Havana really good time

I finally did it. After weeks of planning, years of dreaming, and 14 hours of travelling, I made it to Cuba. I always attempt not to imagine what a place will be like before going there, as you’re only running the risk of drawing comparisons between your imaginary creation and the physical reality. So I was neither shocked, disappointed nor proven right. Instead I got to grips with the dismal reality for the majority of Cubans; just by walking the streets and seeing the tiny little rooms which a whole family share, and from which they run the family business (half of these being souvenir shops), and watch the world go by, waiting for Socialism to really deliver Jose Martí’s dream of Cuban independence.

The uniqueness of Cuba lies in the cultural mix: the cohabitation of dark dark-skinned and light light features, drawing respectively from its slave origins and the more recent arrival of immigrants from Spain and Europe. I didn’t quite get the chance to get to grips with the differentiation in treatment of these differing populations, but I saw some evidence of racial prejudice and an American photographer I made acquaintances with made comments to suggest that it ran deeper than could be gleaned from a superficial observation (or Half-Baked observation, you might say). The fact that I was in Varadero for the first three days, where you don’t get to see any of the real Cuba from within the confines of your all-inclusive, minimum four-star hotel, means that my learning on the situation in Cuba was slightly stunted. The political situation in Cuba obviously shapes the nation more than mojitos and cigars, and there is evidence everywhere, from murals, to the currency (the national money is used only by residents, tourists use the convertible peso, and can be many more ‘luxury’ products than the locals...luxury products like powdered milk and nice underwear). When we asked someone where the ‘comandante jefe’ (Castro) lives, we were treated to a decent amount of speculation- that he has 27 houses, including one in the richest neighbourhood of the city. But no one actually knows where the bearded Commy lives. I would imagine that he has more than a 1-bedroom pied-a-terre.

One important thing which I wish I’d known before going was just how much money you feel obliged to give out as tips. From the guy who serves you your coffee in the morning, to the chambermaid, to the kindly stranger who gives you directions. There is very little crime in Cuba, as we were constantly reminded and then told how dangerous it was in Mexico (yeah, thanks, we live there), but tips are daylight robbery. No, but seriously, they wouldn’t ask if they didn’t truly madly need it. The advantage of the system is that everyone has a salary (thus you may find a tiny state-run shop with 6 employees, and two doormen on one door) and a decent education (for example the best doctor’s education in the world), but once you spread all the resources over a population of several million, the pesos don’t weigh so much in each individual pocket.

I was there for 8 days, with Mabel (from the family, sister-like figure, you know her) and Cata, a 50-something friend of the family who at first sight appears an affectionate pensioner with a late-blooming taste for travelling, but she’s as open-minded as the youngsters of today and as filthy as a dishcloth. So I had no complaints about the company. Nor, funnily enough, about the fact that our flight was delayed almost a whole day. That could have something to do with the fact that the airline put us up in a 5 star hotel whilst we waited, and gave us three delicious buffet meals.

I’m still trying to get to grips with what sort of effect Cuba had on me, and I think this suggests I need another trip. Almost definitely so, as the cigars I bought won’t last longer than a couple of months.