Cuba

Take one girl, one ex-boyfriend and one holiday to the newly found tourist destination (communist Cuba) Havana in particular….Here’s what went on, I’ve written it as a journal format and added a couple of pictures in for fun…

I have also asked David if he wanted to add any comment’s as there are certain instances when we both had different views on certain aspects of the holiday. I have done an introduction just so you can get the idea behind why Cuba and possibly why take my ex-boyfriend. Enjoy.

Before the break-up we had both talked about going away on holiday, I wanted to go somewhere that was different and interesting so had mentioned Cuba as it was in the travel bag brochure which I had been keeping at home for about a year, plus the pictures looked great. David, like myself had liked the idea and so had gone and got a load of holiday brochures so we could compare packages and prices. It had taken a couple of weeks to decide what we were going to go for but eventually it was me that had decided what hotel we would be choosing. I had noted a cheap hotel located in Havana, it was called Inglaterra and was a 2star hotel, which boasted a superb central location, which also happened to be one of Havana’s oldest hotels. So we had decided together that this would be the one we were going to pick. I think one of my comments were “ooh a 2 star hotel, that should be fun!”.

It was just before we were going to book that we had broke- up, I think both of us had assumed that Cuba would be a no go. But I remember thinking; damn I really wanted to go to Cuba. It wasn’t till the next day after our break-up that I happened to mentioned in a cheerily way “so Cuba, I guess you don’t want to go any more?”…………After an hour’s discussion we had decided why should we miss out on a trip to Cuba just because we had decided not to be an item any more. It was somewhere we both wanted to go and we would of both been disappointed if we hadn’t of gone. So Cuba here we come!

(Just as a note as a direct reversal any comments from me below are in italics.

(DaveA Jan 2003))

What a long day! I am currently sitting in my Hotel room, in the heart of Havana, Cuba.

I have just switched the radio on and am listening to some Cuban/Spanish pop music (very Latino!).

Heathrow was organised chaos, their doing some renovation work there at the moment, so there’s lots of people coming and going. They all seemed to know where they were going except for me. I had never been to Heathrow before, so I enjoyed looking round at all the posh shops full of expensive goods which I could never afford so I didn’t even venture into any of them. I actually enjoyed people watching, looking at couples and families walking past and trying to guess which country they were from and guessing where they were heading for and what their lives are filled with. I also noticed matching his and her hand luggage was a particular favourite for the North Americans. I say ‘North Americans’ as I couldn’t really tell the difference between the Canadians and Americans that is except for the French Canadians. All in all a good way to kill a few hours.

The flight was long but not that bad as I thought it would have been. It was bearable but made me very stiff though, but I did get to use the toilets, which is a something of a first for me. It is however, just as I had imagined so no surprises there then. We arrived in Havana’s airport at around 8pm and I was absolutely exhausted.

The airport was a very open and we headed through a glass corridor that would lead us to passport control. Passport control was weird, but according to David it wasn’t really that bad (which is fine if you have no problems with immigration!). I on the other hand had done the usual stuff, said hello and thus handed the man in a green military uniform my passport and visa card. He looked up at me from his little booth and smiled and then said out my name ‘Malacrida’, I did the standard nod of the head and said ‘Si’. What I should mention is that if you are unfortunate enough to have the Malacrida name you will understand the difficulties it also comes with. The Malacrida name appears for some reason to be cursed, why? No one knows, all I know is that when someone questions your surname that spells not necessarily trouble but it has a tendency to be a problem. It was from then on that I had started to be casually questioned, you know the standard questions, that they usually ask – ‘are you here on holiday?’, ‘who are you travelling with?’, ‘What hotel are you staying at?’, ‘Who are you travelling with?’, ‘How long are you here for?’ and ‘can I see your flight ticket?’. Anyone that knows me will know that I cannot be trusted to keep too many documents as then tend to be misplaced and then lost. So, I had handed David my flight ticket without even realising I would need it for immigration, looking back it would have been a good idea to keep a hold of it. Anyway, I had explained that David had it and that he was behind me. The problem with this was that when I looked behind me I couldn’t see David, he had already gone though, and the man had waved me towards the door and said he would check the ticket with my friend next. I walked though the door and waited for David to come though his section. When I saw him I beckoned him over and told him what had happened, I asked him if they had asked him all those questions and had said he had got though fine no questions asked. After we had collected our bags, I must say I was a little worried, as I was expecting some guys with guns to come collect me and the interrogation would begin in Spanish and I would end up admitting to loads of drug related crimes as the only words I could remember in Spanish were ‘si’ and ‘adios’. We collected our bags and everything seemed fine, so I guess the bloke behind me sorted it all out!!!!!!!whoops!.

