August 4, 2008
Heading Back to Cuba
Former Cuban political prisoner Hector Palacios is returning to Cuba. Here is Mary O'Grady's op-ed on his decision and the related video:
Posted by Peter Mork at 11:40 AM | Comments | TrackBack
April 24, 2008
Cuba Libre
Ignacio Sosa has another great letter to the editor published in today's WSJ:
Things We Could Do to Help Make Cuba Libre
We do not know if Raul Castro's recent liberalization moves are the beginning, middle or end of the Cuban reform process o("The Meaning of Raul's 'Reforms,' " by Mary Anastasia O'Grady, Americas, April 21). We do know, however, that U.S. policy toward Cuba is not helping.
Cubans are openly discussing alternatives to almost 50 years of communism while the U.S. continues to block any possible interchange of people and ideas.
Why not start by lifting the travel ban to Cuba for family members as long as Cuba lifts travel restrictions for its own citizens? The latter is likely to happen anyway, so why doesn't the U.S. join the reform process?
Perhaps we can also negotiate lifting restrictions on family remittances to the island. This will have the desirous effect of making Cubans less dependent on their government and thus more likely to speak up.
Relaxing restrictions on Cuba will provide greater oxygen to those on the island demanding change. It's time to end our failed Cuba policies and help Cubans build a better society.
Ignacio Sosa
Globalis Investments LLC
Boston
Posted by Peter Mork at 10:04 AM | Comments | TrackBack
December 28, 2007
Generación Y
"The exercise of truth, and the exercise of liberty is something that marks you for all of your life."
The WSJ this past weekend had a truly inspiring front-page article profiling Yoani Sánchez, a 32 year old blogger from Cuba (click here for her website). It's well worth the read. Below is a video summary of the article as well as a few quotes:
From the article:
On a recent morning, Yoani Sánchez took a deep breath and gathered her nerve for an undercover mission: posting an Internet chronicle about life in Fidel Castro's Cuba.
To get around Cuba's restrictions on Web access, the waif-like 32-year-old posed as a tourist to slip into an Internet cafe in one of the city's luxury hotels, which normally bar Cubans. Dressed in gray surf shorts, T-shirt and lime-green espadrilles, she strode toward a guard at the hotel's threshold and flashed a wide smile. The guard, a towering man with a shaved head, stepped aside.
"I think I'm able to do this because I look so harmless," says Ms. Sánchez, who says she is sometimes mistaken for a teenager. Once inside the cafe, she attached a flash memory drive to the hotel computer and, in quick, intense movements, uploaded her material. Time matters: The $3 she paid for a half-hour is nearly a week's wage for many Cubans....
...The problem is, saying what you think in Cuba can be dangerous. In 2002, Cuba imprisoned dozens of journalists who declared themselves dissidents and published criticisms of the regime -- many are still there. Most Cubans are so afraid of being labeled a critic that they are reluctant to utter the words "Fidel Castro" in public. Instead, they silently pantomime stroking a beard when referring to their leader...
...A recurring feature is her 12-year-old son's school. Recently, he participated in a military shooting exercise there. Her son enjoyed playing soldier, but she was outraged. In another entry, she described how parents congregate at the schoolyard at lunchtime to secretly pass food to their children who don't get enough to eat. She described her sadness at seeing children whose parents who don't turn up and will go hungry.
An Oct. 22 entry talked about how her son's teacher told the class that one student had been secretly designated an informer -- charged with keeping a list of good and bad kids that the teacher could use to mete out punishment.
"So young, and these children experience the paralysis generated by the feeling of being watched," she wrote. "I look around me and confirm that the successive irrigations of paranoia have worked. Our fears are populated by CIA agents and members of the secret police."
...In addition to publishing her blog, she talks freely about taboo subjects. She tells neighbors that she doesn't vote, a shocking admission in Cuba. She isn't a member of any of Cuba's quasi-compulsory political organizations.
"There are many ways to pretend in Cuba: you can say things that you don't believe, or you can stay quiet about the things you don't like," she says. "I have the tranquility of being able to look at my son and he knows that I don't fake it."
Still, there is no guarantee that Ms. Sánchez's activities won't land her in legal trouble. Even if jailed, Ms. Sánchez says she would find ways to publish her blog. "You have to believe that you are free and try to act like it," she says. "Little by little, acting as though you are free can be contagious."
Posted by Peter Mork at 9:28 AM | Comments | TrackBack
September 14, 2007
Republicans, Freedom, and Cuba
Here's an excellent letter to the editor in today's WSJ:
Your article "In Little Havana, Cuba Si, Obama No" (Politics & Economics, Sept. 10) captures the generational conflict between older Cuban-Americans who oppose any change in U.S. policy toward Cuba and younger Cuban-Americans who have a more realistic approach. The demographics are in favor of those Cuban-Americans who seek a new Cuba policy that is more consistent with American values of freedom and openness.
It's good that Barack Obama gets it. However, as a Cuban-American and a Republican, I would like to see my party align itself with the younger generation of Cuban-Americans. As the Republican Party becomes increasingly associated with perceived anti-immigrant policies and an outmoded U.S. policy toward Cuba, the party will lose the Cuban-American vote. That could easily tip the electoral calculus in 2008 and 2012 in favor of the Democrats. Wake up Republicans, it's not just the liberals who want to see a different approach to Cuba.
Ignacio Sosa
Principal, OneWorld Investments LP, Boston
Posted by Peter Mork at 9:38 AM | Comments | TrackBack
July 24, 2007
"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free."
The insanity of the “wet-foot, dry-foot” policy towards Cuban immigrants is on full display in this front-page article ($) in the WSJ:
Cuban Migrants Confront Harsher U.S. Tactics at Sea
KEY WEST, Fla. -- Agustin Uralde could barely hear his wife above the roar of the smuggler's speedboat last summer as it tried to outrun two U.S. Coast Guard vessels and a helicopter, bearing down with sirens wailing. Huddled around the couple were 27 other wet and frightened Cubans. "She said, 'Pray for me, my love, because I am praying for you,'" Mr. Uralde recalls.
Moments later, a Coast Guard gunner shot two copper slugs into one of the boat's engines, forcing it into a hard left turn before it groaned to a stop. Mr. Uralde says the abrupt motion threw his wife headfirst into the side of the boat. By the time the Coast Guard had brought her ashore for treatment two hours later, following a long debate over whether she was really badly hurt, Anay Machado Gonzalez, 24 years old, was dead. She was the third Cuban migrant in just over a year to die of traumatic head injuries after a high-speed ocean chase.
For nearly 13 years, Coast Guard and Border Protection agents have been chasing human smugglers around Florida. In 1994, President Clinton changed U.S. policy to allow only Cubans who physically made it to U.S. soil to stay in the country, while those caught at sea were returned to their Communist island. Before that the Coast Guard simply plucked Cuban migrants off homemade rafts and brought them to Miami as refugees.
Posted by Peter Mork at 9:56 AM | Comments | TrackBack
March 23, 2006
Dying For The Internet
Please watch this CNN video: (click here to open link)
More information here.
Posted by Peter Mork at 1:50 AM | Comments | TrackBack
August 31, 2005
Really, You Went to Cuba? How Was It?
It’s a question I’ve heard many times after my one week stay in Havana and it’s a hard one to answer. In truth I didn’t find the country I expected.
A few years ago, at a friend’s birthday party, a young Mexican-American college student who described himself as left of center politically told me about his recent experience in the country. “Here, you and I have dreams and goals,” he told me. “There, people have no aspirations and don’t think past today.” He described a taxi ride he took where he asked the driver how life was in Cuba. It was fine, the driver had told him bluntly. When he pressed the man saying that things did not appear fine in the country, the driver raised a pointed finger to his lips, signaling him to be quiet. “It was bizarre,” he told me, “we were the only two people in the car and no one else was around to hear the conversation.” That scene stuck with me.
Additionally, I’ve kept up over the years on news coming out of the communist state. Everyone knows that life isn’t easy on the island. Cuba is a third world country where most of its government’s policies guarantee it will remain as such. I knew that despite a guarantee of food for every Cuban, after the collapse of the Soviet Union people were starving. I had also read that although healthcare was supposedly a right, ordinary Cubans had very limited access to medicine. And how could one ignore the thousands of Cubans who risk their lives at sea to reach Florida on what could hardly be called boats. (Click here for some recent statistics about Cuba under Castro’s rule).
Of course, I also understood that oppression was inherent within the regime. Political prisoners had existed since the days of the revolution. In 2003 Castro had added 70 more high profile cases to this number throwing journalists, poets, and librarians behind bars. To keep up on these events Mary O’Grady′s column in the Wall Street Journal was a great source on Friday mornings at work. She is one of the few columnists that keeps the repression within Cuba in the mainstream press.
Despite my research on Cuba, one thing that was unclear was what kind of contact I would be able to have with Cubans as a foreigner. I had read in a manual for working with the democracy movement in Cuba that dissidents welcomed contact with international visitors. Talking with various people about this idea during my week long trip drew different opinions. Some strongly encouraged me to do so, while others advised me I might be putting these Cubans in further danger. The last thing I wanted to do was putting anyone’s safety in jeopardy so I decided it was not worth the risk. Still, I scribbled down on a random page of my Lonely Planet Guide the address of dissident economist Martha Roque in case it did look feasible once I was inside Cuba.
Landing in Havana my nerves were a bit on edge. As a strong believer in small constitutional government, individual rights, and the idea your life is your own (not a means for the state to accomplish its ends), Castro’s government in theory stood against all these core principles. My first experiences lived up to my expectations. My bag was held up at the airport for 2 hours because I had a video camera packed inside. After a long wait standing in the declaration line during which I watched Cubans’ luggage torn apart to reveal them bringing in over-the-counter medicine and other supplies, it was finally my turn to have my belongings searched. The customs agent did not seem concerned that I might sell the camera in the country, but instead wanted to make sure that I was a tourist and did not have friends or family inside Cuba. It was the type of atmosphere I had expected.
But shortly afterwards one of my first interactions with Cubans threw me for a bit of a loop. I had expected that dealing with employees of the government, which of course is the largest employer in Cuba, would be similar to dealing with employees of the DMV back in the States. After all, what incentive did people have to please the consumer if this was not who they ultimately answered to? On top of that I had a U.S. passport, which I thought might be a turnoff to many. These assumptions turned out to be proved inaccurate.
Although it was now 2:30am in the morning, the men at the state travel agency in the airport were astonishingly friendly and helpful. They joked, laughed, and put us as ease as they diligently called all around the city trying to find us the best deal for a hotel once we learned that the hotel we had in mind was booked. They knew it was important to find us a cheap place since, as Americans, we could only spend what we carried in cash. Yet they wanted to make sure were still in a good location so we would enjoy the trip. Instead of the DMV, it felt like we were dealing with employees of a 5-star hotel. The only difference was that once a hotel was found they made sure I knew that the price they had secured didn’t include their tip, so maybe there were some incentives involved after all. Still, I was impressed.
Throughout the week I would have many more interesting experiences with people in Cuba that truthfully defined the trip.
The next day for example, only a few blocks from the hotel, I found myself in a living room that had been transformed into a private restaurant. It was here that I had some of the most interesting conversations of the trip. I had expected Cubans to be tight lipped and fearful when talking to a foreigner about their government. But in this small room, far removed from the street, they had no problems voicing their discontent. Here is an excerpt from my daily log:
Things are bad here they made clear, and not only because of the poverty. “The tourists stay in the hotels and don’t know how we really live,” they stressed.
Twice during the lunch strangers entered the paladar. The owner, who was now posted outside the room, would make conversation with them as they approached and our conversation would quiet. Each time someone entered there seemed to be an awkward feeling in the room, but soon they would start talking amongst themselves and before long the conversation had returned to normal.
They told us their salaries. Our guide, who had remained relatively quiet during the conversation, occasionally translating words or phrases we might miss, made $10 convertibles a month cleaning offices; the same cost as our lunch. The enfermero made $14. “You can’t live off this salary,” they said.
An older man who had entered the restaurant started up a conversation with the others about three young girls in one of the apartments below. Their mother was currently in jail for crime of approaching a tourist at the beach and asking for money. The man said “Fidel says there are millions of children in the world homeless and going hungry, but not one resides in Cuba. Yet look, there are three one floor below.” This reminded me of an acquaintance who had used Fidel’s same line years ago when we were debating the merits of Communism.
