Dreaming of Cuba? Dreaming in Cuba is a lot more difficult if you’re coming from the United States. The nearly four-decade-old US embargo against this communist nation includes strict US treasury restrictions prohibiting Americans from ordinary tourism (even through third countries) and barring them from spending a lot of money there. The good news about the recent relaxation of the embargo is that many US cultural, educational, and religious bodies have been granted licenses to organize group travel to Cuba.
A popular low-risk alternative is to travel through Canada or Mexico, going from there to Cuba and back again. Cuban Customs will almost never stamp your passport, but upon returning to the States, an alert US Customs agent might question US passport holders about their double entry to the middleman country and figure out what’s what.
There are no restrictions on independent travel to Cuba. You can travel wherever you want when you are there, without pre-arranged accommodations, but you also need patience to be able to deal with inevitable administrative hassles. A good compromise is to use an agency that specializes in travel to Cuba so that they can book your accommodations in advance.
Tourists are required to have hotel reservations upon arrival, so it’s best to book ahead, for at least the first few nights. Three hotels which I recommend are the Nacional at 21st and 0 streets, the Habana Libre at 23rd and L streets, and the Inglaterro at Prado 416. Nearly every Cuban has a casa particular to recommend – even bellhops at the hotels.
The infrastructure boom in Cuba has benefited the whole island, though architecture buffs like me will be most interested in exploring Havana’s two major hubs of action. La Habana Vieja (Old Havana), a district of endless architectural display – from colonial to Art Deco – and greenback mercantilism. It is also ground zero for cobbled-square lovers and Ernest Hemingway trackers. And suburban Vedado, a $5 cab ride to the northwest, is more modern and fabulous. There you’ll find the park-like Plaza de la Coppelia Heladeria and its ice cream palace that inspired the title of the Cuban film Strawberry and Chocolate, which dared to treat homosexuality sensitively. The busy "La Rampa" section of the 23rd Street spits out to the seaside Malecon, a boardwalk-like space that runs along the shore – a.k.a. Elian Gonzalez parade grounds – close to the Fiat Showroom Café, a boisterous night time hang out for Gen Y’s.
After you’ve seen the Tropicana Vegas-showgirl extravaganza and the water ballet act at the Nacional Hotel, you’ll be ready for some different kinds of "girls." Rosalia de Castro, a social hall, stages a state-supported drag show starring a bevy of entertainers whose thank-yous for the applause and tips sound like the rumblings of a salsafied revolution.
The island has a serious culture calendar: art, music, and film festivals as well as the National Ballet of Cuba, can be consulted in such listing guides as Cartelera or at www.cuba.cu. Music, no surprise, is everywhere – the musicians’ union must be one of Cuba’s largest. As for beaches, Mi Cayito (in the Playa Santa Maria del Mar district) is known for "Hello, my friend!" types. Closer in is Playita de 16 (16th Street Beach), in the Miramar suburb, where the shabby-chic villas are worth the ride out.
Out toward the marina in the Playa district, diplomats play at Club Habana, a former yacht club with a private beach, two pools, a gym, scuba diving, and a full spa. A day pass can be purchased at the gate (bring your passport).
As for socialism, places like "be like Che" include the Museum of the Revolution and the Jose Marti memorial. The historic Colon cemetery is near Cuba’s national film institute gift shop (on 23rd between 10th and 12th streets), where you can get movie posters. Across the harbor, El Morro castle offers great views and an exhibit of Columbus’ voyages, and it’s near the ritzy La Divina Pastora restaurant.
Cuba remains a compelling and mysterious city. For at least 450 years it has weathered ups and downs, periods of great prosperity and severe economic depression. Tourism has brought the city back from the brink, and should the US embargo be lifted, Cuba will survive the ideal wave from the north. You could wait to do battle for the last pair of souvenir maracas or go now while Cubans still smile with delight when they hear you are paying dollars for your purchases.
Tourism has taken off since the 1990‘s. Most of them are the fun-in-the-sun kind, but Cuba is far too fascinating to spend all your time bronzing on the beach with a rum and Coke in hand (we have Boracay all year round just to do that). What, above all, makes it so absorbing is that since Fidel Castro came to power in 1959 and steered the country onto a communist course, the island has been isolated from much of the world.
Sometimes, it seems Castro had pressed the "pause" button on Cuba’s history. Western commercialization is noticeably absent. Horse-and-buggies and grandiose, octane-guzzling 1950’s American automobiles ply the roads, and oxen till the fields. This is when I realized how lucky I’ve been to experience the island in this "paused" moment while the country is still bereft of capitalists’ "conveniences".
Modern-day Cuba is a radical social and political experiment that begs judgement – whether favorable or not depends on which nation it is compared to. There is little of the misery and squalor found in other undeveloped countries. The United Nations regards Cuba as an excellent country for its egalitarian distribution of income, national health care programs, and free and universal education system.
Yet the well-being of Cubans rates poorly against Western countries’ standards. This is partly due to its own failings, but also because of both the collapse of empathetic political systems in Eastern bloc countries since 1989 and the decades-long US trade embargo against the island. Admittedly, free-market reforms introduced recently have improved the country’s economy, but for most Cubans life is a question of survival – of empty shops, lengthy lines, meager rations, dealing on the black market, and bartering with neighbors. Even housewives press tourists for a dollar, a bar of soap, or the T-shirt off their back. It’s all about resolviendo, a catchall word Cubans use to describe somehow – by fair means or foul – getting by.
Many commentators wrongly predicted communist Cuba would collapse after 1989. Yet, in true Darwinian fashion, it has adapted to survive. The capitalist tinkerings with the economy are providing a qualified success, and the question now is how far they will they go.
At present, Castro is at pain trying to stress that his government will keep the economy under firm state of control and his people will be called communists while he is around. And most Cuba-watchers surmise that his regime will be around so long as the US imposes its embargo. While the lifting of sanctions is probably the only act that would end Cuba’s economic woes, ironically it would probably also bring about the downfall of the government, since its scapegoat, the US, would disappear.
In the meantime, Castro is able to rally his people behind him against the big bad American wolf: "Never will the dragon be allowed to slay the lamb," Castro proclaims.
Meanwhile, Cubans are too preoccupied with day-to-day subsistence to have energy left to rise up against Castro. Accustomed to waiting in line for everything from buses to bread, Cubans are still waiting for something to happen. Perhaps for someone to press the "play" button in their history.
By this time, Havana was slowly being transformed, on the wealth of the slave and sugar trades, from a violent putrid port into a sophisticated city. In the 19th century, the city walls came down to allow room for expansion, luxuries poured in from around the Caribbean and South America, "gringos" started coming for vacation from the United States, and evening entertainment ranged from masked balls to grand theatre.
Havana spent the first half of the 20th century in the thrall of the United States. Americans started arriving in great numbers during the Prohibition period; and the city, awash with money, developed a reputation for decadence: "a great open city for a bachelor on the loose", according to Graham Greene. Then, after the revolution, the clubs, casinos, and brothels were all shut down and the city went into physical decline as investments were directed away from Havana to Cuba’s provinces. Now, with tourism taking off, parts of the city are being restored.
Most of the city’s attractions are in Old Havana (La Habana Vieja). It is separated by Havana’s grimy, industrial harbor from two impressive castles and, farther east, Playas del Este, the best beaches in the city’s vicinity. In the West of Old Havana lies the new city. First Centro, a poor, untouristy, residential and shopping district, then Vedado, a richer, business-cum-residential area. In South of Vedado the Plaza de la Revolucion district spreads (often shortened to "Plaza"), around the soulless square of the same name, Cuba’s center of government. West of Vedado are upscale neighborhoods such as Miramar, which has a sense of well-being not shared by the rest of the city.
Bounded by the city’s harbor, this egg-shaped grid of streets presents two faces. For the most part, it is permeated with decrepitude. Few streets are paved, roofs leak, and walls miss whole chunks. Some houses are so tumbledown they seem to defy gravity, while others would surely collapse were they not propped up by wooden scaffolding. Over 100,000 Habaneros reside here in what might appear to be picturesquely earthy surroundings, whiling away the hours for all to see on the street or on their balconies.
But the reality is overcrowded apartments, which often have no running water (buckets being hauled up by a rope, is an all to common sight).
The other face of Old Havana is one of restoration. More tourists come here than anywhere else in Cuba, so millions of dollars are being spent to turn the finest colonial mansions into museums, art galleries, restaurants, bars, and hotels.The main squares, Plaza de Armas and Plaza de la Catedral, look as handsome as when they were first built, as do both the streets directly south of them and the old harbor side fortresses that were built to keep English and Dutch hands off the Spaniards’ proudest possession. The restored area is still quite small, but is gradually being extended down towards Plaza Vieja.
The best way to get to know a city is through its streets, by walking among its people. La Habana Vieja opens up to those who live in it on foot.
Old Havana is a very peaceful area given special protection by the forces of law and order. You can approach them for any type of help. In fact anyone will help you, as the typical Habanero has a strong sense of solidarity and good manners.
The inhabitants of Havana are exuberant in love and hyperbolic in their emotions. Everyone is their friend and they are everyone’s friend. There are no strangers here, since newcomers soon form part of a large family. Mitchel, our tour guide of the streets of Havana was explaining the significance of some architecture edifices we encountered on our way. She was speaking from her heart as if she had known us all their life, ever though we were people she had never known before and who she will probably never see again.
The people of Havana bear with decorum the economic difficulties which befell the country during the Nineties, and which becomes no secret to you when you start to walk the streets. On your way you will see more than one queue to buy food, dragon buses full of passengers or hundreds of cyclists instead of luxury cars, all forming part of a culture of resistance which performs the miracle of the loaves and fishes everyday.
Everybody eats, and everybody lives, and each person knows that nobody is alone in this city and this gift is priceless, no gold can pay for it in this world where so many die abandoned yet surrounded by great abundance.
The whole day can be spent outside, thanks to the perennial tropical sun. People spend a lot of time outdoors, chatting, playing dominoes, flirting, cycling around the streets buzzing with color, voices and sounds, or simply sitting.
Music is everywhere and is the soul of the island. Melodies thanks to the Spanish heritage, and dynamic due to the hypnotizing rhythm of Afro-Cuban percussion, religious and passionate at the same time, music is a vital part of daily life, like dance.
Even the smallest Cuban town has a Casa de la Trova, now a Cuban institution, where local bands play and young and old alike go to dance. Indeed, there is no single designated venue for dancing in Cuba, and any excuse is good enough to improvise a party. One of the official celebrations is the debut in society of 15-year-old girls, who are dressed up like brides for the occasion. Besides this lively, fun-loving side, Cubans have an equally strong domestic one, and love to spend time at home with the family, in front of the TV or chatting for the ever-present rocking chairs.
"Dollars or death" with reference to the state’s most famous slogan, "socialism or death." Virtually anything worth buying — a TV, cooking oil, soap – is available only in special "dollar shops" or on the all-pervasive bolsa negra, or black market, where greenbacks are the preferred currency. With US dollars, you can procure medicines, car parts, perfume – whatever you want – on bolsa negra, which is inextricably linked with petty corruption. Workers steal goods in vast quantities from state enterprises, and there are even clandestine factories producing consumer goods and cigars.
Yet though Cubans need dollars to get by, the irony is that almost everyone is paid in pesos. Many Cubans feel forced to convert their pesos into dollars through exchange bureaus or on the black market. The exchange rate – as high as 140 pesos to the dollar, to 20 pesos to the dollar – makes all dollar purchases prohibitively expensive for Cubans. Many have relatives abroad who send them dollars to buy necessities, a process estimated to invest $500-800 million into the Cuban economy annually. At the same time, jobs that pay in dollars have become disproportionately desirable. Waiters and barmen in hotels often turn out to be professors or doctors. The dollar tips they earn in an evening can easily exceed a month of their former salary.
Although more consumer goods are available compared to a few years ago, la cola (the line), remains a daily fact of life for most Cubans. Outside a restaurant or ice-cream parlor, or a shop where a delivery of cooking oil is rumored, a line could engulf a whole street. Often you come across a massive roadside with crowds, like extras in a Hollywood epic, waiting for a bus. When it arrives, it is so packed that heads protrude from windows, not only for air but also because there is no room for them inside, and athletic types hang on to the outside by their fingertips. Any vehicle is loaded top capacity — ten in an old Chevrolet, five in a motorbike with a sidecar, and three on a bike. Hundreds of thousands of bicycles have been introduced to combat fuel shortages.
The sun shows the quintessence of Cuba, revealing virtue and nobility in the relief work of stones and ordinary bricks. The city’s buildings are its history, wrought and told by the infinite columns, the imposing entrances and arcades and multi-colored glasses.
The good and bad effects of tourism were clearly visible on my visit. Cuba to me is overpoweringly sensual, extraordinarily warm, and long suffering. The people’s joie de vivre remains intact, despite the hardships they are presently undergoing. Sex, music, and dancing, they like to say, are their greatest pleasures, since none are rationed and all are free. The island is on a roller coaster of change. Visit now before things change too much, while the country is still trying to dance to the tune composed by Karl Marx.