It was this incident at the airport that made me realise how little Spanish I actually knew, infact the truth be told I don’t actually speak a word. Which is what I am frantically trying to do now, but it just won’t stick in my head.

Once we passed though customs, we had met up with Alfredo, the British Airways representative who advised that our taxi would be ready to leave once ‘Mr Harris’ was here (another guest at the hotel).

As we stood in the arrivals lounge, Dave got us both a drink (First chance to practice my Spanish) and we stood and waited for ‘Mr Harris’. Mr Harris was not what I expected, I must admit I was expecting a slightly older gent, someone who had looked well travelled, perhaps a chirpy little old man. Instead, ‘Mr Harris’ was a tall, medium built man in his late thirties/early forties, he didn’t looked traditionally British actually, I would say he had a slight Arabic look about him. Whatever his look, he had an impressive set of small cases, which would probably set you back a few pounds. From what we could gather he had been coming to Cuba for a number of years. And could speak Spanish, not fluent but enough to hold a conversation. Which is something that he did not wish to partake with us. But that was fine with us as we were both really tired and were just on a Cuba overload. We travelled through what appeared to be the industrial part of Havana, and then some residential parts, which reminded me of my Computer game tropico, back home. I also spotted a number of motorbikes, the riders of these bikes seemed to favour flip-flops, denim cut offs, and vests with in nearly all cases, a woman on the back hanging on for dear life. In one instance when we reached to some traffic lights, I noticed a young couple on a bike the girl was wearing a flimsy white dress and white tights! (Which, made me snigger inside my head, I couldn’t help it, just looked odd) and some high heeled sling backs. This just made me realise how far away I was from home. Funny hey!.

Heathrow was about as bad as normal. The flight was very long. Air Jamaica are good. Cuban Immigration was NOTHING like I thought it would be. THE only really noteworthy points about arrival were. 1) If you want to know what the Hotel reception looks like watch Casablanca again (right down to ‘As time goes by’ playing in the bar). 2) The Cubans are friendly. I headed up to the roof bar for a drink and accidentally gatecrashed a private party. I was asked to stay.

How cool is this? I am sitting writing this in my hotel room looking out over Parque Central, it’s just after 9pm so it’s starting to get dark, I can feel the heat against my face, but yet there is a breeze. There is hustle and bustle of the cars and buses below and I can hear conversations below of the local men sitting over in the parque having deep discussions about today’s events (Priceless).

Monday nights sleep was unsettled and I had been laying awake, mainly worrying about what would lie ahead in the morning and if the Cuban authorities would come and find me to query why I hadn’t shown the man in immigration my flight ticket (I don’t know why I let it get to me, I know I’m being silly). Because of my trouble sleeping I was awake at 6am, showered and ready for breakfast.

I have had such a busy and most cool day, one that will stick in my memory as one of the best. Cuba seems such a warm country (warm in hospitality not temperature, needless to say it is very hot here). The people here are so friendly even the Touts (and there’s plenty of them) are polite. Today we spent most of the morning sitting outside the Hotel drinking the local beer and watching life go by. The main reason for this was that Alfredo had arranged to meet up with us in the morning so he could just advise us of our transfer time to the airport on Monday and basically run us a brief on Havana, do’s and don’ts. He seemed very concise and very honest. He told us the prices in our Hotel were steep, don’t drink the water and then mentioned all about the excursions which Cubatour were running He left us his mobile number should we need it in emergencies.

In the afternoon we had decided to go on a tour of Havana. So we could map out in our mind what is located where, hence the reason why we spent the rest of the morning drinking beer. We were one of the first to get picked up from our Hotel and the coach (which was a lovely air conditioned, comfy seat coach) then headed off to pick up the tourist’s from several other hotels. Most of the people on the tour were Spanish; there was only Dave, me and an aussie couple who spoke English. Anyway we got taken round 3^rd and 5^th Street of which had a selection of very nice mansions and embassy’s. We then went to Revolution Square (I can’t remember the correct pronunciation but you get my jist).

