Confessions of a Havana Aficionado
Whatever pace the speed of light moves at…. well, everything in Cuba moves at the opposite of that.
That was lesson #1 in Cuba, humbly taught to me by the hour-long baggage claim process. Lesson #2— perhaps less existential that the first— the Cuban people are demigods. Without undercutting the simple truth that Cubans are astoundingly (dare I say painfully) beautiful, I was more gobsmacked to see every Cuban woman sporting a heel no less than 2 inches in height. While I stumbled over my own feet trying to maneuver my rolling suitcase, my Cuban counterparts were not only strutting in stilettos, but doing so while dragging a 40 pound suitcase with a broken wheel. I have seen God and she is a Cuban woman.
Lesson #3 in Cuba is that the sun is no joke. I, a semi-translucent ghoul of a girl, decided to pass the hours between me and my friend Allie’s flight on a bench outside the airport, in direct sunlight. The good news is that my common sense caught up to me in the span of 20 minutes. The bad news is that it came at the price of a rather hilarious ankle (and ego) sunburn. With my tail tucked between my legs, I scrambled inside and awaited my best friend the protection of the arrivals barricade.
After waiting another painstaking hour, I reunited with Allie, sending loud English shockwaves through the airport. We met our cab driver outside— a man who was hardly phased by the delay in our estimated arrival time— and were whisked away into Habana Vieja, or Old Havana as us Americans would call it. Our AirBnb was perched atop a colonial townhome, the dated architecture and decoration very much taking us to an era past. As I struggled up the first of the narrow steps with my suitcase (wouldn’t be a trip abroad if I don’t struggle with a bag, eh?), a dense Cuban accent greeted us from above: “Bienvenido, Sydney and Allie!“. Our AirBnb host scuttled down the stairs to relieve me of my cumbersome 3'x2’ brick, escorting us into the 1950’s with the simple nudge of the apartment door.
After getting settled into our room and enjoying a few balcony beers, we set out to the streets with one motive: Cuban cocktails. Our wandering hearts (and appetites) led us to El Dandy, a lively restaurant with fuerte drinks. Allie and I caught up on life, per our first day of vacation reunion ritual, and mapped out our plans for the next day. While most of our trip was planned thanks to expert guidance from a Cuban travel agency (I’ll write a post on this soon!), our itinerary for the few days in Habana was largely unchartered. We agreed to spend our first full day at the one of Habana’s nearby beaches and figured we’d invite Allie’s Cuban friends, Adam and Eric, along for the mini roadtrip. With our plans miraculously and uncharacteristically solidified for the next day, we proudly clinked glasses, frolicking home to our Airbnb only after the exhausting day of travel sunk in.
The next morning began with a decadent breakfast spread at the Airbnb. We packed away our food and then our beach gear, making frequent trips to the balcony to see if the boys had arrived. Yes, the balcony. Let me explain. The fun thing about Cuba is that there is no WiFi, and certainly no cell service if you are a foreigner traveling on a dime. This translates into wildly unchartered territory in general, but in the case of meeting up with people, it means that you must revert back to the good ole fashion way of planning ahead. Ahem, my absolute Kryptonite. Nevertheless, we had issued our first phoneless mandate to Adam and Eric pre-arrival in Cuba: “Meet us at our AirBnb under the balcony at 10 am".
If the “meet us here [insert address] by the [insert recognizable locale] at [insert time]” formula wasn’t daunting enough, the added element of Cubans always running late really threw us for a loop. By the 3 or 4th trip to the balcony, the boys were still a no show and we were on to our second balcony beer of the day. Around 11, Adam and Eric had surfaced on the sidewalk below, giving way to my first right of passage as a want-to-be Cuban local: the fabled balcony exchange. If you’ve ever had the desire to live out your innermost wish to feel formidable, important and royal, may I humbly suggest booking a fight to Havana to converse with strangers from the lofty dominion of ye righteous and holy balconies.
In tow with Eric and Adam, we maneuvered down the bustling Habana Vieja calles, soaking up the colors and laid back way of life. Our trek landed us at a park encircled by colectivos, or shared taxis, a mode of transportation favored by locals for the affordability. Though tourists typically charter a private taxi, Allie and I were up for the locals-only experience.
“Don’t open your mouths, you two,” Adam instructed Allie and I very matter of factly as we went up to negotiate our ride, “we’re going to get ripped off if they know you’re American tourists”. A few Cuban pesos and minutes of biting our tongues later, we were aboard the shared taxi, shoulder to shoulder with our seat mates and en route to the sprawling beaches outside of Havana.
A note on income in Cuba: most Cubans make the equivalent of $30 USD per month. Now, mind you, Cuba is a Communist country. That means that the government subsidizes housing and basic food staples, among other things. So while your $30 per month is not used towards rent or your basic food supplies, it is supposed to cover things like taxis, clothing, supplementary food, alcohol, and any sort of recreational activity. To put our beach day into perspective: a private taxi would have cost $20 USD one way; that’s 2/3 of the average Cuban’s monthly income.
