Cuba October 2010
So I'm writing the beginning of this blog 4 days into our
trip to Cuba, due to a lack of forethought at Gatwick. For some reason, I didn't buy a journal and thought I would be able to buy one here...the first of many
incorrect assumptions...!
We took off from Gatwick at 11.45am on the 10th
October 2010 to begin an 11 day whirlwind tour of Cuba. We had planned to have
2 nights in Havana, followed by 3 nights in Pinar Del Rio, a province of North
Western Cuba famed for its coffee and tobacco plantations as well as its
national parks. We were then transferring to Jibacoa to spend 4 days in a beach
resort, albeit a quiet, non-touristy one, and then a final night in Havana
before heading home.
Stevie hadn't been to Cuba before; in fact he has never set
foot in South America OR the Caribbean, something I was surprised about for
someone so well traveled I have been to Cuba before, but with an ex-boyfriend
whose idea of an adventurous foreign holiday was to drink foreign beer in a
different bar, so I was looking forward to what promised to be a very different
trip.
Day 1 (10/10/10)
After a 9.5
hour flight, we touched down in Havana, to slightly overcast but still warm
afternoon. Having negotiated customs and survived a minor heart attack due to a
tardy suitcase, we got a taxi to the Hotel Florida (don’t be put off by the
name!) which was our chosen hat-laying place for the next 2 nights. The staff
on reception were pleasant and helpful, and we decamped to our room through a
beautiful central courtyard. Now I'm no princess, if you have read my
Kilimanjaro blog, you will know that I am not shy of “non 5*” situations, but I
do object to being greeted by the sight of other people’s pubic hair in my
hotel bathroom. A lot of it. But....this is Cuba and cleanliness is not next to
godliness...Che Guevara is, but more on that later.
Having
showered the journey off, we headed out into the streets of Havana, taking in a
Mohito or two in bars along the way. Using our Lonely Planet guide (The Bible),
we figured out that the Restaurant El Patio on one of the sides of Cathedral
Square was a good bet. We lucked out with a seat on the balcony, overlooking
the square, with a beautiful view of the Cathedral, its spires, and a band,
oddly situated on a catwalk. The food was mediocre, but the toilet attendant
gave me flowers (the waiter explained to Stevie that he had fallen in love with
me. He was 80 if a day. But he did look like a bit of a goer, mind, maybe I
should have given him Grandma’s number!) The band were passable, until an odd
version of Careless Whisper with at least double the correct amount of notes in
it. There was a strange and imaginative catwalk “performance” every 3-4 tracks.
But all of this simply added to the charm and we walked home exhausted.
Day 2 (11/10/10)
We woke
early (jet lag?) and had breakfast. A challenge in itself, Tuna Pizza and a
juice that tastes like gone off milk, anyone? We walked several miles along the
coastal line as we had discovered that it was a public holiday in Cuba and so
nothing was open. However (Becky Cole, take note) we happened upon a hop-on/hop
off tour bus and spent an hour on a tour of Havana. Havana (Habana to the
locals) is split into 3 districts- Vieja (old), Centro (Central), and Vedado
(the tourist bit). We seemed to be shown most of the plush hotels and not a lot
else. But we did get a brief tour of the foreboding ‘Revolution Square’, where
there were huge murals using metal on the walls- about 40M each, of Che Guevara
and other revolutionary heroes. It was stark and very Soviet in style, and
quite something to view. We got off the bus at the Hotel Nacionale, well known
for being where, in the 50/60’s, there was the biggest ever Mafia gathering,
under the guise of them all being in the same place for a Frank Sinatra
concert. Maybe Uncle Chuck was there, huh Dad? (Uncle Chuck was Sinatra’s PR
man, and in all the pictures I have seen, makes Don Carleone look like Dale
Winton.) We had a Mohito (obviously!) and some lunch and then began the walk
back to our dirty, but charming hotel. This is when the fun began. Looking as
we do, just off the boat, we were immediately accosted by a couple, Alberto and
Mary, who, after a few introductions, offered to take us to the best Mohito in
town. We agreed, and followed them into the darkest, dingiest bar I have ever
been to. I had read that it was quite normal for Cuban people to take you to a
bar, introduce you to some real Cuban life (half of Mary’s family were in
there!), chat for a while and the tourists pick up the bill...in fact the LP
guide recommends it, as it’s a good way to REALLY find out about the country.
