Cuba (2022)
Inhalt/Content
Cienfuegos
With the Colectivo to Cienfuegos
The next morning, a colectivo, a shared taxi, picked us up from our accommodation. We were familiar with colectivos from Peru, but the Cuban colectivos had almost nothing in common with the Peruvian ones. Firstly, they were not minibuses in the classic sense, but rather, typically Cuban, old cars converted into minibuses. You couldn’t just go to a gathering point, shout your destination, negotiate a price, and get in. Instead, you had to reserve the colectivo the day before to be picked up the next day. Of course, every owner of a casa particular coincidentally had a friend who drove a colectivo, and they would reserve it for you. You couldn’t directly reserve with the driver; there was always a person in the middle collecting a commission. There were no price negotiations because you were always assured it was a friendly price. However, the most significant and drastic difference between Peruvian and Cuban colectivos wasn’t the lack of flexibility but the fact that locals would never be caught dead in a Cuban colectivo. We were used to using the transportation methods of the locals, be it in Peru or even in Lesotho. In Cuba, at first, we didn’t have that option at all.
“The best and cheapest way to get from Havana to Cienfuegos is a colectivo,” Jensen had explained to us. Unfortunately, that was wrong again. The high fuel prices were a challenge not only for people in Europe but also for Cuba. The country was dealing with a mixture of inflation and, more significantly, scarcity. As if the country didn’t have enough problems, it also struggled with a shortage of gasoline, leading to long queues at gas stations and the use of diluted gasoline in the already old cars, none of which had any emission filters. The entire island constantly smelled of diesel, so much so that by the end of the trip, we probably had completely blackened lungs. This heavy diesel smell mingled in some corners with the stench of heaps of garbage languishing in the sun. Besides the already heavily restricted freedom of movement for locals in a country like Cuba, nobody could afford to travel in a colectivo. So, these colectivos became pure tourist coaches, and of course, you could pay for the ride only in euros and in cash.
At the time of the ride, we were not aware of the extent of the problem and genuinely believed that this colectivo was the best option for us. Inside the car, there was space for six passengers besides the driver. So, we shared the colectivo with two Spanish couples. They mainly talked about their travel plans and where they could exchange money on the black market. We had a brief conversation with them but spent most of the journey either sleeping, reading, or listening to music.
An ideal world for a short time
From now on, the journey was about to become more adventurous. We didn’t have accommodation in Cienfuegos. However, our colectivo driver wanted a specific address to drop us off. So, I quickly found a Casa Particular online that seemed promising. When we arrived, the house was empty. Online, it was stated that the owners were from Russia; perhaps it had something to do with the war. Alternatively, it could have been due to the dire situation in the country. Nevertheless, we didn’t let this discourage us. We put on our backpacks and walked along the street. At a street corner, we saw a nice, well-maintained house with a porch swing, and the best part was: there was a sign with an inverted blue anchor. So, we knocked, and an older man came out accompanied by a small black dog. I explained to him that we were travelers looking for a room, and he happily told us that he had two rooms available. He invited us inside and showed us both rooms. The house looked really good from the inside as well. The rooms were spacious and well-kept, each with its own bathroom featuring a fantastic rainforest shower. We chose the first room he showed us. It was a spacious room with zebra-patterned bedding. In the corner, there was an old-style television, and in a small anteroom, there was a private fridge. The price was also very good for us, at €20 per night for both of us. The man’s name was Gonzalo, and his wife, who joined us shortly after, was Mayra. The little black dog’s name was Coco, and he kept jumping around us, welcoming us. Later, we learned that Mayra and Gonzalo had found Coco as a puppy on the street shortly after their old dog had passed away. They were both very fond of animals. On the terrace around the porch swing, there were always cats wandering because Mayra would put out food for them. She knew all of them and explained to us which cats were related to each other. The house was arranged in a way that when you entered, you found yourself in a sort of living room. There were two rocking chairs in front of a television where Mayra and Gonzalo often sat, and a table, a typical Cuban living room. Behind that was a dining room with a very old computer with a tube monitor on the side. Behind it was the kitchen. If you continued, you entered a sort of inner courtyard with more rocking chairs, again, very typical of Cuba. Almost every Cuban household we visited during our trip had rocking chairs, and it was incredibly comfortable to sit in them, read, and relax. In an annex, there was the second room, which was still available. Between the main building and the annex, there was a basin for washing clothes and a narrow path leading to some clotheslines.
In the afternoon, we set out to walk along the promenade to La Punta, a small peninsula. Cienfuegos was incomparable to Havana. It felt clean, much less hectic, and almost paradise-like. One reason we walked along the promenade was that we assumed there must be restaurants there; after all, apart from breakfast, we hadn’t eaten anything yet. For some reason, most of the restaurants seemed to be closed. When we finally found one, it was hopelessly overcrowded, and we had to decide whether we wanted to wait in the blazing sun until a table became available, with people still waiting in line before us, or if we should move on. We waited briefly, but as the sun became unbearable, we moved on. When we reached the tip of the peninsula, we finally found a restaurant that still had a few empty tables. Exhausted, we settled there, and we weren’t the only ones. A European-looking couple placed themselves visibly tired at a table nearby. Even though we had seen numerous tourism schools in Havana, and Cuba, as a popular travel destination in the Caribbean, should be accustomed to dealing with tourists, we didn’t experience decent service in any restaurant during our trip.
