Tierra de Tortugas

CUBA: The Bay of Pigs & Cienfuegos

The beautiful lands of Viñales were the most westerly destination on our IntrepidTravel jaunt, so now we’re heading easterly again. We ride back on the big 4-lane Autopista through much of the same agricultural countryside, but we bypass Havana along the way to Matanzas and Cienfuegos Provinces. 

After an hour or so we’re parked at a nice little lunch stop – right near an eye-catching 1954 Chevrolet passenger van. Cars just don’t have those kinds of gorgeous and sensuous curves anymore. At least not to my hopelessly 1950s-calibrated eyeballs. After we leave this magical island it will probably take me a while to recover from the effects of the inevitable Future Shock that awaits my return from the Cuban time warp.  

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We turn off the freeway at Central Australia (yes, that’s really the name) and head south to the day’s first cultural stop, at an artistic coop and school named “Korimakao,” for a fine morning concert and an introductory talk from Yanet. The students here are remarkably talented and dedicated to their craft.

As we wander the grounds we find artworks almost everywhere. It’s good to see such a vibrant art scene — and maybe especially here, given the tiresome anti-Cuban propaganda we’ve heard for much of our lives that mentioned few of the good things that might be happening on the island. 

There’s a challenging silent theatrical performance filled with symbolism. And there’s a clever ‘hanging gallery’ filled with fine drawings in a great variety of styles to wander through and experience in a different way than we may be used to in a gallery setting.

Here’s an interview with Yander Roche, the Artistic Director of Korimakao. 

 

As we’re leaving Korimakao, a guy with an ancient, and loud, soviet-looking lawnmower catches my eye. It seems almost like a piece of performance art, and in such a verdant climate the grass is surely in need of frequent tending. 

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The entry road to la Bahia de Cochinos (the Bay of Pigs), in Matanzas Province, is lined with large white slab memorials to Cuban soldiers who lost their lives in the battle. And a billboard showing the continuity of rule between Fidel, his brother Raúl, and Miguel Diaz-Canel, the current President of Cuba. 

 

“Revolutions may or may not go backwards, but they surely give no rest to those who lead them.”

– David W Blight, Yale University
    Author of Frederick Douglass: Prophet of Freedom

 

 When we get to the actual Playa Girón section of the Bay where the invasion force landed in 1961, it’s an overhanging rock shelf instead of a broad sandy beach. And that probably made the whole botched, and CIA-backed, mess far more difficult than the invaders expected. Yanet also mentions that just inshore of this ancient reef there’s the big Zapata swamp to slog through before finding dry ground. And then the expected uprising of the Cuban people never materialized. The whole thing seems not unlike the poorly-planned Anglo-French invasion of Gallipoli during the First World War. 

After the CIA successfully overthrew Jacobo Arbenz, the duly elected President of Guatemala in 1954 – which was followed by 50 or so years of terrorist dictatorships – the CIA was apparently ready of another ’success’ to justify their huge black budget. And here I’m reminded of comments by Major General Smedley Butler, after he retired from the Marine Corps with two Medals of Honor. His 1935 book was entitled War Is A Racket.

“I spent 33 years and four months in active military service and during that period I spent most of my time as a high class muscle man for Big Business, for Wall Street and the bankers. In short, I was a racketeer; a gangster for capitalism. I helped make Haiti and Cuba a decent place for the National City Bank boys to collect revenues in. I helped in the raping of half a dozen Central American republics for the benefit of Wall Street. I helped purify Nicaragua for the International Banking House of Brown Brothers in 1902–1912. I brought light to the Dominican Republic for the American sugar interests in 1916. I helped make Honduras right for the American fruit companies in 1903.”

– Major General Smedley Butler, USMC, 1935

As I gazed over the site, I recalled a friend from Albuquerque, an older gentleman who was active in the 1960s anti-war movement. As I got to know him better he mentioned that, in his early idealistic years after World War II, he had been in the CIA. And he told me that he’d learned, “If you want something totally screwed up, send in the CIA.”

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Along the way to the city of Cienfuegos, the sun is starting to set, the cattle are heading back to the barn, and people are riding to town. We pass an industrial district as Fidel waves us onward to victory, while other signs acknowledge the workers who won the Revolution. Another sign honors the city of Cienfuegos, named after an early governor of Cuba.

 

As the sun sets over the pretty Bahia de Cienfuegos, and the local power plant, we enter the city that Cubans call “la Perla del Sur.” Local residents and young lovers are on the Malecón to enjoy the sunset. But we’re heading onward past a number of signs commemorating the 65th anniversary of the Revolution, on our way to the very nice Punta Gorda neighborhood.

 

We drive by the Casa Azul and stop in front of the bizarrely ornate Palacio de Valle. Clearly, the city of Cienfuegos was and is a special place on the island. This lavish confection by Acisclo del Valle Blanco, a wealthy man from Asturias and owner of several sugar plantations, contains Carrara marble, Italian alabaster, Venetian ceramics, and European hardwoods. No expense was spared to make this a fitting homage to the grand fantasies of the Alhambra in Granada, while his workers harvested valuable sugar cane under a piercing tropical sun to pay for it. But shortly after its completion in 1917, the sugar market collapsed, and del Valle died of a heart attack in 1919.