So we did. After 3 mohito’s, Mary and I ended up swapping addresses...and
bracelets (hers a wooden 1 peso bracelet, mine an £80 Chlobo solid silver
one....) and Stevie bought 8 cigars from Alberto, who works in a cigar factory
and had had the good grace to pocket some. Then came the odd bit... a sob story
about not being able to buy milk, etc, so, being the kind souls we are...off we
went and spent 27CUCs on milk and a razor for Alberto’s head. So we got stung.
But the odd thing was that we didn't really mind. These people have nothing,
and were great company and we learnt more about Cuba in that 2 hours than we
ever would from a guidebook.
We wobbled
back to Habana Vieja, and stopped at the Ingleterre hotel, a notorious hang out
for Gays, as Cuba has; in recent years become more tolerant towards
Homosexuals- until recently they were sent to workhouses. Here we met Stirling,
a Gay guy travelling with his ‘Dad’- “an old guy I look after, but we aren't lovers”. We sat with him for an hour or so and discussed how he had had to go
via Mexico to get here and it was against the law for him to be here as the US doesn't allow travel to Cuba. He was here to try to find a Cuban friends
family...a very touching story. The band in the hotel garden was playing Cuban
music and life was good...a little TOO good, we went back to the hotel for a
nap before we went out to a cabaret and woke up disorientated and annoyed at
Midnight, having turned off the alarm. So we slept, well needed, until morning
Day 3 (12/10/10)
Havana is a
curious city. I think that Stevie fell in love with it, but I'm ashamed to say,
that despite my excitement, I struggled. It’s a paradoxical place, magical in
its obvious time warp, with dilapidated, colourful buildings with peeling paint
and dangerous scaffolding all too obvious...but then the seedy underworld
shines through. With barefoot children scampering through from one tenement
door to another, mangy, flea-ridden dogs on every street, cockroaches and and
dead rats become so common that you automatically learn where to step to avoid
them. But if you can look past all that (and I did after a while), then you
meet wonderful friendly people against a backdrop of beautiful old American
cars, who WANT you to love the city that they are so proud of. The big
gas-spewing American cars make you feel like you are an extra in Grease, the
buzz of the city and the music make it feel like the centre of the world. But, like
many 3rd world countries, there is an underlying sense of humility
and guilt. Guilt that we have more than them and humility that they cope so
well.
And so, we
had breakfast and walked through the city once again, this time stopping off at
Belle Artes, an art museum in Habana Vieja- a stunning building which was made
to feel ever so stark because of the palatial interior. With only a few rooms
of artwork, it was an interesting trip, but again, slammed home the feeling
that the Cubans, despite being ever resourceful, seem to be....well....getting
a bum deal for want of a better phrase.
Our taxi
arrived at midday and we began a 2.5 hour boneshaker of a journey to Pinar Del
Rio. Arriving in Pinar Del Rio could easily be described as a cliché, rolling
hills, mountainous countryside, yaks pulling the plough through the fields and
the locals sitting on rocking chairs outside pre-fab houses.
Our hotel looked ideal, with a view over the hillside, looking out over
the Cuban tobacco fields.
We unpacked
and optimistically put our swimmers on- it was VERY cloudy. We had a sandwich
at the bar- no gastronomical treat, its Tuna, Cheese or Ham, and relaxed for
the afternoon, dodging the rain and spending some pesos at the bar. Using our
trusty Lonely Planet, we decide to go to the Don Thomas restaurant that night.
Well, when I say decided, it’s the only restaurant in the village, so it didn't take long. However, as we were booking
the following days horse trek with Matthew, The “PR” (in his own words!) of the
hotel, he shuffled over to us in a sly manner and explained that he could send us to his
friends house for dinner...we would be picked up at 8pm from the garage in town
and taken there. In Cuba, all restaurants are state-owned, and then there are
Casa Particulars, run from home, which are allowed by the government but they
have to pay extortionate taxes and are not allowed to serve beef, shrimp or
lobster- the government has a monopoly on those. However, Matthews place was a
secret Casa and the government supposedly has no idea it exists. We met a
lovely Cuban dude in a GAP t-shirt at the gas station at the allotted time and
he led us to and through his house to an area at the back next to some building
work, under an awning. The table was laid out and it was a sweet moment- his
mother then gave us the best meal that we had had in Cuba- Tuna steak, veg and
salad and a black bean sauce. Brilliant. It was a perfect example of the Cuban
people finding ways around the dictatorial government to make ends meet. There,
we met an Brazilian called Avery, who was travelling on his own....in return
for his wife getting 2 new bathrooms!! He was a real character, making us promise
to call his son who works in Nationwide in Bournemouth, to meet up with him.
