My Trip to Cuba

Oh, Cuba. Where do I start? I flew into Havana last week and went back in time. The sound of old cars roaring down the street, worlds away from our silent Priuses, the smells of unfamiliar cleaning products and colognes, the lack of fiber optics when let’s face it- we're all internet junkies. The fact that a house phone rings, that the family you stay with will fuss over your whereabouts, every move and everything you eat- these are the first things. I kept imagining Marilyn Monroe and Nat King Cole driving around the streets in old Cadillacs going to nightspots in linen, sipping mojitos.

It is truly remarkable how these people have maintained cars from the 40s, 50s and 60s! This says so much about human resourcefulness. And maybe speaks to the idea that we don’t really need brand new cars at all.

HAVANA VIEJA

Sagging buildings with wobbling staircases, even on the way to the frequented and well-known restaurants you read about before you left. Music thumping in all directions. Badass cars everywhere. The old world charm and sprawl of the large, expensive hotels Al Capone used to misbehave in. But this is a run down place with aggressive beggars and hustlers. Don’t try to figure out the currency. If you knew what they pay for products, goods, and services compared to the CUC you will use you’ll just end up frustrated. Leave it alone and sip your rum punch.

A friend I made on my trip told me not to open my mouth when buying us coffee in a hidden, dilapidated building and later again when he was paying for our yummy Cuban pizza. Maybe I look Cuban enough to ride along with them and pay their prices, but he warned me that as soon as I opened my mouth we wouldn’t be able to pay in their currency, the CUP (which is probably 1/10th of what we pay) and would have to break out my remaining CUCs. I was running low because I couldn’t find an ATM that would work for the love of Desi Arnaz.

You will want to ride in an old, open convertible from the 50s or 60s (see Lavender 1953 Chevy.) You will notice the drivers know all the little quirks and tricks to their old cars. When you move to get out, the driver will insist on opening the door for you since it needs to be opened in a certain way. You might reach to roll down the window and find the driver's hand there in a flash, coaxing the window up or down in a specific spot that he knows well, that won't work otherwise.

I entered the city on my first day hoping to get on the big red hop-on-hop-off affair in Parque Centro, but they were few and far between. When a long line had formed, people began asking what was up. One of the tour guys explained that since it was Monday, the drivers were easing slowly back into the work week after Sunday and still resting at home.

Because the buses would not be operating normally, a man running an old cars tour company approached us, offering discounts. The gorgeous, immaculately maintained 1953 Chevy pulled up with a driver wearing the classic cream Cuban fedora hat with the black ribbon around it.

I turned to a group of three English girls standing next to me and introduced myself. I asked them if they wanted to take the car, as it would cost the same as the bus if we split four ways. They hesitated. I told the guy we wanted an English speaker so he could describe the history and point out the sites to us.

“Ok, no problem, I get you English driver,” he said and produced a burly man with a large black cowboy hat. I spoke to him in English and he couldn’t respond. We looked back at the man who had promised us an English speaker.

“Ok, ok, I get you real English speaker,” he said, laughing.

The driver in the fedora hat had been watching us waiting and his was no better. This is when I realized this would probably be the case across the board. But one of the English girls, a tall, lithe young woman with exceptionally large teeth insisted on having an English speaker. She went to the car to figure out if she wanted to take a tour with him.

“We want English,” she said. “English.”

“Ok, ok, English,” the driver replied.

“Can you tell me where we are now?” She quizzed him. “What is that building? Can you tell me about it?” She was giving him a TEFL exam. I wanted to say listen, mama, this is Cuba, not the queen’s London.

In the end, a sweet Danish couple on the scene interrupted and asked if we would be taking the car or not. I ended up riding in the car with them instead of the uptight English crew and translated what I could for the couple, who rode in the back. The hour-long tour was nothing like a Paris or Rome tour where you get eloquent and complete historical accounts, but it was really fun. The driver pointed at buildings, told me what they were and I asked questions to clarify, which I felt he answered half truthfully at times. He probably didn’t know the history of every building but he wanted us to have a good time. Here is a good place to relax, go with a flow and have patience. If you're looking for everything to go off without a hitch, don’t go to Cuba.