Just standing at a place like this, and bearing in mind that the US government maintained oversight of Cuba during this period due to the 1901 Platt Amendment, it can be easy to understand much of the revolutionary anger that powered the Revolution. And some of which may yet be simmering as many people still await their share of the benefits. Yet it’s also easy to imagine, after passing humble farms and folks in their jitneys, that a deep distrust of US intentions means plenty of folks might prefer to maintain their hard-won independence from chronic US meddling in Cuban affairs. Back in the days of US-imposed ‘stability,’ education and health care were far worse than today.

Two beautifully carved marble sphinxes welcome us into this pleasure palace that has seen dignitaries and lavish events over the years, and is now preserved as a work of the Cuban people. There’s a fantastical ‘One Thousand and One Arabian Nights’ quality to the whole thing as we climb the inner stairway to the stars. Or at least to the roof, with a gorgeous evening view overlooking the Bay. And sure, I could have hung out there in the quiet evening with a daiquiri in hand, while leaning on the rail to admire a nice three-wheeler below that reminded me of a wild ride in Meknes, Morocco, many years ago. 

 

Interestingly, as we look to the west of Punta Gorda and into the peach-tinged remains of a setting sun, just beyond the far side of Cienfuegos Bay lies the village of Juraguá on the shores of the Caribbean. It’s the former site of Cuba’s only proposed nuclear plant, a project that was started in 1983 under an agreement with the Soviet Union and came under criticism regarding the poor quality of construction, and possibly the outdated Soviet technology being used. It was suspended in 1992, and finally cancelled and abandoned in 2000.  

In 2005 the crazy architectural splendor of the Palacio de Valle was declared, along with the city of Cienfuegos, as a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is now a fine hotel that helps bring hard currency into the country.

(More pics and info at https://www.cienfuegos.com/palacio-de-valle/)

 

After a restful night in comfortable lodgings in town (not the Palacio de Valle), we enjoy a quiet breakfast on an upper veranda overlooking the neighborhood. And soon we’re sufficiently caffeinated (love that good rich Cuban coffee!) to explore the center of town. 

Our first stop is beside a ration store, and some of us wander in to watch the proceedings. There’s a bored-looking attendant at the counter just above a sign that happily reads, “La Alegria.” But she brightens up when a few Cubanas replace the curious Gringos, and she sees that they get their proper rations. I could have just taken the first picture and walked away, but that would have been unfair. I’m glad I waited for an actual customer to arrive, and I could catch her pretty smile instead.

 

It’s a pleasant Thursday morning and there are people in the streets – school kids, teenagers, grandmas – as we’d expect to find in any Latin American country – although not as many as we see in the center of Mexican cities. Some of the stores have little on the shelves, due to the country’s current economic situation. Delivery/taxi vehicles clog a side street. And we pass a fine-looking restaurant named La Verja, although we won’t have time to check out the offerings. But the pedestrian-way is clean and in good condition as we walk to the central plaza, the Parque José Martí.  

 

 The plaza is ringed by well-kept buildings that speak of a wealthy past, when the sugar barons ruled this area – and when most of the population lived in shacks. A couple of Transtur buses are parked in front of the ornate Teatro Tomás Terry (named for the “Cuban Croesus,” a wealthy local slave trader and sugar baron from the 1800s), and a quick scan of the scene suggests that many of those enjoying a morning in the plaza are likely tourists. Such as us. 

 

  There’s a playbill posted at the Teatro listing upcoming events that I’m sorry we’ll miss seeing. And there’s a coffee shop where I would normally enjoy spending some morning time reading through the local newspaper; or a copy of Granma, the official newspaper. If we were on one of our usual wanders we’d probably try to extend our stay to take in more local events like these, but a lack of such freedom is the price of signing on to the convenience of a tour.  

And so we enjoy a bench in the shade, and hear a few tunes (Guantanamera, again) from a couple of old guys on another bench nearby. They play a few other tunes when we request something else, and they’re glad to get the ten bucks I drop into the guitar case yawning open on the sidewalk. 

The musical tradition runs deep in Cienfuegos, and the music of Benny Moré y su Banda Gigante, one of the city’s most famous musicians, powered much of the Cuban dance craze of the 1940s. Among his best-known songs is one praising the city itself.

A city worker is focused on cleaning the plaza with an ancient broomstick, and I thank him with a five dollar bill. We’re here to spread some hard currency, not only to the tourist sector, and I appreciate the efforts of a fellow member of the working class.

 

As we leave the plaza we enter the colorful paintable streets of central Cienfuegos, and the daily life of the residents. There’s a lovingly, gorgeously, tricked-out classic car giving rides to tourists, but we won’t have time to enjoy it.