Something I know that I have to do soon....! We left the casa, happy, full and
with a new best friend!
Day 4 (13/10/10)
We awoke
early, as usual at 6am, and I swam some lengths whilst Stevie went for a
run...watching the sun rise every other length, changing colour before my eyes
was beautiful. Breakfast was mercifully good (the first one so far), omelette,
toast and fruit. Then came the bit that I had been looking forward to since I
booked the flights- a day’s horse riding through the Cuban valleys and
farmland. We were met by our very own Spanish speaking John Wayne, and
introduced to our horses- Mine was called Chickadee (Katie Littler take note!)
and Stevie's was Auchero. Also joining us was a Dutch couple and a Flemish
couple.. It was basically 3 girls who had dragged their partners along, all
three of whom were standing next to the horses, petrified. The women mounted
the horses with excitement whilst the men communicated in broken English and
sign language the fact that they REALLY didn't want to be there...But, after 5
minutes, everyone was plodding along and the fear was forgotten as we all
looked in awe at the scenery around us. The Mogotes (mountainous rock formations)
were one side and the valleys the other, and we rode for nearly 2 hours, taking
in the banana tree field, the sugar cane plantations and the stunning, lush
Cuban countryside. We passed a school, many small houses and farms and really
felt like we were fortunate enough to be experiencing Cuban life as it is,
rather than what the tourist guides and government want you to see. We stopped
after a while and dismounted (to the relief of the boys, as our horses had
begun, spontaneously to trot every so often) at a farmers house that was truly
in the middle of nowhere. Here, we were given bananas picked straight off the
tree, sliced oranges and coffee made from the beans that the farmer had grown
and roasted earlier in the year. Farmers in Cuba tend to be multi-taskers as
the natural resources and skills are not that plentiful, so this particular
dude grew coffee, tobacco, bananas and oranges. I tried coffee for the very
first time...and was pleasantly surprised...and was reassured by the coffee
drinkers amongst us that it really was very good. We were then given a
fascinating demonstration by our guide as to how tobacco leaves were grown,
harvested and made into cigars. We each were given a freshly rolled cigar,
which we smoked a bit of and saved the rest for a later that never came. We
remounted our horses and rode back to the hotel- mine always insisting on being
at the front and away from everyone else, which pleased me greatly! Saddle sore
and flushed (read- sweating), we arrived back at Hotel La Ermitas and headed to
the bar for a...cheese sandwich. The weather was going rapidly downhill, so we
polished off a basic late lunch and then sat on our balcony, relaxing and
reading...and me writing this blog. We decided to return to last night’s Casa,
certain that it was the best food available in the area, and had the lobster
that Avery recommended so highly the night before. We walked a mile to the Casa
where we were greeted like returning heroes, and gorged ourselves on lobster,
avocado, beans and rice, enjoying every minute of this unusual and personalised
experience.
Day 5 (14/10/10)
Having been
warned that there was a hurricane approaching last night, (Hurricane Paula-
WTF???? Surely there are better name options- imagine being killed by Hurricane
Paula- what’s wrong with Hurricane Tyson or Satan??!!) We were aware that today
might be a bit of a washout, but as I sit here now, finally up to date with my
blog, I'm not sure we realised how challenging it might get. Last night we
watched as the staff took down all the plants, signs, all of the outside
furniture, secured the roof with rope and the windows with boards. They weren't taking any chances. Despite the wind and rain, we ventured down the hill after
breakfast in the howling wind and rain, determined to at least have a brief
walk around the town. We ended up sheltering in an odd little bar, once it all
got too much...except it wasn't the best choice of shelter; it had no side
walls and a semi-open roof. But, this is not like an English town, other than
that bar; the other options were people’s houses. After an hour of being lashed
by wind and rain, we gave up, ordered a taxi home to the hotel and holed up in
the restaurant- which is where I am writing this blog from. The windows are
boarded up and the doors wired shut, and every few minutes a tree/plant/person
goes flying past the window. It’s too dangerous to try to make it back to the
hotel room, so I guess I will have another glass of wine...which is hard to
find- I give you the conversation between myself and the waiter as proof-
Me- Hi
there, can I get a Mohito?
