Revisiting Cuba

Visiting Cuba was a holiday of unexpected fun. Following the restoration of diplomatic ties between Cuba and the USA in 2016, a few friends and I decided to visit before an anticipated rush of curious American tourists descended, We imagined the nature of the place might change quite rapidly although I’ve since learned that, apart from a few more tour buses and longer queues at the most popular venues, the place has essentially remained the same.

As our plane rolled to a halt on the runway, many of the passengers aboard broke into sustained applause which made me wonder how poor the landing record was in Havana to engender such palpable relief. As it was, we timed our holiday for one of the worst heat waves on record, and so began our 13-day ‘meltdown’ tour of the country.

On arrival, the sight of attractive young customs officials wearing uniforms of short skirts and textured stockings pleased the two men in our group. They considered attempting a minor misdemeanour in the hope of a gentle frisking but good sense prevailed when their wives suggested the bored and burly guards in the background might be itching to conduct a full cavity search. Customs clearance was long and disorganised, and the search queues extended around the corner because of the alarm on the scanning machine screeching as every single passenger passed through.

We eventually hit the streets of Havana, and it was like stepping onto the movie set of Grease. Magnificent, perfectly maintained, classic Cadilacs were abundant. Ownership required mechanical genius and the ability to create parts out of nothing; spares being unobtainable here. We saw broken down vehicles being repaired on the streets wherever we traveled, but this fazed nobody.

Havana was a wonderful city; magnificent Spanish Colonial architecture being prevalent. It was easy to imagine the extraordinary glamour of the 50s, even though there’d been little to no maintenance during the years of ‘isolation’. Now though, in preparation for the expected onslaught of tourists, extensive restoration was underway on the facades of many grand buildings. A quick glance through the darkened doorways however, revealed overcrowded conditions and filthy interiors, most without adequate ablution facilities.

The locals we met were optimistic that the forthcoming economic and political changes would alleviate their widespread poverty. We hoped for their sakes the wealth would trickle down as anticipated, but wanted to warn them not to expect too much. There certainly seemed opportunities aplenty for anyone with a high risk-threshold and it’s likely brave investors will make a lot of money.

We spent four days exploring in and around Havana. The ‘old section’ was a majestic and secure area where tourism was encouraged but when we crossed a main boulevard to the ‘central section’, or went further afield to the ‘new section’, the desperation and poverty was more obvious. Crime didn’t seem problematic though and we felt safe in most places.

We instantly adjusted to smoking cigars indoors and it took only a few moments for our first night blowout to begin. We never made it to our rooms to change for dinner and, after several rums, mojitos and cigars in the splendid hotel lobby bar of the Iberostar Parque Central, we ventured out for our first dinner at 11pm.

Thankfully we had arranged a reasonable collection time for the following day but my start was messy. I forgot to change my watch from Peru time, and, because I’m usually painfully punctual, when I failed to appear on time, the alarm was raised, my room and the entire hotel searched, while I enjoyed a solitary breakfast tucked in a secluded corner downstairs. Thereafter, our unimpressed tour guide confirmed all timetabling with me twice and by the end of the week I was ready to clip him.

Finding appropriate accommodation in Cuba was tricky. Forewarned, we opted for 5-star all the way but note Cuban 5-star equates to a New Zealand 3 or 4-star equivalent. Midway through our tour we’d elected to stay a couple of night in a casa (bed and breakfast equivalent) and hilarity ensued when our tall men were required to sleep in children’s beds with their feet dangling over the ends. The variation in casa quality and location was huge and without considerable good humour, the result could be hellish. We also noted there was a serious opportunity for a pillow importer – we endured the hard lumps wherever we slept that hadn’t been replaced since the 50s.

Pronunciation was quirky too. Our tour guide told us his name was Daniel, but pronounced with a Y. We assumed that meant Dannyal. But no, it was Yaniel. For the rest of the holiday we became Yohn and Yarmel, Yarl and Yelinda, and Yebra.