 

We’re heading back to the Punta Gorda area for a quick bathroom break – and Yanet, our Intrepid Cubano guide, knows where all those life-essentials are to be found. So we get a peek at some of the other lux hotels in the zone before leaving town. The tall Hotel Jagua is undergoing renovations under the Meliá Innside brand, a large Spanish company that runs several hotels on the island. (The company’s much-maligned decision in 2015 to honor the late Spanish dictator Francisco Franco does not seem to have harmed their Cuban prospects.) 

 

The small and classy Hotel Gran Caribe looks like an elegant alternative for a week-long escape to paradise, with a view from an inviting hot tub across the Bay to the distant Sierra del Escambray. And after a soak-with-a-view, a good nose-wet at the ultra-classy bar might set you back a few shekels, but probably fewer than a lot of other Caribbean bars. After visiting the main Plaza and the Punta Gorda district, the city of Cienfuegos seems a particularly attractive area of Cuba.   

 

So now it’s time to depart La Perla del Sur, and pass some of the more mundane local projects and street scenes on our way out of town. We’ll soon be heading into the verdant nearby mountains, and taking a scenic route on the way to our next overnight stop, at Trinidad. Please join us there when we publish that account. — PRW

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AFTERNOTES...

Notable people from Cienfuegos include:

A number of Major League ball players, such as:
Cristóbal Torriente (the Babe Ruth of Cuba & Hall of Famer), José Abreu (White Sox), Joe Azcue (Reds, Indians, Red Sox, etc), Yoán Moncada (White Sox), Yaciel Puig (Indians), Ángel Fleitas (Senators), and José Tartabull (Red Sox).

The prolific colorist abstract artist Gina Pellón, who lived much of her life in Paris.

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As far as Cuba’s economic prospects for the pre-Covid period of 2019/20, fDi Intelligence (“Your source for foreign direct investment information”) included the Cuban economy in three categories of its Top Ten Island Economies of the Future 2019/20. Cuba ranked #10 in Economic Potential; #3 in Connectivity, and #10 Overall. The Covid pandemic led to a drop of 11% in the economy by official statistics, and I didn’t find a more current update.

CUBA: Off to Viñales

Hemingway once said, “The sea is the same as it has been since before men ever went on it in boats.” And the sea is angry this morning.

We depart Havana on a blustery day for the far western Province of Viñales. A strong wind sends waves crashing over the city’s famous Malecón, and a few of the residents are enjoying the salty spray. That’s life along the Florida Strait, as Hemingway knew it well. 

We pass modern buildings and hotels, near others that would not look out of place in beachside Florida, and a gas station that looks like one of the cheaper off-brand fill-ups I remember from back in the 1950s – complete with cars of the era. Nice looking parkways appear outside our windows, along with a drab Supermercado that could use a new paint job.

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So far we’ve heard little about the dictator Fulgencio Batista, and the 1952 deal he cut with the American Mafia and Meyer Lansky in Daytona Beach Florida. But that’s not really what this Intrepid cultural tour is about. There’s no reason they should focus attention on that stuff when Americans can stream all the faux-Mafia movies they want back home. Interestingly, the words ‘Batista,’ ‘Mafia,’ and ‘Lansky’ don’t even appear in the Index of my 2015 Lonely Planet Cuba guidebook, although that period is discussed in the History section. How quickly the past recedes from memory, and we’ll all soon do the same. Even Hemingway is no longer the towering literary figure that he was in my youth. But the Cubans continue to flog his memory, and so shall we as long as we encounter his ghost here in Cuba.

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And at the bow of our fine ship, er bus, is Yanet, our hearty guide from IntrepidTravel who will lead us onward for the next eight days through the culture, and help us avoid the pitfalls, of Cuba. He will refer often to that map of the island hanging just over his shoulder as we navigate the terrain. And we’ve acquired a 5-gallon garafón of purified water, which is now lashed securely onto a back seat. It has a nifty battery-powered pump in the cap to keep us hydrated as we head to a part of western Havana for our first stop of the day, to something called “Fusterlandia.”

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“Cuba may be the only place in the world where you can be yourself, and more than yourself at the same time.”

– Ernest Hemingway

Hemingway may have been referring to the bold artistic spirit evidenced by José Fuster, who began his strange project, often called ‘Gaudí-esque,’ around 30 years ago, and long after Hemingway’s death in 1968. ‘Fusterlandia’ is a candy-like, and bizarre, explosion of color that we have wandered into. Fuster’s vision has involved most of the neighborhood by now and is reminiscent of Gaudí’s Park Güell, built in 1900-1914 in Barcelona. Or the tile-crusted Watts Towers (1921-54) by Simon Rodia in LA. Or the mind-stretching architecture of Friedensreich Hundertwasser on an otherwise quiet street in Vienna. Or maybe even that crazy thing, now long demolished, that your doper ex-brother in law built in his backyard in 1972, and is one of many reasons he’s now your ex-brother in law.

Whether it’s actually art, or a sprawling version of over-exuberance, Fusterlandia is an attention-getter. And it’s certainly another bold expression of Cuba’s great love of color. 

