Tuesday, June 17, 2003
Report from Havana 2003
I'm winding up a week in Havana, to be followed by trips to Trinidad and Santiago de Cuba (two and a half weeks in total in Cuba), plus a few days in Mexico City to develop and enlarge photos. I'm loving Havana but at the same time feeling very split, as it's nothing if not a very dichotomous place.
With apologies for insulting the intelligence of those who know all this, Cuba since the mid 90s has been practicing a form of economic apartheid. Foreigners, for almost any transaction, pay US dollars, as opposed to Cuban pesos. Cubans who get paid in dollars--eg, a bellboy in a tourist hotel who gets dollar tips--are much better off than Cubans getting paid in pesos (26 to the dollar)--eg, a doctor. They also have access to dollar stores, where they can buy consumer goods unavailable elsewhere. An elderly woman in a plaza who was in fact a very intelligent beggar (those with a direct pitch--and there are many--I walk by, shaking my head) struck up a convoluted conversation, the punchline of which was that her pension was worth only 6 dollars a month, at which point it became impossible to shake her off until I had given her a dollar, wondering how many other tourists a month end up doing the same thing. To complicate matters further, there are pesos convertibles, which are worth the same amount in dollars (in Cuba, that is) and which appear in change for items purchased in dollars.
So there are, it turns out, three forms of CocaCola, or a reasonable equivalent. There is the original product, imported from who knows where, a can for $1.50 or $2.00 in a cafe, there is Tu Kola, a Cuban product, for 50 cents less a can, and there is a cola-flavored refresco gaseado bought for a peso (less than 4 cents) at a window opening up on the street, where the (glass) glasses are lined up with a layer of syrup in them and the senorita adds carbonated water from a machine.
I am saving my dollars--Cuba is more expensive than Mexico in terms of lodging, food, and things like T-shirts--by staying in casas particulares (private homes), which in Havana means renting a room in an apartment, paying 20 dollars a night, including breakfast and Internet access. (The family has a computer because the husband works with computers; they're only available used on the black market.) Information on casas is readily available over the Internet, and I have reservations in casas in my two other destinations. Here my casa is in La Habana Vieja (Old Havana), the colonial core of the city, which is as dichotomous as the economic apartheid.
To the north of me is an area including four large plazas (and many smaller ones), ranging from lovely to exquisite, each with a very different character, the colonial homes surrounding which have been beautifully restored in pastel colors or are in the process of being restored--scaffolding is all over the place. (The city government has built temporary housing for people living in buildings being restored.) Classy hotels, high-end shops, restaurants, and cafes (all charging dollars of course) fill in the streets between the plazas. To the south of this area, where I am staying, looks totally devastated--the streets a mass of potholes, the apartment buildings peeling paint, mostly colorless except for the laundry hanging in the balconies, many of the buildings empty hulls, some being used for parking. The building I'm in looks a wreak from the outside, and the intercom and mailboxes have been destroyed, but the apartment itself (where the two bedrooms are producing income and the couple and wife's mother are sleeping in the livingroom) looks recently painted and houses a new TV, as well as the computer.
My favorite plaza, because of its relaxed atmosphere and because it's always full of Cubans, as opposed to tourists, is the Plaza de Armas, a grassy square centered on a marble statue of an independence hero, four small fountains in the corners, surrounded by an iron railing, then a wide stone walkway, then continuous stone benches with iron grillwork at the back, finally stands displaying second-hand books for sale, Wedesday through Saturday. Across the way is a large cafe where three different musical groups play (not at the same time) at the two parts outdoors and the part indoors; my favorite group includes a flute and violin, as well as guitar, bass, and assorted percussion instruments.
Perhaps the most impressive restoration was of the Plaza Vieja, because it required destroying an underground parking garage built by Batista. Here a lovely white marble fountain is protected by a high wrought-iron grill, then surrounded by a wide space of paving stones that frequently appears to be used for gym classes, Sunday morning was the site of a market selling birds (including homing pigeons), with absolutely exquisite colonial houses, most with portales, long balconies above with shuttered French doors topped by half circles of stained glass, all around. The other two major places are centered on churches, the Plaza de San Francisco more successful than the Plaza de la Catedral because the open space at the side of the church (now a concert hall and museum) is perhaps four times greater than the space in front of the Cathedral, mostly filled with cafe furniture, besides which it sports a fountain and usually a carriage or two, making it extremely photogenic.
I've mostly been walking the streets taking photos (10 rolls of them so far), shaking my head at everyone who says "Lady" or "Amiga," stopping fairly frequently to get something more appealing to drink than the warm water in my daypack. (Aside from the refresco gaseado, one of the few things I've been able to buy in pesos--50 centavos--is guarapo, or sugarcane juice, also at a window on the street.) One of the best things about Cuba of course is the music, and I've discovered the easiest and cheapest way to hear it is to sit in a cafe and order something to drink--cafes all over the place have musical groups performing.
