my T-shirt. I looked like an overweight Norman Wisdom (50’s English comic who always wore clothes too small for him) who had just got up, leering into the camera. It must have been bad. He took two photos, looked at the results and took two more. Still, the service was fast and cheap and I was back in the Embassy within 20 minutes with two “if you look like your passport photo, you probably need a holiday” snaps.
We were greeted by locked gates back at the Embassy. Doh! It had closed. We managed to knock up the sleeping guard who let us back in and switched on the air conditioning. The Embassy staff managed to stifle their laughter at the outgrown head from the shrunken jacket shot and eventually after much processing behind the scenes or glass windows, they issued me with an Emergency Passport to get me back into the UK when I returned on Saturday June 5th. I had to pay $68US for the temporary passport. At least I could leave the country.
Sorted. Then we retraced yesterday’s journey back to Varadero. The same oil smell, same coco trees, same industrial areas of Matanzas, same police speed traps, same crowds of people looking for lifts, same 154km. It wasn’t the best way to spend a day on holiday but mission accomplished. I appreciated my dad’s company. He didn’t have do anything or even be there, but it was nice of him to offer the support and he got to see a whole lot of classic Cuban cars and scantily clad Cuban girls along the way. Back at the hotel with a passport and a crime report for insurance, we could celebrate by drowning my sorrows. And did.
Day 6: The final day on our rushed, but even more rushed due to my misfortune, holiday, was to finally take advantage of some of the free hotel facilities, namely learn how to sail a catamaran. After a usual breakfast that exceeded the Atkins diet for a week, my dad and I waddled to the ‘leisure pursuits’ area. I had never been on a catamaran, but dad assured me that it was ‘a piece of piss’ to sail one. Unfortunately, it had last been a piece of piss sometime in the early 1990s. We filled in various forms that said that we wouldn’t attempt to sail to Florida and dragged out a small 4m catamaran. We thought we had got to grips with it pretty easily, tacking up and down the coast trying to kill swimmers, until an instructor climbed aboard and showed us how to do it properly. Doh!
Dad and I zipped into town so I could show him around and pick up essential rum supplies, coffee beans and tacky souvenirs. There isn’t a lot to buy souvenir wise in Cuba. After lunch, we gave the catamaran another go and after our initial ‘shakedown cruise’ we really went for it. I was very pleased to have it up on one hull at some points. Alas, our fun came to an end. We had to pack our bags and leave our rooms.
Before the transfer bus arrived around 4pm, I had an hour to drink as many rum cocktails as possible and gave it my best shot. Consequently, I slept all the way to the airport (but I had been up and down that road 4 times in the last two days, so I think I wasn’t missing much.
At the airport, it was one line after another. First we lined up to check in our bags. This took a lifetime. The computer was down so no one was issued a seat. It would be grab what you can (ah… Cubana Airways. Link these words to construct a sentence to describe them …piss up…in a brewery…could not organise a). Then we lined up to pay our $25 US departure tax.
Then we lined up to be processed by immigration. This took hours. They spent about 10 minutes on each person. When they got to me, I was very bored/pissed off. The official looked at my temporarily passport and said “it was stupid of you to lose your passport”. My reply, not one of the most diplomatic responses was “I didn’t lose it you twat. One of your fucking Cuban peasants stole it from me”. I was waved through very quickly. (Just get him out of our country!)
After lining up for, oh I don’t know, a couple of hours by now, we now had to line up to get on the plane. This took slightly less than an eternity. No one had seat numbers and everyone wanted to get on first to secure a seat. Suitably numbed by the copious amounts of rum, I just stood there bemused remembering why I had never returned to Russia.
Some time, hours after departure time, we crawled on board, ate another crap meal (even I left this one and I NEVER leave any free food), drank my two cans of beer, watched a crappy Julia Roberts movie set in the 1950s (because Cuba obviously does not recognise post Revolutionary era movies in case the locals get excited about what they are missing), and pretty much slept all the way home as you do.
In conclusion, despite my misfortune, I would really recommend a trip to Cuba. The people are friendly and not overbearing. The weather, beaches, sea water temperatures and food are to die for. The diving is very pleasant. Old Havana and the old American cars are delightful. And it is cheap (for the Caribbean). See it now while you still have the chance before the Americans get back in and Communism dies. Just don’t take any valuables to Havana and if you do, sew them into your underwear.
By 2010, they are looking to encourage 10 million tourists annually. After reading this, you may be one of them. On the other hand, you may not…
Nevertheless…I’ll be back…