(Plaza de la Revoloucion – Dave)

Yes that’s the one, thanks Dave. Yet another fine example of me being like a GND (see Peter Moores – The full Montezuma).

I had to have my photo taken in front of Che Guervas monument and David got all excited about taking a picture of Cuba’s Secret Service HQ! Something that I couldn’t get totally overwhelmed by really. (It’s a Harry Palmer thing. I knew that taking photos of any DGSE building would have got me locked up for years if I’d done it even 5 Years ago. I couldn’t resist it.)

Whilst we were there we took a picture of some tall monument, which is otherwise known as the Jose Marti monument. A little note, as I thought this was quite strange (strange is not the word, but it struck me as different). Walking up the steps to the monument there were several groups of women sitting on the steps just chatting like it was a W.I. meeting and the children sat and played next to them. I can’t imagine doing that over here in the UK, but why? I mean do they turn round after work and say to each other “meet you on the steps at around 4pm, it’s the usual crowd”. My thought on this is that this is what a community is, which is something that has disappeared over in the UK, yea sure we have our church fetes and council meetings but that just something that old people go to. But you see I have just hit the nail on the head.

I guess what I am trying to say is that the last time the UK had this type of community spirit was when world war 2 was in full swing and people had to pull together and so I guess that’s why old people are the only ones who go to these kind of groups. And maybe that is why so many of the modern day western society these days end up with a mental illness of some sort and that’s probably why we end up building our little fortifications and making our lives so private that not even our next door neighbours really know who we are because we do not have a community anymore thus feeling vulnerable. Time out – I am getting way to heavy.

Anyway, a couple of other moments of the day, which stuck in my head, were of an old man (about in his seventies) selling newspapers. He was selling the International newspaper ‘Granma’ – the English version. Dave gave his 50c, which was the price, which was printed on the paper, but he also wanted a couple of English 20ps (It took a lot of convincing him that a 20p was no good to him!). ( Actually I didn’t have the $1 he wanted in change, all I had was 50c and 40p in 2 20p coins.)

The Photo Competition has begun………the aim is to get the most original photo. Now David’s is going around like David Bailey trying to get the perfect frame!!!!

Learnt that breakfast needs to be taken earlier than 09h00 or you’ll end up with nothing apart from almond biscuits or pate. The Pancakes are nice but are clearly soaked in fat and sugar (Yum, sugar overload). Today we are going to walk to down town Havana; I think it’s going to be a hard day (I have to make sure that I don’t spend to much time in the sun as it makes my blood pressure go up and I end up real dizzy and I start panting).

(OK I now know that 5 cup of strong locally grown coffee and 3 glasses of fresh Orange juice gives you Chronic heartburn.)

I walked round and read all of the exhibits, infact; people came and went as I studied every artefact. There were loads of guns, the clothes from when revolutionaries where gunned down (One dress still had blood stains on). In one room there was a rack on gun’s in the centre of the room, for some reason I happened to look up at the ceiling which is were I saw what looked like half of the plaster from the centre of the ceiling missing, it had looked like someone had perhaps gone crazy with a shot gun, huh you have to laugh…so I moved swiftly on to the next room. The overall feeling, which I got from the exhibits, was of being moved and inspired by the Cuban People’s courage and determination to fight for what they truly believed in. Over the year’s their fight had cost lots of young lives, people around my age some even younger which I guess kind of made it feel more real, but at least their fight wasn’t in vain in the end.

I drooled over the ‘Che’ photo’s (oh my god, a revolutionary plus a bit of a looker in his younger days). He is definitely a hero of mine in his own right (I actually read that ‘Che’ did not approve of idols, whoops).

(It’s a different slant on the propaganda. I’m not blind to the fact that it’s propaganda from the other side but I’m sure the truth is somewhere in the middle but looking at the entire history and reading the various histories available in he west I’ve personally come to the conclusion that the Revolution was probably the best thing that could happen to the island)

One thing to mention though about today is the respect for the Cuban people. In the space of 100 years so much disruption and turmoil has been with these people, yet watching one of the Cuban bands playing tonight on the roof of the hotel and seeing the Latino dancers, you realise what a hell of a nation they are, through all the up evil they still sing and dance, drink rum and remain such happy people. As one person we spoke to said ‘We Cuban people just keep on smiling’.

