Cuba

¡Viva la Revoluciòn! Havana
10th March, 2012

"tap, tap, tap, BANG!"..."tap, tap, tap, BANG!"

There's been this sourceless, irritatingly repetitive knocking sound going on down below the apartment for the better part of an hour now. Out on the street a bunch of kids are playing baseball barefoot in the dirt - buildings from a bygone era tower up around them forming long, continuous, crumbling walls. Tiny, protruding balconies draped in drying laundry brighten an otherwise flavourless image. For a brief, suspended moment of silence I'm sure I can hear someone somewhere practicing piano.

"tap, tap, tap, BANG!!"

Man, this knocking's gotta be more confused than me! I go down - it goes up. I go up - it goes down. I go out the front door - it goes round the fucking street! Some sneaky chicken likes playing tricks on the white guy...Yet, sitting here beside my rusty old window, watching the sun set once again on another blissfully chaotic day in the Caribbean, the noise morphs into irrelevance; and the streets become englufed by a pleasantly different air of rythem...Now, never mind the bullocks. Technically I don't smoke - still I'm half way through the fattest cigar I've ever seen...and I won't normally drink alone - although it's not everyday one can buy a bottle of rum this good for less than 5 bucks. Some call it crass class, I'll say it's Cuba. In this coolest of cool cities you simply don't have a choice. Everything really is bigger & better in Havana. The cars, the music, whacked out politics & the big, black booties - it's all here; and the first few days can be a little overwhelming...

Cuba's famous cars

Our plane was delayed. I'd been told to get to the airport 3 hours early...why?! So I could sit and stare into space I guess. Airports shit me - especially after that incident on my way home from Indonesia when they wouldn't let me on the plane for not having shoes. We're plummeting 30,000 ft directly into the Bass Strait but a pair of flip-flops might make all the difference between life & death. Anyhow, we were soon aboard & departed on our crammed little plane, with the old ducky quite kindly chucking up behind me so i wouldn't have to smell it and see it.

By the time we hit the tarmac it was already well past dark, and I was suddenly struck by that same underprepared feeling I experienced on arrival in Mexico. What the hell was I doing?? This place looks insane! Completely running blind I had no map or guidebook, no confirmed accomidation or any idea how this country even worked. The customs 'official' laughed in my face when I took off my cap for the passport procession (lucky she was smokin' hot), but then I couldn't hold back my own hysterics facing up to the health and decloration personels' when I realised he was an actual doctor, decked out like a Looney Tune in his white lab coat; chest pocket packed with biros and other suspiciously ghastly gadgets. He managed to send me back four times for screwing up the form before he finally let me through, cursing me in abuse he knew I wouldn't understand. I exchanged 4000 Mexican peso's into 250 lousy Cuban Convertables and jumped into a massive 1950's taxi; in which Mario (the maestro himself) dropped me off at my lodgings...which as I expected, turned out not to be my lodgings, but down the street a bit, left & left again & "Oh!!" here we are at my hosts best friends house...great. Welcome to Cuba, boyo!

Despite the odd initial impressions, circumstances turned full circle, and I ended up here; in lovely Luisa's homestay casa, mirrored in by Wheelbag'esque mirrors and granted what felt like the biggest bed in the world.

The next day I was raring with anticipation to run rampaige on the city - firstly gaining my bearings, before becoming completely disorientated again when "this guy" took me by the hand, dragged me into a bar, fed me a cocktail of cigars & mojito's, forced me into a terrifyingly awkward salsa with his enormous wife, and at one point had me chanting "FUCK AMERICA!" to a bewildered congregation of hobos, minding their own business out on the corner. I felt it was best to pull the pin when he began edging me down alleys much too forcefully, offering to join him upstairs in his home. To "meet the family." Fuck that! Maybe I do have a slight case of travellers paranoia, but I can think of many better ways to bow out than getting stabbed in some Havanan scums back alley apartment.

Chillin' in a Havanan Pub

Slightly tipsy & roasting under the midday sun, off I shot to grab some Cuban munch; and although more expensive than Mexico, the street food is still dirt cheap. Ok, so generally it consists mainly of rice and beans. Lot's & lot's of rice and beans - and everyone seemed to be walking around with these icecream cones, so I wanted one. This drunk dressed as Che Guevara waddles up and hands me a bottle of vodka, then piles all his loose change onto my lap. When I hand it all back it's like he forgot it was his, and although my spanish has been improving, I can't imagine it would have helped in this situation.

Woah!! Stepping out from around a moving bus, a splattering, beaten-up old cadellac nearly wipes me off my feet! Idiot! I've made that mistake so many times already...remember to look left! Giving way to a horse & cart, contrasting quite humorously with the plume of black smoke to which it trails behind closely; I share in a moment laughing off my close call with a bystander. It's refreshing...To be honest, I've been looked upon with an intimidating sense of curiosity from most Cubans, unsure on the perspective slant of their judgements. Some almost appear ruthlessly hostile (again, I blame the shorts), until you catch them off guard with a friendly "buenos dias...cómo estás?"... from which they spring to life and greet you in an equally friendly exchange of short passing conversation. Still, as a consequence in part due to the recent globalisation of travel, the "white man" is often looked upon as a great money-making machine; a symbol of the privileged few. And it's true. There's no denying the fact that for most of the worlds population, the idea of a year long vacation is an impossibility - quite ludicrous and unfathomable. Sometimes I feel terribly guilty and almost ashamed to let on just how long I'll be travelling for, when everyday I'm confronted by hardships & inequalities in a country so famous for its apparent, theoretical equality.

A man selling newspapers & my new friend

I'm not 100% sure how the system in Cuba works; a lot of the time when I would ask I very rarely got definitive answers. What I did notice however, were the massive cues lining up for supplies at general stores; where eventually each person would be issued with their meagre supply of food, rationed out for however long the time period may be. I soon spent all of my Cuban Convertables (in Cuba there are two currencies - one for the locals & another for tourists) and was forced to wait in a similar cue at a local bank. This took close to two hours! One afternoon, while gouging down some cheap pizza in the Plaza de Armas, I met this older fellow who happened to be close to my age at the time of the Revolution back in 1959. We discussed the restrictions placed on Cuba by the USA and the resulting implications it has had on the country, his time spent fighting in the Angolan civil war, and the "wayward" attitudes of the Cuban youth towards a flailing government. He kind of resonated a view of pessimistic optimism, if one can imagine such a concept. That although times had been noticeably hard now for some years, and with no foreseeable solution to alter this current trajection - life continued on despite; and he took pleasure in the successes of his children, or the simple daily routine of feeding the pidgeons here in this plaza. Maybe you just get like that when you're old. This strapping young lad wouldn't know.

Buskers play in the Plaza de Armas

The next few days once again proved ever eventful - actually down right hectic; and generally I'd be exhausted come nightfall. In the evening I would sit out on the balcony drinking guava juice, chatting with Luisa in my hybrid español/inglés dialect, or more often simply waste the late hours pondering out my window, reading & writing over half a bottle of Havana Club before managing to crash out despite the heat and ever present outside commotion.

I took an excursion west to visit the spectacular Viñales valley (here I wish I spent more time), a lush green landscape boasting craggy table-topped mountains, spat vertically out off the valley floor. Beneath the mountains, a vast network of caves hide a secretive complex of ancient, underground rivers; and we got the chance to venture down one in a small boat. En route to the valley we passed through the town of Pinar del Rio where we stopped at a cigar factory. I dreaded to be in the shoes of a reforming ex-smoker, the smell almost hypnotic even for me. I had planned an overnight tour to the eastern cities of Santa Clara & Trinidad, but my bus decided to just not turn up...instead I made for the beach - and what a feeling it was finally bathing in the warm waters of the Caribbean! It felt like multiple days worth of city dirt & grime build-up was instantly washed clean from my sunburnt body. I splashed about in the waves for close to 3 hours before heading back to Havana; briefly pausing at the Castillo de los tres Reyes del Morro to take in the expansive, panoramic views over the city.

Viñales Valley

So now - many plaza's, museums, mojito's, phat cigars, salsa bands, sleazy salsaing women, busy streets, crazy cars, crazier people - Che & Fidel, hundreds of monuments, monumental buildings & one colossal cemetery later...it has come that time to reluctantly leave. What have I got to show from it? Not much. Except a craving for more fun in the sun & a tacky singlet profounding my love to my new favourite alcoholic beverage. No, in all seriousness; this spontaneous detour has been my best decision yet. In total I spent a week in Cuba, although it felt like much longer. Having my own room at night gave me way to much time to think, which is never healthy, and I'm looking forward on returning to my senseless, spastical gallivanting across Central America.

Man, that felt like a lot of words! My apologies...no one likes a rant!

Bye, bye now. Stay safe all my best of friends. Talk again very soon!

Love Nicko xx

Sun setting over a Havanan street...