Waiter- No
Me- Oh, ok
then- how about a white wine?
Waiter- No.
We do Coca Cola, Water or beer
Me- Oh
really- why?
Waiter- Red?
Me- you mean
wine?
Waiter- Yes
Me (thoroughly
confused) - Oh, lovely, thanks.
...and duly
a foul glass of red wine appeared at my table.
The storm
seemed to pass quite quickly with some extremely strong winds, a few crashes
and squeals from the guests as the tiles from the roof flew off, one by one,
narrowly missing the people attempting to run from one part of the hotel to
another. Having eaten truly the worst meal I have ever had in the restaurant
(yes Bex, even worse than that restaurant in Budapest!!) which consisted of a
starter of tinned mushrooms in vinegar, and seafood spaghetti, which was Heinz
tinned spaghetti, I swear- Stevie made the executive decision that, no matter
what the weather was doing, we would find a casa to eat in that night. And off
to reception he marched to find our friendly dodgy-dealer to sort something out
for us. He returned 10 minutes later, bedraggled, soaked to the skin,
accompanied by my howling with laughter, but with a triumphant look on his
face. Our contact had got us two seats in a nearby casa, only 100 yards from
the hotel...just one hitch...the storm meant that they had no electricity.
Fine, I said, let’s go. We walked down the road until we met our host for the
evening- a “big, bald white man who look English”, and across a carpet of pine
needles, branches, cones and other debris, we clambered up hills, through a
small clearing in the trees and then down some treacherous wooden steps into a
simple, pretty shelter at the back of a small house. As with the previous Casa,
there was no menu, instead a selection of dishes are presented to you. It seems
that the Casa’s all go by the same rules for tourists and we were given
Lobster, banana chips, avocado, black beans etc. And all of this prepared,
cooked and delivered in a constantly extinguishing candle light. The meal and
wine cost about 30cucs (around £20) and was 100 times better than any
restaurant that we could have gone to- with the added bonus that we were
contributing to the normal peoples economy rather than a state run restaurant.
We paid the bill and then were guided expertly back through the carnage of the
storm to the hotel, where we had a brief chat with the Dutch couple who were
supposed to have left that day for Cayo Leviso, but couldn't because of the
weather. An early night, and we managed to sleep through the winds that snapped
the trees out the back of our hotel clean in half.
Day 6 (15/10/10)
I awoke to
the calm AFTER the storm and went for a run down to and through the town. The
effects of the last 24 hours were clear to see as I jumped over fallen branches
and broken trees every few yards. Running in this part of Cuba in the morning
is fascinating...most animals are left free to roam, so I was followed at
various points by dogs, chickens, turkeys, ducks, cats, and horses and dodged
bulls and water buffalo. I felt like the fricking Pied Piper in Lycra. I was
constantly surprised by the Cuban people, who seemed to emerge from bushes at
the side of the road, all heading off to their days work. The innate
friendliness of the Cuban people is very noticeable in this farming community,
so despite the confusion of seeing this small blonde girl in lycra with an
I-pod strapped to her arm, being followed by a tail of chickens, I was greeted
by a cheery Hola by almost everyone I passed. After breakfast, we bode farewell
to our “fixer” Matthew and watching the town come alive again, plant pots being
returned to position, signs being re-hung and roads being cleared of debris, we
drove out of Pinar Del Rio to begin the 4 hour journey to Jibacoa, where we had
chosen the “only swanky option” in the area- The Breezes hotel, for a little
luxury towards the end of our trip. The journey itself was fascinating, and
listening to my IPod, I watched as small villages, industrial towns, farming
communities and even the suburbs of Havana sped past my window. Driving, or
rather, being driven, in Cuba is a terrifying experience. There are no
seatbelts in the Taxis, and the roads have as many horse and carts on them as
they do cars, meaning that sudden breaking and immediate lane-switching is
alarmingly common. We arrived at our hotel, and after a brief, heart stopping
moment when the Taxi driver returned Stevie’s wallet which he had left on the
backseat, we checked in and were led to our room. The initial feeling of relief
that we had a clean, well looked after room with French doors straight out to
the beach strangely gave way to a disappointment. I had desperately wanted
something off the beaten track, not a large, beachside all inclusive...which is
exactly where we had ended up. This may sound ungrateful, and I had no-one to
blame but myself, after all, I had booked it! I allowed myself to sulk with my
spoilt brat face on (you know the one, Dad?!) throughout the all inclusive
buffet lunch- lucky Stevie- and then pulled myself up and decided to take it
for what it was, and headed to the beach.
We spent the
afternoon lazing about on a clean, white beach, paddling in crystal clear
waters and swimming out to the coral reef...it didn't take long to shift my
disappointment! I finished my Sebastian Faulks book, drank fresh pineapple
juice and allowed myself to relax...unusual for me, some might say...
The evening
was...interesting...there was a great dinner served in one of the 3
restaurants...smoked salmon, salad etc, all totally up my street. There was a
show on at 9pm in the main pool area, a stage and all sorts- surely that could
be fun? Well, girls, you would have loved it- Sammy, once they got onto Mambo
Number 5, and followed that with Rhythm is a Dancer, I was thinking of ways to
fly you over! It was essentially like watching Terry Wogan and Mitch Winehouse,
with the BBC weathergirls put on an all-singing, all-dancing extravaganza. As
they launched into We Will Rock You, we retreated, laughing at the absurd
spectacle we had just witnessed, to our ocean view patio for a glass of wine
and an early night.
The next three days passed leisurely
and to save us all the boredom of daily descriptions of my sunbathing
positions, I haven't written daily blogs. I began each day with a gym session
in the ancient, but certainly usable gymnasium on the beach. It was a great
way to start the day- cycling or running whilst looking out over the ocean. The
rest of the day was lazy, as expected, and simply required a little sunbathing
on a beautiful beach, some snorkelling (mainly Stevie, my early age viewing of
Jaws still means I am nervous of the sea), long lunches (finally some good
food!) and cocktails in the evening. I felt guilty to start with for doing
pretty much nothing, but it was what we both needed. However, and I am sorry to
any of my Canadian friends and family who are reading this, because I KNOW that
you cannot be compared to these people, but the relaxation of Jibacoa was
marred by the realisation after a few hours that 90% of the population was
Canadian. Which was fine. Fat Canadians. Also fine. Fat, loud, greedy and often
rude Canadians. Not fine. These people had actually bought flasks with them so
that they could make the most of the free booze without even having to get up
off their asses to refill. They ate 3 plates of food for every meal, piling the
desert plate particularly high. They NEVER did anything other than eat and
drink- we heard one story of an arranged 25 minute hike around the area which
began with 14 people and only 4 people made it- 25 minutes!!!!! Anyway, rant
over- but it did put into perspective a lot of my own personal self-doubt and
body issues- and made me grateful for the eating habits and manners that my
parents beat into me.
19/10/10 (Day 10)
Having had
our last breakfast, a full body massage on the beach and a final bit of
sunbathing, we left Jibacoa behind and transferred to Havana, where we had
decided to stay at the Hotel Nacionale (see day 2). Although slightly out of
budget, we loved the idea of staying somewhere so steeped in history- the mafia
meet-up, Castro and Churchill have both stayed there, and it truly is part of
Cuba’s complex history. Plus, it has a pool.
We checked
into the hotel, walking through the extremely grand entrance hall, past the
signed pictures of past political guests- all of whom seem to be shaking
Castro’s hand- and up to our (very) freshly painted room. Despite its history,
The Nacionale, like almost everything else in Cuba, has a feeling of tiredness
about it. Faded glory, I think Stevie described it as. The building is
neglected, inside and out, and despite putting on a good show in reception of
past splendor the bedroom was full of unattractive furniture, a dirty carpet
and nothing to make your stay seem, in any way, luxurious or personal. Still,
it had a pool. We swam and sunbathed for an hour before changing and walking
into town. Now, we had done this walk previously- the 3-4 miles from Habana
Vieja to Vedado, but this time, for the reverse journey, Stevie decided that he
wanted to walk through the town rather than along the Malecon (coastal road)- a
ridiculous idea that I agreed to, believing it COULD be exciting. The 4 days in
Jibacoa had obviously sent me soft again as I struggled to enjoy the beautiful
city, due to the dirt, the smell and the obvious dilapidation of everything
around me. Stevie, on this occasion, agreed wholeheartedly, and we jumped in a
cab for the remainder of the way, to The Floridita- a bar made famous by
Hemingway. Two Daiquiris later, we sat in the bar feeling like we had been
transported back to the 1950’s, and scrutinised the pictures of Hemmingway
drinking in the bar with the locals, back in the days when this shabby bar
would have been the epitome of sophistication. We then walked down to a
restaurant recommended to us by the English couple that we met in Pinar Del
Rio. Our final night in Cuba was nearing an end and over a mixed fish grill,
and a decent bottle of wine, we looked through our pictures- mostly of grand
old American cars, and wondered whether Havana would ever be restored to its
former glory- and, indeed, whether that would then take away from the charm of
the place.