I had to take taxis my first full day to and from Vedado, a high-end, tourist-oriented area, where I had to go to buy my plane tickets to and from Santiago. My first taxi was a bicitaxi, a bicycle with what looks like a two-seat horse carriage in back, the other a cocotaxi, two seats in back of the driver all almost enclosed in a partial sphere in yellow plastic; the fare was 4 dollars plus tip each way (a Cuban would have paid pesos).
I've been by Havana Centro a couple of times, which features the Capitolio, an uncanny replica of the US Capitol, and the Paseo de Marti (formerly and still usually known as Prado), an elevated promenade with trees meeting above and continuous marble benches, the buildings on either side in all stages of collapse and rebirth. I've also taken the tunnel under the harbor (in a conventional taxi )to El Morro, the 17th-century fortress frequently seen in photos of Havana, whose 19th-century lighthouse gives panoramic views of the city.
Eating has been easier than I expected, Cubans tending to eat a bland, meat-centered diet. After having two comidas in Italian restaurants (pizza and spaghetti with tomato sauce), I discovered to my delight that the restaurant in the Hotel Florida, a high-end place near the Plaza de Armas, has iced tea (the menu says te frio o caliente, so I order te frio con hielo--this computer has an English-speaking keyboard, so I can't do accents), to which I'm addicted in hot weather, plus vegetarian dishes such as vegetable soup and canelloni stuffed with veggies, and other side dishes I can eat, such as moros y cristianos (black beans and rice) and fried plantains. I also found an Arab restaurant with a vegetarian plate. In the evening, I eat fruit bought (with pesos ) at an agro--mercado agropecuario, where privately grown produce has been allowed to be sold since the mid-90s--along with a pastry and maybe some nibbles I brought from home.
The newspaper situation is of course dismal--Granma and Juventud Rebelde, the dailies, may be the only papers that report how many people will march in a demonstration before it takes place. There is, however, a page in each (tabloid) of (different) international news. They are sold on the street by elderly men who pay 20 centavos for them and negotiate whatever the market will bear from the customer. Luckily, I can read La Jornada and the NY Times on the web.
As to weather, think New York during an August heat wave ("It's not the heat, it's the humidity"), except that the sun of course is much more intense, so that I've gotten sunburned despite using sunscreen. Obviously I stop for a cold drink a lot and ask for extra ice for my iced tea. It's the rainy season, but it mostly rains at night when I'm home.
Tomorrow I spend 5 and a half hours (or so) on a bus to Trinidad, a real local that makes five stops before it gets there. To get to Santiago de Cuba, at the eastern end of the island, the only way I can bear to go is by plane, the drawback being that I'll have to return to Havana (Sunday) to do that, as there no longer is plane service from Trinidad. I will probably be off-line in Trinidad, but my house in Santiago offers email.
With apologies for insulting the intelligence of those who know all this, Cuba since the mid 90s has been practicing a form of economic apartheid. Foreigners, for almost any transaction, pay US dollars, as opposed to Cuban pesos. Cubans who get paid in dollars--eg, a bellboy in a tourist hotel who gets dollar tips--are much better off than Cubans getting paid in pesos (26 to the dollar)--eg, a doctor. They also have access to dollar stores, where they can buy consumer goods unavailable elsewhere. An elderly woman in a plaza who was in fact a very intelligent beggar (those with a direct pitch--and there are many--I walk by, shaking my head) struck up a convoluted conversation, the punchline of which was that her pension was worth only 6 dollars a month, at which point it became impossible to shake her off until I had given her a dollar, wondering how many other tourists a month end up doing the same thing. To complicate matters further, there are pesos convertibles, which are worth the same amount in dollars (in Cuba, that is) and which appear in change for items purchased in dollars.
So there are, it turns out, three forms of CocaCola, or a reasonable equivalent. There is the original product, imported from who knows where, a can for $1.50 or $2.00 in a cafe, there is Tu Kola, a Cuban product, for 50 cents less a can, and there is a cola-flavored refresco gaseado bought for a peso (less than 4 cents) at a window opening up on the street, where the (glass) glasses are lined up with a layer of syrup in them and the senorita adds carbonated water from a machine.
I am saving my dollars--Cuba is more expensive than Mexico in terms of lodging, food, and things like T-shirts--by staying in casas particulares (private homes), which in Havana means renting a room in an apartment, paying 20 dollars a night, including breakfast and Internet access. (The family has a computer because the husband works with computers; they're only available used on the black market.) Information on casas is readily available over the Internet, and I have reservations in casas in my two other destinations. Here my casa is in La Habana Vieja (Old Havana), the colonial core of the city, which is as dichotomous as the economic apartheid.
To the north of me is an area including four large plazas (and many smaller ones), ranging from lovely to exquisite, each with a very different character, the colonial homes surrounding which have been beautifully restored in pastel colors or are in the process of being restored--scaffolding is all over the place. (The city government has built temporary housing for people living in buildings being restored.) Classy hotels, high-end shops, restaurants, and cafes (all charging dollars of course) fill in the streets between the plazas. To the south of this area, where I am staying, looks totally devastated--the streets a mass of potholes, the apartment buildings peeling paint, mostly colorless except for the laundry hanging in the balconies, many of the buildings empty hulls, some being used for parking. The building I'm in looks a wreak from the outside, and the intercom and mailboxes have been destroyed, but the apartment itself (where the two bedrooms are producing income and the couple and wife's mother are sleeping in the livingroom) looks recently painted and houses a new TV, as well as the computer.