They talked about how while the medical care was free, no one could afford the medicine, and thus, what good was it? When I asked what would happen if we were to have this conversation on the street the enfermero told me he would be labeled as a counter-revolutionary and thrown in jail. They talked about how in the countryside the people had it worse, yet these were the same people that cheered Fidel and loved him the most. When I asked why they said it was something psychological, that they have nothing and he gives them something. In the capital, like in any capital in the world, people have more exposure to the outside world, and with this came more discontent.
It continued. They talked about how they thought the children were not getting enough to eat, how it was illegal to eat beef, and that people could be thrown in prison for owning and slaughtering a cow. “We’re like India,” the enfermero told me, “but without the religion.” “Young boys need protein,” he said, and he thought kids were not growing as they should be.
Some talked of relatives in the U.S. and how much better life was there. When I asked if they had the money and wanted to use the internet, could they? They said no. When I said that some people in the U.S. think Castro does many things well they scoffed loudly with looks of disgust on their face and simply said that these people don’t understand how life really is in Cuba.
I don’t remember every bit of the conversation but the message was clear: things are bad here, we’re denied rights the tourists have, and the outside world doesn’t know how we really living. At one point the enfermero looked me in the eyes and spoke slowly to make sure I understood: “Your system is not perfect,” he told me “but our system is much worse.” That summed up the conversation.
Like many tourists we also had firsthand experiences with Jineteros, young Cuban men who leeched onto tourists acting as guides for free drinks or some cash. I had read how this was a common practice and thus didn’t mind treating a guide and his friends to a few drinks. But I was also caught off guard by the dishonest tactics of a few we encountered later on in the trip.
Still, I sympathize with many of these young men my age. They were trapped in dead-end jobs that locked them out of any contact with tourists and the money they brought in tow. This money was the only source of a better life and so they picked up a little English, Italian, and French to try to improve their lives. Another experience that increased my empathy towards them, as well as shook me up a good deal, was watching three of these young men arrested for the crime of talking to an undercover policeman disguised as a tourist.
It was soon apparent that there was a sort of division between those who were employed in the government hotels and restaurants and those like the Jineteros who were not. While friendly, the hotel employees seemed more reserved and less willing to talk beyond surface conversations. But during my week in Havana Hurricane Dennis hit the island. This meant that once the power went out in the city, for several hours many hotel employees and guests were stuck in the lobby together listening to radio reports as the wind howled outside. This gave me an opportunity to actually have some meaningful conversations with a few of the workers. We talked about everything from sports, to their family members in the U.S. and my life there, to how they too were unsatisfied with their lives on the island. Once again I found people just like me, yet forced to live their lives in a less than ideal situation.
An additional enlightening interaction with Cubans came in our final days of the trip when we stayed in the suburbs of the city at another casa particular. Our hosts wanted to make sure that we got to see another side of Cuba to which we had not yet been exposed. It was another interesting and passionate talk. The point was not that life was perfect in Cuba, it wasn’t, but instead that it is not as bad as they felt it was portrayed by the U.S. media. And the comforts they enjoyed, partially thanks to their license that allowed them to rent out a room in their house, partially proved this point. A television, VCR, a nice apartment, and most surprisingly to me cell phone that was mainly used to send emails back and forth to family in the U.S. gave the appearance of a normal life back home.
They were also very critical of the U.S. immigration policy towards Cuba. They pulled out passports to show how they had been denied visas by the U.S. government to visit a niece for her high school graduation. It was proof to them that the U.S. wanted the image of immigrants risking their life at sea to stress how horrible life was in Cuba. Why, they asked, if the concern was for the Cuban people would they not let her simply fly to the United States if this was something the Cuban government was willing to let her do? While I was only in this suburb of the city for two days it gave me a different perspective on the country.
To add yet one more perspective, sitting in the Havana airport just prior to leaving the island, I met an employee of the U.S. Interest Section who was on the same flight. When he heard that I used to work for an economist he said in his prior job he was given the task of attempting to teach free-market economics to congressmen and congresswomen on the Hill. I enquired about his employer and had to chuckle when he said he worked for the Cato Institute. Not surprisingly, in our brief chat he offered a view of the island from a unique perspective, especially with regards to immigration. He explained to me a lottery system that allowed some of the half-million Cubans who had applied for amnesty with the U.S. Interest Section years ago to immigrate to the U.S. It goes without saying that, like me, he was no fan of Castro.
While the descriptions above in no way cover all the conversations and people I met in Cuba, they do give a decent overview of some of the people on the island that helped to form my experience. Spending just one week in the country in many ways opened up more questions than it provided answers that I was seeking. Nonetheless, it was time and money well spent. The biggest benefit I gained from the trip was that Cuba’s problems are now very personal. News stories coming out of Cuba are no longer simply names in an article, but are now, very clearly, real people suffering under an unjust government.
Once I had left Cuba, and began relaying my experience to others, I quickly realized that it was a subject that aroused deep emotions. There has been plenty of criticism.
Some have thought that I went into Cuba with a negative view of its Communist government and did not report in an evenhanded fashion. Others don’t directly challenge my experience, but instead immediately defend Cuba by quickly changing the subject to how much worse life would is in other countries, or how the U.S. itself is hardly a role model in many regards. Still others find my negative assessment of aspects of Cuba so to their displeasure that they chose to simply ignore it altogether.
Of course, my belief that Communism is an immoral form of governance did not make grey police vans appear out of thin air to haul away young Cubans for speaking to tourists, nor did it create the discontent that was apparent in so many conversations. As for changing the subject of the discussion, or ignoring my reporting completely, all I can say is that these tactics don’t alter the wrongs I did experience in the country.
It’s a little peculiar how many good-intentioned people insist on defending a system I know they deep down must oppose. If the leader of Cuba was named Bush instead of Castro there is no way they would stand for 46 years of rule without an election, of a government-run press, or of the jailing of people who speak out against the regime. I know these defenses partially stem from a desire to find some sort of an alternative to U.S. capitalism. Still, it is no excuse.
Castro does his best to get people to play right into his hands, and many do just that. The government papers read of Cuba’s organic farming projects, new graduates from medical school, and wage increases for healthcare workers and teachers. Cuba’s defenders know that all these things are good and I think many start to believe that these ends signify they can ignore the means. Castro’s hope, and it seems to work, is that by the time tourists get to the last page of the paper that justifies jailing independent librarians, all the good press will be enough of a reason to turn a blind eye to such a violation of basic rights. Again, there is no rationale for not seeing through this kind of propaganda.
On the other hand, not everyone has been as critical. A few weeks after the trip while describing some of my experiences to classmates in Mexico, one student in the class, who had lived the first 27 years of her life in the Soviet Union, had quite a different reaction. “That’s why I have no desire to go to Cuba,” she told the class. “I experienced those same things for too many years: not being allowed to speak with tourists, arrests for trivial offenses, repression of all sorts. There are just too many other places in the world I want to see before heading back to a place like that.”
Many others take a genuine interest after initially not really knowing much about Cuban life. “I’ve always wanted to go to Cuba,” I’ll hear. But in the next breath, after I’ve relayed some of my stories, they say “Wait, what do you mean there isn’t a free press?” or “What do you mean businesses were illegal prior to 1993?” Afterwards, it usually proceeds into some thoughtful conversations.
Another positive reaction is the response from Mexicans we’ve met during our travels through the country. Many of these people consider themselves left-of-center politically, but unlike some Americans, they don’t associate being left-of-center with the need to defend socialism. They already know a quite a bit about how difficult life can be in Cuba, are interested in the topic, and truthfully appreciate a first hand account of the island.
None of this is to say that one week in Havana somehow makes me an expert on the country. It’s clear to me being a foreigner and spending only a week in the country limited what I could see and, at times, I was in a little in over my head. Still, the interactions I had in Cuba were real and nothing can change that fact. While some might be put off by my reporting thinking I put Cuba in too negative of a light, in some ways I think it is just the opposite. If anything my daily travelogue only scratches the surface of the repression that exists in Cuba.
For example, one of my biggest regrets is not meeting with dissidents inside the country. These are the people who feel the wrath of Castro’s dictatorship most directly for simply daring to criticize the regime. The stories of those who Castro wishes to silence the most certainly would have been insightful and is something my reporting lacks.
Case in point, ten days after I left the country, Martha Roque, the economist whose address I secretly carried but was not able to meet with, was arrested at her home in Havana. She and along with 20 other Cubans were taken to prison for planning a small public demonstration. Shortly afterwards she was freed but 10 of the original 20 that were arrested still remain in prison. What would she have had to tell me about life in Cuba? How does she feel living under a system that has provided her with a free education, but then throws her in jail when she uses that education to think freely?
I would love to travel back to Cuba and ask her personally. Unfortunately, I still don’t know how it would affect her safety. In addition, after the publication of my travelogue and articles I have doubts I’d be let back into the country. I’ll have to wait until Castro’s regime falls, which won’t happen a day too soon.
Still, I’m an optimist. As I said at the beginning of the essay I did not find the country I expected. Instead of finding a country whose citizens live under the complete control of a dictator, I found people willing to exchange ideas, form their own opinions, and criticize the regime that would prefer they be muzzled.
In short, Castro doesn’t have enough guns to completely stifle all the freedoms he would like to suppress. That can only bode well for the future of the country and the changes it will undoubtedly soon face. These freedoms will be needed to make a Cuban government “of the people, by the people, and for the people.” The Cubans I met during my trip deserve nothing less.
Posted by Peter Mork at 4:36 PM | Comments | TrackBack
August 15, 2005
En Fuego
I am trying to make peace with our experience in Cuba. A month later, as I read over my thoughts and look at our photos of Havana, I try to find a compromise between the serene images of the city and my fiery words. Why did I react so strongly?
Why can’t I be more like my Spanish conversation teacher, Miguel, (Joe Cool, as Peter and I call him secretly), a Mexico City native with long flowing curly hair and a swagger; he’s a student of literature and a bartender, and every morning, I question whether his heart is really into leading a group of four foreigners in discussion. But he’s a well-read, brooding, thoughtful fellow, and he perked up one day when our discussion turned to Cuba, and I described our visit a bit. Upon my description of how the poverty surprised me: “The poverty is as bad if not worse here in Mexico, on the outskirts of the cities, in the south,” he said quietly. A fellow student, an ESL teacher from North Carolina piped in with the anticipated: “And at least in Cuba, everyone is given food, shelter, and an education.” I asked Miguel if he’d visited Cuba, yes he had. “What do you think?” He responded again by comparing Cuba to Mexico… shrugging his shoulders. He had not reacted the way I had. And I quickly realized that my reaction was limited to Cuba. Not to excuse or ignore the problems in Mexico by any means, but what I see in Mexico has not disturbed me in the same way. Why?
In the streets of Havana, I looked for the culture I had gotten a glimpse of in Cuban communities in other countries and had loved: the music, the flavor, the love for life. Being foreigners in Havana, it elluded us. It was like looking for something that seemed to always be just around the next corner, but never was. We weren’t lucky enough to meet a person our own age willing to show us how happy they were, and what it was that made them love life. And we refused to simply be tourists: we only could observe and listen and absorb. We’ve been called super-libertarians in a super-socialist country by another American blogger, our age, who spent about the same amount of time in Cuba as we did. He feels like we aren’t representing Cuba fairly. He met a Mexican student and her circle of Cuban friends, and loved it. He even became chummy with a police officer. How different than our experience!
How can you argue with such a wonderful ideal, such an incredible end: equality? Food for everyone, healthcare for everyone, shelter, employment and an opportunity of a free university education for everyone: all noble goals. For forty years, these ideals have taken the driver´s seat in Cuba, at the expense of some very important liberties which I personally hold dear but often take for granted.
What made me livid was this: despite this incredible Cuban sacrifice of basic freedoms (to associate, to speak freely, to own property, to elect government representatives) in order to sustain a system of providing for everyone, it was clear that everyone does not live equally. I saw people living in poverty who were completely disallusioned and I saw others who were much more comfortable. We spoke with people in both situations. I was seeing a great deal of support for scholarship for those that got the grades and excelled in sciences or in the arts. For the rest, I only saw people in basic jobs without much else to live for. Their hands are tied.
I suppose Miguel would argue that you see this same lack of hope in Mexico but without the noble goals.
However, in Mexico, at the very least, I see both loud and subtle public displays of criticism of President Vicente Fox and of the deeds of the Mexican and foreign governments. Mexican teachers are comfortable teaching their students to be critical of everything. I see an incredibly vibrant informal economy in which those who are struggling can be a part of. I see a plethora of cheap internet access allowing ideas to be exchanged without restriction. And despite the difficult political realities of the past and present, I see enthusiasm for the upcoming 2006 presidential election. These basic interactions, alive in Mexico, are seemingly absent in Cuba.
