Travels through Cuba

(Originally posted June 2017)

Arriving in La Habana

Cuba is a complex place.  Three years ago I visited Cuba for ten days with an educators delegation with Witness for Peace. This time, I spent two weeks traveling around with friends and a backpack, with fewer government restrictions and more choice in our itinerary and explorations. Through both experiences, I learned, observed, discussed and listened and now continue to wonder about the complexities of this island nation. Complexities that one cannot expect to understand in two weeks.

Likely no one can truly understand the complexities of Cuba, because to fully understand life in Cuba, one must live it, face the limitations of the embargo and government, grow up with the history and culture,…and to do that, one can’t have also experienced life off the island, the endless possibilities in a supermarket, the easy access to the internet, the daily influences of globalization.

I know enough to ascertain how little I understand about the history, culture, economics of Cuba. And now the island is in a moment of change, of transformation, as Cuba and the United States repair their relationship.

Time machine. Even with easing restrictions on traveling, opening of new markets, trickling access to outside communications, Cuba remains a time machine, a time capsule dating back to revolution, to 1959.

As we move through the countryside, a look at the transportation takes us back in time. Freshly polished, Fords and Chevy’s from the 1950s share the roads with horse drawn carts carrying loads of sugar cane. We see farmers tending to fields of tobacco, yucca, coffee with plows pulled by teams of oxen.

More recent marvels such as unlimited in-home wifi are still impossible here. During our stay we have two options: purchase an internet card with our passports at a government spot or for double the price purchase them around town. With the card, you connect to government ETECSA wifi or to the wifi at fancy hotels. Many plazas have the wifi, you’ll notice by all pockets young people out in their phones and even laptops. It may, perhaps, look like young people everywhere, glued to their phones instead of interacting with others. Another option is to find the guy quietly whispering “wifi” in the plaza while keeping a lookout for the police. He’ll connect your phone to another network for a buck, but shhhh.

Privilege. We, as foreign tourists, see Cuba very differently than nationals on the island. Starting with our freedom of movement to even consider traveling abroad, we diverge from the experience of the average Cuban. The government has eased restrictions on exit visas for its citizens, however the cost of traveling abroad is prohibitively expensive for Cubans that earn an average salary of $25 US dollars a month.

Cuba is a country living with two currencies, foreign and local, further defining the distance and freedom between Cubans and the outside world. Being foreign tourists, bringing money from abroad, having a salary from our employers, the mere existence of a disposable income, provides us with a privilege while visiting.

Our travels around the island also demonstrate the privilege we have. We sometimes ride in collectivos, or group taxis, a pricier but more direct form of transportation between towns. From the window of our rides, we see the transportation limitations for Cubans. Many people are hitching rides from the shade of the few highway overpasses, hoping for a space on the approaching gua gua, or public bus. Others ride in carts pulled by horses or on bicycles. Lastly we see our privilege in our diets during our stay in Cuba. For example, our breakfasts with ham, eggs and fruits at the casas particulares are more varied than an average family consumes.

Cienfuegos

Cienfuegos, known as “La Perla del Sur,” the pearl of the south, is a port city with a small town charm. The historic downtown has a classic feel with the government buildings and theater on the main plaza. The main boulevard stretches through town, along the malecón and to the park at the end of the peninsula.

We arrive at Anita’s home in the late morning. Her son, Carlos, swings opens the gate and greets us enthusiastically. We barely remove our backpacks when he returns with glasses of fresh, cool mango juice. Each of these casas particulares, is approved by the government to rent a room or two of the house to travelers. We used AirBnB to plan our lodging on the trip, a development in only the last year. It made our planning significantly easier as we could read previous guests’ reviews, map out where in town we would stay, see pictures of the home and correspond with our hosts before we arrived. Using AirBnB, we could also pay for our lodging via credit card before arriving, avoiding the need to exchange and to carry extra cash.

Nimsi and I spend the day exploring the city on foot. Carlos gives us a detailed map of the city and all his recommendations. We drink coffee at the Terry Theater, pursue stalls of Cuban art, walk the pier and see the boats in the bay. We sip a beer on top of an old building, overlooking the sunset coming over the bay. We dip our toes in the bay at Punta Gorda at the edge of the city. As evening rolls in, the malecón filled with groups of teens and families, bumping boom boxes and sipping rum. The next morning, we eat a solid breakfast of a toasted jam and cheese sandwich, fruit (guayaba, mango, pineapple and papaya), eggs, coffee and juice. By midmorning, we are off in a 1958 classic Ford.