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After we pile back into the bus, Yanet shares a look into the normal daily reality that his family and others deal with. His ration book (La Libreta) is duly noted and signed to acknowledge his family’s receipt of their basic commodities. To my surprise and relief there seem to be very few topics that are off-limits during our stay on the island, and we’ll happen across a ration store in action in a few days. 

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We’re soon out of Havana and traveling westward on a divided and toll-free 4-lane Autopista through the largely agricultural Province of Artemisa, and past the occasional gas station.

The roadway is in moderately good condition, better than some I’ve seen in Mexico and other places, and not unlike sections of heavily-traveled US I-10 east of Tucson. The prolific and elegant royal palms, that we’ll see often on this trip, bring to mind the opening stanza of the famous long poem by José Martí that inspired the song “Guantanamera.”

”Yo soy un hombre sincero 
de donde crece la palma, 
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma”

  And in English:

“I am an honest man 
From where the palm tree grows
And before I die I want
To write my soulful verses”

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It’s going to be a busy day, and our next stop is Las Terrazas. Once the site of pre-revolutionary French coffee plantations, this 50 sq km tract of degraded and eroded land was terraced and reforested beginning in 1968. And today, as part of the Sierra del Rosario, Cuba’s first Unesco Biosphere Reserve, it is an inspiring eco-village that Cubans are rightly proud of showing to visitors. 

We enjoy a fine lunch and music in the lodge, with its dramatic setting looking over vast forested lands, and a northeasterly view toward Mariel harbor, where the famous 1980 boatlift, the Éxodo del Mariel, launched during a drastic economic downturn on the island. Over the course of 6 1/2 months, about 125,000 Cubans left for Florida from that port barely visible in the distance.

After a hike through the old cafetales, we’re given a lesson in milling and de-husking the coffee beans – the magical beans that power our daily lives, and that they brew so richly and well here on the island. The mill is well-designed so that the heavy stone wheel is surprisingly easy to move.

 

And then we’re off to a nice little cafeteria in the open air for a welcome boost, and a fine view across the grassy valley and the village that were created as part of that larger reforestation project. We’re joined at small cafe tables by a traveling group of Germans, and we make room for everyone, while the counterman keeps us well-supplied with dark liquid fuel. And a cookie or two.

There are studios for the residents where a man recycles scrap paper for casting fine art papers and other projects. Most of us find worthy purchases in the gallery and we each wish we had more space available in our suitcases. And more room on our walls at home. 

There’s a sparkling reservoir with lakeside walkways to enjoy those quiet moments in life. And there’s a boathouse, with boats, to enjoy after the work is over.

 

So as we leave the peaceful village and lands of Las Terrazas, questions arise in a curious mind. Is this just a showpiece, a Cuban-style ‘Potemkin village,’ created for propaganda purposes, as Field Marshall Grigory Potemkin supposedly did to impress Catherine the Great when she visited the newly annexed Crimea in 1787? 

I don’t know about that. It all looks more like an excellent example of cooperative effort. I’d really like to think so anyway, and the Cuban Revolution was certainly powered by idealists eager to throw off a half-century of US meddling that we never read much about in our approved history textbooks. Such as the 1901 Platt Amendment where the US Congress granted itself the right to interfere in Cuban affairs. And yes, Cuban politics went through a messy stage after their Independence following hundreds of years of Spanish rule, but many Cubans felt that the US rarely acted in the best interests of the average Cuban, instead of maintaining just another corrupt ‘banana republic’ for the benefit of wealthy investors in the Caribbean. 

I tend to be skeptical and don’t want to be naive, but throughout our trip there seems to be a sincere effort to expose us to the everyday realities of Cuban life. Both the good side and the not so good side. And getting deeper into the culture is why we signed on to an IntrepidTravel gig. While we can easily see that everything in Cuba is not peaches and, uh, cane sugar, wouldn’t you steer your guests to some of the nicer parts and better accomplishments of your own country?

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And so we roll further westward, past more crops on fertile lands, heavy old Russian trucks, rice paddies, and unfinished overpasses, all framed by the peaks of the Sierra de Rosario in the distance. Those tough old trucks can be kinda beautiful, in their own way, as they do the important heavy lifting for the rest of us. Ramblin’ Jack Elliot (I think) once said, “There’s Nothin’ Pretty About a Truck, ‘cept the radiator, the tires, that heavy bumper, etc, etc....” And you know, I think he’s right.

At some point we’re off the freeway and onto a winding mountain road that takes us over a ridge and down into the beautiful Valle de Viñales. I suspect we’ll never get quite enough of the statuesque white trunks of so many royal palms, that stand in this valley like lost Ancient Greek columns.

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We’ll be staying in a simple and well-kept place run by a nice Doctor and her husband, who put out far more delicious food at breakfast than we can manage. That becomes something of the norm for our trip, and we have to ask for less food, smaller portions. Too much food has become a thing in recent decades for over-eating, overweight Americans, but surely the people here can put that good food to better use than we can.