Guided tours or tour buses were really the only viable options for getting around the country. Other modes of transport were limited and really basic, and public transport was abysmal. Car hire was possible but unreliable and no prospect of help from an AA or roadside assist program. Cars were a luxury so traffic was light and this added to the lazy pace of the place.

We experienced the joys of ‘government owned’ car rental service on our departure from Havana. A vehicle only marginally larger than a Rav4 arrived to collect us. Luckily it had roof racks. Into this we five were wedged with our guide and the driver. Our five massive suitcases, several smaller bags and significant camera equipment was stuffed into every spare centimetre. The luggage, poorly fastened and piled high overhead, baked in the sun all day as we travelled four hours to Cienfuegos with a necessarily extended lunch break at the Bay of Pigs. Thankfully, our incredulous reaction and not so gentle prompting galvanised our tour guide into arranging a replacement bus. A slightly larger but no more comfortable vehicle appeared that repeatedly over-heated on deserted roads for the remainder of our tour.

From Cienfuegos, a small town with a beautiful square and lovely neoclassical buildings, we drove to Santa Clara to visit the Che Guevara Memorial and Mausoleum. This excellent museum provided an interesting insight into Cuban history. Throughout our trip we heard a lot about ‘the triumph of the revolution’ and the handsome and intriguing Che Guevara was the great hero of that triumph. Fidel was also a repetitively revered national hero and not a soul dared complain aloud about living conditions and poor wages.

The national highway was reasonably maintained but many anterior routes were in serious disrepair. The highway was used for all modes of transport: trucks, cars, scooters, horses, carts, cyclist and walkers. In some sections it could even be used as an emergency runway for military planes. Disturbingly, horses were loaded up and made to canter vast distances along the highways in the oppressive heat.

Next stop was Trinidad de Cuba, a lively little town with salsa music and dancing on the outdoor steps of Casa de la Musica. We enjoyed our best meal and entertainment here at a beautiful restaurant called Paladar Museo 1514 – a must visit while you’re here.

Every day, we were told to only eat in ‘private restaurants’ and to avoid ‘government restaurants’. We followed this advice all the way until our third to last night in Camaguey, an eclectic and arty town, where we discovered an appealing ‘government restaurant’ brandishing a substantial wine list. At last; a decent drop – we had tired of rum and Mojitos. The idea was good in theory. Every selection Yohn made, the delightful and friendly waiter applauded, “That’s a lovely wine. Good choice.”

“Excellent. May we have a bottle please?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Long pause, “We don’t have any.”

Yohn made about seven attempts by which time the rest of us just about under the table from laughing. We repeated the same rigmarole with the food order. Eventually we learned that from the four-page menu, we could choose between beef stroganoff and a ‘cheese platter’. We already knew enough not to be surprised by the quality and appearance, but what did catch us out was the fly that excavated its way back into the atmosphere from under “Yarl’s beef gravy. We couldn’t leave fast enough, which was how we landed up partying with a crowd of salsa dancing university students. We’d never seen more sexy or beautiful dancers. Let me just say, Yohn is not known for his enthusiastic dancing but he never sat all night, except to join Yarl for another shot of rum. They were unhappy chappies the next day, while we neglected and now punitive girls jabbered loudly in the van on our way west for more of the same in Santiago de Cuba.

Suffice it to say, we loved our tour of Cuba. Using a reputable travel company to plan your agenda and then keep an eye on your progress is the most sensible approach as is can be chaotic and tricky to navigate. However, there was music wherever we wandered, in the streets, the restaurants, the rooftop bars and jazz clubs. The towns were full of colour, street art, working girls and boys, and a shapely female population with an unfortunate proclivity for short-waisted tops and tight leggings. In a country of fabulous jazz bars and sexy salsa, where rum was cheaper than water and there seemed no such thing as a tot measure, what was not to love?