Último. Every country, every culture has a certain way that they line up, the way they order themselves. In some places, you physically hold your space in a line, others you take a ticket indicating the order you arrive. In Cuba, we learn the system of último or the last. While attempting to purchase bus tickets to the next stop on our itinerary, we enter the bus terminal with a large waiting room and a smaller room off to the side where someone directs us to purchase tickets. We wait and observe in the doorway to figure out the order or the system in place. Many people enter, inquire and sit before we pick it up. Turns out in the sea of people, there are two lines; one for each ticket seller, based on the final destination of the bus. As each person enters, he announces his destination and the last person in that line raises his hand and/or says último. With your head nod, you are now the último, or last in line, until the next person arrives. Seems like a smooth system, nothing fancy, but avoids the need for tickets or a counter, and keeps people from standing in line, moving slowly near the ticket vendor. Like many Cuban ideas, it doesn’t fully function and several people go straight to the window to confirm the destination or time or maybe neither and just handle their purchase on the spot. Even in its own Cuban way, that works as well, since no one seems concerned about this line jumping or seems to be in any rush at all.

Trinidad

Trinidad is a beautiful, traditional, five hundred year old Cuban town that has been preserved as a UNESCO heritage site and lures tourists from all around the globe. We spent two days in this town and would have stayed longer.

Our lively, sweet host welcomes us immediately with her adorable three-year-old daughter. She chats with us over our stay, laughs about an American speaking Spanish, provides advice and directions for our visit in Trinidad. On our first day we visit Playa Ancón. The calm, turquoise waters are perfect for relaxing and we spend the afternoon sitting back. After sunset, we hop on a local bus back to the town. That night we go to La Casa de Musica where a live band plays to the open park while travelers, friends and families sit on the stone steps and curbs of the sidewalks. We buy drinks at one of the several make shift bars families have created from the front windows of their homes. Salsa music plays and people dance, chat and enjoy the fresh air well into the night.

Our second day in Trinidad is spent exploring the colonial streets and visiting museums. I attempt to find a repair shop for my broken sunglasses and have no luck at several stops. I find this ironic for a country known for their ingenuity in repairing and reusing. In the end, I purchase a new pair at a tourist shop. The cobblestoned streets are filled with tourists, visiting the old mansion converted into a history museum and strolling the stalls with Cuban souvenirs. We visit the museum about the efforts of the revolution and the forces to stop the uprising of the contrarrevolución, or the American CIA. The view from the bell tower above the museum overlooks the town with red roofs, towers, lush green hillsides and swaying palms with waters of the Caribbean in the distance.

We walk many quiet streets taking in the colonial residences and the sunny afternoon. We share some of our Mexican lollipops with a group of young boys, with the warning that Mexican candies are spicy. Upon tasting the lollipops, they take off running in circles and back to their homes. Soon their mothers each come out to their doorways, laughing at their children’s exaggerated reactions. We enjoy a chat with the moms and continue on our way. School is in session and we see groups of primary children in their burgundy uniforms and secondary students sat in rows with the windows open in hopes of an afternoon breeze. In the afternoon, the town pauses as the rain sends everyone inside to slow down and the street outside our casa turned into a river. After the downpour, a woman sweeps the water off the sidewalk and a biker coasts down the street, lifting his feed off the pedals as he crosses the stream of rainwater. All remains very quiet, no rush, no rush.

In the evening we return to the music and the hopping plaza. We have drinks with Angelito at a restaurant in the doorway of his dwelling and meet new a new friend from Mexico and a diplomatic couple that has lived around the globe. Soon everyone from the plaza makes the move up the hill to the disco known as la cueva, an actual cave deep into the mountainside. We walk down two flights of stairs into a giant cavern with bars and dance floors. In the early morning hours, we make the walk home, with a stop for pizza on the way.