After what felt like an eternity and several waves to get attention, a waitress finally came to our table. When I asked for a menu, she explained that there was only one dish here, namely, paella. As hungry as we both were, we ordered it. When I tried to order a bottle of water, she told us that they didn’t have water. They only had alcoholic drinks. This seemed strange to us, so I explained to her that neither of us drank alcohol. After a brief pause, she suggested making us a non-alcoholic piña colada, and we agreed. The piña colada turned out to be a 200ml glass, and since we hadn’t had anything to drink after breakfast, and the heat was still relentless, we almost finished it in one gulp and ordered another one right away.
After over an hour, our food finally arrived. This paella had little in common with the glorious paella in Spain. In a small bowl, there was watery rice with a few shrimps, which Kevin immediately scooped over to me, which made me very happy, and a few pieces of meat that could hardly be called meat because it was almost entirely bones, tendons, and cartilage.
After the meal, we didn’t have much time to continue walking because the unpredictable Caribbean weather caught up with us. From one minute to the next, the sky darkened. Thick raindrops fell from the sky, and flashes of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by deafening thunder. Like many Cubans, we sought shelter under the awning of the restaurant we had just visited and waited for the storm to pass. In the neighboring building, there was a small burger restaurant that was open but had no food. Instead, they had plenty of water bottles for only 40 CUP per bottle. We bought a few bottles of water and returned to our accommodation. But we didn’t stay there for long. After a short break, we headed to José Marti Park, which served more as the central square of the city than a typical park. Numerous people were busy setting up chairs because the next day was July 26th, which in Cuba is the Day of National Rebellion, and Cienfuegos was the main venue for the celebrations this year. It was somewhat coincidental that we happened to be in Cienfuegos at that time, but of course, it was a welcome coincidence. At José Marti Park, there was also the Teatro Terry, an old theater with original wooden seats. An event was scheduled to take place there to celebrate the eve of July 26th, so there was a lively atmosphere all around.
But since everything was still under construction, we walked back to our accommodation. There, we made ourselves comfortable on the rocking chairs in the courtyard and read for a while. Mayra joined us and offered Kevin a chocolate-vanilla ice cream, which he gratefully accepted. It was a good time to have a conversation. Initially, we talked about the celebrations tomorrow, but after a while, our conversation drifted. Mayra told us about her sister who had fled to Miami. She now provides the family with essentials from there. This includes US dollars for the MLC (Moneda Libremente Convertible) stores and even something as mundane as lactase tablets. Mayra explained that she is lactose intolerant, but lactase tablets simply do not exist in Cuba. Shortly after, she disappeared into the kitchen, and when she returned, she proudly held up a small box. She used to feel unwell after eating, but since her sister started sending her the tablets, she can eat anything again, she explained joyfully. It was remarkable how much quality of life one could regain through such a small gesture. And how difficult it must be for Cubans who don’t have relatives abroad. On the other hand, few seem to be in that situation, as the Cuban population is continually shrinking due to significant emigration. This situation has worsened significantly in recent years. Ironically, it seems that many people in the country can only endure thanks to Cuban exiles.
In the evening, I went to José Marti Park again. Kevin wanted to rest, so he stayed at the accommodation. The city was bustling due to the festivities. Everything was illuminated, and people seemed to be in high spirits. I didn’t understand why the chairs were set up in the park during the daytime because there didn’t seem to be any events. However, there was a performance with music and dance in the theater. The doors were open, allowing passersby to catch glimpses of the show from outside. I stayed for a few minutes to watch the performance and then made my way back.
July 26 – The Day of National Rebellion
Early in the morning, our alarm rang. We had breakfast shortly before 7 AM. Mayra prepared an excellent breakfast for us with fresh fruits, juice, bread, and Kevin also got an omelet. Surprisingly, the breakfast was even cheaper than in Havana, but almost larger in portion. The reason for our early wake-up was that the celebrations for July 26th started early in the morning. So, we headed to Plaza de Actos, where a huge stage was set up. Numerous party officials, including Miguel Diáz-Canel, the Cuban President, were present, delivering patriotic speeches. In the audience, there were groups of nurses, students, workers, and many more. They all held small red-black flags, the flag of the Cuban Revolution, in their hands. We couldn’t get close to the chairs as the area in front was cordoned off, and people were even searched with metal detectors before they could proceed. So, we watched everything from a distance. Only when everything was over at 8:00 AM, the metal detectors were quickly removed, and everyone could go in and out. I asked a group of spectators about the flag and shortly after, received one as a gift. We explored the area and took photos. While most people were already heading back, probably to make it to work on time, some formed small groups and shouted patriotic slogans or sang songs while TV crews pointed their cameras at them.
Outside the grounds, food stalls were set up along the promenade, but they were scheduled to open only in the evening. So, we decided to return in the evening.
Cementerio la Reina – The gap between rich and poor until death and beyond
After the celebration, we walked around José Marti Park, where the chairs were still not being used. Fortunately, the church at the park was open, so we went inside to have a look. We also bought some souvenirs at a nearby souvenir shop and then decided to head to another destination: Cementario la Reina, the oldest cemetery in the city. It was reachable on foot through a lengthy walk, and because it was located in a part of the city we hadn’t visited yet, we braved the heat and walked there.
A few streets away, a completely different Cienfuegos began. The houses became poorer and more rundown, and the streets were increasingly filled with garbage. The stench of old waste and exhaust fumes was worse here than usual. People sat in front of their homes, trying to fan themselves for some relief from the heat. This was clearly the impoverished part of the city, something you wouldn’t find in any travel guide, especially not in the patriotic TV broadcasts from earlier that morning. