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Havana
by Belkis Kambach
Penalties for violating travel
restrictions to Cuba are severe: up to 10 years in prison and $250,000 in fines
for individuals illegally traveling there, according United States Customs
Service officials. Although few Americans are caught or punished by the
government, it remains illegal for United States citizens to step foot in Cuba.
Just 90 miles off the tip of
Florida lies Havana. Although it is illegal to visit Cuba as a tourist,
Americans can get dispensation to visit the island for educational, religious
or humanitarian purposes and can thereby board charters to Cuba. This makes
tourism or direct flights from the United States off-limits. Havana is little changed. Socialism, the U.S. blockade of the early
‘60s and the continuing trade embargo have locked this city in a time
warp. Even with stiff penalties, the
laws can’t seem to stop the tens of thousands of Americans from reaching Cuban
soil. Many start the voyage in a third
country like the Dominican Republic, Bahamas or Mexico, where travelers pay for
their trips in cash so that there is no record of the trip. Cuban authorities,
eager for the dollars that Americans bring, facilitate this process by not stamping blue passport holders,
leaving no trace that the trip ever took place. It was in the airport lounge
in Puerto Plata, waiting for our
flight to Havana, where we got our
first glimpse of what it means to travel to Cuba these days. Dominicans, who are not rich per se,
traveled loaded with food, fearful of not finding enough to eat on this island
where even basic commodities are in short supply.
On our second day in Habana it
was lunchtime again and Isolina my mum, my sister Mariel Paola, Tshahka and I
were regretting another overpriced, under-spiced Cuban meal accompanied by the
usual sweet soda and flavorless Frijoles
negros. The Cuban food here bears no resemblance to Cuban food cooked in
Miami Beach or NYC. This was definitely not Victor’s
Café, (the first U.S. restaurant serving regional Cuban food). Where were those
Frijoles negros, mojito,
platanos amarillos fritos (fried plantains) or even the Cuban sandwiches we
love? We found Havana's restaurants unremarkable. There exists a network of
paladares, or makeshift restaurants in private
apartments, but we didn’t want to take the chance. The worst part of the experience was realizing that the bland meal we had just consumed would have set Pedro back the equivalent of three months’ pay. Such free-market prices are beyond most Cubans’ meager salary. In a land where hard currency is king, trying to spend pesos and live like a Cuban ended in frustration. We paid for each meal in U.S. dollars, never even getting near a peso. Only Cuban’s paid in their national currency. We continued to stroll along
the neighborhood of Vedado and Viejo Havana. It is ironic how Cubans don’t want to admit that Havana looks
pretty much all-American. El Capitolio,
one of the largest buildings in the center of the city, is a perfect replica of
the Washington, D.C. Capitol. Even the cars that slowly cruise in Havana are
mummified American or taped-together Russian cars with innumerable layers of
paint on them. Pre-1960 Bel Airs, El Dorados and Continentals (mostly kept
running with Russian spare parts) prevail. Taxis come in the form of '56 Chevy
coupes. There seem to be more bicycles here than in Holland, and they look like
200-pound Russian tanks. Even Cuba’s national sport is baseball.
With its narrow streets and
artists' galleries (where you might consider buying one of the beautiful oil on
canvas or water color Cuban beach scenes like I did), there are many small
cafes, a living museum to the city's colonial origins. There are several lively squares, like the
Plaza de la Catedral, in front of the
18th-century Catedral de La Habana,
and La Plaza de Armas where craftsmen sell their art, old books (some
about or by Hemingway) and just about anything else that will fetch the
sought-after U.S. dollar. Schoolboys jumped behind us
asking for chiklets (bubble gum), lapiz (pencils), lapiceros (pens) and hard currency to buy
dulces (candy). Another flock of shirtless boys rolled down on
homemade skateboards fashioned out of slats of wood and scavenged metal wheels.
Dignified old men stopped us in the street to ask if we could spare some
aspirin or mail letters to relatives in
Miami. The animal lover in me noticed many miserable, skin-and-bone dogs, short
legged collie-like creatures or perhaps mixed German shepherd with bald patches
all over their scrawny bodies, looking up at me in hunger with deeply wounded
eyes. Despite all the poverty we’ve
seen, the entire old city is a wonderful place to walk. The high price of cars
and gasoline means that traffic is
light. I was stunned by the beauty of the 18th, 19th and 20th
century architecture in Havana; the
tree-shaded promenade could be as elegant as Barcelona's Ramblas, reminding you
of Spain rather than any Caribbean outpost.
Ernest Hemingway, winner of
the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 1952 for "The Old Man and the Sea,'' and
the Nobel Prize for literature in 1954, is one of Cuba's national treasures.
His books are taught in most schools and his memory is revered. Even Fidel
Castro reportedly considers his writings an inspiration. Hemingway’s trail is
still as fresh as the trade winds that blew him here in the 1930’s. Hemingway had lust for travel
and for life. It carried him across the world in search of adventure, weaving a
trail for his fans to follow. Some of his hangouts were in this island. Seated at
La Bodeguita del Medio, the very same bar where he spent many
night’s, we sip a mojito (an ice
cold, mint-laced rum). This is where you should begin a Hemingway tour of the
city. The Old Man, who would have been
100 this July, came in 1934 from the Florida Keys in his classic wood-hulled
fishing boat, the Pilar. He stayed
here, on-and-off, for over 20 years. He loved this part of town, with its rum
joints and centuries-old architecture. At Hotel Ambos Mundos, just one block off the center of
Viejo Havana, was Hemingway's first home
in Cuba, and his room - No. 511 -
has become a museum. Catch a chambermaid, and she'll let you in to wander
around. Gaze out the windows at Havana Bay
as he must have. Legend has it he conceived the plot line of "For Whom the
Bell Tolls.” A plaque on the hotel's facade boasts he wrote the novel in the
hotel. A single room here now goes
for about $65 a night (a double is $90, a mini-suite $120). These are in much
better condition than most Cuban hotels. They offer such luxuries as bathtubs –
quite a rarity here- cable television and mini bars. The hotel has a restaurant
and bar and a lobby that spills out onto the teeming streets of Viejo Havana. From here, it's just a
10-minute walk to El Floridita, bar
Hemmingway frequented and which claims to have invented the daiquiri. The walls are festooned with
pictures of him, and his bar stool sits empty. A word on tourist traps: at both El
Floridita and La Bodeguita, a daiquiri costs $6 - about what a
worker in Havana takes home in a month. At La Bodeguita, a mojito runs $4, about two to three times what other charge.) Another walk will take you
past
Las Mansiones de Miramar, the
exclusive neighborhood where American millionaires once lived and employed
legions of Cuban servants after the revolution. Today most of these have been turned into embassies (they are the
only painted buildings these days in Havana). In the evening you can join the
crowds walking on El Malecon - the boardwalk that stretches from the west side of
Havana Bay where the crashing Atlantic turns to salt spraying on the waterfront
and eating away the paint of building facades. It’s a great way to get a sense
of Havana life and strike up
conversations with the locals. In Cuba most male travelers
are certain, to find not only savory cigars and delicious Cuban liquor
de caffe y de cacao but also sexy, young, dark-eyed beauties provocatively
dressed and eager to make your
acquaintance. It is said that Cuba has the world's best educated hookers, and a
foreign man can not walk alone in Havana without
being surrounded. Young women will thrust themselves against Tshahka in aggressive manner. I felt
like shaking them and telling them that the handsome Finn by my side was my fiancée. However, Cubans approaching a foreigner in a tourist-designated area
are in danger of police action as locals aren't allowed into foreigners’ hotel
rooms. After 40 years of the American
trade embargo, the Cuban government's appreciation for tourists begins and ends
with our traveler's checks. In the
decade after the fall of Soviet subsidies, Fidel has scrambled for a way to
survive and has settled on tourism as the quickest way to get cash. Beyond
that, there's no love for foreigners with revolutionary ideals here. Even as it
encourages tourism, Cuba works to create with no doubt the highest wall
possible between visitors and Cubans, financially as well as in practical
matters. Unfortunately, tourism brings Cuba money that is desperately needed. I hold memories of Cuba like
none of the other 62 countries I have visited. I tried to look for the best
aspects of Cuban life, but, even as a first-time visitor, I came away
dispirited. I might have enjoyed
Cuba more if I didn't speak Spanish and therefore didn’t understand their
struggle quite so vividly.
Even our friend Pedro had to leave us 2 Km away from the
hotel in order to avoid trouble. In a
way we left understanding why electrical engineers like Pedro (with not one but
three engineering degrees) were tempted to become another balsero (rafter) and risk a place on a homemade raft to
successfully negotiate the 90 miles between Cuba and the Florida coast. Visiting Cuba is still illegal
but at the same time fascinating to the thousands of us who are making the
trip. We found Cubans to be extremely well educated, kind, warm and were always
delighted to engage in conversations with us. When Pedro smiled, he usually did so with all his teeth and all his
heart. Cubans like him live without much of anything but seem to have their
minds set on living life to the fullest. That,
to me, is Cuba in a nutshell. More Cuba info can be found at: http://home.att.net/~travelwriter/ Photos: Rob Kambach Belkis Kambach Travelwriter@att.net |
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TM
For many, the lure of slipping
away to a notorious, forbidden island is exciting. Cuba is a destination that
reeks with adventure and intrigue, and the travel industry is determined to
move quickly with tours and cruises when the trade embargo is lifted.
We came to Cuba determined to
avoid the state's network of hotels and restaurants. But after seven nights in
a hotel and an invitation letter from Pedro, Maggy’s brother a Cuban woman my
mother met in the Dominican Republic, (conditions of entry into the country is
proof of a reservation in a reputable hotel or invitation letter) we ended up
staying there. We didn’t enjoy our no-frills hotel room with its Soviet air
conditioner and other annoyances -- like hearing a chorus of roosters every day
on a nearby roof. It reminded me of home in the Dominican Republic, adding a
touch of rusticity to the urban setting, until we discovered they habitually greeted
the dawn not once but twenty-one times.
After being in Cuba just few
hours, we went for a stroll and saw people forming lines down the block and
around the corner. The best-educated, most highly qualified Cubans spend their
days lined up for a few pounds of arroz
or Frijoles negros (to make Moros con Cristianos). They get by with
their libreta, the ration book first
introduced in 1962. Every month, Pedro is permitted to buy, among other things,
seven eggs and a quarter-pound of coffee (mixed with Frijoles), when available at state subsidized prices. Chickpeas
have also largely replaced meat in his diet. For a pound of rice, he pays 45 pesos; even as a degreed electrical
engineer, Pedro earns only 200 pesos
a month (equivalent to $9.60 U.S. dollars, at 22 pesos per $1.00). A secretary’s wages are 100
pesos. Even a pack of cigarettes costs seven pesos (a day's wages).
As we walked on the
cobblestone streets of Old Havana,
heat shimmered up the walls of decaying buildings, blurring faded shades of
pink and blue stucco and distorting shapes of rusting wrought-iron balconies.
The bustle of the old city was quiet, surrounded by buildings in their fallen
plaster. We saw how people lived in dilapidated buildings where everything
you've taken for granted -- food, money, order and even toilet paper -- is a
luxury. We watched well-dressed women hauling buckets of drinking water up from
the street to third-floor balconies. 
The city contains a profusion
of different architectural styles from Spanish colonial, baroque, Victorian to
modern. Worth seeing are buildings like El
Gran Teatro, and the historic city center of Viejo Havana described in the
Unesco World Heritage list is beautiful. However, the predominant look of the
city is very gray: most buildings have not seen a drop of paint in over 50
years and are all peeling and crumbling. 
I was troubled in many ways by
the extent to which food, clothing, resorts and main tourist attractions were off-limits to Cuban Nationals, who are
held back by checkpoints on the road by the Special Brigade police --
supposedly incorruptible black-bereted cops. To me those “Socialismo o muerte” signs are already an empty formula.