Cuba, trip and Havana (from 2nd to 6th of November 2009)

From: 02/11/2009 to 06/11/1009.

Cuba-Havane-2nd-to-6th-of-November-2009

London Heathrow

Satan’s airport. It always manages to throw up (vomit?) something in your way. Normally it is the 1 and a half hour long queues to get through security. It did not disappoint.

However it did provide a few lighter moments as well.

·         Willie Thomson called me to ask if I was still in the apartment. No we were in Lucifer’s armpit (aka Heathrow). He couldn’t get in, as I had left the safety catch on the door through force of habit. Oh dear. Locksmith time, I thought. Willie persevered, commandeered a hacksaw from our neighbour and voila, forced entry. Truly a Scot.

·         As we checked in for our flight to Madrid, then Havana (our luggage could check in all the way from Nice, not us though), the girl at the desk asked for our visas. My heart sank. You know the same feeling you have when you know you have lost your keys? I didn’t know where mine was. Of course, V had it. Panic avoided. Not so for the Norwegian lass next to us who had somehow managed to exchange her passport with a friend. A friend who was boarding another plane……

·         While browsing around the shops there was a commotion when an Asian gentleman jumped on a young blonde Englishman, wrapped his arms and legs around him and tried to wrestle him to the floor. Been considerably smaller than the blonde chap, the only thing that fell to the floor were the Asian’s spectacles. The result was that he resembled a dog humping a leg. It transpired that the Asian lad had spied the Englishman lift a wallet from the floor. Unbeknown to the forer, it was the latter’s wallet. Red faces and apologies averted the need for burly security guards who had been dispatched by the lady at the perfume counter.

Havana

Land of beautiful women and fantastic facial hair. Quite a lot of it on the women. The Cubans don’t have much in the way of material possessions but they make up for it in innovation in their ability to ensure something keeps working. Testament to that was arriving in Havana airport to be met by Oivind and Merlyn, and a 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air, with all its original parts. New additions were the cold Cristal beer that Oivind handed out. Even our driver had one. This had no effect whatsoever on him driving the wrong way down the dual carriageway. None. When I came to drive later on in our trip, he had my sympathy.

It all started really well with our luggage being there and the immigration process was very quick. Oivind had set us up in the apartment of Edelise (spelling?) about 5 minutes walk from the Capitol building in the centre of Havana. You couldn’t ask for more. The normal occupants of the apartment, Edelise’s son and daughter-in-law had just had their first baby. Edelise had been at the hospital all night and was more knackered than a Cuban Lada.

First impressions of Havana were a bit African – the places where I had been for work – so crumbling buildings, plenty of people on the streets, sitting in their doorways or shuffling along. Sitting about is a definite Cuban thing. We do it in Europe with an espresso; the Cubans do it anywhere.

And everywhere there is propaganda from Fidel and Raul, harking back to the revolution 50 years ago. This is the duality of Cuba for me, the past and the present, certain movements forward (whether for good or bad) and many remaining in the past.

From a bygone era are the Cubans’ sense of community, solidarity and helpfulness. When you were lost, in need of info, or even when not in need at all, they offered their time and assistance. It is overwhelming. People here know and help their neighbours, their family, their friends, friends of friends or just tourists like us.

Havana is noisy. We were awake at 6.00am on our first full day. The traffic noise, shouts from the street, neighbours TV’s all conspire to end that lie-in. When the newborn came to the apartment, he already seemed accustomed to it and slept through the cacophony.

Cubans just can’t keep quiet for more than 10 minutes, it seemed as we attended a classical music and choral event in the St Christopher Cathedral. The lady behind us was showing videos on her digital camera to her partner, during the recital. Laughing along with the beeps and sound of the digital device. I had to have a word….

Havana itself is a dual city, with restored buildings gleaming in the bright sun and dilapidated apartments shedding concrete and propped up by decaying timber one block away.

Walking along the Prado and the Malecon you could see the remnants of the glories of the 80’s and early 90’s.



We had mojito’s for breakfast overlooking the bay. The crumbling pier beside us, a dead seabird bobbing on the waves next to the jetsam of Havana’s residents. Another reminder of Africa – the rubbish strewn in places. No excuse when there is a functional collection service.

We were almost hussled once, with a young couple inviting us back to the house of a friend who worked at the cigar factory and who were willing to give us a good price. He became more and more agitated as we refused to buy anything, but it never turned violent (thankfully). A bit stupid on our part.

Almost as daft as me electrocuting myself in the shower. Only 110V but it still provides a sting. I think Keppel Shipyard recruited some of its electricians from Havana.

The canon ceremony at 9.00pm on Saturday on the fortress was a spectacle. More pomp than Christiano Ronaldo, flaming torches, colonial uniforms, muskets, marching and a real muzzle loaded cannon. A bit like Nice at 12.00pm, but with added propaganda.

Our ears still ringing we sampled some jazz in town. We grabbed a quick pre-event beer next door, where we met the only aggressive man in Cuba. He was scuppered on Havana Club (rum) and short. Not a good combination.

Inside the jazz club there were some chubby chaps, older than the revolution, from Dortmund/ Brussels who had turned into Brad Pitt on the flight across, seated as they were with impossibly attractive young Cuban ladies.

The music was superb, as was the air-conditioning so we left before Virginie’s French blood or our mojitos froze.

Other highlights were:

·         The Coco Taxis (Ola loved them too), glassfibre balls powered by a lawnmower engine. Buzzing through Havana dodging pot holes.

·         The viewing lens at the top of the tower where you could view the full city in real time.

·         Mojitos with Oivind and Merlyn on our first night.

·         Beer with Oivind, Merlyn, Ola and Marit in a beautiful square, band playing in the background.

The best food we ate in Havana was at Merlyn’s parents’ house. The chicken was superb and Oivind’s bacalhau was top drawer, too.

Those two nights were superb, and summed up Cubans. Fantastic family and friends, relaxed company, lots of alcohol, Virginie versus Marlon at Top Trumps.
Thanks to Merlyn’s parents for treating us so well.

Too much rice and beans were playing havoc with my innards. There was a second Cuba blockade, and for 3 days nothing got through. On the 3^rd day there was a missile crisis that almost ended the drain of the toilet. More of the excellent fruit and coffee and rationing of that highly addictive rice/ bean combination necessary.

As my progeny headed for the coast, we packed our bags for Vinales.