Safety. After living in the United States and Mexico, I constantly look over my shoulder. My purse is looped around my body or my backpack is often turned to the front. In Cuba, we were told over and over, how it was safe to walk. It took quite a while for me to believe them, to feel safe in the streets, to walk freely after dark.

Sancti Spiritus

Sancti Spiritus got weird. Not bad, just weird. It all began when our planned ride skips out on us and we scramble to find other transportation since the bus has already left. Arriving in the town, we find our AirBnB host, but instead of welcoming us inside, as the others had, she takes us to another house. There, she doesn’t exit the car and points to the housekeeper at the door. We enter the house and at the threshold sits a large Santeria altar. Following the lady up the stairs, we notice every nook and cranny holds more Santeria ritual objects. While we are curious and eager to learn about Cuba’s religious traditions, without any explanation, in addition to our cold reception, we are left feeling uncomfortable and unwelcome.

The town of Sancti Spiritus leaves plenty to desire. The main plaza is hosting an International Book Fair, which for a country as pro-literacy as Cuba, we expect more. We find a handful of tents with a few books each, mostly repeating the same titles of random government approved texts. Food service is scarce and we end up walking all over town for a bite to eat.  The promised riverside promenade turns out to be a block long. We end up laying low in the evening to catch the early bus. We are ready to get out of town. Our departure from the house in the morning is complicated when we attempt to leave before sunup. We find ourselves locked in and need to bang until the owner of the house awakes. We knock as loud as we could to awake her, without waking the other spirits in the residence. Good riddance, Sancti Spiritus!

Santa Clara

Our next stop is Santa Clara to pay homage to Cuba’s beloved Che Guevara. We arrive to the Santa Clara terminal after a two-hour ride. We wait out the rain at the cafeteria next to the terminal. The cafeterias in Cuba, which function in the local currency, serve cheap sandwiches or pizzas for Cubans on the go. They serve soda by the glass from the plastic bottle or coffee by the sip. During our travels in Cuba, we choose a balance between these cheap, quick, easy cafeterias and the expensive, sit-down restaurants aimed at tourists.

We start the morning visiting the Che monument and mausoleum. Along with his remains lay those of his fellow soldiers that died in the revolution in Bolivia. Next we walk across town, rainy streets with a few old cars and mostly horses, to the memorial of the armored train from the Battle of Santa Clara. The events that transpired at this site led to the victory of the Cuban revolution. After a pit stop at a small neighborhood bar, we hike up to a scenic overlook of Santa Clara and an artistic national monument.

Strolling back to the main part of town, I notice a sign for guarapo, a word I had seen around but couldn’t place. On a whim, we stop at the stand and it turn out to be one of the more memorable moments of our trip. Guarapo is sugar cane juice. One man shoves stalks of fresh sugar cane through a mechanical press and the other pours the pure juice over ice and into the glasses. Our conversation goes from the delight of the cool, refreshing beverage to the harsh realities the men face as Cubans. Their opinion likely reflects many of those on the island that don’t work in the tourism industry and lack the economic opportunities that tourism provides. They refer to the government as the “regime,” rather than the revolution, as those in favor of the island’s politics. The man explains that his view is shared by many, however it’s a view held quietly, as he could receive twenty years in prison for protesting against the government. He reveals that he would leave the island in a heartbeat, if he could. Upon departing, the men refuse payment and thank us for the conversation along with the Mexican lollipops.

In the evening, we go to dinner and walked to the main plaza. Plazas in Cuba are common social areas for friends and families. Kids run around freely, small groups share a bottle of rum on the benches and, in recent years, people connect their devices to semi-public wifi. Most plazas don’t have a church, like in the rest of Latin America. While many Cubans identify as Catholic, the church plays a small role in their lives and few attend mass regularly. The evening ends listening to live Trova music in an enchanting outdoor patio bar.

Varadero, Boca de Camarioca y Matanzas

In additional to staying at casas particulares, taxi rides around the countryside give us up close and personal time sharing and conversing with Cubans. Our ride from Santa Clara to Varadero is exceptionally enlightening as Alex shares his perspectives and explains more about life in Cuba. He is proud of Cuba and its revolution. He asks us if we have seen anyone hungry? Anyone homeless? Any violence? It’s true, we really haven’t seen the inequalities we are surrounded by in Mexico and the United States. He explains, “our clothes may be from 1985 but they’re clean and in good condition. The Cuban only has to think about when he’s next going to have sex.” With a life like this, he wouldn’t live anywhere else but his island paradise.

On the road we see many UEBs, or small farming units, where area workers harvest sugar, potatoes, tobacco and pineapples. The farms are owned by the government and the workers receive their government allowances for their labor. Many of these farms use sustainable practices, in part from Cuba’s continuous limitation of outside resources. After the Soviet Union collapsed in 1989 and Cuba entered the difficult time known as Special Period through the 1990s, these farms reverted to the use of oxen to plow fields due to the scarcity of petroleum and farmers used manure instead of imported fertilizers. The daily use of oxen and horses is visible on our highway rides.

Approaching Varadero, we pass a prison complex. We have truly felt so safe in Cuba. The lack of crime and insecurity is noticeable. It’s liberating to walk in the street without constantly looking over one’s shoulder, although the habit is tough to break. Our taxista, Alex, tells us of some of the harsh sentences that lead to this sense of safety. For example, a Cuban can receive two to five years for harassing a tourist. Jail terms are long for drug possessions, migrant smuggling, horse thieves and even truancy.

On the coast we stay in Boca de Camarioca, although the main tourist hot spot is Varadero. We were seeking out more authentic Cuban towns on this trip, figuring that we live in Mexico and beach vacation towns line the coasts. Our host family at this casa particular is incredibly attentive and kind. Reinaldo and Tere are very helpful and welcoming during our stay in their home. After walking the streets of Boca and checking out the small local beach, we end up deciding to grab a local bus to the main beaches of Varadero anyway. While we do have beautiful beaches in Mexico, there’s a reason why tourists from Europe and Canada flock to Varadero. I’ve never seen water such a stunning turquoise blue. We spend the afternoon alternating between shade, sun, sand and water, sipping beers and reading books before catching another bus back to our lodging.

Cuban local transport is as creative and repurposed as you’d expect from a country facing embargo for several decades. Our rides include a bus crafted from an old cattle truck. Other vehicles build benches and headrests in converted truck beds to accommodate passengers. On one leg of the journey back to Habana, we ride up front with the driver in the cab of what must have been a converted dump truck. All the drivers on our rides are very friendly, chatty about our experiences in their country and, interestingly, most prefer to sit the foreigners up front. All around, we arrive at our destinations safe and sound on each leg of our trip.

In Matanzas, we tour the museum of the history of slavery in Cuba. Built in the late 1600s, the fort was the receiving site for many slave ships arriving from Western Africa. More than one million African slaves were brought to Cuba, their impact shown in the history, culture and economy of the country to this day. The most impactful part of the visit for me is the photos of the fort across the Atlantic, the last doorway the captured people saw before being forced onto the ships and taken into slavery in the Americas.

La Habana

Upon returning to Habana, we meet up with Grace, arriving from Mexico. Now the three of us, Nimsi, Grace and I, get to explore Habana and Viñales in the second week our the trip. In La Habana, we stay at Casa Mayda, a casa particular, recommended by Nimsi’s friend. Mayda runs a guesthouse for tourists in downtown Habana, a few blocks from neighborhood plaza and the famous malecón.

While in La Habana, there are some classic tourist hotspots to visit. One of the Plaza of the Revolution, with the José Martí memorial and the two massive facades with portraits of Che Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos, and their matching taglines, “Hasta la Victoria Siempre,” and “Vas bien, Fidel.” Most tourists stroll down Calle Obisbo, especially now since the street is located near the port where the colossal cruise ships are docking daily and overflowing passengers into Habana Vieja. We cross the bay to the Morro Castle, built in 1589; this castle of one of the “three kings” with matching fortresses in Santiago de Cuba and San Juan, Puerto Rico.

In Cuba, expect music, all day and all night. Cuba is known for its salsa and you can’t go far without hearing someone blasting salsa and reggaeton. In La Habana, one must swing past the famous Bodeguita del Medio, sip a rum and coke and enjoy live music. La Habana must have thousands of musical groups; we see a bars, restaurants, any hole in the wall offering musica en vivo, any day of the week. Expect to see lots of boomboxes among the groups on the malecón. Just walking in the streets, we hear music pouring out of most windows and late one night we observe a group of teenagers pushing a dolly with an enormous speaker blasting the latest hip hop and reggaeton.