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Rocking chairs. Literally almost every house has several on the porch, and it’s about the first local characteristic mentioned as we begin to explore the area. Apparently it’s considered a good thing here to enjoy some time in your sillón in the late afternoon as neighbors walk by and stop to chat. Sounds like a good idea to me.

 

We’re in a quiet town, with people walking to work, walking the kids to school, chatting on cell phones. It’s a lot like anyplace else these days, at least where they don’t lock up inside the house and watch some inane TV show. Some folks have turned that wasted area out front into a nice garden filled with useful crops for the household. There are taxis, a produce seller, some modest dwellings, and a home that shows considerable extra creative effort – complete with a pink flamingo in the yard.

We're off to explore, and our first stop will be an organic farm at the edge of town. We enter a little gateway into a wonderland of beautiful vegetables, where a young agronomist explains the cropping system, with the use of corn stalks and geraniums to deter insect pests, and maybe birds, from the crops. A bouquet of bright red flowers attract a busy hummingbird. Common sense planting, it appears, may be required when cheap agro-chemicals are not available. And it’s not unreasonable to imagine that much of the food we’re eating while in Cuba may come from innovative organic operations such as this. Most of us could probably learn quite a bit from these folks.

We cruise onward through the village, past a small roadside bar, and a well-protected motorcycle-sidecar combo (maybe an old Ural) is tucked under a sheet of tin. It reminds me of the ‘garage’ my Uncle Floyd kept his ancient John Deere tractor under, a piece of corrugated metal over the engine and a big old coffee can over the vertical exhaust pipe to keep the Indiana rain out. The proud owner of the ‘moto’ is currently occupied giving a haircut under the covered entryway.

There’s a variety of other everyday scenes, including a street market and a sign for a “Juanito Mojito.” Get one for a Euro.

 

And so the Intrepid throng heads onward past more fertile fields, towards the embracing mountains and a local cigar operation.

A well-spoken young tobaconista leads us through the finer points of leaf structure, content, color, and size. He then lays the essential components on the table and demonstrates a hand-roll on the table, and one on his knee. Afterward, he proudly exhibits the result of this fine old skill.

 

  And by then many of our happy throng are more than ready to partake in the ancient ritual of smoking this fine Cuban product and the perfume of well-crafted tobacco wafts through the air. A few of us peruse the wares available for purchase, as others caution that Cuban cigars can’t be brought through US Customs. But that, of course, only pertains to those traveling to the US, and not those with less-fraught destinations. The US-bound are sadly limited to buying colorfully-painted, but empty, cigar boxes and the like.

Back in town, we enjoy a good lunch at El Barrio. I pass a well-tended, and bright red, little Lada with an “I love my Lada 1600” decal in the side window. And I think that’s easy to understand about this cute little ’tin box on wheels’ that is so simple and easy to fix. While many of us cherish our large and option-laden vehicles – that so few of us can actually fix anymore – these little Ladas are probably under appreciated. OK, yeah I can get obsessed with Ladas. Please forgive me.

After a good rest-up back in the room, we’re off again (Intrepid keeps us busy!) to a cooking class at a place called “Balcón del Valle.” And, by the way, it has an absolutely fabulous view over the Valle de Viñales, this special piece of the world. When Cuba's first settlers, the Guanahatabeys, arrived on the island 4000 years ago, it must have seemed a literal paradise on earth. The Siboneys and the Taínos appeared several thousand years later and pushed the Guanahatabeys westward to this peaceful valley, before the arrival of the Spanish in 1492.

It takes us more than a few moments to break ourselves away from the balcony and focus on the actual reason we’re here: a cooking lesson in the local cuisine. And very quickly our diminutive host has just about everybody heavily involved in preparing, and tasting, the dinner to come. And then I was so well-involved in the dinner that resulted, I forgot to get any pictures of the food. But we dined well indeed.

And much later, after another memorable experience, we depart into the night, past the brightly-lit sign of, “Balcón del Valle, Viñales, Cuba.”

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The Idea of Sticking Around

After the ’Shangri-La’ experience of organic crops, cheap rum, and good fresh cigars in the beautiful Valle de Viñales, a person on a fixed income (or maybe not…) might wonder about the possibilities of just staying in such a magical place – the occasional hurricanes be damned. And your Social Security would go a long way in Cuba. 

So yes, I did look into it. And it may be possible, at least on the Cuban side of the legal ledger, as it seems there’s a ’snowbird visa’ available that lasts 6 months. Various online ‘Ex-pat in Cuba’ sites have different takes on it.

But keeping enough cash on hand for six months may be a problem – for US Citizens anyway – as US credit and debit cards don’t work in Cuba these days. So you may need to bring a large and uncomfortably conspicuous bag of money with you. Or you might be able to open a Mexican, or Canadian, or European, bank account and get a debit card through them. And there may be another kind of work-around, since the Cubans have gotten good at coping creatively with such problems. 

