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Published: November 3rd 2011
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After the comfort and luxury, we knew Cuba would be tough, but I was pretty glad we didn’t stagnate any longer in Playa. We landed safe enough, around 4pm, but I had my doubts we would. The jet was pre-revolutionary spec and clearly hadn’t been upgraded since. If the passenger seats did recline, they did so at random times, straight on to the lap of the person behind them. Embarrassing for everyone involved, really. In fact, by about 11pm that night, Ian was thankful he was only staying a week and I was starting to wonder if I would have to check myself in one of the hotels at Veradero – a mega resort, an hour north east of Havana that has become a symbol of the degenerate westerners Fidel refers to.
First thing we did was buy some Cuban Convertibles (CUCs). We weren’t 100% sure about the ATM system in Cuba so we bought loads of Euros and Pounds in Mexico to convert over here. It turns out you don’t actually need to: most non-american credit and debit cards seem to work at all ATMs and Candeca branches in every place we went to. It’s about 1.5 CUCs to
the Pound with the 8%-10% commission on top – you can enjoy our country, but you’re going to pay for the privilege. To make things even more confusing, Cuba has a dual economy: Cuban Convertibles for tourists ($ CUCs) and Moneda Nacional for locals ($ CUPs) where 1 CUC = 24 CUPs. Both can be referred to as Pesos so you can imagine how easy it would be to swindle a couple backpackers wearing silly hats…
It’s always painful getting that much cash out, and we immediately forced to spend some. There’s no public transport from airport; the state controlled taxi services have a monopoly but fortunately it only cost us CUC$25 (plus tip) for a cab to our casa particulares – the guesthouse, budget option for tourists in Cuba, at about $20-25 a room per night. Given the large number of worried, confused-looking tourists at arrivals, I reckon there’s a more optimum price point Fidel could have picked for his taxi service. Maybe he’ll get the hang of it sooner than you think.
On the way in to we drove past the Plaza de Revolución, which is home to Cuba’s tallest monument, the 17m high Memorial de
Jose Marti, who incited the Cuban-Spanish independence wars. It shows Cuba’s late-19th century literary genius and liberator in the ‘thinker pose’ – apparently an official pose. The plaza itself was designed by the Frenchman Jean Claude (obviously) Forestier in the 1920’s. It was supposed to next Place de Etoile, the new centre of Habana, with roads fanning out to Habana’s various suburbs. But it didn’t really work out like that. It is now home to Soviet-style government office blocks, one of which has a huge picture of Che’s famous pose made out of steel railings.
After meeting our lovely hosts, a couple of 50-year old women called Cary and Carmen, we headed out for a walk around Centro Habana. Before we even made it there, a bit too keen to ingratiate ourselves with local Cubans, we were quickly swindled out of $5 by Ronaldo, a trainee doctor. Ronaldo, like many doctors, nurses and other highly qualified specialists working for the state, was moonlighting as a waiter to earn some much needed CUCs. (Doctors get the equivalent wage of around $ 25 CUCs a month so a 10% tip on a bill could earn him a couple of day’s salary).
He insisted we should go upstairs ‘just to see the club’, which was clearly a popular haunt for the locals. He then insisted that we have one drink assuring us it was ‘Cuban prices’ which surely meant the menu was in Cuban Pesos. After a Mojito for me, a Cuba Libre for Ian and one for Ronaldo, the bill came to $20…CUCs. Shit. We did try and clarify the currency beforehand, but if we’d have pushed anymore, we definitely would have offended our new host. Long story short, I’d already removed $5 from my wallet and told him that’s all we had. In a take it or leave it kind of way, we walked out anyway with a feeling it could have been worse. Lesson learnt: never let anyone ‘show you’ anything in Cuba. It’s a shame, but every random person on the street who has talked to us since has had an agenda.
With an hours light left, we walked around Parque Central and got an awesome view the Capitolio at dusk, which is bigger and better than its older American cousin. Built in 1926 by US-backed dictator, President Machado, after the 1920’s sugar boom, it used to house congress, but since the revolution it has been home to Cuba’s National Academy for Sciences. Facebook *like* this.
It was dark and we were still walking around the poorer area of Centro Havana. Like most streets in Cuba, they were badly lit and full of people on doorsteps without proper doors. We’ve heard how safe Cuba is, but we were a bit lost and the stares, the whistles and random shouting were just a little intimidating. With the help of some guy who wanted us to ‘see his club’ we found the touristy, older part of Havana. We found the first busy bar and for the first time today tried to relax. It was a bit awkward at first. No one said anything but both of us where thinking, what the hell are we doing in Cuba? Before anything was said, we had a Cuban beer, Cristal, in hand and we were treated to some improv-Salsa between a local lad and an incredibly sexy 40 year old Spanish tourist. Sparky once told me, “Spanish women are like a good bottle of rioja…” I forget the rest, but basically, things were all good again.
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