(I have a couple of hours on my hands and though I'm still digesting my experiences in Cuba, I need to write something before I forget too much. Sorry if I drag this out, but this is more for me than anyone else.)
It's a shame Cuba has such a stigma because it's really a precious place. The three-plus weeks I spent there were perhaps the most educational three weeks since I left home some 10 months ago. To the weary traveler, Cuba inspires a second (or in my case, a third) wind to liven up and get the most out of every day. Granted I only spent three weeks there, therefore I'm no expert and everything below is simply based on my observations, superficial as they may be, but three weeks was enough time to get a feel for a country that for me has been an elusive destination the past few years, not to mention completely illegal for US citizens (Actually, it's technically not illegal for a US citizen to be in Cuba, just illegal for a US citizen to spend money there, or to support the Cuban economy in any way, hence the embargo; hence my indifference).
In these three weeks I managed to experience more of Cuba than most may care to know about. From Havana, Viñales, Trinidad, Morón, Cayo Coco, Guantánamo, Baracoa to Santiago, I was able to walk almost forgotten streets and talk with often overlooked characters. I attempted several times to keep up in salsa, but always resolved to just watching a most rhythmic people make magic with musical instruments (magic without illusions). I drove through oceans of sugar cane and might say I drank the metaphorical equivalent in rum. Unfortunately, I have no stomach for its world-famous tobacco, which I quickly learned my second night laying in bed in a nauseated cold sweat. My stay was just enough to give me a taste of what life is like not only in Cuba, but in Castro's Cuba (*).
Cuba is a picturesque country. It is picturesque because it is a beautiful island in the Caribbean, with beautiful beaches, landscapes and people. It is picturesque because of the constant echo of music, or the sound of people joking with each other, or the slap-bang-cheer (or groan) of a dominoes game. It is picturesque because it has not kept up with the rest of the world in money motivated modernization and tacky technology. Stepping off the plane in Havana is, in many ways, like stepping back in time, but the people are anxiously aware of this, thus creating a strong demand for fashion, technology and entertainment from outside that fuels a rapidly growing black market.
Only internationally recognized historical and cultural centers are maintained while the rest of urban Cuba slowly dilapidates from more than forty years of neglect. Cliché images of colorful ´50´s American cars parked on cobbled streets in front of even more colorful colonial buildings become commonplace, seen on nearly every street corner(**). For the newcomer other images become cliché, like the endless pro-socialism propaganda seen in Cuba where in other countries on would see more discreet pro-capitalism propaganda in the form of billboards or commercials; and incessant representation of the Argentine-born hero, Ernesto "Ché" Guevara, whose bust has become immortalized and is Cuba's revolutionary martyr (***). Then again the US flag and the Eagle of Imperialism can be spotted with almost as much frequency: such images that are much more subversive and rebellious, that weren't even tolerated less than five years ago.
Even though Cuba has been an independent country for more than 100 years, and its American history is one of the oldest in the Americas as Columbus landed on it's easternmost coast on his second voyage in the beginning of the 16th century. However, despite Cuba's long history, one can't help but referring to the past forty years when relating it to the rest of the world. After all it continues to be that little thorn in the USA´s side (... and then there is the apocalyptic prophecy recently revealed by some wizard who said something about an "axis of evil" ... I digress). I've grown up in and have reaped the benefits of a different system and have a distinct ideology, but I don't hesitate to say I respect the moral and intellectual values of socialism on a theoretical basis (see "Imagine" by John Lennon), but in a realistic setting my feelings differ significantly.
Being an undeveloped or underdeveloped country, Cuba is still the least worst I've seen in Latin America. People are, at least, well educated. People have, at least, access to decent health services and everyone has a home of some kind, at least. However but the education is biased and is self serving (for the state), many of the homes people live in are no more than huts and their health services may be recognized worldwide, but all too often are short of supplies (I wonder who's to blame for that?).
