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Published: September 16th 2007
What they say is true. The food in Cuba is terrible. We managed to find a Chinese restaurant amongst the garbage strewn streets of Havana. The broken neon lights blinked halfheartedly and a man in a white shirt and dress pants sweated as he waved a menu at us. As we trudged up the dimly lit stairs I wondered if we would live to regret this.
An elderly Chinese men showed us to our table and leant an air of authenticity to the place. Fidel and Raul had eaten here and beamed from black and white photos, their chopsticks poised over bowls of rice.
We ordered from a menu that featured horse and I later learned that what I ordered was listed in the dictionary simply as being ´meat from beast´.
Outside, people hung from narrow balconies amidst lifeless washing hoping to catch an ounce of breeze in the humid air.
It rains every day after lunch and filthy water lays steaming in the streets. Piles of garbage contribute to the rancid sweaty smell and car exhaust and pollution seems to trap you between the warm ground and the heavy sky.
(Checkout second page of photos....)
Young boys play marbles or soccer in the streets while the older guys huddlle around domino tables. Wide hipped women nurse whining babies while young girls play with imitation Barbie dolls.
Kids hurl themselves along on makeshift skateboards, fashioned out of a broken crate and some wheels. Others enjoy a game of volleyball over a torn bit of rag strung between two buildings.
Around every corner the sounds of a clapped out old chevy in need of a new exhaust compete with the more melodic sounds of the percussionists. Bongo drums, guitars, maracas and trumpets distract from the drudgery and add colour and vibrancy to the city.
Young men walk the streets with their shirts off, parading their hard muscled bodies while older men, softened with age, roll up their shirts to reveal a lumpy midriff or sport see through mesh tops more suitable to a London nightclub.
The adoration of Che and Castro and the revolutionary movement are expressed through murals, billboards and propaganda heavy radio and television programs. Newspapers translated into English carry a distinct anti empire flavour that seeks to educate visitors on the virtues of the Cuban regime.
The crumbling
buildings. whilst still ornate seem to tease of a better life in years gone by. The double economy of tourist dollars and local pesos, leaves you struggling to buy food or drinks at a fair price or anywhere other than the tourist orientated restaurants (unless of course you manage to get your hands on some local currency and sneak in to Copelia's. The communist ice creamery where, trying to blend in amongst the locals, you can get two heaped bowls of chocolate ice cream for the equivalent of 25c!)
There seems to be a confrontational, aggressive and intimidating air about people and a vegetable seller very nearly assaulted us with his mangoes to persuade us to buy them. From a young age the boys walk with a swagger and they exude confidence and self assuredness.
Waitstaff are generally surly and behave like insolent teenagers. Requests are often met with a definitive 'no', with no explanation and a look that translates to you being the stupidest person on earth.
However, sometimes the most hostile of stares could be broken with an insistent smile. It may then be met with with an exuberance to sell you something you don´t
Local lunch
$5 local pesos or equivalent of $50 for tourists!want, but occasionally it revealed someone who was genuinely interested in sharing a little bit their Cuban spirit.
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