The Cuban government with one hand provides, at inexpensive prices, the bare necessities to live, yet with the same powerful hand, sweeps away any interactions that would allow people to help themselves. We spent time with Cubans who wished to show us what a great life the system has provided for them and others. They have lived full lives, have raised children (who are now in Canada and the U.S.), consider themselves to be lifetime scholars, loved their jobs, have a wonderful apartment in a beautiful part of town, and now are lucky enough to have a license to make extra income by renting out part of their home to foreigners. Yet in the same breath, they are critical of their system. They have lived on the fortunate end of the socialist stick, while there are many who have not. Those that express their discontent publicly are quickly silenced. The same people that freely march and hang banners in the Plaza de Armas in Guadalajara, Mexico declaring Fox and Bush imbeciles or the G8 a gang of mafiosos, if they happened to be Cuban in Cuba criticizing Fidel Castro in this way, they would be strung up as contra-revolucionarios.
To me it seems that there is a wide held belief in the U.S. and elsewhere that people in Cuba are content with their form of socialism. Cubans have been denied a voice in their political system as long as Castro has been in power. How can we just shrug our shoulders assuming that Cubans must not have the same kind criticism of their government as we do of ours, when they are silenced by force from speaking publicly about it? Or worse, how can we excuse the Cuban government for forcing its citizens into a kind of numb silence?
As noble as the goals may be and as complicated as the situation has become, I refuse to simply shrug my shoulders. All I can do is try to give something of a voice to those we spoke with in Cuba who are miserable, because while publicly numb, privately they are full of life and about to explode.
Serene, peaceful and compromising this entry is not. But at least I can now look at the photos I took and realize that we were exposed to a wonderful, vibrant, and inspiring part of la cultura Cubana: the inextinguishable fire.
Posted by Emily Marie Stremel Mork at 10:37 AM | Comments | TrackBack
August 14, 2005
The Case Against the Cuban Embargo
"We're not waiting for the day of Cuban freedom, we are working for the day of freedom in Cuba," President Bush said in a speech on May 6th, 2004. How did he plan on encouraging this noble goal? By tightening the Cuban embargo, a policy that after more than 40 years in existence has yet to accomplish its objective of removing Fidel Castro from power.
The timing of such an announcement was no coincidence. Six months before a close presidential election, Bush clearly looked to shore up votes in the Cuban-American community to help secure a victory in the pivotal state of Florida. The question I’ve always had is why is there such support amongst the people who know Cuba the best for a policy that 1) is ineffective and 2) does more harm to the Cuban people than it does to the dictator that runs the island?
After spending a week in Havana, with the blessing of the U.S. government under a free-lance journalism license, the answer to this question is a bit clearer. Following my visit it was even more evident to me that Cuba’s socialist government would cease to exist if it could not rely on a steady flow of tourist dollars, euros, pesos, etc. that are currently keeping the government afloat. Additionally, many of those who are spending this money experience a very different Cuba than those who live their entire lives on the island.
Walking through the city the contrast is glaring. Wearing shorts, a raggedy shirt, and flip-flops, I could walk into the lobby of a hotel, order a steak at the bar, and enjoy my meal while watching CNN just steps away from the street. Ordinary Cubans passing by outside were not allowed in the hotels, could be sent to jail if they raised and slaughter a cow for beef, and if they had a television their reception was restricted to a few government stations. These, and many more glaring contrasts, made you sick to your stomach and wonder why anyone would ever want to go to Cuba for vacation.
And of course, the hotels that tourists from Canada, Europe, and the rest of the world frequent, are owned by the government in partnerships with foreign corporations. On top of that, nearly everything bought and sold goes through the Cuban government. Thus, almost every dollar spent gives Fidel more money to exercise control over the Cuban people. In 2003 this oppression was center stage for the world to see when Fidel threw over 70 journalists, economists, poets, and librarians into prison for defying the regime. He also had three men sentenced to death for attempting to hijack a ferry and make it to Florida.
Not surprisingly this arouses strong emotions. Maria Elena Alpizar Arioso, an independent journalist who lives in Havana, is but one passionate supporter of the embargo. She had this message for her two sons who reside in Venezuela: "I told them not to come here, not even to see my cadaver, while Fidel Castro is here."
But despite these facts one can look at the embargo from a different angle. To start with, the Cuban embargo does not stop any American goods from reaching the shores of Cuba. Since every other country in the world is free to buy U.S. goods, what’s to stop entrepreneurs in Mexico, Canada, Europe, and wherever else from buying U.S. products and selling them to Cuba if they desired? Absolutely nothing.
And of course the Germans have no laws prohibiting businessmen from selling Saabs to Cubans, nor do the Japanese have laws restricting the sale of Toyotas. The reason that there are so many cars from the 50’s still circulating around Cuban streets is that Fidel’s socialist policies have impoverished the country.
Yet the ramifications of the Cuban embargo are even worse. By continuing to enforce these restrictions on travel and trade, the U.S. gives Castro a scapegoat for his country’s poverty. They are poor, he states, because of the U.S. embargo. (Of course, the logic seems to escape Castro that if Communism works so well, why then is their economy dependent on the capitalistic government to the north?) And there is no doubt that Castro’s message does hold sway with some Cubans. I’m sure they wonder… why does the U.S. government have these restrictions against Cuba but not against China, which is also a communist state?
When one looks at the recommendations put forth by President Bush and his commission it only gets all the more bizarre. Since May 2004 Cubans in the United States can only go to visit family members once every three years (instead of once a year which was the previous policy), the definition of family members has been restricted to include only immediate family, and Cubans visiting family are only allowed to spend $50 dollars a day in the country instead of the previous amount which was $164.
If that were not enough, cash remittances can now only be sent to immediate family members, they remained limited to $300 per family every three months, and gift parcels must be worth less than $200 (not counting food which is excluded). The administration also further restricted the travel by students to Cuba through educational programs.
Are we not punishing the wrong people here?
All these policies, taken as a whole, sum up to an appalling strategy for dealing with Cuba. Fidel Castro and his confidants don’t suffer because of the embargo. They eat luxurious dinners every night relaxing at Fidel’s finca. Meanwhile, the Cuban people are not only denied direct flow of American goods, but more importantly they are denied contact with U.S. citizens, something that could be enormously beneficial.
I truthfully believe that people in the U.S. understand the benefits of free enterprise better than anyone else in the world. Thus, American students, travelers, and entrepreneurs would bring a unique taste of freedom to Cuba that won’t be found anywhere else. With Florida only 90 miles away, there is no doubt it would be an easy trip for many.
Economics professors could arrange trips with their students for a first hand look at the inefficiencies that are inherent in a command economy. Travelers could bring Cubans not only over-the-counter medicine, which Cuban’s sorely need, but they could also bring along some copies of the New York Times and The Wall Street Journal. Entrepreneurs, if allowed to start businesses, could demonstrate by there own actions how a market economy works. That is of course if Castro allowed such things, which I’m sure he would not.
But then that’s really the point. Instead of the U.S. looking like the villain to many people in Cuba and others across the world, the blame would be placed directly where it belongs. And back in the U.S., instead of reading headlines about the Treasury Department fining American citizens who violated the embargo, instead we’d be reading more headlines how Castro himself was restricting the travel of Americans; Americans who were doing nothing more than trying to better the lives of the people Fidel controls.
So why not Mr. President? Let’s give the American people the same freedoms we lambaste Castro for taking away. I know we will use it wisely. If you’re serious about advancing a day of Cuban liberty, there would be no better way to do it.
Posted by Peter Mork at 10:54 AM | Comments | TrackBack
August 13, 2005
Che Guevara: The Man Behind the Icon
“There is more repression of individual freedom here than in any country we’ve been to, the police patrol the streets carrying rifles and demand your papers every few minutes, which some of them read upside down. The atmosphere is tense and it seems a revolution may be brewing… In summary, it’s suffocating here.” – Ernesto Che Guevara, in a letter to his mother from Bogotá, Columbia - July 6, 1952
Suffocating is the word I would use, but not to describe Bogotá in 1952, a city in a time I know little about. Instead, I’d fast forward 53 years and this quote would be a fitting description of parts of present day Havana.
I was told by a Cuban, in a not so joking manner, that Havana has 2 million inhabitants, one million of whom are policemen. From my experience it didn’t seem too far from the truth. Uniform policemen are visible every few blocks and amongst the crowds lurk many more undercover agents. Walking through the city it is a common sight to see young Cubans randomly stopped and asked for their identification. One night, outside the restaurant I was dining in, I watched three young Cubans detained and thrown into a police van for the apparent crime of speaking to a tourist.
One gets the impression that just about everything Cubans do could be considered illegal. Dissident economist Martha Beatriz Roque, recently released from prison for health reasons, has stated that these conditions make every Cuban have a “built-in policeman.” It’s hard to sum up this kind of atmosphere in a single word, but suffocating might be as close as one can get.
How ironic, that in contrast to the quote above, this is the country that Che helped to create. His many admirers will undoubtedly say that he had nothing to do with such an environment. Che, they’ll say, was a man who fought against American imperialism. He was a voice for the exploited masses and is idolized because he lived and ultimately died on their behalf.
But is it really true that this young man, so concerned by the repression of individual freedoms in Bogotá, held to this same standard throughout his life? A few key facts make any observer not only question this assumption, but also the wisdom of those who display his portrait with such admiration. A good place to start is his actions following the Cuban revolution. One incident in particular is extremely telling.
Less than a year after the Cuban revolution, one of its original leaders was sentenced to 20 years in prison. Although Comandante Huber Matos had supplied weapons for the revolutionary forces and had triumphantly rode alongside Fidel Castro as the rebels victoriously entered Havana, 10 months later he would be labeled as a traitor. His crime? Refusing to be part of a government that had turned its back on democracy.
For this, Ernesto “Che” Guevara wanted him killed, or better put: sent to el Paredón, “the wall” for execution by firing squad. Castro eventually spared Matos’ life, fearing a death sentence would make him a martyr.
Ask yourself, should a man that openly favored the murder of someone who spoke out for democracy really be the poster child for justice in the world?
And Matos is not alone in this experience. Eusebio Penalver and Chanes De Armas are but two more that fought against Batista, only to be turned upon by Che and Castro when they publicly voiced concern over the new government’s consolidation of power. Hardly the leadership one would expect from such an idol.
In addition to this, Guevara personally shot a young man under his command for the crime of stealing food in order to set an example for the rest of his subordinates, he founded the Cuban labor camps thus setting up a system that would be a means to terrorize “enemies of the revolution” (i.e. political dissidents, homosexuals, AIDS victims), and by his own account ordered over two thousand executions while in charge of La Cabaña prison and other posts. Again and again he proved that human life posed no obstacle in reaching his goal of creating a “new man”.
Once more, can anyone tell me why this man’s portrait is on so many shirts?
In Havana, I passed many young tourists that proudly displayed Che’s famous image on a just purchased beret or t-shirt. Leaving Havana, in the airport, again Che was staring at me, this time his image tattooed on the back of an American’s calf in front of me in line. Making our way through Mexico it’s hard to find a T-shirt shop where I don’t see his glaring eyes. This man, no doubt, has a strong grip on many across the world. But surprisingly, walking around Havana, I saw more Cubans wearing American flag bandanas than glorifying this founder of their revolution.
I’ll end with another quote from Che, which is delivered in a distinctly different tone than the one I selected to begin this essay:
"Crazy with fury I will stain my rifle red while slaughtering any enemy that falls in my hands! My nostrils dilate while savoring the acrid odor of gunpowder and blood. With the deaths of my enemies I prepare my being for the sacred fight and join the triumphant proletariat with a bestial howl!"
In truth, I’m no expert on Che’s life, but the person who authored the above quote scares me, as he should you. Clearly, the young man who spoke to his mother of the wrongs in Bogotá was soon afterwards corrupted by a Marxist ideology and desire for power that turned him into nothing more than a murderer. Young “revolutionaries” should remember this fact the next time they go out shopping for a new wardrobe. We can’t ignore the crimes against humanity that Che committed simply because as an adventurous young man traveling through South America he kept a passionate diary.
