This is a government-licensed room with its own bathroom in a Cuban family’s house, sometimes conveniently with its own separate entrance. These are everywhere in Cuba. We had three deal-breaker requirements – it had to be clean (they all were), have air conditioning and at least warm, if not hot, water. We checked out four or five casas before choosing one in Aguila Street, the home of a friendly family and only a five minute walk to the malecon, Havana’s famous 8km long atmospheric sea wall over which ocean spray spills onto the road when the wind and tide are up.
While I was doing my final class for the year in China in November, Leetuan was back home attending Spanish classes. This has been hugely helpful, and she’s been charming the Cubans (particularly the older Senors) with her smiling efforts to speak Spanish, her ‘per favor Senors’ and ‘gracias Senors’, and her softly spoken respectful approach. The result has been friendly Cubans bending over backwards to help us. Despite the deprivations they live under, they seem generally to make the most of their lives and to have fun, liable at any moment to break out into dancing.
Cuba is a safe destination for travellers, though the dark gritty unlit alleyways of Habana Centro certainly did feel a bit dodgy late at night. But apart from a failed late afternoon pickpocketing attempt on myself, we had no problems. The former happened when I was looking at some fruit on a street side cart. I felt a faint touch deep in my pocket and in response I slammed my hand against the pocket, snaring a set of fingers retreating fast. I spun around and glared at their owner who pretended that he had stumbled onto me; then he made off fast. He took nothing – there was nothing in the pocket to take. My cash and bank cards were in a small plastic bag securely tucked away in a pocket Leetuan had deviously sown on my underpants! Good one Leetuan! More brownie points. I’d wager that few pickpockets, or even frisking muggers for that matter, would be prepared to put their fingers where needed to get their hands on my cash!
“Time warp” is certainly an apt description for Havana. Most of the cars on the streets, shared with people and bicycle taxis, are blue smoke belching American and Russian models from the 50s. Classic car enthusiasts (certainly those without asthma) must love this place.
We spent our days admiring the crumbling architecture of Habana Centro, and the internationally funded restorations taking place on the magnificent colonial era buildings in Habana Vieja district (such as the astonishing Grand Theatre of Habana). Occasional café stops for a shot of excellent Cuban coffee added to the pleasantness of it all. And then there was the music. Cubans (and to a lesser degree tourists) have to join long queues for most things – banks, shops, bus tickets, internet cards etc. The shops were poorly stocked relative to ours home, with little choice and empty shelves common in the grocery shops (there are no supermarkets as we know them), and many everyday goods we take for granted are simply unavailable. Cubans may not have much in a material sense, but they have the music. Boy do they have the music. It seeps out through the masonry cracks in the buildings, and mixes with the sounds from the bands in the streets to create a riot of public sound.
Havana Centro
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Havana Vieja
We went to a chamber orchestra concert in St Francis of Assisi cathedral in Habana Vieja, to a Cuban pop music concert in La Casa de la Musica in Habana Centro where the rum flowed freely but being at least twice the age of everyone else there we were soon driven out by the ear-popping decibels, and twice late at night to the excellent la Zorra y El Cuervo (the Fox and the Crow) basement jazz club in Habana Vedado. One afternoon in Vedado we also stumbled on a street festival and procession with a lot of great Cuban music.
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Havana was a blast; the queues for everything, woeful internet, poor food, shortages, blue vehicle fumes and trickling kerbside sewage effluents excepted.