Cuba has a specific, intense madness. Egypt, Saudi, and Nicaragua have their own versions that might compare. This intensity might wear on you after a couple days. People are very warm and friendly in my experience, and sure, a dance party might break out in a laundry mat. Yes, there are excellent, sweaty parties that go all night, live music on public corners and historic old jaunts a la Hemingway and Elizabeth Taylor. But it’s better to gear expectations around the reality that this is a country that has been under sanctions and communist rule for decades than to hold onto nostalgic, glittering images in your mind of what it might have been like here once upon a time like I did.

LA COMIDA

How do I put this? You can taste the sanctions. I ordered the Cordon Bleu in a restaurant on the sea in Cojimar, and I’m pretty but not entirely sure it was chunks of chicken, deep fried into one big piece with spam looking stuff and cheese that was less cheese in flavor and more smoked tire. I did have two nice meals in Varadero, pescado entero, the size and kind you can only get in the Caribbean. And some great local pizza, but these were the exceptions. Bring Immodium.

LA GENTE

Loud, harsh, kind, generous, open, closed, brash, warm. These people come in all shapes and colors and that's how I like it. Platinum blondes with fair skin and green eyes stand in line at the bank for 63 consecutive hours alongside the black pearl skinned and everything in between. No one blinks an eye, it’s normal that all shades and shapes and persuasions should be together. Maybe Americans should visit Cuba for this reason alone.

I try not to homogenize groups of people; it's not really fair to say all Cubans are warm or friendly or rude, it’s like anything else in life, there will always be exceptions.

One early morning en route to Old Havana from our place in Cojimar, I went to the bus stop near the Panamericana hotel, where you catch the bus to the city. Yes, I could have taken a taxi but when I’m wandering I need to experience the local stuff, I need to go to the hood, I need to take public transportation and I need to do it alone.

I held some silver change from my CUC, the currency foreigners are supposed to use. As I said, don’t try to figure it out, just use it. Get plenty before you land if possible, because your cards won’t work, at least mine didn’t and I have cards from accounts in three countries. If you bring cash and want to exchange it in Cuba as things are now, you’ll wait a very long time either at the airport or in the banks in town. You want neither.

A man in a security uniform stood waiting for the bus next to me. I approached him and asked if the CUC change was enough for the bus. The man shook his head no and gave me a completely different looking gold coin with a star on it. This was their currency, and what they use to get on the bus he was telling me. I offered him my change in exchange and he wouldn’t hear of it.

When the bus came, the nice (and good looking) man in uniform helped me onto the ridiculously crowded bus. It was the morning rush. He found a seat for me and another woman and stood over us, watching and protecting me I thought? He called to the bus driver and told him to stop in Havana Centro. It could have been my imagination but I felt others were paying attention, and also focused on getting me to my stop.

The protective man had some standing on the bus, and called to the front and a bag appeared in the air over the heads of the other riders, and made its way to him through a network of hands. He took his phone out, looked at it and when he was done returned it to the bag, called out once more and the hands carried his bag to a resting place on the front of the bus, where it hung untouched. The handsome man in the security uniform stood over me, giving me deep looks from time to time. It was early and I didn’t know if he was flirting or just an intense person who always looked that way. He certainly commanded respect on the bus and I was glad I had asked the right person for help.

The bus pulled to frequent stops, and as it did more and more people piled, squeezed and squished into the long blue bus. Older women, young boys, everyone of all ages, shapes and colors smashed themselves in. It was so full the doors wouldn’t close and people hung out of the semi-closed doors as the bus flew down the highway. I was worried for them but they seemed unbothered.

After a fifteen minute drive, we neared the center and my guide gave me another of his deep looks and nodded, indicating that we were close. As the bus approached my stop near the capitol building and Parque Centro, the man grabbed my arm and guided me through the sardined throngs. Those who had forced themselves into the front doors of the bus hopped off and made way for me. I thanked the protective, handsome man and he nodded once more and smiled. I moved to step off the bus and as I did I felt hands close around my arms, guiding me gently. They wanted to keep me steady, and they actually lifted me off the bus and I found myself suspended in air for a couple seconds! The hands gingerly placed me on the ground. I was not expecting that.