Sources:
The Motorcycle Diaries – Ernesto Che Guevara
PBS - “American Experience, Fidel Castro”
The Black Book of Communism - Stephane Courtois
“Deflating the Che Cult” - Tom Palmer
“The Cult of Che” - Paul Berman
“Every Cuban Has a Built-In Policeman”- Martha Beatriz Roque
“Mass Murder by Diplomacy” – John Tiller
“Torture and Tyranny: The Real Che” – Randall McElroy
Posted by Peter Mork at 10:43 AM | Comments | TrackBack
August 8, 2005
Starting the Second Week of School
We made it down to school at about 9:00am and took a look at our new schedules which were posted in the front office. Classes went well. I dropped one grammar class and added a salsa class, while Em added the salsa class and changed one of her classes to a private lesson. During my conversation class the topic of Cuba came up and it was interesting discussing our recent experience in Cuba with a friend in the class who had lived in Soviet Union until it collapsed when she was 27 years old. Overall, I’m sure it will be a good last week to polish up on our Spanish.
Upon returning home after a day full of classes we watched Azucar Amarga , a Cuban film that Ulysses had brought over after our discussions about the island. It was unbelievable good and I would highly recommend it to anyone interested in life in Cuba. I’m still not sure how they were able to film so many scenes of Havana, but it was interesting to see so many of the areas we had just visited. On top of that it is a movie with a powerful message.
We stayed up for a bit afterwards discussing the film with Myra, Claudia, and Haydeé. Before bed we did some laundry and some writing, and then it was off to bed.
Posted by Peter Mork at 11:57 AM | Comments | TrackBack
July 28, 2005
Cuban Capitalists and What They Mean to the Future of their Country
"For a Communist state," I thought, as the maid in our hotel slipped me her business card, "there sure are a lot of capitalists in this country."
The card told of her casa particular, a private room for rent out of her home, and she made a convincing sale. It was clean, had a balcony, her entire family was very honest, and best of all… it came at a very good price. It was a revealing moment when she put forth the amount ($25) she considered just compensation to host us in her home. For while, in theory, the exploitation of man by man should be banned under this socialist government, repeated experiences such as this one showed me that the desire to "exploit" was in fact alive and well in Cuba.
This small business, along with many others just like it, has its roots in 1993, the year Fidel Castro faced a decision. The collapse of the Soviet Union a few years prior had brought an end to the $5 billion in annual subsidies that had helped to keep Cuba afloat. Without this money, an already fragile economy began to completely fall apart. Blackouts and food shortages were common. People were literally starving to death.
So in September of 1993 Castro decided that the revolution would have to be put on hold. For the first time since he took power, 135 private professions were legalized. In addition, the U.S. dollar was now allowed to circulate freely among Cubans. Quite a change from the previous decade when a Cuban found in possession of just $1 could end up in prison for a year. While publicly Fidel declared it was a small step during a special period, it was clearly an act of desperation on his behalf. Flirting with capitalism was a necessary evil he knew was his only path to retaining power.
These measures, along with allowing direct foreign investment into the country to build government-controlled tourist resorts, for the most part accomplished their goal. The country's economy, while still poor, recovered. Licensed rooms-for-rent out of homes, restaurants run out of living rooms, taxis, and shoe repair shops, still today allow some Cubans to live a better life. This happens despite the fact that what motivates these Cuban entrepreneurs to act is that nasty 'P' word: profits. In short, they are motivated by everything Communism and the revolution are supposed to stand against.
Yet despite profits, it goes without saying Cuba is no bastion of economic freedom with abundant opportunities for employment. People with technical university degrees are discouraged from applying for the licenses and those who do obtain them face background checks, heavy taxation, and the difficult task of obtaining the tools to run their business before they see any revenue. Given that tourist dollars are the most stable form of income, things are made even tougher for Cuban entrepreneurs as businesses that pose the threat of directly competing with government tourist resorts face even higher taxation.
In addition, as of last fall, dollars were once again banned from circulation and the government stopped issuing 40 of the original 135 licenses. Rampant prostitution is another depressing sign that the economy is hardly dynamic. What 16-year-old girl would choose prostitution over work as a restaurant hostess if such an opportunity were available?
But, it is true that many Cubans we met do sell their goods and services with the blessing of the state. While they represent a small percentage of the population, to me it seems that these people are carrying the bulk of economic activity upon their backs. It's quite ironic, but in truth not surprising, that what appears to be the only thing that keeps one of the last bastions of Communism running is a quasi-free market.
One also has to see the irony in the fact that many of these same private enterprises would be shut down before they even opened in the land of opportunity to the north. Lack of proper fire escapes, ventilation, you name it, would have U.S. regulators cracking down on these businesses in no time. I can only imagine what a FDA food inspector would have thought as we entered one small restaurant that had raw chicken laid across the only dining table in the place. Of course, U.S. style regulations would be suicide for the future of Cuba, and not only in an economic sense. Equally important, it was my experience that these businesses are providing a broad taste of liberty to Cubans, in speech and association, which would otherwise not be available.
It was no coincidence that the most intriguing conversations I had in Cuba took place in these private places of business. It wasn't only that hidden far off the street these businesses offered a place of privacy, but more importantly, when people are allowed to freely associate, they bring their ideas and opinions in tow.
Over pollo frito y congri, sitting in their living rooms, or in the back of their cabs, my relationship to them as a customer or a fellow patron transformed into one of a student and an equal. Different people from different places in Cuban society gave me their honest opinion of their nation. For the most part it was a sad story. I listened as I was told of how hard life was in Cuba, how food such as beef and milk was illegal to consume in most circumstances, how medicine was unavailable or too expensive to afford, and how if we were to have these conversations in the public they could be thrown in prison as contrarrevolucionarios. It was the first time in my life I had seen this kind of repression with my own eyes.
Overall, I could also see that these people were thirsty for ideas. They asked us many questions about life in the U.S., and with these conversations I could sense their discontent. Milton Friedman has made clear throughout his career that one cannot separate economic and political freedom. These discussions were living proof of that concept.
At the age of 78, and in visibly deteriorating health, it's a matter of time before Castro's rule over Cuba ends. The question is, what will be next? In all my conversations within the confines of these businesses this is the one question to which no one had an answer. But when Cuba does find itself confronted with this change, it won’t surprise me if many of the intellectual leaders in a new democracy emerge from the owners and patrons of this private sector of the Cuban economy. They've had a taste of economic freedom, giving them a first hand look at how such an economy can work. They've also had a taste of the other freedoms that follow when adults are allowed to associate freely.
These same entrepreneurs that ran businesses only listed in obscure guidebooks, will instead run businesses that are listed on a domestic stock exchange. And those who spoke to us in the confines of their homes about what was wrong with Cuba, instead will be able to broadcast their grievances over television, radio, newspapers and, of course, the internet.
Such a day of liberty is long overdue for the Cuban people. Twelve years of these licensed professions is a far cry from true economic liberty, and, as for political liberty, forty-six years of Castro speaks for itself.
Posted by Peter Mork at 5:29 PM | Comments | TrackBack
July 15, 2005
A Look at La Habana
We have put up a collection of our favorite photos taken during our week in Cuba. Click here to view them at our photo website.
Posted by Peter Mork at 11:56 AM | Comments | TrackBack
Two Cuban Soccer Players Defect to the United States
While we were in Havana highlights of Cuba’s 4-1 loss to the United States in the Copa de Oro were shown on the local news. What we did not see reported while we were in the city was that Maikel Galindo, who scored the team’s only goal against Costa Rica two day later, along with another player, defected to the United States. Here are some details of the affair:
Galindo describes how Saturday night after the match he decided to make his escape. With just the clothes on his back and a little money, he left his hotel and caught a bus with no idea where he was going.
"I took the elevator down, I pushed open one door and it opened to the parking lot. I pushed open another door and just a few steps in front of me a bus was loading and I just got on the bus," he said.
Galindo asked the Metro bus driver to call the one man he knew in Seattle – Alex Zahajko, a high-school Spanish teacher and soccer coach who was acting as a liaison for the Cuban team.
"I asked him: Are you lost? Do you want to go back to the team? He said, 'No, I'm not lost, I want to stay,'" said Zahajko.
Posted by Peter Mork at 9:53 AM | Comments | TrackBack
July 13, 2005
Back from Cuba
We´ve made it back from Cuba and are currently in Cancun, Mexico with Hurricane Emily whipping at our heels. Tomorrow, we´ll be updating the site with all the details of the last week, but until then I thought I´d post this photo from the beginning of the trip.
Sorry for all the problems with the site of late. Luck would have it that the day before we leave I had some major problems with Movable Type and could not update the site.
Posted by Peter Mork at 3:40 PM | Comments | TrackBack
Departing Cuba
The taxi driver picked us up at 5:30am and we were off to the airport. A few blocks from where we stayed we were passed by Fidel Castro’s caravan, which was taking him back to his ranch. One night when we were going to bed at midnight I could hear Fidel on the television from another apartment still talking about the hurricane. I thought it had to be a recording. It turns out it wasn’t. He was on the air talking from 6:00pm until 1:30am the next morning. The taxi driver confirmed that Fidel likes to work at night, but added that all he has to do is talk, not something hard like driving a taxi.
The driver also talked about his family and how his oldest son had just entered the military for his two years of mandatory service. He said after that he was encouraging his son to not enter the police force in Havana as it was not a respected position, even though the pay was relatively high. He told us that all the police in Havana come from the surrounding areas of the country, which was the same thing we had heard from other Cubans during the trip.
In the airport we got our tickets and got hit with a $50 airport tax. Luckily we had enough money left to pay it. I made my way through immigration fairly easy, but Emily took forever to get through. I was starting to get nervous right when she walked through the door. It turns out she was just chatting with nice girl who was examining her passport.
Before we boarded the plane, we started talking to another American that was seated near us. It turns out that while he currently works for the U.S. Foreign Interest Section in Havana, he previously worked for the Cato Institute. Because of his position, he was not allowed to fraternize with ordinary Cubans, but it still sounded like an interesting job. I mentioned that since he had another year and a half at the position, he might be in Cuba for a very interesting time. “Yes,” he replied, “but that is what everyone in my position has been saying for the last 10 years.”
Soon we were on the plane and getting our last views of Cuba from the airplane window on our way to Cancun. It will be an experience that will stay with us throughout the trip.
CONTINUED…
We landed in Cancun and made our way through immigration and customs. At the Hertz rent-a-car counter I asked about a bus to town that we heard stopped next to their lot. The attendant informed me there was a better one called Rivera that only cost $1.40.
As we headed out of the airport there was immediately a different feel from Cuba. Several people approached us and asked if they could take us to town in one of their shuttles or by taxi. But when we told them we were not interested, instead of trying to insistently pursue the sale, all helped us to find the bus we were looking for. Soon we were on the 20 minute bus ride into town.
After arriving in downtown Cancun, we grabbed our bags and set off for a cheap hotel that Josephine had recommended. Unfortunately the guide we were looking at had the wrong address and we ended up walking around in the 90 degree + weather for quite a while before we found it.
We got settled in the hotel and then made our way across town to find a place to do laundry and some internet. Having just survived hurricane Dennis, we were surprised to learn that a new hurricane was now headed for Cancun. What luck. Most ironic was the fact that this new Hurricane was named Emily, but luckily, she was not supposed to arrive until Sunday when we would already be long gone.
That night we ate at a good restaurant in the center of town. As it’s the low season we literally had a courtyard in the back to ourselves. We had some fun talking with both the waiter and two musicians who played us a tune over dinner.
We got back to the hotel, and before going to sleep, Em worked on her journal and organizing the pictures from Cuba, while I watched Mexico beat Jamaica in the Copa de Oro.
(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)
Posted by Peter Mork at 2:46 AM | Comments | TrackBack
July 12, 2005
A Different Side of Cuba
Today we awoke after a night of the power flickering on and off. The biggest problem when the power is out is that the heat really starts getting to you. A perfect solution we have found is to have a wet towel close by in order to cool ourselves off from time to time so it is possible to get back to sleep. After washing some clothes in the morning we started out to find another paladar recommended in our guide. It was a very hot walk, and we were both dripping with sweat when we arrived, but it was well worth it. In the shade of a small garden terrace we had another excellent lunch.
We talked with our waiter, who also was the cook and owner, who travels every year for a few months to Miami under his Italian passport. As we were eating, the electricity went out. The waiter said it was normal as the power is always going on and off due to old equipment at the plants, even without hurricanes.
After lunch we headed back to our apartment and then from there back over to see Diana and Jose. They were happy to see us and were filling us up with coffee and cold water in no time. We began a long discussion that started very innocently, but towards the end had evolved into a passionate talk about the U.S. and Cuba.
They both saw Cuba in a much more positive light than many of the young people we met throughout Havana. We talked a good deal about how hard it was for Diana to go to the U.S. on a tourist visa to visit family. She had been rejected several times by the U.S. interest section that feared she would overstay her visa. She felt the dry land policy of the U.S. government was a ploy as it reinforces the image of Cubans risking their lives in order to reach Florida. Obviously there was no denying the fact that people in fact did risk their lives, but why the resistance to her visiting as a tourist then? She also said that the envelope she brought with proof of financial evidence that she would return to Cuba was never even opened.