We had to bring sufficient extra cash to make it through our 10-day trip, allowing for about US$75 per day per person. And it all has to be in presentable condition, with none of those tiny almost-tears that most folded and well-used US bills have in the middle and on the fringes. Nobody will accept damaged bills in Cuba because the banks won’t accept them. And they’re looked over carefully by every shopkeeper. A pre-trip stop off at your local bank before departure to get a fistful of fresh US Dollars, Euros, or Pounds Sterling (the smaller bills are the most useful) could be a good use of your prep time.  

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Anyway, we can skip the dreaming for now and move on. Tomorrow we’ll be on our way eastward, to The Bay of Pigs and the city of Cienfuegos. — PRW

CUBA: Impressions of Havana

So how does one even begin a trip to Cuba...
...the legendary land of Batista and the mobsters, Ernest Hemingway, and Fidel Castro – as part of an Intrepid Travels touring group? In our particular case every long trip begins about the same: waiting at the curb for our ‘second car,’ the hourly Costa bus, to come by. 

Over the years, the Costa bus has become our personal, no-frills, ‘airport limousine service.’ It’s a low-cost, and fairly reliable, way to start our travels. And sometimes we get to see a few Kino friends while sharing the ride. 

Soon we’re wandering through the Hermosillo airport, past a thoughtfully designed ‘pet relief station,’ and then we’re riding high on a big bird to Mexico City. Along the way I learn from the seat-back magazine that non-US citizens can get a lucrative ‘green card,’ leading to possible US citizenship, if they invest only US$800,000 in a pricey condo in Palm Beach. Who knew? Somehow I don’t recall ever seeing that ad on any of the cross-border buses we’ve ridden. 

 

After two and a half hours of flying, the sprawling lights of MX City are just below our window, and the onboard map shows we’re now only at the halfway point between Hermosillo and Havana. Mexico is a very big country.

We’ll spend the night at an airport hotel, with a large banner on the reception desk to inform us that the place is under “Suspensión” from offering products and services – but the reception lady gladly scans our credit card and hands us a room key. Don’t ask us about this small episode in the large Mexican Carnival; we’re just passing through.

We decide to split a surprisingly expensive glass of nice red wine and a pricey dessert before retiring for the night. This may be our last chance at that sort of luxury before we return from Cuba in about ten days. 

 

 

Our morning flight takes us past the iconic and dramatic smoking peak of Popocatépetl, and quiet nearby Iztaccíhuatl, on our way to the cloud-obscured Gulf of Mexico. Within just a couple of hours we spot the Cuban coast far below, and then the lush farmlands of western Cuba. 

 

Soon we’re on the ground at Havana’s José Martí airport, past the customs gate, and waiting outside for our cab. A quick look around tells us we’ve entered the legendary Cuban time warp, where much of the island’s US commerce stopped with the embargo in 1959. We’ve entered the land of cute little boxy Soviet Ladas, a variety of other forms of transportation, and plenty of gorgeous collector-quality US cars from the 1950s and earlier. Almost anyone from our age group who visits Cuba these days will sooner or later spot a beautiful shiny reminder of the first car they ever owned.   

The charming street scenes that we passed on our way from the airport, of fruit stands, cobbled-together housing, and neglected classical leftovers from the days of the dictator Batista, remind me of similar scenes in Mexico, Guatemala, Perú, Bolivia, and other Latin American countries. Yet Cuba is not all about crumbling buildings, and some sections of the large city of Havana (pop. 2.1 million) can give an unfair first impression of the island. While there’s plenty of beauty to be found, much of the dilapidation we first encounter also reminds me of scenes from many neglected American cities.

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So what did I expect to find here, on my first visit ever to Cuba – other than an endless number of gorgeous old cars? What was I looking for? And did I have preconceived notions about the country? 

Long ago I learned to attempt to purge my thoughts of as many misconceptions as I can before traveling to any other country, because almost all of those preconceptions were wrong wherever I arrived. In the case of Cuba (and also Russia), those thoughts were driven by a constant bombardment of propaganda that was so extreme as be unbelievable by most people of reasonable intelligence.  Sure, whatever countries I’ve visited had problems. But what country doesn’t? And it’s easy to form distorted ideas if you only come for a short visit and get a superficial view of the society. 

After a couple of extended visits to Russia – ten days in 1994 in and around St Petersburg for a conference, and later a month of working in Ussuriysk, a small city in the Russian Far East, 100km north of Vladivostok – I only feel qualified to tell friends and family to forget all they’ve been told and go with an open mind. You’ll find there are plenty of bad things, and plenty of good things, to discover on your own. Especially if you can open your mind to see things as the locals do. And that’s what I was hoping for in Cuba.

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We got to Havana for our planned Tour – not our ‘modus normal’ – a day early, and we settled quickly into the simple but charming quarters we would occupy for the next three nights. 

It was a comfortable place but not lavish, with an artistic flair, a rooftop breakfast spot, and a friendly little dog to greet us.