People shoved themselves back into the bus once more, and the bus pulled away. As it did, faces on the bus smiled and hands waved bye. I tear up when I think about this. This warmth, this love, this kindness- this is Cuba.

At the end of my first day in Havana, I headed to the bus stop to get home. I stopped when I heard panicked shouting. An older woman who appeared to be middle class and well groomed, stood in front of the capital government building raging. She screamed an angry sermon, and from what I could understand she was complaining about the lack of freedoms afforded to the people by the Cuban government. She insisted that she was a public figure with standing in her community, but that she was being put out of her house and had no control over the situation because of her limited rights. She was shouting that she was a virgin at her age because the government didn't allow her to have a phone? If I was a 50-year-old virgin I'd be screaming in the streets too. Not sure I got that part right. What was clear was the tense air she created around her, the solemn crowd she attracted and the agitation she stirred in the government men who stood close by in uniform, hissing at her to shut up, with ready hands on batons. This is also Cuba?

OH, CASTRO

This was my first time in a communist country, which means many things, one of them being that most everything is owned by the government. I was told that the government has recently begun to allow people to own businesses more and more and that this should usher in a new class of more prosperous Cubans. Government wages are low, and most people work for the government. Food and healthcare are free or very inexpensive, but people wait in line for bread and handouts.

I think communism is a government’s attempt at creating dignity. After all, shouldn’t everyone eat and be allowed a place to live, regardless of skill or the ability to climb up the annals of human achievement? Communist leaders look out at an unfair world where the poor starve in filth. They turn to Marx and others for their solution. Communism seems humanitarian on paper but then why have so many starved, suffered and died under it?

And it’s my sense that where the government tries to create dignity (by taking ownership and control of everything in sight), this comes at the expense of the people. There’s a grim something in the air. The human spirit should be allowed to work and strive and dream and grow- but then again I’m American. But doesn’t communism go against our human nature? Communism usually means stagnation, when the reality of our life and universe is about expansion. I don’t see how grown men can feel good about themselves standing in line waiting for bread. I don’t see how innovation and breakthroughs in technology, health, education and industry and the building of infrastructure can come about in this kind of environment. Cuba has many great things, but I don’t think the government is one of them. And don't discuss this subject with anyone while you’re in Cuba. You will see Papa Castro and Uncle Che’s images everywhere, and my sense is that the people hold them in posthumous reverence.

VARADERO

Varadero is a 23-kilometer peninsula of some of the most beautiful beaches anywhere. I count this beach in my top three so far. My favorite ocean water is in the Red Sea in Sharm el Sheik, the Maldives is a close second. I also love me some Tulum, Negril and Manuel Antonio, and Varadero is also top contender. Here the sand is white, the water is three colors of clear turquoise blue and laps the shore gently. This is classic Caribbean calm water unlike the crashing waves of Tamarindo.

LET'S GET THERE BEFORE THE AMERICAN RUIN IT

I took a poll and casually asked the non- U.S. foreigners I came across if they were there because they wanted to see Cuba before the Americans ruined it. All quickly said yes on all counts. Well, I’m American and let me tell you something- when you get to Havana you will want to see a Starbucks for the love of Che. You will want the internet, a working ATM and non-sanction flavored food, that's a promise. You will get tired of being blasted with raunchy smells, wish the water and food didn't cause thunderous happenings in your bowels and you will pray your waiter brings the check sometime before you make your transition into the afterlife. If these are experiences the Americans will "ruin," then I hope they start their infiltration soon.

What Cuba has that the U.S. doesn’t: warm Caribbean waters, generous people in the streets who will stop their day to take you to coffee and make sure you find what you're looking for. People who will lift you off of the bus with their love, complete strangers who will take you home to their families to spoil you and who will not hear of any money. They might even walk you all the way home, which might be nowhere near where they live. Cuba has a pure, proud but guileless spirit. Maybe I'll go back again one day after the Americans have ruined it a little.