Anyway getting back to the day, we walked around a very hot museum David and I were wringing wet (sound gross but it’s the truth) and my trainers had started rubbing me and I really wanted to change my shoes. We got back to the Hotel at about two in the afternoon, we were planning to go towards the cathedral, but we ended up in the bar drinking Cristal all afternoon. In the evening we sat and listened to a Cuban band, which were playing up on the terrace bar. The temperature was comfortable and we both agreed that it was a wish you were here, moment. The music was buzzing and you could see the lights of the other buildings twinkling. It was a ‘if only our friends could see this, they would love it too’.

Woke up at 06h23 to get showered and ready for breakfast (I think this is about when I started getting obsessive about it). David was still faced down in his bed at 06h44. Our plan was breakfast for 07h00, the reason being 1. Our trip was picking us up at 07h30 2. To get a decent breakfast (bread rolls and pancakes). Despite a delay in our schedule we actually weren’t late and everything went to plan. We were picked up by our bus at 07h44 (how the hell I remember this I don’t know I usually have a lousy memory). We headed out of the region of Havana and journeyed on the freeway, which was surprisingly smooth better than some of our UK roads.

One thing, which struck us immediately, was people walking alongside the road, and trucks stopping and a group of people hopping over the side. You’d see about 10-14 people all standing in the back of the truck. The main reason for this is because the public transport system is not that good; the authorities encourage people that have room to offer lifts to people. Another reason is the limited petrol supply. Nevertheless quite funny to see at first sight!

- Caves in the mountains, which also included a boat trip through the second part of the caves. Dave only mentioned Diving once (not bad);

- Small Rural town, which was untouched and very tropico (Julia’s favourite computer game);

- Ate Cuban food, oh and saw a Muriel. I know that it’s a Mural, but Dave spent one whole afternoon trying to teach me how to pronounce Mural. I appear to have a speech defect when it comes to saying that word;

- Hotel overlooking the ‘vinales’ valley where we saw a scraggy looking hen.

On the way back to the hotel we saw two Oxen parked up by the side of the road under a tree.

I got David up early so we could have a hearty breakfast. Which did not agree with Dave as his bags under his eyes looked like suitcases. So we left the hotel at 10am as David went back up to the room after breakfast to have a quick shuteye before we went out. We headed down O’Reilly Street, which is quite a narrow busy street (must say the road was worse for wear, the pavement wasn’t much better). Another point to mention was the touts, which would sit on the pavement, waiting for you to walk by and then they would shout ‘Habanos’. The standard response is ‘no’ unless that is if you do want some ‘habanos’ and in that case you should say ‘si’. The touts were not pushy which was okay, but I am still not comfortable with it, as I have no talent for Spanish except for ‘si’, ‘no’ and ‘hola’! (despite still trying). Anyway we headed for plaza des armes, which is where I wanted to head for (as I had planned the days itinerary).

We went to the Museum of History of Cuba. The building was lovely with a courtyard with trees and plants. It was in the courtyard where we met a guide who asked if we were English, which was then followed by us being led to the beginning of the museum by our own guide. She was a little middle aged lady, smaller than myself who every so often keep fanning herself, which I was eager to stand in the way of, as the temperature felt like being in a microwave, very hot!

The lady was lovely and on a couple of occasions apologized to us as she had problems with the translation to English. We both shook our heads and replied in unison ‘that’s okay’. The only thought that went through my mind was ‘Your doing better than me, I don’t know one word of Spanish’ How embarrassing is that?

The lady showed us carriages of the old colonial-Spanish head of states and we both marvelled enthusiastically with ooo’s and arrr’s. She then showed us some cast iron fancy work, saying that it was once used in the prison, marvellous, beautiful. To which we both smiled, but both secretly thinking ‘not so marvellous if you’re the prisoner behind all that fancy iron work’. After lots of ‘beautifuls’ and ‘marvellous’s’ we ended her section to which David tipped her. It just felt odd saying goodbye as all you wanted to do was give her a hug and say ‘your so sweet’.