 

And then we went out for a walk-around. We set a course for the Plaza de Armas, one of the more important squares in the city, and gathered impressions along the way. The streets of old Havana are lined with architectural treasures, and much of it is in disrepair. But there’s been a concerted effort by the city administration, and a group called Habaguanex, to maintain and restore the city’s important architectural heritage using income from tourism. It’s always easy to look past the good projects that have been finished, and focus on the obvious massive deterioration they still face. But some of the idealists of Cuba are making modest progress in the face of major obstacles and they deserve to be recognized for it. 

The worst of what I saw during our Cuba visit reminds me of the notoriously dismal concrete apartment blocks the Soviets built quickly after the Second World War, using the minimalist ideas of Corbusier to provide cheap emergency housing for millions of refugees left homeless after the destruction of the war. The US, which emerged largely unscathed from the war, and facing no such emergency, also embraced Corbu’s flawed ideas, and littered the American landscape with infamous failed structures, such as the Pruitt-Igoe project in St Louis. Its long-hoped-for destruction was memorably chronicled in slow-motion in the 1982 movie “Koyaanisqatsi,” with a haunting sound track by Phillip Glass. 

 

As night fell over the old city, we gathered a couple of other early arrivals for the Tour and found a little restaurant with an excellent band playing what we’d soon recognize as the ’sound track of Havana.’ What I began to call ‘the big three,’ “Guantanamera,” “Quizas, quizas, quizas,” and “Besame mucho,”* seem to be the tunes most Cuban bands in every plaza and on every street corner think that most visitors to the island want to hear. They’re all fine songs, and played by a lot of good little combos hoping we’ll drop a buck or two into the hat, and we do. But after a long afternoon of repetition we were ready for something – anything! – else. 

How about “El manicero,” for example, inspired by the peanut vendors calling out their wares in the streets of Havana? (Here’s a 1932 version, with words.) After the band paused for a moment, to make sure they all remembered that old tune, they played a passable version for us. And then they followed up with several more local tunes that made us feel like we’d actually arrived in the streets of Havana vieja. 

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Some Music Notes

• The gorgeous Cuban tune of “Guantanamera” (1929), is about a rural girl, a guajira, from Guantanamo and is based on a famous poem by José Martí. It was made popular on Cuban radio over many years by Joseíto Fernández. It was recorded later in the US by the The Weavers (1963), The Sandpipers (1966) and others, and became world famous. It’s also been recorded by Cubans artists, such as Celia Cruz and Compay Segundo. 

• The sexy and suggestive, “Quizas, quizas, quizas” (1947) was written by Osvaldo Farrés, another Cuban composer. The English version, as “Perhaps,” was first recorded for RCA in 1948 by Desi Arnaz. A number of other versions have been recorded by Bing Crosby (1951), Nat “King” Cole (1958), Celia Cruz (1964), Doris Day (1965), and Andrea Bocelli with Jennifer Lopez ((2013). 

• “Besame mucho” (1932), was written by teenaged Mexican songwriter Consuelo Velásquez and inspired by a piano piece for Goyescas by the Spanish composer Enrique Granados. Her song is considered to be the most recorded and covered Spanish language song of all time, with versions by Dale Evans (1944), Frank Sinatra (1954), The Coasters (1960), The Beatles (1962), Plácido Domingo (1983) and many others. 

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After enjoying a fine evening of music and dinner we wandered back through the mysterious and enchanting streets of old Havana to our lodging for a good night’s sleep.

 

 

Another warm Caribbean day brings another fine wander. We’re still waiting for our Intrepid Travel group to assemble, as their various planes arrive during the day. So we head out into the busy streets for more exploration, to find some refreshment, to pause at a nice shop of local artistry. And other than a variety of colorful characters, there are also plenty of Lada (Лада), Moskvich (москвич), Zhiguli (Жигули), and other Soviet car brands to add an exotic touch. Judging by the large number of these cars still on the streets of Havana, these ubiquitous little rides seem to have held up well enough in Cuba, although the Moscow Times reported in 2014 that in Russia “just one in 20 Lada-owners said they would recommend the car brand to their friends or colleagues.” Still, I actually appreciate their simple boxy design and easy repairability – and yes, there are plenty of Lada jokes around! 

Some Lada Jokes

• What do you call a Lada at the top of a hill? A miracle.

• A man drives his Lada to a mechanic and asks, "Can I have a spare hubcap for my Lada?" The mechanic says, "Sounds like a fair trade."

• How do you double the value of a Lada? Fill its gas tank.

• What's the difference between a Lada and a Jehovah's Witness? You can shut the door on a Jehovah's Witness.

• Why does a Lada have a heated rear window? To keep your hands warm while pushing it.

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We pass a church with a notice in the doorway for an afternoon concert of music by Mozart and Beethoven celebrating the 15th anniversary of Havana’s Mozart Lyceum and Orchestra. We and some other Intrepid folk make a point to attend, and there was a fine orchestra playing. It was a good decision. It is a gift to happen upon such things in our travels. 

