24 hours in cuba

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The dustyfoot traveller is back, literally. After just one day in Habana I’m immediately regretting not bringing a scrubbing brush, blister plasters and a lot more chocolate, especially as I severely doubt the postal service! Other than that, I’m loving it.

Arriving alone at the airport last night, I waited nervously for my luggage, which I was happily surprised to be reunited with. In the taxi to my casa particular (room rented in a house) we passed posters proclaiming the joys of Castro’s regime, many unlit cyclists and crowds of people waiting at bus stops. At Casa Federico the couple I am staying with are lovely - Federico and Yamelis (who is 7 months embarazada). The flat is just off the Malecón - the 8km road along the seawall, where waves crash against the rocks and the local kids cool off in the dirty water. Also right next to the flat is Prado (or Paseo de Prado), a wide boulevard where I started my walk this morning after a RICO breakfast of scrambled eggs, massive plate of fruit, guyaba juice (though the bread has to be the worst in the world, just desintergrates). Last night Yamelis gave me a long talking to about “como son las cosas en la calle” (the way things are on the street). She prepared me well. Especially in the most touristy areas I did sure enough get hassled by Cuban men, women (but not children - far too busy playing)… they all want to know where you come from…? how long have you been in Habana?… do you have a casa particular….? Can they be your guide…? Etc etc … all wanting to offer some service for commission. Mostly harmless but I can see how it could get fucking annoying and unfortunately could lead you not to trust any Cuban. I liked playing the game for a bit, make up a story, see which one got rid of them quickest… I’ve been here a few weeks, I’m Honduran, no espeeking ingleesh… (doesn’t get rid of them but fun to see them believe it). I walked down Prado and around a few parques, past the Capitolito and cigar factory, through a more residential bit with no hustling and back onto the Malecón. After a couple of hours of that my cool Paul Frank flip-flops had left some lovely dirty blisters on my heat swollen feet.

All the postcard pictures of Habana Vieja with its crumbling buildings and old 1950’s bangers hadn’t prepared me for how antiquated the whole place would look in reality…. Most of the buildings look like they would collapse (if they haven’t already) if you breathed to hard walking past them, let alone if a hurricane came. It’s like a time warp, yet with many inconspicuous modern additions (Nestle I was gutted to find… everywhere, though no Maccy D’s thank god), some new Audis or Fiats mixed in with the old Chevrolets. The double economy and its effects are glaringly obvious- first in the importance of tourism which everyone wants a piece of (hence so many jinetero/as (hustlers). The tourist uses the convertible dollar (CUC) for pretty much everything, while the Cuban pays for basic foods, local transport and street foods in pesos or moneda nacional. 1 CUC = 25 pesos. I’m paying $CUC25 for the room in the casa particular, breakfast is 4 more and not sure about dinner but I’m guessing 8-10. That means in 1 day here I could spend over $CUC35 just in the casa… (I can’t even afford that but for many tourists here its nothing) and the average monthly wage for Cubans is the equivalent of about $CUC15. So despite the socialist ideal of all being equal and money being shared around, the reality is somewhat estranged… like many of their communist ideas… great in theory, shit in practice. Although the poverty in Honduras is more striking, more acute and the economic gap huge, somehow here the gap seems even bigger. Maybe its because the price of tourism here is much higher than there, maybe because Cubans are restricted not only economically but also legally from certain places and privileges… maybe I’ve got a while to work it out.

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