We talked about Bush, whom they did not hold in high regard (no one we spoke with had). Jose mentioned that Bush always talked about liberty and democracy, but carefully leaves out independence and sovereignty. I tried to make the point that with true liberty and democracy, sovereignty and independence will naturally follow, regardless of whether Bush means it to or not, and that a sovereign nation is not necessarily free.
Emily directly asked them if ordinary Cubans could easily access international newspapers freely and access the internet. They said yes, that the constraints in Cuba were mostly of those of a developing nation whose people did not have the money to do such things. This was in direct contrast to what others had told us, and I found it hard to believe. They insisted it was true, that if a young Cuban had the money they were free to march up the steps of the Capitolio and access the internet. It would have been an interesting experiment to see if one of the young Cubans we met could have accompanied us to the use the computers because this seems to be the exact sort of thing that people were being stopped by the police for.
Diana also spoke of her job as a librarian in the National Library and that her job was to keep on file the best articles for investigators that she could find, no matter the source. While these articles were from more technical journals, she said that they were open to anyone who could use the national library system. Again, she stressed that the outside world thinks that Cubans are shut off intellectually, but it is not the case. Friends had computers and internet in their homes and could access whatever websites they would like.
You could tell she loved her former job, as she loved her current one of renting out their casa particular. At one point, when I was asking about the taxes they had to pay for their rental, she replied that while they were very high, she tried not to think about it. If she worried that in the U.S. or another country she could make a better living, then maybe she wouldn’t do it at all. But for her it was a way to stay active and to earn a better living, so it was worth it.
As we were leaving some friends of the family arrived, a doctor and his wife who was a nurse. We spoke of how much we had learned in our week in Cuba and the doctor told me that in order to really learn about a country you need to speak not to the high officials in the government, nor to the lower class that live in the cities, but to people like them in the middle who have a view of it all. Diana had said something similar earlier when she said that young poor people in the city often complain to foreigners about how bad things are, but never mention all that is good about Cuba.
Although I didn’t tell them directly, I prefer to talk to as many people as possible on many different levels of the economic scale and make my own decision. It was rather obvious that these families led comfortable lives and were of the generation that seems to have benefited the most from the revolution. It has shaped the way they see Cuba. Of course the views of those on the lower rung of the economic scale with fewer opportunities will see their country from a different perspective.
We said our goodbyes, and promised to stay in touch. I must stress what a wonderful couple they were and how much they helped us to see and explain a different side of Cuba than what we had previously experienced.
That night we had dinner at a place famous for its roasted chicken, and then it was off to bed as we had to catch a taxi at 5:30am in order to catch our flight back to Cancun.
(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)
Posted by Peter Mork at 2:35 AM | Comments | TrackBack
July 11, 2005
Romeo y Julieta
No photos are allowed at the cigar factory Romeo y Julieta. We chose to go to this particular factory because the Romeo y Julieta cigars are my dad’s favorite. Cigars in Cuba sell for between $5 and $25 apiece officially. They are exported everywhere (except the U.S.). Peter and I were very interested in getting a glimpse of an industry famously Cuban. The family that began Romeo y Julieta had fled to the Dominican Republic after the revolution in 1959, and continues to make and sell them from the DR. On our tour, the guide told us, “This factory has been in operation since 1865.” She did not mention that the original business was seized by the government and that all cigar factories were nationalized after the revolution. This was the situation of nearly all businesses in Cuba after 1960.
Today, all of the famously Cuban cigar brands (Cohiba, Romeo y Julieta, Montecristo, Joya de Monterrey) are rolled and processed in all of the state-run factories, but packaged as they always have been. What make each brand different from one another are 1) the mold of the cigar and 2) the blend of different varietals of tobacco leaves. It reminds me of the wine industry. Imagine if all the great wineries in the Napa Valley were seized and nationalized. The creativity required to fill little niches in the marketplace would be snuffed. It would be a narrow, unchanging, expensive world for people who enjoy wine. Cuba’s motto seems to be “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”. Rows and rows of cubanos roll cigar after cigar by hand. There is an earthy, sepia-filtered feel to the massive rooms. The leaves stain the workbenches, and the lighting is an amber-glow. There is a buzz; a hum of worker bees. Nothing has changed in 50 years, it seems. I can hardly see straight because of all the irony. How strange that the Cuban government, founded on the abolition of private enterprise for “moral” reasons, so heavily relies economically on the original ideas and methods of those entrepreneurs it ran out of the country. It’s because private enterprise is the only thing that seems to keep an economy afloat; the only thing that keeps people fed; the only thing that gives people hope.
(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)
Posted by Emily Marie Stremel Mork at 11:59 PM | Comments | TrackBack
Leaving Havana Centro
We had a lot to do on our last day in Havana so we were busy from the moment we woke up. I raced over to the hotel across the street to change some more Mexican pesos as we were running low on convertibles. After this, Em and I were off to find a taxi to the Romeo y Julieta cigar factory located on the other side of town away from any tourist centers. The taxi we got was a ‘55 Buick special edition and the driver was friendly.
Once we arrived at the factory the tour was fascinating. We practically got a private tour since there were very few tourists that made the journey out to this part of the city. Clearly, for those employed making the cigars this was not an ideal job by U.S. standards. We were not allowed to take photos. Row after row of men and women sat side-by-side rolling cigars in a hot, humid room. Even the Lonely Planet author, who to me comes across as an apologist for the Cuban government, did not hide her displeasure for working conditions in the factories when she stated that these workers were forced to toil making cigars for up to 12 hours a day and it smacks of a “human zoo.”
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)
Posted by Peter Mork at 10:27 PM | Comments | TrackBack
July 10, 2005
Things Get Back to Normal... Relatively
We got a late start on the day but decided to head over once again to Havana Vieja. Em took some great photos during the walk. It also became clear that police stopping young Cubans randomly and asking for identification was a regular occurrence. Twice I saw young groups stopped and asked for identification by policeman, but did not see anyone arrested.
At 2:00 we headed back to meet our new friends Josephine and Calle at their hotel. It was nice talking to them as it was someone to compare our thoughts on the country, people, and government. It was evident that for the most part we were on the same wavelength.
All of us just got a bad feeling from Cuba. Calle thought they should continue on to see different parts of the country, while Josephine was considering returning to Mexico. That is how much Cuba bothered her.
Em and I both felt the same way. It wasn’t simply that there was poverty and inequality, but there was a repression in the air that gave off a horrible aura. A small example is that one my favorite dishes, beef, has repulsed me during the trip. Ever since I was told that Cubans could go to jail for the crime of slaughtering a cow for meat, and that the government reserved this meat solely for tourists, I just can’t stomach the idea of eating a steak. That kind of guilt extended to all sorts of things and just leaves you feeling unsettled.
We decided to try Chinatown again for lunch, this time with a recommendation from one of Emily’s friends at work who had visited Cuba a few years back for a conference. After a little searching we found it on one of the back streets. The food was quite good. We also got to talk with our waiter for a bit about his job in this private restaurant, his former job at a government restaurant, and the difference between the two. He received his current job by coming every day to the restaurant and asking if they would hire him until they eventually did. He made about $12.50, while at the government 4-star hotel he worked at while a student he was paid roughly that amount for the entire month. “One day here… there 29 more days of work” he said in broken English, but we understood his point. He was a really nice kid and wanted to meet up with us at 11:00 that night when he got off work to talk more, but unfortunately it never worked out.
After the meal we decided to walk along the Malecon towards the American Interest Building looking for a bar to watch the sunset. Once we got down there, it was clear there were no businesses along that stretch so we caught a taxi back to the ocean side bar that the two Cuban friends of our original guide had led us to on that first night. Sitting down we realized that they had overcharged us when they went to get beer. It wasn’t much, a $1 beer, but still disheartening, although at this point not that surprising.
In a free society, people generally respect the law. This is partially because of checks and balances inherent within the system and partially because the understanding that people are mutually beneficial to one another fosters a mutual respect. This was lacking to a larger degree in Cuba than I’ve experienced in other countries. For when everything is illegal, people begin to detest all law, including those that are the basis for a stable society. When I asked one young man what would happen when Castro dies, like many he answered that he didn’t know, but added that he was afraid that maybe many people might die. If his fear becomes a reality, this might be one of the reasons.
At the table next to us a woman had a 6 week old Dalmatian puppy. She let us hold it and tried to convince us that if we were to buy it for $60 we’d have no problem taking to back to our countries of origin. As the girls played with the dog, the woman showed me a credit card that said “Caribbean Transfers” asking if I knew of the company. Her daughter in the U.S. had just sent it to her as a way I’m guessing to avoid the limitations on the amount of money that could be sent to family members by the Bush administration, and the 10% fee on dollar transfers by Castro.
As night fell we watched a ceremonial firing of a cannon from the armory across from the Malecon. We were told it’s been done since Spanish times to signal the city gates were closing. Afterwards we headed out for some dinner at another restaurant that Emily’s friend had recommended. When the girls wanted ice cream at the end of the meal, the waiter said they had none due to the long power outages since the hurricane. He added that power was still out in his neighborhood, Zona Playa, which is actually where Em and I are headed tomorrow.
To end the night we all headed back to our hotel to have a few more beers, while Calle and Josephine told some hilarious stories about their trip over the last few months. The next table over, two Americans were arguing over a film they were making on Cuba. They loudly went back and forth about “blanket criticism” and the theme of the film which was that the revolution’s original ideology had gone astray. Personally, we wanted to avoid discussing the merits of a state where clearly more criticism would be a good thing. After Calle and Josephine left Em and I just headed up to bed.
(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)
Posted by Peter Mork at 12:26 PM | Comments | TrackBack
July 9, 2005
Los Suecos
We walked everywhere to see what had happened last night to the city. It was storming. The streets were drenched. The electricity was out for most of the city, and many people, tourists and cubanos, were wandering about during the sporadic pauses in the storm. We noticed a few interesting characters: an innocent-looking old man in green in Plaza de Catedral. I asked if I could take his photo; he smiled and said yes. After I took it and thanked him, he asked for 5 pesos convertibles ($5 US)! I shook my said and said no, offering him 1, which he took. Another character was a humongous woman: she was at least 6’3, was in a skimpy dress and was water-drenched. She walked along with the tide of tourists and approached us and everyone else—a huge toothy smile, and arm outreaching to our shoulders, lurching, “Take my photo,” she said again and again in English.
In the late afternoon, we witnessed the back streets of Havana come alive. Without electricity, cubanos built small fires at their doorsteps to cook. The atmosphere was festive with laughter and loud voices.. For the first time, we felt as though eyes were not watching us.
We were lucky that we stopped to have a café con leche at the cathedral because that is where we ran into our wonderful Swedish friends Josephin and Calle. They joined us for drinks and we spent hours and then days, talking and walking and eating together. Ironically, while we were on our first, they were on the very last stop of their own around-the-world trip. It was refreshing to connect with other outsiders. We were having similar experiences and similar impressions of this place. Josephin—a student of journalism and sociology—was especially disturbed. Of all the places she had traveled, she had never experienced anything like the situation in Cuba. The poverty weighed down on us. Even inside the pristine hotels where Cuba for the tourists was very much alive, beautiful and fun—it was all contrived—all a necessary performance, so that the government could continue to scantily provide for its people and keep the façade, all the while shackling them. We agreed that there were key principles missing: the freedoms of association and speech, the tools to make one’s dream a reality (basic education, healthcare and nourishment are not enough, as demonstrated), and the freedom to get the hell out.
(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)
Posted by Emily Marie Stremel Mork at 11:53 PM | Comments | TrackBack
After the Storm
We awoke and it was clear that the storm had passed, but the rain was coming down hard. While Em was getting ready I put on my swim trucks, flip-flops, and raincoat and with the waterproof camera headed out to see what the city looked like after the hurricane. Right outside our hotel a large tree was down and up and looking up and down the street I could see a few more had fallen. Overall Havana looked even more like a warzone, and a wet one at that.
Em and I had breakfast and afterwards headed out together. Over at the Malecon the waves were crashing onto the sidewalk. Cuban children played a game of chicken with the waves by sitting on the ledge and waiting for them to crash. One huge wave almost sucked two kids over, but they maintained their balance and quickly retreated across the road soaking wet. Soon the police were there and cleared the area.