 

At 6:00 p.m. there’s an important first gathering for all of us to meet Yanet, our Intrepid Travel guide, and to make our introductions. It’s certainly a diverse crowd that we’ve signed onto, and we’ll get to know each other better over the next several days. Soon we head out to enjoy our first dinner together. Then it’s back for a good night’s rest to prepare for our first official day in Cuba on an Intrepid Travel tour. We used them a few years ago to visit northern Hungary and Romania and we like the way they do things.

 

On the following morning I peer over the balcony railing as a gorgeous – and huge – old 4-door Buick Roadmaster pulls up to the curb below. (Woody Allen once said in a film, “The roaches in this apartment are as big as Buicks!!”) And I make a point of being early in line for a seat in this beauty.

This one recalls fond memories of my own first car in 1962, a well-used cream-colored 1953 Buick V-8 Super 2-door with a red and black interior. Her ‘laker’ glass-pack mufflers gave off a mellow sound that made that heavy car sound a lot faster than she was. I fell in love as soon as I saw it in the back row of a used car lot, and my dad had to lend me $300 to buy it. Fond memories indeed, of high school prom night, in a maroon madras dinner jacket, white socks and all. “Those were the days.”

We’ll start the day in retro-style by touring the city of Havana in a convoy of the country’s famous, and gorgeous, old pre-1959 US cars. Seven of us are jammed into the Buick, and one of the other rides is a big old white Chevy that looks like Carolyn’s first car.

 

Our first stop will be an homage to the island’s colorful and thriving ‘Santeria’ religion.

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SANTERIA

Santeria is a syncretism, dating back as early as the 16th century. Spanish colonists brought many thousands of enslaved Africans to the island, and these people practiced their religion in secret, melding their deities with those of the Catholic religion and incorporating West African Yoruba practices with Roman Catholic ritual.

During the revolution of the 1950s, Castro's government eliminated many religious institutions, expelling priests and religious leaders; however, Santeria survived due to its flexibility and resilience. Worshippers continued their practices in small groups and in private homes. Not only did it not disappear; it has grown stronger. And in the current climate of economic stress, it is once again gaining popularity. It has sometimes been discouraged by the authorities, but is now generally tolerated. You can easily identify new practitioners of the religion as they dress entirely in white for one year. 

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Our tour took us into the vibrantly colorful Santeria district with its idols, images, music, and dance. 

 

The streets of old Havana are filled with yet more gorgeous and paintable images – if one had the time! and the talent! – as we trade cars and head off to our next stop.

 

The Plaza de la Revolución is filled with towering monuments to Che, Cienfuegos, José Martí and other icons of modern day Cuba. Our colorful parade of ancient cars, most of which have been ‘Cubanized’ in vibrant paint unlike the subdued factory-original hues I recall from my teen years, add a bit of flare to the scene. And it’s likely that few of them still retain their original engines. I asked the driver of an early 1950s Chevy about what was under the hood, in hopes of rekindling fond memories of Chevrolet’s reliable old workhorse, the 235ci inline 6-cylinder that preceded their V-8 era. It was produced from 1941 to 1962, and even the 1953-55 Corvettes had the old ’stovebolt 6’ under the hood. The driver’s reply was, “Oh no, it’s now a used Mercedes engine.” Ah, progress.

 

And then we’re off again, for a drive through Havana’s dense urban forest parkland and onward to lunch with more good music, at Mojito Mojito. 

 

We’re now back in central Havana Vieja. This is where the cars depart and we’ll enjoy an after lunch walk-around through streets that have seen so much history. Among the sights are a statue of a naked lady with a giant fork riding a rooster (we’ll let you work out the symbolism on that), and an eccentric Spaniard, now bronzed and known (for some reason) as “El Caballero de Paris,” who quoted classic Spanish literature while a longtime denizen of these ancient alleys. And I got a picture I’ll call “Lady With a Cannon.” Apparently Havana found itself with an abundance of old cannons and they’ve been repurposed in pedestrian areas as street art traffic control measures. 

 

After a good long wander – and a nap – the evening is ours. We recruit our friends Helen and Maggie and head for La Floridita, the bar that Hemingway made famous. Or vice versa. There’s a good band playing near the crowded bar, but first we commandeer a table in the next room for dinner. And a round of cold daiquiris from the alleged ‘Cradle of the Daiquiri.’

After dinner we head to the bar for more music and a nightcap with ‘Papa’ himself, who once said, “I.drink to make other people more interesting.” He’s now been bronzed but still hanging out in his usual spot, in the corner leaning on the bar, right by his picture with Fidel. 

Very shortly, a line of tall gazelle-girls march in the doorway and file straight behind the bar to get their pictures with the two handsome and harried bartenders. Then they file straight back out the door and disappear into the night. I have no idea what that was about, but wish I’d had the presence of mind to ask! Maybe a new promo shot for La Floridita?

And then it’s time for us to file off into the balmy Havana nighttime – just as a very pretty early-1950s Ford station wagon rolls by, in the endless classic car parade that is everyday life in Cuba.

We're leaving Havana to continue the tour. Next stop — Vinales. — PRW