My favorite plaza, because of its relaxed atmosphere and because it's always full of Cubans, as opposed to tourists, is the Plaza de Armas, a grassy square centered on a marble statue of an independence hero, four small fountains in the corners, surrounded by an iron railing, then a wide stone walkway, then continuous stone benches with iron grillwork at the back, finally stands displaying second-hand books for sale, Wedesday through Saturday. Across the way is a large cafe where three different musical groups play (not at the same time) at the two parts outdoors and the part indoors; my favorite group includes a flute and violin, as well as guitar, bass, and assorted percussion instruments.
Perhaps the most impressive restoration was of the Plaza Vieja, because it required destroying an underground parking garage built by Batista. Here a lovely white marble fountain is protected by a high wrought-iron grill, then surrounded by a wide space of paving stones that frequently appears to be used for gym classes, Sunday morning was the site of a market selling birds (including homing pigeons), with absolutely exquisite colonial houses, most with portales, long balconies above with shuttered French doors topped by half circles of stained glass, all around. The other two major places are centered on churches, the Plaza de San Francisco more successful than the Plaza de la Catedral because the open space at the side of the church (now a concert hall and museum) is perhaps four times greater than the space in front of the Cathedral, mostly filled with cafe furniture, besides which it sports a fountain and usually a carriage or two, making it extremely photogenic.
I've mostly been walking the streets taking photos (10 rolls of them so far), shaking my head at everyone who says "Lady" or "Amiga," stopping fairly frequently to get something more appealing to drink than the warm water in my daypack. (Aside from the refresco gaseado, one of the few things I've been able to buy in pesos--50 centavos--is guarapo, or sugarcane juice, also at a window on the street.) One of the best things about Cuba of course is the music, and I've discovered the easiest and cheapest way to hear it is to sit in a cafe and order something to drink--cafes all over the place have musical groups performing.
I had to take taxis my first full day to and from Vedado, a high-end, tourist-oriented area, where I had to go to buy my plane tickets to and from Santiago. My first taxi was a bicitaxi, a bicycle with what looks like a two-seat horse carriage in back, the other a cocotaxi, two seats in back of the driver all almost enclosed in a partial sphere in yellow plastic; the fare was 4 dollars plus tip each way (a Cuban would have paid pesos).
I've been by Havana Centro a couple of times, which features the Capitolio, an uncanny replica of the US Capitol, and the Paseo de Marti (formerly and still usually known as Prado), an elevated promenade with trees meeting above and continuous marble benches, the buildings on either side in all stages of collapse and rebirth. I've also taken the tunnel under the harbor (in a conventional taxi )to El Morro, the 17th-century fortress frequently seen in photos of Havana, whose 19th-century lighthouse gives panoramic views of the city.
Eating has been easier than I expected, Cubans tending to eat a bland, meat-centered diet. After having two comidas in Italian restaurants (pizza and spaghetti with tomato sauce), I discovered to my delight that the restaurant in the Hotel Florida, a high-end place near the Plaza de Armas, has iced tea (the menu says te frio o caliente, so I order te frio con hielo--this computer has an English-speaking keyboard, so I can't do accents), to which I'm addicted in hot weather, plus vegetarian dishes such as vegetable soup and canelloni stuffed with veggies, and other side dishes I can eat, such as moros y cristianos (black beans and rice) and fried plantains. I also found an Arab restaurant with a vegetarian plate. In the evening, I eat fruit bought (with pesos ) at an agro--mercado agropecuario, where privately grown produce has been allowed to be sold since the mid-90s--along with a pastry and maybe some nibbles I brought from home.
The newspaper situation is of course dismal--Granma and Juventud Rebelde, the dailies, may be the only papers that report how many people will march in a demonstration before it takes place. There is, however, a page in each (tabloid) of (different) international news. They are sold on the street by elderly men who pay 20 centavos for them and negotiate whatever the market will bear from the customer. Luckily, I can read La Jornada and the NY Times on the web.
As to weather, think New York during an August heat wave ("It's not the heat, it's the humidity"), except that the sun of course is much more intense, so that I've gotten sunburned despite using sunscreen. Obviously I stop for a cold drink a lot and ask for extra ice for my iced tea. It's the rainy season, but it mostly rains at night when I'm home.
Tomorrow I spend 5 and a half hours (or so) on a bus to Trinidad, a real local that makes five stops before it gets there. To get to Santiago de Cuba, at the eastern end of the island, the only way I can bear to go is by plane, the drawback being that I'll have to return to Havana (Sunday) to do that, as there no longer is plane service from Trinidad. I will probably be off-line in Trinidad, but my house in Santiago offers email.
