A Revolution in Cuba

« Return to Cuba

Every year the Cuban government invites journalists from around the world to their tourism trade fair, an attempt to drum up some positive media that will hopefully lead to more tourism dollars. 190 people attendees, from Canada, Ireland, Belgium, France, Brazil, Japan, Mexico, Argentina, Uruguay, Russia (this year’s guest of honour), Ukraine, Colombia, Portugal, Italy, China, Spain, Germany – a representative from major tourist markets, the USA notably absent. We are herded into presentation rooms for boring speeches, wined and dined in the country’s best hotels and restaurants. Gracios, but no gracios. This is Modern Gonzo, and the gonzo does not spend his third person days watching Powerpoint. I quickly found kindred spirits in Canadians Ken Hegan, an award winning humour columnist, and Dave Dormer, the scoop busting crime reporter Calgary. Ken demanded respect with his positive outlook, subversive wit and the fact that he’s published gonzo features in Rolling Effen Stone. Dormer is the only person I have ever met who can describe a murder scene with genuine enthusiasm and excitement (“it was like a Jackson Pollock painting!”). With plenty of Havana Club rum to go around, we would find our way.

Tourism dollars are being reinvested in the restoration of Old Havana, or at least the few blocks that tourist might walk around. The plazas are clean, the colonial buildings sporting fresh coats of bright paint. Hemingway’s favourite hotel, the Ambos Mundo, stands brightly restored, full of tourists who have never read any Hemingway. Cubans are a clever lot, and have perfected the art of the hustle. They are consummate survivors, and expertly trained in the art of separating a tourist from their dollar. When one discarded dollar is worth more than a day’s salary, I would do the same. The literature of the Revolution is on display at a book market inside the Plaza de Armes, the covers showing Che and Fidel all smiles and cigars. Jackets are dusty, tattered – books passed down from one generation to the next, analyzing the lives and myths of Cuba’s modern gods. The plazas and narrow streets remind me of a leafy colonial old town in Mexico, complete with roaming groups of tourists on all-inclusive day tours. Noticeably missing is any form of advertisements, billboards, or graffiti. The only branding I saw all week was Nestle ice creams, and a couple car repair shops. In the world of consumerism, Cuba is a naïve virgin, and global corporations are lusting to gang rape her. Think about 11 million new customers baby!
We stroll to Havana Club’s Rum Museum, shoot back some rum to replace the sweat. Those old cars you hear about are true – Chevys, Oldsmobiles, Cadillacs – some in good shape, others running on elastics, bean farts and duct tape. Owning a car is out of reach for most people in Cuba. The streets of Havana are devoid of what we know as rush hour. Anyone lucky enough to have a car before the Revolution needs to keep that hamster running inside its wheel. Especially if they use it to generate some income as a taxi service. Price for a tourist to ride to Old Havana in a Coco Taxi: $6. Price for a local to ride to Old Havana in a fixed route taxi. $0.10c. Price for a tourist to ride around Havana in a rented “Grand Car”: $30 an hour. Ken and I jumped into the back of a cherry red 52 Oldsmobile convertible, because we’ve seen this in the movies, and this what one must do in Havana. Our driver worked for the company, and did not regale us in stories of legend and happiness. We drive along the Malecon, Havana’s famous coastal road, past the cemetery, along the street. A few stares, some smiles, a couple waves, the odd angry glares and drunken Spanish insults. We pull into the Plaza de la Revolucion, where just a few days earlier over a million people marched to celebrate Workers Day. There are two huge images on the side of buildings. The T-shirt model Argentine doctor Che Guevara, and Camilo Cienfuegos, looking very much like a Chassidic Rabbi. Heroes of the revolution, one murdered in Bolivia fighting a hopeless cause, the other the victim of a suspicious plane crash. Both potential threats to Fidel, who quickly canonized them into Cuba’s pantheon of heroes.

Everyone asks questions in Cuba.
Is Fidel still alive: Yes, but too proud to appear so weak, toothless and old in public.
Is Fidel still alive: No, but announcing that would cause the entire system to collapse and the government needs to smooth the way/rob the people blind first.
Helping me answer my own questions, and rip away at a tourist bubble made more Kevlar than gossamer, is Conner Gorry. Author of the Lonely Planet guide to Cuba (3rd Edition), she wrote the book, literally. After travelling Latin America for years, Conner has settled in Havana with her Cuban husband, and now writes for a US medical journal about Cuban health and medicine. Fair haired and blue-eyed, the reaction of locals to a cigar-chomping Spanish speaking New Yorker living in their world is fascinating. Many Cubans are desperate to live in the United States, and here’s an American living in Havana. To get around the dual economy absurdity, Conner must sometimes use a card identifying her as a local. She can also stroll into the tourist hotels to use their facilities, something locals were not allowed to do until recently changes implemented by Raul Castro. As she showed us around town, teaching us tips (look for the dot underneath the cans of Buccanero Beer – if it’s red, it’s high quality, yellow’s the worst) and talking about life, it was obvious that she missed some things about our world, but loved her Cuba more. Her blog http://hereishavana.wordpress.com/ is a glimpse at life in Cuba, and an amazing read. Considering she only has a 56K modem, her efforts are all the more appreciated. It’s not every day I meet fellow blue-eyed fair skinned kids, so between Ken, Conner and I, there was an instant connection that only comes from growing up with the label of “freckle face.” I learned about the father of Cuban independence, Jose Marti, and how both Batista and Castro swore to be his successor. I learned about powerful Cuban American lobby groups in the United States, intent on toppling the socialism at any cost. I learned about the realities of buying food, where produce can be unreliable, expensive, and only available in season. I learned about the state market, the pricier supply and demand market, why no-one who lives in Havana will take a coco-taxi, and how the wireless internet available in the Melia Cohiba lobby is a breakthrough. I learned that while some people carry cell phones and wear watches, it doesn’t mean they necessarily work. I learned how to smoke a cigar (“Robin, it helps if you bite off the end”) and how Cubans smoke fine local cigars at 4c a pop as opposed to the $10 cigars in the hotels, or the $50 back home. But most of all I learned that there are kind, smart and inspiring people in the world who can do so much good with their words and actions. Kinder, smarter and far more inspiring than me.

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