To bring this full circle, average Americans can only readily go to Cuba with a Support for the Cuban People Visa; aka supporting the private sector and bolstering the idea of capitalism over communism. Tourism is the main catalyst of the private sector, with foreign dollars funding the incomes of these individuals through commerce in privately owned restaurants (most are government owned), AirBnbs (hotels are government owned and thus forbidden for Americans to stay in), and tourism companies.
Since Eric and Adam worked in the private sector (a very exclusive subset of the Cuban population is afforded this opportunity), they make well above the $30 per month average. Even still, Allie and I were conscious of our spending around them. Our low-key and glorious beach day was a money saver, too. We shelled out a few small bills for an umbrella, chairs and the obligatory beachside empanada…. and reaped all the beach day glory in return.
Dinner that night was back in Havana at a 5 star joint appropriately named Más Habana. Though we might have saved money in the daytime, we ate and drank daily allowance dry; an easy thing to do when the food is decadent and the drinks are strong.
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We rose the next morning admittedly a little later than the morning before and hobbled out to the common area for round two of breakfast. Our hired tour guide, Lidiz, met us inside the AirBnb a little after 11 as we were polishing off our meals. Lidiz was the cousin of our AirBnb host, and our AirBnb host was the business partner of Max, the American founder of the Cuban travel agency Allie and I used to book our trip.
Our day commenced with a sunny walking tour of Habana Vieja. With Lidiz providing extensive background on the sights and supplementing our knowledge of the lifestyle in Cuba, we took a deep dive into the history and current climate of the country. In February, the sun was bright and the breeze was delightful— though things were frigid back in New York, the weather could not have been more perfect in Cuba. From churches to the capitol to the hotel where Hemingway penned some of his works, we covered remarkable ground.
At lunch, we devoured a smattering of Cuban food. As with all meals in Cuba, our first course was beer. Following that, Allie and Lidiz ordered some mouthwatering smoked carne that I, a devout vegetarian of 6 years, looked on and thought “but what if.. ”. Alas, my platter of grilled veggies wiped away my wandering thoughts and a huge helping of bread carbloaded me for part two of our day: vintage car tours!
A quick walk from lunch, Parque Central was bustling with brightly saturated cars. It was, quite literally, the meca of old timey collector’s cars. As a snapped a picture, I couldn’t help but to think that the right sepia filter could easily convince someone that the photograph was a relic from the 50’s. A cascade of vintage car tour sales pitches trailed after us as we made our way through the park, the offers seeming to match the bright intensity of the afternoon sun.
We stopped in front of an immaculate vintage Chevrolet, its exterior drenched in a rich fuchsia color. Lidiz and the driver exchanged a familiar cheek kiss as Allie and I squeezed into the back row of seats. The laminate white leather seats clung to the backs of our legs, sending heat waves through our bodies. With the car in drive, any wondering thought evaporated. We clung tightly onto our hats and outstretched our palms to catch the breeze in our fingers— this was living.
With every vacation, I take home a few tangible memories— ones I can look back on and revisit in vivid detail in my head. Our ride through the Havana Forest was one of those moments for me. Though perhaps a crock for the forest purist, El Bosque is a stretch of untouched jungle in the outskirts of Habana. Here, rivers run freely and a dense canopy of greenery coats the sky. Nothing quite compares to taking a vintage convertible along the winding roads, even if only for a brief few miles.
The fun finally came to an end when our driver dropped us off at our AirBnb. Once inside, Allie and I collected our bags. With Lidiz acting as our GPS, we set out to locate our next accommodation- a local owned apartment for tourists- a few blocks down the road. Suffering only a few rolling suitcase casualties on the way, we met our greatest stairwell match to date: our Casa Particular, or locally owned apartment for tourists.
Our room— and I kid you not— was on the 8th floor. Allie and I belly laughed for about 5 minutes— perhaps our version of a sick surrender to the twisted travel gods— before summoning all of our willpower and accepting the help of the Casa Particular owner to conquer the stairs. A few mini-strokes and body twitches later, we reached the summit: floor 8. In case it was not clear off the bat, there was absolutely no glory to be had at the end of our endeavor.
That evening we enjoyed another balcony beer. We also indulged in 30 minutes of free internet courtesy of the WiFi cards bestowed to us by our Casa Particular host. Finding our new relationship with the internet somewhere between a newfound appreciation and an instinctive aversion, we disconnected our devices early and set out to get ready for our Valentine’s evening. We had reservations at a fancy rooftop joint called El Cocinero and big evening plans at the neighboring art museum turned late night bar, La Fabrica. Nothing says Valentines Day quite like dinner and a night out with your best friend.
After dinner and armed with a drink punchcard, we explored every corner of La Fabrica. I can assure you the art museum experience is a different one with a harrowingly strong mojito in hand. After a few punches, we found ourselves on the dance floor swatting away the ever-so-respectable Cuban suitors who boogied over to ask up front, and I quote, “Tienes un novio?”, do you have a boyfriend? I laughed and affirmed my relationship status to each. In typical Allie and Sydney fashion, not only did we manage to close down the bar, but we also managed to outstay every other patron who had also closed down the bar by befriending the bartenders.
I can’t be sure how late we got home, but I remember looking at the clock and being immensely sad by the meager amount of sleep I would get. Our call time for our cab to Viñales was an early one, and I was excited.
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[part 2, viñales, coming soon!]