Ironically, everyone, with whom I spoke, dwells on what they don't have, which is a lot compared to richer countries, instead of what they do have, which is also a lot when compared to poorer ones. No one would hesitate for a chance to emigrate to a country where they can work for themselves, but no one is ungrateful for their free education and healthcare. I can't remember how many times people refer to their lives as a "jail", a "prison", or feel "trapped", especially after being reminded of recent executions of political dissidents. I'm told that there is a lottery, called "el bono," held every year where 20,000 randomly selected Cubans are given visas to the USA; some just use it as a chance to visit long lost relatives, most stay for good. Perhaps just another case of coveting the grass of the neighbor's pasture, which, in this case, is certainly "greener."
In every city and town I stayed in what are called "casas particulares" (particular homes) that are privately owned and pay steep taxes in order to receive exclusively foreign guests. Although more expensive than other countries, this system is excellent for the "backpacker" because one stays in someone's home, which has meet a minimum standard of quality and demands that the tourist mingle with the people. These guest houses are usually the nicer homes because the people are able to save some money of their own to fix a home and actually buy furniture, appliances and silverware. For this the owners of these guest houses are always on guard as they are under constant pressure of the officials.
Trying to keep things in perspective so I might enjoy myself in on this tropical island, I befriend a few locals, mostly men. I had many opportunities to get to know some beautiful women, but a vast majority of them "work" for their friendships, and since I wasn't about to open that can of worms, I kept them at a cordial distance. After all, so called "jineteras," or prostitutes, are not criticized by the people because everyone understands that one has to do what one must to make some spare change to survive, or, ideally, escape.
After a few enjoyable introductory days in Havana I made my way west to the small town of Viñales set amongst amazing rock formations in a lush tropical landscape, and is where I made friends with a 22 year old local fellow, Mario, who was the first Cuban my age that I'd met that wasn't trying to gain anything from me (as this tends to be a big problem for the tourist in Cuba, being constantly hassled and touted by locals. In Havana, for example, everyone wants to be the tourist's friend or guide for the day in exchange for something). In my four days there I was able to learn what semi-rural life is like in Cuba, lending me his rickety one speed bike for a day, introducing me to his friends, riding through town on a trailer pulled by a tractor and helping his family and friends dismantle the original palm leaf roof of his house and replace it with a more modern fiberglass one. Despite being almost unbearably hot and humid, the latter experience was truly a treat because there were no pretenses when, after a few hours of work, we all sat down to sip some home made rum. Maybe they thought I was crazy and felt sorry for me, but for a moment I was sure I was Cuban.
But that moment was short lived as I soon departed for Trinidad where, en route, I met three English blokes who would later become very trusting friends allowing me to drive them from one end of the island to the other in a rented car over the course of a week. I like to believe that Charlie, Bhavin and Tim benefited from my ability to speak the language just as much as I benefited from their company: not only to save money on rooms and car rental (an impossibility alone), but in keeping me sane, as traveling alone can be psychologically trying at times.
Having a car gave us the freedom to explore the roads less traveled, or at least the roads not as easily traveled. One thing Cuba has not spent much time or money on recently is the road network because they're almost all in impossible driving condition. It crossed my mind more than once that some of the pot holes were so big that perhaps they were dug out intentionally as our little Daihatsu disappeared into one, or blew out a tire for the second time, or bent the rim. On more than one occasion we all had to get out and unload the car so it wouldn't "high-center" and get stuck while climbing out of such monsters. But what an experience! and I'm a better driver because of it, having learned that oxen don't yield no matter how slow they're walking or no matter what they're pulling, horses will yield if honked at or if being ridden and there is no point in arguing with a Cuban police officer that you weren't speeding because, even though he doesn't have a radar gun, his eye knows the difference between 35 and 45 kilometers per hour.
