Havana-ther go at a weak pun...

  Havana, Cuba
Tuesday, April 15, 2008

When we arrived at Havana airport, we were lulled into a false sense of security as a twenty-something year old with legs-up-to-her-armpits met us straight off the plane and glided us past all of the controls and into an air conditioned bar where a cold beer was waiting. Really.



Reality returned ten minutes later when we had to go back to collect our baggage. Young samba-as-she-walk was replaced by 50-something unkempt and unshaven Rodrigue (actually, he could have been my twin), who pointed Jane to the search counter with my hand luggage full of books and souvenirs. You try explaining why you are importing books about 19th Century English aristocracy and the economics of the Entertainment Industry into Cuba. Thank the Lord they never found by PSP! (is it illegal to take them into Cuba? I never found out).







We were staying in Old Havana in a restored building, the hotel Saragosa. On the way there, we were struck by the 50s US vehicles still on the roads. By no means exclusively, but a sizeable minority. The rest were mainly modern Korean and French stuff and a smattering of Ladas, including a handful of stretch Lada taxis. I wasn't sure at first whether this demonstrated a subtle Cuban sense of irony (the true people's expression of your white Cadillac limos, eh gringo?) but after seeing my third or fourth, I realised that it wasn't that funny and they must have had some real practical purpose.






Motorcycles were fairly abundant, mostly Jawas, with a smattering of small (125 or less) Suzukis and a lot of combinations - 350 Jawas and Zundapps. There were also a few water cooled 2-strokes that I didn't recognise (any thoughts anyone?).

The new Korean standardmobiles and old American behemoths set the scene for contrasts. Cuba is a land chock full of contrasts.



After a quick swim in the Saratoga's rooftop pool (this place gets better and better), we went for a stroll. The block next to the Saratoga's was of a similar neo-colonial style, but this was falling apart, patched up, with a criss-cross of electrical wiring, crumbling stonework, rotting staircases and the smell of the open sewer. It was the same story throughout old Havana. A lot of good restoration work has taken place, but there is so much more to do. I'm not going to blame the revolution for the state of Old Havana (that would be like blaming the Tories for the state of the health service), but it seemed sad that a lot of the revolutionary vigour and power was expressed on fading thirty year old murals and that the present day reality was of a tired old city that had just awoken from a decades-long sleep and was trying to take in the decay all around it. In all fairness, Old Havana comprises about 5% of the total population of the City of Havana. Much of the rest of the city that we visited was in very good shape. I suppose it was a bit like visiting the London Docklands in ther late '70s and concluding that London was on the point of collapse.








I never really got the sense that the Cubans cared much for the revolution - actually, I never got the sense that the Cubans cared much about anything really, other than music. We had heard a lot about how friendly the Cubans were; to us they seemed fairly disinterested in tourists/visitors. Perhaps the novelty has worn off.



We visited the museum of the revolution, which set the scene with a history of the country as well as the revolution itself. Frankly, Cuba seems to have lurched from crisis to unhappy crisis for much of the last few hundred years, against a backdrop of persecution and tyranny.


The story of the revolution itself is quite inspiring - how Fidel and his 82 revolutionaries landed in Cuba one night from their converted US pleasure boat, the Granma, been ambushed and reduced to 18, took to the mountains in the south and within 2 years had taken control of an island of over 10m inhabitants from a government that had the backing and support of the most powerful nation on earth.

But the only feeling you get for the revolution seems to come from the museums, the old murals and the daily newspaper - the Granma - the people themselves don't seem to bring it up at all.

.

Nearly 50 years later, the man is still there, although now replaced at the helm by his brother Raul, also one of the original 82. I sincerely hope that Fidel Castro can hang on to see the 50th anniversary of the revolution on 1 January 2009.

Looked at from afar, Cuba has to be one of the most fascinating sociological experiments of the 20th century, and you have to wonder what could have become of the country if they had been more inward-looking during the '60s and beyond, rather than trying to come to the aid of every people's movement in the world engaged against imperialism. They might not have wound up Uncle Sam so much, for a start.

Come to think of it, the Cuban government should have asked the accountants before they nationalised every pie that the podgy US fingers were inserted into. I'm sure we could have come up with a combination of transfer pricing rules, employer social security payments, graduated rates of corporation tax and minimum wage laws that would have sorted out the Cuban treasury as well as shifting the economic base of power away from the corporations and landowners.

