Economics With A Face

Our guide made a point of saying the workers worked 8 hours a day with an hour for a lunch break. Each worker has a quota of cigars they are expected to produce, and any number over that baseline will earn them extra wages. Sixty percent of the factory workers are women. She also pointed to the front of the room where a microphone was set up, an employee would read the day’s news to the workers in the morning so that they could keep up on current events. It was a very desirable job in Cuba according to her, but I suspected that this had more to do with gaining access to a supply of free cigars that could later be sold on the street. Later in the tour this suspicion gained credence when I fell behind the group a bit. A worker leaned over the counter and said in a whisper “Psss… $10” as he held out a large unlabeled cigar.

Outside the factory our taxi driver had waited for us. I began to ask him about keeping his car running after all these years. “Cubans are resourceful people,” he replied “We do what it takes.” We also talked about his job, and how although he was trained as a mechanic, he later decided in life that he wanted to drive taxis for a living. It’s a very difficult change he explained, as if the government trains you for a technical profession like a mechanic, you are more useful to them in that capacity than as a driver which many people could do. Still he was persistent and after a great deal of time he finally was able to change.

He dropped us off in Central Havana and we headed towards the Museo de la Revolucion. The pictures and paintings that lined the walls of the former Presidential Palace followed the history of revolution in Cuba from the days of Jose Marti up until the late 1980’s. Glaringly missing was any discussion of the state of the revolution since the collapse of the Soviet Union, as there were no displays post-1992.

At one o’clock we found our way back to the paladar where we ate on our first day. There was a group of young men out lounging on the doorstep. One of them told us “No, not open, the gas is broken, but I can take you to another one. Follow me.” Incredibly ironic, as this is was the same exact line that Raul had used the first day before he had led us to this paladar. We told the group that we wanted to head up and see for ourselves, and began to pass the man up the stairs. Once we passed him, the other young man who had watched the entire scene without a word, motioned that yes, our paladar was actually open and to follow him up. What a bizarre place, I thought.

It was a different atmosphere at the paladar. I was disappointed that the young enfermero was not there today. There was less talk about politics and more about the siglon that had just passed over the country. We also talked with the various people in the room about family in the U.S. and life in Cuba in general. An older lady told us of her daughter in New York who would send money and was doing quite well in her new home.

We were in somewhat of a rush as we had to be out of our hotel by two o’clock. We continued talking and ate as quick as we could in order to make it back to the hotel. The others in the paladar left to do other things while we were eating and by the time we finished it was only ourselves and the elderly woman who was the cook. We took a few pictures with her and then got ready to depart.

Before we left I mentioned that I hope things would change soon so that it would be easier for us to come back and visit the country. “Yes, I know,” she said “everyone here hopes that things change.” And with that we wished her well and headed to the hotel. She gave us each a kiss on the cheek and we were off.

The clerk at the front desk asked it we had any medicine for an upset stomach that she could take. After we gathered our things from the room we gave her what we had in our medical kit. She then gave the medicine to a Cuban man in the lobby who asked me directions on how many he should take.

After this, we then made our way over to Calle and Josephine’s hotel for a beer on their rooftop restaurant. We made plans to meet in either Sweden or Europe at the end of our trip. They saw us off an hour later and we headed towards Zona Playa via taxi. We found the house of Diana and Jose, parents of a friend of a friend, and knocked on the door. They were expecting us as I had called a day earlier and explained how I had gotten their number. While the room that they rented was occupied at the moment, they said they would be more than happy to help us find another place close by.

They were such a nice couple and made us coffee and had us try some of their homemade fig marmalade as we talked and got to know each other. They had a very nice place, covered with pictures of relatives, many of whom lived in the United States, while their son and his family now lived in Canada. They walked us through their apartment for rent in the back of the building as well. Originally, it was meant to be for their son and his wife as it is very difficult for a young Cuban couple to find a place of their own. But when he found work overseas they decided it would be best to start renting it to keep them busy in retirement and for the extra income. She made clear she loved the work and I feel it kept them both young in a way. After a great introduction and meeting their 8-year-old nephew, Jose walked us down to the casa particular where we would be staying.

It was a charming place run by a young woman with a daughter. She had created a place to rent by sectioning off half of the apartment for her family to live in and half to rent. She gave us access to her kitchen. We had a full sitting room, hallway, bathroom and bedroom (almost an entire apartment, it seemed) to ourselves, and AC when the power was on. Jose drew a map of the area and made sure we were comfortable before he left us. We promised we would stop by tomorrow for another visit, and then made our way down to a local pizza place to get some dinner. This part of town was much greener and we immediately felt like we could relax. On our way back to our casa particular, we stopped by the famous Copacabana (the hottest spot north of Havana says Barry Manilo) for a drink.

(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)