Late into the evening and over breakfasts at Casa Mayda, our host shares with us her experiences living in Cuba. She is better off than most Cubans because of her ability to rent to foreigners, a privilege that also requires her to pay the government part of her profit from each visitor. She describes to us the ups and downs of life in Cuba: Christmas is basically muted as Fidel cracked down on the Catholic church and frowned on the extravagance of decorations and gifts. Women are given a one year maternity leave and have no medical costs as all health care is covered for Cubans.

Mayda describes her trip off the island when she spent a month in Colombia. She was shocked by the extensive variety in stores and in super markets. Cuba has basics, one government brand of sugar, oil, rice, beans, etc while she was in awe at the assortment of products and how expensive everything appeared as compared to her currency. Cuba has delicious fruit provided by the tropical climate, however she had never tasted grapes, apples, strawberries or blackberries before. While she was thoroughly impressed with Colombia, she wanted to come home. However frustrating her government can be at times, she loves Cuba. She doesn’t want capitalism to come to the island. For her, capitalism will bring poverty, violence, guns and drugs to the sheltered environment. In her words, she’s not a communist, but rather a socialist.

Viñales

The three of us spend two days in beautiful Viñales, about two and a half hours drive from the bustling capital city. Viñales is a small town, known for outdoor activities and farming, and as all around the island, the charm of Cuban culture. Orquidea, the most bubbly, welcoming and kind host ever, meets us at the main plaza and brings us to her home. We stay in a separate building than the family, in the cutest sea foam green cabin with white trim and a view of the valley. She serves mango juice and coffee and helps us arrange outings during our stay.

Our first afternoon we tour the valley on horseback with our guide, Chino, and his trusty horses, Mujeriego, Niño and Papi Chulo. We ride down into the valley, flanked by the lush green mountainsides and tall palm trees. All around fields of tobacco grow and with the occasional sheds where the tobacco leaves dry. We stop at Orquidea’s dad’s cabin and he shares cigars with us, dipped in honey and lit up. I have no idea how to smoke but give it an entertaining try anyway. Her father explains how the tobacco industry works on all of these small farms. Each farmer is required to provide the government with 90% of their crop, while the remaining 10% can be sold to tourists for personal profit. As we leave the cabin, the sprinkles turn into a steady rain, but we continue forward, stopping to visit the 250 meter deep cave hidden in the side of the limestone cliffs. Our last stop is “El corazón del valle,” or Heart of the Valle, a solitary outpost with rum and coffee and a hitching post to park the horses. Later, we walk the two kilometers into the town for a delicious dinner of ropa vieja, a Cuban classic of stewed beef and vegetables served over rice; Cuba libre, rum and coke; and, flan.

On day two, we eat a heavenly breakfast with eggs, ham, fruits, bread and jam, mango juice, coffee and guayaba membrillo. We tour the town and surrounding areas in an old classic car and our guide for the morning, Yoel. The vintage car moves slow, but just right to enjoy the views of the countryside. We visit a cave that included a walk and a boat ride through to the other side. Another cave once held a community of maroons, escaped slaves. We drive past the mural of prehistoric history painted onto the mountainside in bright colors, behold the immense overlooks above the valley and stop for lunch on the way back to our casa particular. In the afternoon, we rest, seriously rest, after many days of on-the-go travel with coffee on the porch, naps, reading for hours.

We enjoy one last slow morning at Orquidea’s house before our bus back to Habana. We’ll remember these days for the quiet, slow pace and the warm reception from our host.

Good Bye Cuba

This trip was two busy weeks, traveling as much of the island as possible. We enjoy city, towns, beaches and countryside. On the trip to the airport, we see the last of the revolutionary billboards, proclaiming the leadership of Fidel, trumpeting the values of the Cuban society and criticizing the United States embargo. Cuba is currently at a crossroads with the normalizing of relations with the United States. Change is coming for Cuba. Some of these changes will be positive and will increase opportunity and quality of life for Cubans while others may harm the unique culture and way of life on the island. I appreciate the privilege of visiting the country now and I hope for the best in with the new transitions for the people into the future.

Thank you, Cuba!