However, what Fidel did for his people after the revolution was spectacular. The improvements to the health and education systems were truly stellar and their positive effects are still felt today. What's more, they still compare favourably with the convoluted and litigation-hungry systems of the west. All this and much more from a country that the USA, through a combination of overt economic sanctions and covert CIA operations, was trying to bring to its knees in order to....what? Lord knows what the intentions of the USA were. Perhaps to re-establish a Mafia controlled gambling playground for the rich?

Apart from the obvious indoctrination, we also ate well during our three nights in Havana, something I was not really expecting (everyone had told us: the people are nice, but the food is soooo drab....rice and beans but, you know, socialist and grey....bleagh). About fifteen years ago the government set up a licensing scheme for people to host people for dinner in their houses for money, a sort of petty-bourgeoisie restaurant system in the front room. But no beef - only the poorer, people's types of meat. These home restaurants - the Paladares - vary greatly, but we managed to find two of the best thanks to the groundwork of Christine Corner, who had packed me off from the office way back in February with an annotated list of every restaurant she had been to during an earlier visit.



When we visited the first, La Guarida, we still didn't really get the Paladar thing. It had been hard to get a booking and we expected something spectacular. When our taxi dropped us half way along a decaying back street in Old Havana, we thought the driver had got it wrong. The 'doorman' - literally some bloke standing at the front door of the apartment building - asked us about our reservation and then mumbled something about the third floor. We wandered into the crumbling building and in the darkness could just make out some urchins playing in the squalid mess of the courtyard. After climbing the chipped marble steps past a headless statue, we reached the landing of the second floor, adorned by a criss-cross of laundry lines, heavy with a mixture of sheets and children's clothes. Reaching the third floor, and by now thinking I was on the set of Blade Runner we saw a discreet sign for La Guarida, next to a door with a bell push and a spy hole.

We were admitted into a different world. The apartment looked like it had seen better days, but in a stylish way. The walls were covered in posters and artwork from the 40s and 50s. The restaurant probably had 25 - 30 covers. The service was quick and efficient - all PDAs and snappy snappy. The food choice was limited to about three starters and three mains, and what we had was delicious - a spinach pancake stuffed with chicken and mushroom followed by Mahi Mahi (nothing too posh or decadent there then..). The wine was OK and overall the experience, although very efficient, was warm and friendly.

Getting a cab back to the hotel after brought us back to earth with a bump. Getting into a cab that should have been condemned a couple of days after Henry Ford put his first Model-T on the road, we had to haggle to get the price down from the stratospheric to the mere I-couldn't-care-less-it's-only-a-couple-of-quid-but-to-him-it's-a-holiday-for-the-kids-and-a-victory-against-the-west.

All in all a great night.



We did a lot of walking in Havana and saw a great deal of Old Havana as well as the port. Day two (Sunday) we had lunch in a local restaurant, and saw the other side of the Cuban culinary experience. I was happy - there was a ball game on the television. I ordered a ham and cheese sandwich and Jane ordered a pizza. The menu should have given Jane a clue. There were two types of pizza; pizza or pizza with cheese. Being a cosmopolitan sort, she had the one with the cheese. Within two bites she pronounced it inedible. I don't know what it is with these Surrey types. Me, I love processed cheese. Eventually, even I struggled to get about three quarters through it before giving up. In the meantime, Jane moaned about the yellow bread of her adopted sandwich. All this and surly service. The ball game was good, though.

We kept finding small enchanting squares with nice cafes in the middle of absolute slum areas, so the mood was constantly swinging from great to hmmmm to phew to wow.

The second Paladar we visited for dinner was La Esperanza which was across the river in Miramar, a nice suburban part of town. The restaurant was in the well proportioned living room of a 30s house, full of art-deco bits and bobs. Once again, they managed an interesting menu on three starters and three mains. This time I started with banana stuffed with tuna and cheese (no really, it works) followed by Red Snapper.



Our introduction to Cuba had been truly fascinating; the three days in Havana disappeared all too soon and by Tuesday morning we were being picked up by taxi for a 5 hour drive to Trinidad, in the centre of the island.