In our car we were able to access trails and rivers around the quaint fishing village of Baracoa on the eastern coast and climb up to the top of one of Cuba's most famous geological formations: el Yunque, the mountain that served as a land mark for Columbus and other explorers. Also in Baracoa, I developed some skin reaction resembling an allergy to either the sun, the river water, seafood or Sachi (a girl I met there), as my face, waistline and feet were unbearably itchy for several days.
After a little over a week together the English chaps went on their own way after Santiago, to the resort of Varadero, the Cuban equivalent of Cancun, while I stayed a couple extra days in Santiago hanging out with Luis, another Cuban fellow who I felt I could trust, like Mario, and enjoyed the Festival del Carribeño (Festival of the Caribbean): a good time, but nothing like Carnaval in Rio.
I met Luis while hopping off the back of the bed of a truck, one of Cuba's typical forms of public transportation, almost exclusively for locals as tourists are herded to overpriced yet comfortable buses. Anyway, I was trying to find the back entrance to El Morro, an old Spanish naval fort south of Santiago, and he said he'd help me if I'd help him meet some girls on the beach (as if I could!). Well there were no ladies to our fancy, or visa versa, so, after visiting the Fort, we made our way back into town where he would later be fined by the police for not being registered to hang out with me. A shock to me, but no surprise to Luis as he compared his life to a prison in amongst corrupt power hungry militants supported by a blind dictator, but also reasoned that in order to crack down on hassling of tourists, the police try and make locals register for every foreign friend they may have. In fact, Luis was given a ticket for hanging out with me (which I gave him money to pay for).
Note: Cuba is a very safe country, perhaps the safest in all of the Americas, save Canada I suppose. And with the omnipresence of the gray shirted overstaffed, underpaid, thus easily corrupted, police it is no wonder there is little delinquency. Since tourism is Cuba's number one industry, the tourist is king, which is nice when one wants to wander the streets at almost any hour of the day, but frustrating when trying to mingle with the locals.
Wow! I just realized I've written all but a book, but I can't conclude without commenting on the music, which I'll quickly say exceeded all my expectations previously established by members of the internationally acclaimed Buena Vista Social Club. Cubans are a musical people and one doesn't have to search long before finding quality musicians just playing for fun in the street, in a bar, one of the many casas "de trova", in a plaza or in some of the least expected places. Bystanders will drop what they're doing, almost compulsively, no matter what it may be, and either sing or dance along. This was the case for every town. And having musical tendencies of my own, I couldn't help but participate whenever possible. Undoubtedly the people, with their rhythm and musicality, were my favorite part of Cuba.
In three weeks I learned that Cuba is more than just salsa, rum, tobacco and sex, though all are products they exploit very well. I might say I learned a lot about myself and how I see the world around me, but I don't want to get too carried away. And despite my spending money there being strongly prohibited by my country, it was worth the risk because a few weeks in Cuba was a most valuable experience.
(*) And it is Castro's Cuba. You may not see him all the time, but his presence is felt. In the official rhetoric, in political imagery, in the lifestyle of a single class system, Castro has worked hard to create something very unlikely and gradually becoming impossible.
(**) Actually, about half the cars are newer imported cars from Europe, Russia and Asia, a few newer American models get in at the cost of a small fortune. Then again, I arrived with a small fortune, spending in three weeks eighty times what the average Cuban makes a month (I took $800, you do the math).
(***) He actually died several years after the Cuban revolution while trying to do something similar in Bolivia. It is understood that he was killed by US request, but some say he may have been sent to his death intentionally by Castro (+)
(+) It would be unfair to mention Ché and not mention the 19th century poet and intellectual José Martí whose image, poetry and Marxist rhetoric is seen twice as much as that of Ché´s, in plazas, schools, billboards and television. Martí is not only considered the intellectual author of the Cuban revolution, but has inspired and continues to inspire many leftist movements throughout Latin America, or as he called it "Our America," because the term "latin" excludes the African populations that are also part of the Americas, especially the Caribbean.