Em and I kept walking and soon it was pouring rain and we were the only people walking outside on the street. I started to get worried about lightening, which was crashing in the distance, so we made our way towards Havana Vieja and the Plaza de Armas. Along the way we were approached by a man that warned us to walk in the middle of the road as the old balconies were prone to fall with all the rain.
We headed back towards the Capitolio, and then decided to do a u-turn and head back to take a look at the Cathedral in old Havana. Once there we watched a band of old men play some classic Cuban tunes and decided to sit down for a coffee. As we sipped our drinks we saw the Swedish couple from the airport, Josephin and Calle, crossing the plaza. We signaled to them and they came over and sat down.
We immediately hit it off and realized that we had both had been in similar situations with young Cuban men and cuba libres. Jineteros they are called. It also seems it wasn’t uncommon judging from the other stories they had heard. Eventually, we all headed towards our hotels after many drinks and lots of conversation over a few hours.
A few blocks down from the Cathedral, right in the middle of the alley that Emily and I had just walked up, a large piece of a balcony had indeed fallen. If someone would have been standing there they would have no doubt been killed, but luckily it had fallen without harming anyone.
At this point it was getting late and we were getting hungry. They suggested a restaurant in Chinatown near their hotel that sounded interesting. After a quick stop at their hotel we made our way to there, but while there were people all around the restaurants, none seemed to be open. A few had long lines of Cubans in front of them who appeared to be waiting for the doors to open, while at others small boxes of food were being handed out. I asked someone inside if the restaurants were open for tourists, and they replied not today but tomorrow they would be. I’m still not sure if this was specifically for hurricane relief or if it was people simply picking up their normal monthly rations.
So we continued walking around town and eventually just ended up back at the Swedes´ hotel for a great chicken meal, which was a better deal than anything we had found in paladares or other hotels. The electricity had been down for most of the day and so food availability was scarce. After dinner we headed out to see if we could find a salsa club where the girls could dance and Calle and I could have another beer. The one we found turned into a karaoke bar of all things shortly after we entered. We watched for a little while, but karaoke is just not as much fun when you don’t know the songs and the singing was horrible so we eventually headed out. In the end we decided to call it a night and all headed back to our hotels.
A few blocks from our hotel, several police charged down the street to our side and raced towards the outside of a bar. By the time we passed them a young man was in handcuffs and a young woman was being escorted away by the police. A few days earlier I might have been afraid to openly watch the scene, but at this point I realized that as tourists we were a protected class.
The way the police in the country worked reminded me of how I envisioned a fascist state. There are police in uniform on nearly every corner, you suspect that there are a few more undercover not too far away, and since the laws are ambiguous and randomly enforced there is always a slight chance that Cubans could get arrested at any time for a trivial offence. Still, they seem to adapt to it the best they can and go on with their everyday lives, making Havana for the most part look like a normal city.
(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)
Posted by Peter Mork at 10:24 PM | Comments | TrackBack
July 8, 2005
El Huracan
All day we’ve been waiting for the hurricane. Fidel and the Weather Channel have been warning us for hours, but honestly everyone is calm. All the windows in Havana are taped. In the afternoon, we went to the shwanky hotel down the street from ours to quickly get a few sandwiches para llevar before the madness began. The lobby was full of tourists, lounging and drinking mojitos. As the wind roared and the rain began, a band started to play. It was a strange scene; Titanic-like.
We waited a few hours in our hotel room on the top floor…a man who had chickens in a little coop on the rooftop next to us has completely boarded it up. The loud roaring wind has been shaking and banging the plastic balcony cover. The electricity suddenly goes out all over the city … and all at once, Fidel’s voice is silenced and it is completely dark. We make our way in the dark down to the lobby, candlelit. Calm, soft voices fill the air and it is a cozy scene…domino players, hushed Spanish, employees and guests together. A crowd is huddled outside under the hotel awning, and police with loudspeakers go by announcing that the worst of the hurricane is expected to pass at 11 pm and to get inside their houses. The door opens and closes letting in cool gusts of air into the humid sweltering room. Employees are gathered around the radio listening to quick streams of the latest updates about the hurricane.
It is a unique atmosphere. We’ve noticed that the employees of the hotel and at the state-run bars and restaurants have been rather reserved and silent towards us. Many of them are our age. Maybe they are discouraged from fraternizing with tourists in general, yet it seems uniformly and excessively so. We would love nothing more than to get to know these Cubans…to learn what their lives are like.
As we were all together hunched around the radio, Peter struck up a conversation with the young doorman and the woman who sits at the front desk. Friendly and warm and curious, they asked us where we were from, how we had skirted the embargo to get here, what we thought of Cuba. The doorman was eager to practice his English. It was interesting to note how well the jineteros spoke English, while the employees struggled. It seemed that the jineteros had everything to gain by getting close to the tourists, while the employees could possibly lose their jobs.
The hurricane hits at 11:05. I hope that Havana holds together…
(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)
Posted by Emily Marie Stremel Mork at 11:51 PM | Comments | TrackBack
Hurricane Dennis Approaches
It was another eventful day in Cuba. We awoke this morning and immediately had to make a decision if we were going to stay in the hotel or move to the casa particular down the street. We felt strange that Raul hadn’t come back last night. And it also was strange that this group of young guys knew exactly where we were staying and seemed to hang out right near the entrance of our hotel. With the hurricane coming we talked it over and decided that it would be best to book another two nights in the hotel.
In addition, we don’t really know the person we would be staying with and, while cheaper, we would be giving up a great deal of privacy. The room for rent has no windows it was so small it would be somewhat strange to lock ourselves up inside. With the hotel we could come and go as we please and overall it just felt more secure.
I headed down to tell the lady at the front desk. Once we told her she said we came just in the nick of time, that she was about to give our room to someone else. With the hurricane all flights had been canceled out of Havana and tourists were scrambling to find a place to stay for the night. Immediately it felt like we made the right decision even though it was a bit more expensive.
Over breakfast that decision was reinforced when Raul came into the restaurant and sat down next to us without an invitation. After some small talk about what we were doing for the day the conversation became awkward. He attempted to summon the server, but was ignored, twice. He told us that he couldn´t find us last night…where had we gone to? We reminded him that he had left us. It was obvious to all parties that we didn’t need him to constantly guide us around the city. While we honestly did like this guy, we knew that we were being targeted. The meal was silent. At the end of our meal he spoke in a very low voice and asked if he could have a few dollars for some food. Emily gave him some convertibles and we parted ways. We still see him and a few a his friends several times a day as they live in the neighborhood, but for the most part it’s just a friendly hello and a handshake as we pass. We would like to meet all sorts of people in Havana and that just won’t happen if all we do is treat his group of friends to drinks all week long.
After eating we headed down to Capitolio where we heard that you could access the internet. For three convertible pesos we got a half hour of time. I was surprised to see on the Yahoo news headlines that after the tragic story of the London bombings, “Hurricane Dennis Approaches Cuba” was number two on the list. I really didn’t realize how serious it was until then. Both our parents had written to us about the storm a little worried for our safety. We emailed back that we were fine and were in a good hotel in the center of the city with plenty of other tourists.
But when we got back to the hotel and turned on CNN I started to worry a bit myself about our safety. People were evacuating Florida and Alabama in droves but there didn’t seem to be any urgency in Havana despite the fact that while they were made of concrete, the building were so old they were falling apart. Since we were on the top floor I came downstairs to ask if we should come down when the hurricane hit. The ladies at the front desk laughed and said that we could come downstairs with all the other scared tourists if we would like and have a drink to ride out the storm. “Since you’re on the top floor the roof might shake but you’ll be fine”
Not the most reassuring description so Em and I decided that we would head down once the power went out later in the night. Returning to the room the weather channel had a special on hurricanes that warned “Not to light candles when the electricity goes out for fear of fire” and “That taping windows would do absolutely no good.” It was classic, as although we saw people trying to get whatever wood they could find across the city, for the most part everyone, including our hotel, only had the option to tape their windows and had already done so. In addition, it looked like candles would be the only source of light from the hotel.
We headed across the street and got some sandwiches at a much nicer hotel. Once we got there the wind really started to pick up but after we ate we made our way back through fine through the rain. As the evening approached we flipped back and forth between Cuban news which featured Fidel taking calls from around the country about the hurricane, CNN, and the weather channel. On CNN they showed what level 3 hurricane winds looked like with a reporter in a wind tunnel and it was clearly scary stuff. I was beginning to get even more worried as when Dennis hit the island it was nearly a level 5 hurricane and was headed straight for Havana. While it looked like our building was well constructed, if it was directly over Havana with its crumbling infrastructure, lots of people might die. Luckily, the latest report said over land the hurricane winds were slowing.
Once the power went out we headed downstairs. At 10:30pm it’s still not that bad. Luckily, it doesn’t look like this will be a complete disaster for Havana. Without electricity we had no idea when the storm would hit, but at least the television and satellites provided a fair warning. Technology really does save lives. Without these inventions half of Havana could have been out walking the streets when the storm hit. Eventually, a hotel worker dug out a radio and everyone gathered around to listen to the 50’s style news broadcast.
As the hurricane really began to hit Em and I had a good conversation with the security guard, Paco, who is also 28, and one of the girls who works at the front desk. Once again, it seems everyone has a relative in the U.S. We helped Paco practice his English which he was trying to perfect and we talked about everything from sports to life in Cuba. The story was the same, life was hard, but they just kept on living.
Finally another worker who continued to listen to the radio announced that the storm had passed the island and was out at sea. People let out a quick cheer and we retired to our room. The wind still howled all night long and without electricity our room got so hot that I woke up nearly suffocating at one point. Still, we had survived our first hurricane, in Havana nonetheless.
(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)
Posted by Peter Mork at 12:22 PM | Comments | TrackBack
July 7, 2005
Los Jineteros
Our first day began with trust and some risks. Not finding the restaurant we were looking for, we let a young cubano Raul lead us to another. We wished to avoid the state-run restaurants and hoped to find a paladar, a small independently run restaurant run out of a private home. We followed Raul to a hidden paladar around the corner from our hotel on the Prado. The Prado, a bustling main street leading in one direction to the sea and malecon, and in the other, to the Capitolio, was in sharp contrast to the streets just one block away. It was difficult at first to place the difference because both streets had the same smells, the same old, once beautiful but now seriously dilapitaded buildings, the same people hanging around watching us. But as the days went by it became clearer that the police presence was much much less on the back streets than in the tourist areas and by just turning a corner, the local cubanos on the street seemed to relax and were much more in their element.
We entered a small apartment and before we knew it we were seated, a hearty plate of fried chicken, rice, sweet potatoes and cucumbers in front of us. An older senora and a younger duena prepared the food while a few other cubanos and Raul spoke together in quick heavily accented Spanish. At first no one spoke directly to us. Peter found a bayleaf on his plate, used to flavor the rice, and to make conversation mentioned that trees of bay leaves grew near his home in California. Instantly it struck a nerve with a young man next to us, an enfermero. He exclaimed how these leaves were incredibly expensive for Cubans to purchase, three for 1 peso convertible (equivalent to $1 US). He explained that his monthly salary was only 14 pesos convertibles. What followed was a frustrated tirade against the way of life for ordinary Cubans under Castro’s system. We quickly realized that while we were paying 5 pesos convertibles each for our meals, the price for the Cubans next to us were much lower—they had to be. And that it did not go unnoticed what tourists were willing and could afford to pay for such meals. The conversation continued between the customers, while we sat trying to understand every word. It was emphasized how certain rights that were afforded to tourists were off-limits to regular cubanos. It was clear to these Cubans that something was wrong with their system. This became clearer to us too, as the day went on.
We repaid Raul by treating him to a few mojitos at a tourist bar. He invited us later to the malecon, the sea wall, for drinks with his friends that night. We were happy to accept. However, after the first few drinks, we soon realized that we were expected to pay for all, as they would never be able to afford tourist prices for this kind of entertainment. It became clear that it wasn’t easy, or even legal, for Cubans to interact with tourists unofficially. Selling goods and services independantly is tightly tightly controlled, and so, save having an official job at a hotel or restaurant, it seemed there was no other way to benefit from the tourist industry except to sell themselves and to scam. Jintaneros, these scammers are called. They are everywhere. They are your best buddy, showing you around town and all the while milking you for all they can get.
Our experiences of the first day were typical and atypical all at the same time. Typical that we were targeted by jintaneros and spent a lot of money as a result…mojitos, cuba libres, bottle of rum, bucaneros (the local beer), taxi rides and much more, and in the end felt a bit cheated and were wary of those types the rest of the week. Atypical because we were fortunate to drop in on a real conversation in a real apartment with Cubans who are of a younger generation. These Cubans don’t fit comfortably or willingly into the system. Stuck in a crumbling situation between communism and the tourist industry. Free to see the fruits of capitalism but not allowed the basic tools to partake or attempt to better their lives. Thought to be criminals before committing a crime; living in poverty while others around them are able to benefit from the few choice jobs available as a result of the tourist industry.
My impressions of the backstreets of Havana: devastatingly hot; colorful; uneven, torn-up pavement; narrow mazes; roaring car from another eras; refuse in the street; stagnant sewer water; buildings with beautiful decorative terraces crumbling; clothes drying; dark entrances leading into the unknown; Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” blasting; no visible local businesses—I suspect that they are there hidden behind the dark entrances. No tourists, but lots of Cubanos—all shapes, ages, colors—all keep an eye on us. We walk quickly behind Raul who greets everyone. These streets in Centro y Habana Viejo are crammed with Cubanos in slum like conditions—they all are guaranteed housing, but the housing is falling apart. With Raul, no one propositions us. Without him, it’s a constant: “Cigar?” “Somewhere to eat?” “Where you from?” “Casa particular?”. All jintaneros. Dogs everywhere. My heart aches for these people. Oppressive but real.
Interspersed between these streets are the tourist areas of old Havana. Connecting Prado with Havana Vieja is Calle Obispo—a neat thoroughfare paved with cobblestones. No cars allowed. Lined with businesses for the tourists. State-run restaurants and bars in renovated beautiful buildings. Hotels owned by Europeans. Young police hanging at every corner. Tourists everywhere. Hemingway this, Hemingway that. We step into a hotel courtyard bar to have a drink and cool off. It is beautiful and lush and bright. Peacocks and parakeets; clean and fresh. A duo begins to play festive Cuban music—wonderful and perfectly placed. We buy a CD. One song is entitled Comandante Hasta Siempre (Forever Comandante), referring to Fidel. We continue walking the perfectly maintained Havana Vieja cobblestone streets to touristy Plaza de Armas, known for its bookstalls. The center of the plaza is green and lush. The bookstalls contain old encyclopedias, lots of Hemingway, and overwhelmingly, out-of-print books written by and highlighting Fidel Castro, Che Guevara, CIA conspiracy theories, Marx’s Das Kapital, volumes 1, 2 and 3. Tons and tons of books of these types: Fidel, Che, Marx, Lenin, the Imperialist U.S., over and over and over again. All have a weathered quality to them—as if attempting to keep an old, overworked idea/fantasy alive. All quaintly surround the square. All are there for tourists—and only tourists—to buy. La Revolucion for sale. Fidel’s no fool; he knows that tourists can’t get enough of it. An old man was selling the Cuban newspaper “Granma” in all languages for 1 peso convertible each. I bought an English version. On the back page was a huge spread with the headline “The Truth about the So-called Independent Libraries”. I’d heard about this…Fidel had proclaimed to the world, “No books are banned in Cuba.” Several casa particulares had started libraries in their homes, materials collected from visitors between 2001 and 2003. In 2003, the state cracked down on them and those who had housed the collections were arrested. “Granma” claimed that these materials were all brought in by Miami US-Cuban Interests groups intent on causing terrorism in Cuba. It claimed that no Cubans had admitted using these collections. (Why would they?) Elsewhere, I had seen a Cuban government poster with the slogan “Las ideas son armas poderosas” (Ideas are powerful weapons). It was no coincidence that here we were in Plaza de Armas, known for its books, and apparently, for its ideas.. However, to me, it seemed as though only one kind of idea was present and sold in the Plaza. And other ideas, other powerful and possible ideas, were being stifled.
(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)
Posted by Emily Marie Stremel Mork at 11:47 PM | Comments | TrackBack
Our First Day in Cuba
It’s been 22 hours since we first checked into this hotel and it is difficult to describe all that we have been through and seen in such a short period of time.
Last night I set the alarm for 8:00am (actually 7:00am as I didn’t realize the clock was an hour fast), but when it went off we were both still dead tired from all our traveling the previous day and shut it off. We awoke at 9:30am, but by the time we were both showered and ready to go we had missed the complementary breakfast that was included with the room. Neither of us were that hungry, even though we hadn’t eaten for quite a while. Maybe it was the heat.
We took our time and went through our Lonely Planet guide to figure out our plan for the day. The first priority was to get some food. We located our hotel on the map and then a paladar (a private restaurant run out of someone’s home) that was only a few doors down from the hotel. We headed down to the lobby and out the front door. There are no advertisements for these private restaurants and the description read “Head through the unmarked door” at the address listed. But before we knew it we had gone too far and needed to turn back as even the address was difficult to see.
A young man approached us an asked if we were looking for the paladar above. We answered we were, but he informed us it was closed as their gas line was broken. We both were a little skeptical but to my surprise, Emily, who is usually the more cautious in these situations, decided it was worth a shot.
The young man, Raul, led us off the main street and around a corner. Next we entered a building which was probably the last place you would expect to find a restaurant. We made our way up two flights of stairs, and then down a narrow, roofless hallway lined by apartments. Next it was up a spiraled staircase to the paladar. There was no way we would have found this place on our own. As we entered the small apartment whose doorways were so low that I needed to duck to enter, our guide informed the various people in the apartment that he had found two customers.
Another young man took down the chairs that were up on the table in the tiny room. Our guide asked if we wanted some drinks, and we gave him a few convertibles to go and buy us two cans of TuCola. Before he left I asked if I could give him anything for helping us to find the restaurant, as I assumed he wasn’t doing this out of the kindness of his heart. He replied instead of money, maybe we could treat him to a mojito after the lunch. That was fine by us.
Inside the paladar was the young man who had taken down the chairs, a younger woman who was actually the owner of the place, an older woman who did the cooking, and an 8-year old girl who sat on the couch next to us. After taking our order and a little small talk, the adults talked amongst themselves, while Emily and I tried to make conversation with the shy girl seated on the couch next to us.
Soon our guide was back with the drinks and before long we were at the table with fried chicken, fried sweet potatoes, and a mixture of black beans and rice (in Spanish “congri”) in front of us. We began to eat and those around us began to talk. We entered the conversation when I noticed that there were bay leaves in the congri for flavor and I mentioned that these grew naturally around my parents’ house.
“Here they are very expensive” replied the young man, who we learned was a enfermero (nurse) in Havana. And then the conversation really began. Things are bad here they made clear, and not only because of the poverty. “The tourists stay in the hotels and don’t know how we really live,” they stressed.
Twice during the lunch strangers entered the paladar. The owner, who was now posted outside the room, would make conversation with them as they approached and our conversation would quiet. Each time someone entered there seemed to be an awkward feeling in the room, but soon they would start talking amongst themselves and soon the conversation had returned to normal.
They told us their salaries. Our guide, who had remained relatively quiet during the conversation, occasionally translating words or phrases we might miss, made $10 convertibles a month cleaning offices; the same cost as our lunch. The enfermero made $14. “You can’t live off this salary,” they said.
An older man who had entered the restaurant started up a conversation with the others about three young girls in one of the apartments below. Their mother was currently in jail for crime of approaching a tourist at the beach and asking for money. The man said “Fidel says there are millions of children in the world homeless and going hungry, but not one resides in Cuba. Yet look, there are three one floor below.” This reminded me of an acquaintance who had used Fidel’s same line years ago when we were debating the merits of Communism.
They talked about how while the medical care was free, no one could afford the medicine, and thus, what good was it? When I asked what would happen if we were to have this conversation on the street the enfermero told me he would be labeled as a counter-revolutionary and thrown in jail. They talked about how in the countryside the people had it worse, yet these were the same people that cheered Fidel and loved him the most. When I asked why they said it was something psychological, that they have nothing and he gives them something. In the capital, like in any capital in the world, people have more exposure to the outside world, and with this came more discontent.
It continued. They talked about how they thought the children were not getting enough to eat, how it was illegal to eat beef, and that people could be thrown in prison for owning and slaughtering a cow. “We’re like India,” the enfermero told me, “but without the religion.” “Young boys need protein,” he said, and he thought kids were not growing as they should be.
Some talked of relatives in the U.S. and how much better life was there. When I asked if they had the money and wanted to use the internet, could they? They said no. When I said that some people in the U.S. think Castro does many things well they scoffed loudly with looks of disgust on their face and simply said that these people don’t understand how life really is in Cuba.
I don’t remember every bit of the conversation but the message was clear: things are bad here, we’re denied rights the tourists have, and the outside world doesn’t know how we are really living. At one point the enfermero looked me in the eyes and spoke slowly to make sure I understood: “Your system is not perfect,” he told me “but our system is much worse.” That summed up the conversation.
After the hour and a half lunch and conversation we headed back down to the street with our guide. He asked if we were interested in staying in a casa particular, which we were. He led us to one right around the corner from the hotel. We met the owner who seemed like a nice guy, and it looked like a clean place. We had another night at the hotel that we had already paid for but after that we said we would stay with him. Outside his front door, people were tossing down bricks and rubble from the roof, preparing some kind of remodel. He yelled up for them to stop as we exited the building and we made our way past the huge pile that now covered the street.
From here we went off to buy our guide his mojito which we thought was well earned. I was nervous walking with him as I knew that legally he was not supposed to be with us. We followed him a few steps back and eventually into a bar a few blocks down. We had a mojito and he told us how to get to La Habana Vieja which we wanted to go see. He asked if we would like to meet him for drinks later on in the evening. Although he kept stressing our newfound friendship, clearly, as tourists we were a way for him to get luxuries, like mojitos, that he could otherwise not afford. But he seemed like a nice enough guy and it a pretty cheap fee to get a guide for a city we knew nothing about. We agreed to meet him outside our hotel at 8:00.
Old Havana was interesting. Parts were a little more plush as there were certain hotels that had been refurbished, but the city was still falling apart. By the time we got there we were dying of thirst and stopped at a touristy but beautiful hotel courtyard to get some water. From there we headed to the top of another hotel to get a bird’s eye view of the city. Finally, we ended up at Plaza de Armas where I talked to a Cuban who, after trying to sell me cigars, informed me he had lived in the U.S. for 20 years (he had the accent to prove it) and had only been back in Cuba for 4 after being deported (I didn’t ask for what).
“We have no freedom here,” he complained as he scouted for police as we talked. He had a brother in London who was trying to save $10,000 so he could escape to the U.S. via speedboat. He said that the world needed to stop all tourist dollars from coming to the island so the government would collapse, yet in the next breath was complaining that fewer and fewer Americans were coming to the island and it was harder and harder for him to make a living selling cigars on the side. He wished me luck and was on his way.
Down the street I had an Anne Applebaum moment as a group of four European tourists passed us decked out in their just purchased berets, complete with Communist stars and portraits of Che. They clearly were having a different experience on the island than Emily and myself.
We finally made it back to the hotel and after a short nap headed down for dinner as it was getting late and we needed to meet Raul at 8:00. We sat down at the restaurant connected to our hotel which looked to have a reasonable selection of food at pretty good prices. Pizzas, pork, steak, fish and much more. But when we attempted to order all that was available was chicken and fish according to the waiter… so we both took fish.
Meanwhile, we got our first glimpse of Castro who was making an appearance on TV with a meteorologist about the first hurricane of the season. Fidel piped up every once in a while to make a comment or ask “Porque?¨” Finally, he went on a long rant about the climate, which lasted more than thirty minutes.
At this same time we noticed that three Cuban men about our age were handing over their IDs to a policeman directly outside the restaurant. They looked scared as they were being searched by the policeman. Three undercover cops, who had helped to arrest them chatted amongst themselves and occasionally helped with the interrogation. One of the policeman even had a video camera like he was a tourist, so I suspected that they had approached him. We watched in a depressed and helpless state as a grey van pulled up and put the three young men in and pulled off. The other patrons of the restaurant watched in shock, but no one could do anything.
Five minutes before they were hauled off, our guide from earlier in the day came to the window of the restaurant as they were about to give us our bill. We made eye contact, he gave us a quick nod, and then walked off. A few minutes after the van left and the police had left the corner we walked out onto the street. Our guide and another young man were outside. After another quick glance they started off about 20 yards in front of us. We followed for 2 blocks and headed west off the main street. As we followed, I told Em to just look up at the buildings as if we were just tourists exploring off the beaten track. She replied that it felt as if we were taking part in a drug deal. It did… only the illegal activity we were trying to conceal was going to have a drink with two Cubans our own age.
Eventually, our guide Raul stopped and as we caught up he introduced us to his friend Mario, who was very outspoken against the government. Raul just sped ahead leading us through alleys and dilapidated building until we finally came upon a bar where we were to have a few cuba libres. As we toasted the first drink Mario said “Espero que una dia Cuba esta Libre”. Emily and I agreed. As I asked about the arrests, being visibly disturbed by the experience, Raul said that this was Cuba, and suggested we talk about something else and just enjoy the sunset.
After the first round, and a few pictures, Raul suggested that we buy a bottle after one more round and head across the street. It sounded good to us but it was getting clearer and clearer that we were their one and only source for drinks, but we just decided to just float with it as we watched the beautiful sunset. As we finished the round another friend of Raul’s showed up, Samuel, and we soon proceeded across the street. But before we left, and as we closed the tab, Raul was insistent that I not leave a tip. “These people have good jobs, they don’t need it” he persisted. Finally, they headed off to for a bottle of rum and Coke while we waited. Soon they returned and we were again sipping cuba libres and watching a picturesque sunset.
As Raul finished his first drink I noticed a change. From the beginning he struck me as someone who was trying to be a good person in a bad situation. He had explained he didn’t want to view tourists as money as many of his country men did, but instead as an opportunity to meet people from across the world and to make friends. Probably easier said than done. As he finished off his second drink he looked depressed to me.
In the back of my mind I was sure that it was because he knew he and his friends were “using” us for a luxury that they could never afford on their government salaries. Personally, I knew that Emily and I wouldn’t start forking over our limited cash to anybody who would ask, but these young men were giving us a Cuban experience we otherwise would not have had so it was worth it to us. I decided to attempt to explain this to Raul but before I could he and Mario excused themselves to go get some food. They crossed the street, while Samuel, who was on his first drink ran after them, only shortly to return.
“They are too drunk, they need some food” he explained. I suddenly realized that the 28 year old married couple was making these mid-20 Cubans look like lightweights for the simple reason that these drinks were not an every day… or even weekly occurrence for them. They had absolutely no tolerance, which was evident in Samuel as well as we continued to drink.
We continued to talk with Samuel about Cuba, about how his father fled to the US in 1994, and his family life in Cuba. All of a sudden Samuel was nervous and Emily nudged me about a person sitting a few feet down from her. “If you would like to walk away from us we understand” Emily said to Samuel as it appeared that the person next to us could be a undercover policeman. Samuel struck up a quick conversation with him though, just as another friend of theirs approached who introduced himself as Carlos.
The young man next to us said he was in the military, which is mandatory, and was just trying to listen in so he could practice his English. Samuel came back to me and said that he didn’t trust military people. Do you want to get out of here I asked. Yes he said, so we said goodbye to the young man and made our way down to another bar a few blocks down without Raul or Mario. I figured they would find us.
Once we reached the bar we had a round of beers but at this point it was getting late. We had just met these two young guys and we treated them to one more beer but both Em and I passed. It was a strange scene facing the Florida Straights where thousands have died fleeing Cuba. After we caught a cab to the hotel both Em and I stayed up and recounted all that had passed during the day. I wanted to make sure to get this down on paper but right now it’s 3:00am and I’m calling it a night.
(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)
Posted by Peter Mork at 10:20 PM | Comments | TrackBack
July 6, 2005
La Entrada
Our most complicated destination is our first, it seems. Waiting in Cancun for hours until our 8 pm flight to Habana we grappled with how we would change our money and where we would stay in Cuba, as well as actually purchase our plane tickets for which we only have reservations. On top of it all, we were nervous… I have conflicting expectations about Cuba, some that soar with possibilities and some fearful of finding only dead ends. We counted the hurdles we had to clear in order to actually sleep tonight. First, had to hand over sealed envelopes with payments enclosed to a strange Mexican travel agent without an official office in Cancun for our tickets to Havana. After purchasing tourist visas, landing in Cuba, warily going through customs, waiting hours (literally) for our bags, Peter getting searched for the electronics he was carrying (we thought it was the book “Human Action” hidden deep in his bag), changing Mexican pesos to Cuban pesos convertibles rather than being hit by the huge US dollar conversion charge, talking a taxi driver into helping us find a hotel with available and cheap rooms, we finally were in Cuba. In the taxi from the airport to Centro Habana at 2:30 por la manana, we caught a glimpse of a few details: old Chevies and small Russian cars, police pulling over other taxis, billboards with slogans like “Viva la Revolucion” but no advertisements, only government propaganda, absolutely no graffiti—only painted murals with more government slogans.
As we entered Havana, the haunting faded old buildings with grand architecture were lit up by streetlamps. The streets were empty. It was an eery scene.
Posted by Emily Marie Stremel Mork at 11:42 PM | Comments | TrackBack
Making Our Way to Cuba
We woke up to a beautiful sunrise over Mexico City as the plane was landing. It was amazing to see how enormous the city was from the air. We had a fairly easy time finding our flight to Cancun at the terminal and were happy to see our backpacks making it onto the plane right before we boarded.
We landed in Cancun at 10:05am with our flight leaving to Havana at 8:10pm. It would be another long leg in the airport. Since the trip was planned at the last minute, after we had received our licenses from the Office of Foreign Asset Control, we were unable to get on a direct flight from Tijuana to Havana. Instead, and at the last minute, we had to fly through Cancun and there had been no time to get the paper tickets sent up to California. So our travel agent in the U.S. had given us a sealed envelope full of cash with the company we were supposed to hand it to written on the front.
Once in Cancun we asked around and the company did exist, but their agent didn’t show up until around 5:00pm. It’s 4:20pm right now and I have just gone through a major cash transaction where I exchanged a large about of dollars for Mexican pesos in order to avoid a 10% penalty for exchanging dollars in Cuba. This, in addition to a horrible exchange rate, means that if we bring dollars into Cuba were going to “spend” 20% of our money before any purchases. And we have to bring in cash for all our expenses for the week as due to the embargo we can’t use any ATMs or banks to take out money. Nor can we just keep our money in dollars and use this for transactions as people did prior to November 2004. Since then, Castro has banned the use of the dollar in the Cuba and introduced the convertible which initially traded at par with the dollar, but now, by Castro decree, it trades at $0.92 for each new peso. So hopefully we’ll save some money by bringing in Mexico pesos. We’ll soon find out.
CONTINUED…
It’s 2:17am and we just have checked in to our hotel in Havana, but I’ll pick up where I left off.
At 6:30pm, after a quick dinner and a Margarita for me and a Bloody Mary for Em, we found our contact for Cuba, who confirmed we were on the flight and gave us the tickets. We made our way to get our boarding passes, but the lady at the counter had no problem showing her irritation when she learned that we didn’t have our tourist visas for Cuba. We had to run back to another counter in a different part of the airport to get them, but when we arrived at the counter there was no one working. Luckily, the attendant that had just gone on a break saw that we were in a panic and came back to help us out. Anyway, we finally got our boarding passes issued and headed for the plane.
When we sat down in our seats on the plane I told Em that I couldn’t believe that we had made it this far basically glitch free. The night before, sitting in the Tijuana airport, I just couldn’t believe that in 24 hours we would be in Cuba. But there we were, sitting on a plane ready to take off.
Em pointed out that we only had three more hurdles to get over 1) get through customs, 2) exchange our Mexican pesos (hopefully without a penalty for having U.S. passports), and 3) find a hotel since we didn’t have reservations.
Truthfully, as we were flying into Cuba I was nervous. I knew that we would be fine as I’ve known people who have traveled to Cuba in the past, but entering a Communist state scared me. I really didn’t know what to expect, but I knew that aspect would not be a pleasurable experience, and as such I was on edge.
Needless to say a 30 minute nap on the plane did me well. My nerves calmed down as I opened my eyes to see the sparsely lit outskirts of Havana. At first I attributed this to power outages that I knew were frequent in the city, but it could have just as well been a rural area. It was too dark to know for sure.
After landing at 10:00pm, we proceeded to immigration and maneuvered in the line behind the only other backpackers on the plane apart from us. They were from Sweden and I started to get a little nervous when I saw how long it took for the guy my age to get through. Finally he made it, then his girlfriend made it through, and then Emily was up. As she walked forward, in the line next to us an elderly Hispanic woman (I’m guessing of Cuban decent) with a U.S. passport and a 7 year old boy in tow, was told by the various officials that were scrutinizing her passport that she couldn’t get through. As she was turned away I figured this was not a good omen for us getting through hassle free. Luckily I was wrong.
To my surprise, while we endured the same long stares from the immigration official, he let us both through without a word. We breezed through the first security checkpoint and headed off to find our luggage and to exchange our money.
As I explained previously, I had exchanged nearly all our dollars into Mexican pesos in order to avoid the 10% penalty. Walking up to the teller I thought I had made a mistake as they did not list a Mexican peso exchange rate, but luckily it was not a problem. Since it was the only place I’d be able to do so, I also exchanged the few dollars that I had kept. She apologized when she told me there would be an additional fee for dollars, but obviously it was not her fault.
Our bags took forever to come but eventually Em spotted hers on the carousel. Still no sign of mine. After a good hour of checking the different carousels thinking it might have come out somewhere else I finally spotted it. Through the flaps where the luggage appeared I could see that my backpack had been set aside with about 5 other bags. Another 45 minutes passed and I saw him make his was over to my bag, take a bunch of notes, and then walk away for another 30 minutes. I didn’t know what all the fuss was about but I figured it had to do with the fact that I had a video camera in the bag, that or it was the copy of my book on free-market economics, Human Action, by Ludwig von Mises.
Finally, he made his way over and tossed it onto the carousel. As we gathered our things and walked through the “Nothing to Declare” line I was grabbed by the shoulder and told I would have to head back and wait in the declaration line. After another 20 minute wait, I was at the front of the line. There were 4 custom agents going through bags laid out on the tables before them. When I was called up I walked past a middle aged woman whose emptied suitcase contained nothing but over-the-counter medicine. More proof that while healthcare was free in Cuba, medicine was not.
The agent, a man a few years older than myself, asked: “Do you have any electronics?” in Spanish. Obviously they had seen the video Camera in my bag and had marked the tag.
“Yes, I have a video camera” I replied, also in Spanish. Since, I new that was what they had seen I forgot to mention that I also had a laptop in the small bag across my chest, in addition to a MP3 player and a digital camera. But he didn’t seem too interested in my smaller bag and by the time I remembered I decided it was best just keep quiet and play dumb if they did check it.
“Are you a tourist?” he asked as I emptied my large bag across the table. I kept the economics book cover down as I set it aside. “Yes”
“Do you have any family in Cuba?” he continued. “No,” I answered.
“Do you know anyone in Cuba?” he asked. I hesitated slightly before I replied I didn’t, as what first came to my mind is that I had the name and address of a friend of a friend’s mother who we were considering staying with later on in the trip (yes, I know, I’d make a horrible undercover agent). He didn’t notice the hesitation though and continued to go through my stuff.
Finally, he said I could leave and helped me to repack my bag as best we could. As we entered the main terminal I stopped to organize my disheveled backpack when a taxi driver approached us. We asked if he could take us to Hotel Colina, a place that was relatively cheap at $54 a night. But when the driver found out that we didn’t have reservations he suggested we head back into the airport to make them.
Right before we reached the reservation office he asked in a low voice if we would prefer a casa particular, a private room in a residence that would be much cheaper than a hotel. I said we wanted to get settled in a hotel first, and would probably change later in the week.
The guys in the office he led us to were extremely nice and had us sit down as they started making phone calls. Everything seemed to be sold out. In no time we were already calling places that charged more than $100 a night which was way above what we would be able to spend without exhausting our cash supply. A particular was looking like a better option, but I didn’t know if I could bring it up in front of everyone. But just then another worker came in and said he had found a hotel in Havana that was $48 a night. Perfect. We paid him in cash and received a reservation slip.
Our driver took us into Havana and gave us a quick tour of the city before dropping us off at the hotel. One of the biggest things that stood out during the 20 kilometer stretch to the city was that the billboards contained no advertising, only slogans and pictures praising Castro, Che, and of course the revolution. Ditto for walls where one might see graffiti.
Havana itself, even at 2 in the morning, is clearly beautiful, even if falling apart. I’m already convinced this place has the potential to be one of the most desirable places to live in the Western Hemisphere. Sad to say it’s nearly all potential as, in its current state, it’s also one of the last places I would want to be permanently confined.
Our hotel room is fine, the workers here are extremely nice, and it looks like we are in a good part of the city. It will be interesting to get to know the city in more detail tomorrow during the light of day.
(All the names of Cubans in these posts have been changed as a precautionary measure)