A collection
of musicians, Guitarists, a maracas player and a bongo player wondered over and
sung/played a mixture of traditional Cuban songs and some more modern British
tracks with a Cuban feel- we bought their CD (obviously, why wouldn't we? We
now had 4 CD’s of various bands we had seen play throughout the trip). The hour
long private concert concluded with me writing down, at their request, the
words to “How deep is your love” and then singing them through it to ensure
they got the key changes in the right places. After being urged to get up and
sing (I guess they thought flattery might get them another CD purchase), which
I politely declined, despite being described as Jennifer Lopez in Cuba (is that
even a compliment?!), we exchanged email addresses and took our leave. We
jumped in a yellow tuc-tuc back to our hotel and feared for our lives as the
small, 3 wheeled vehicle rounded corners like it was competing in the Grand
Prix. Arriving at our hotel in our very own Trotter-mobile was very funny as
everyone else was pulling up in beautiful Classic cars in the elaborate
driveway.
20/10/10 (Day 11)
We woke
early after a dreadful night’s sleep and headed back out into Havana to spend
our last few hours (and Pesos) visiting some of Cuba’s cultural highlights. We
walked through the city, down the Prado and down to the Revolutionary Museum.
Again, another poorly maintained building, which, over 3 floors charted Cuba’s
bloody revolutionary history, with large collections of memorabilia- some more
impressive than others- including weapons and blood-stained shirts, presumably
taken off the backs of those who died fighting Batista’s government and
securing “freedom” for the Cuban people. The exhibition, based in the former
Presidential Palace, has two floors dedicated to covering the revolution
itself, with the standard lack of clarity I had come to expect from Cuba. I
knew very little about Cuban history, apart from the research and reading I had
done before we left for our holiday, but having walked around the museum, I
swear I left knowing less about what actually happened than I knew when I first
arrived! The ground floor and final part of the crumbling museum was supposed
to be a showcase for “what happened next”, but was actually just a huge
propaganda exercise, designed to tell tourists (and Cuban nationals visiting
the museum) how fantastic Socialism is and how Castro’s policies and laws had
freed, educated and enriched the lives of Cuban people. Yes, education is
better and widely more accessible. Yes, healthcare has dramatically improved
(There are 80,000 doctors in Cuba- more than the whole of Africa!)- but at what
cost? Havana itself is testament to the fact that a lack of private enterprise
can stifle a city- both creatively and financially. We left the museum, hot,
bothered and upset that even the cultural buildings are used as a tool for the
government to control and manipulate the people.
A brief
sojourn around the Cuban Art Museum, and we braved another tuc-tuc ride back to
the Nacionale, where a taxi was waiting to take us to Havana airport.
So my final
views on Cuba? An amazing country, with many different landscapes- and we only
saw a tiny bit of what Cuba has to offer. Havana needs some money- but more
importantly, love lavished upon it in order for it to become truly beautiful
again. Pinar Del Rio is very reliant, and rightly so, on its stunning scenery
and gentle, kind inhabitants. Jibacoa offers the blue seas and white beaches
that other parts of the Caribbean trade on, and has (for now) managed to avoid
being TOO touristy- but still providing facilities for a relaxing stay.
I don’t, and
am pretty sure that I may never, understand fully, the politics of this
country- but I do think that the music, the atmosphere and the sheer
resourcefulness of the Cuban people, make it an unusual and exciting
destination.
Muchos
Gracias et Buonos Nachos....
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