Upstairs was the best bit for me. It was full of elegant and over the top furnishing’s, full of totally flamboyant objects. Here again we met another nice guide, actually looking back they were all nice. It was just as we started looking round that the guide came up and asked us if we had change. She was holding a 20 euro note, Dave shook his head and said ‘sorry, we are English, our currency is pounds’ he then pointed to the note and continued ‘You need to ask French or Italian’ and then I butted in as I knew this one ‘Spanish as well’. The guide nodded saying sorry and thank you. David and I couldn’t believe that someone had given her 20 euros. I mean what on earth could she do with it. (Still a good tip though) Anyway, moving on we met up with another guide who started showing us round and then as a flock of tourist passed us by, she then sneaked us in to a few other rooms which were currently out of bounds. After a couple of dodgy shots, with me trying to get the perfect shot and nearly taking too many steps back (David had his hands covering over his eyes – I thought at the time he was exaggerating, but then realised I was centimetres away from a huge mink vase- eek!. Confession time, I hadn’t even noticed it was there, whoops or should I say Phew) (I can’t really put down on paper the thought that was going through my mind) we then again did our tipping. We had visited every part of the building and the general consensus was to aim for a beer. We went to a small place past the open-air market, which looks absolutely marvellous and I can wait to have a browse round. Outside the bar in the little courtyard was a big (we are talking big momma) Cuban singer, and boy does she have a good pair of lungs. She was belting out all of the old Cuban classics After a couple of beers I had decided to go back to the hotel and get a shower to cool off (It was nearing midday, so it had started to reach it’s hottest).

It was about 3pm when we headed back for the Art – colonial museum, on our way taking a peak into the Cathedral. The Cathedral, despite being very plain was also very small just like how our guidebook had described. However, the same could not be said for the colonial art museum, which I could of covered in ten minutes (infact looking back we probably did). Saying that David was in complete Ore of the whole place, especially in the porcelain section. At first I thought he was messing about, trying to act all arty farty – as I was just walking straight past most of the exhibits thinking ‘nice plate’ (I suppose looking back I was abit rude, but a collection of key’s, plates and dishes just don’t interest me), but it struck me that he was actually getting excited about a few old plates and a vase. It was when he started calling me over to take a look at some criss cross effect vase that I realised he had a problem on a deeper level. I ushered him out of the building. My first words as I stood outside were ‘you are so not gonna live this one down’. ( I don’t care I liked it.)

It was when we got to the roof bar that he explained the virtues of porcelain being a fine art. Looking back I am still not sure if he was taking the piss.

Anyway moving swiftly on………..We sat up on the roof bar for a good couple of hours. This is so easy to do as the view of the old town Havana is just so breath taking and the hustle and bustle down below, it’s just so easy to sit and daydream and reflect on life back home. David had bought the Trio Los Tanos CD which was ‘signed copy’ I might add. After many cola’s, I had finally cooled down to a decent temperature, so we headed back to the hotel. It was on our way back that I saw the most fetching sight. An elderly lady aged around 70 years young and wearing a tight T-shirt and bright yellow spandex cycling shorts. It was a sight to behold. Spandex is a big thing in Cuba in more ways than one. (I think all the off cuts from every single WWF and British Wrestler must have made it there.)

Okay that’s it, I’m officially fed up with the toilet and you know the real pain in the arse is that David thinks that there is no problem. I on the other hand, have to spend a good 5 minutes flushing the loo. I’m sorry but I just have a big problem with toilet paper hanging about in the pan. This problem (Toilet Systems) seems to follow me around and it is one of my pet hates. Actually this probably ties in with that reoccurring toilet dream that I’m always having – weird.

- A poor police dog going to take a number 2 in the street (That’s what it looked like it was going to do), but trying so hard it collapsed in exhaustion and looked like it was fitting, which was then followed by a big crowd of people gathering round to see if the dog was okay. Whilst the policeman was stroking the dog’s paw and trying to get the dog to relax.

- Bloke asked us where we were from and when we said England he replied back with ‘Oh………Ali G, yes?’, this was also accompanied by all the hand movements.

Tonight we went down to The O’Reilly Café for dinner, and then went on to Café de Paris, as Dave had gone past on Tuesday and had been taken by the music. The music in there is so vibrant and you can’t help move your shoulders to the music. There were six band members all about early twenties and were very accomplished musicians. They played some funked up jazz, or at least that’s what it sounded like. The vocals looked a darker version of Nick Appleby (Dave’s little bro). All the facial features were very similar and even David agreed that there was a likeness – uncanny. The bar was buzzing and I had a good evening, defiantly a recommended place to go.

All Contents (c) Dave Appleby 2003. May not be reproduced in any form without consent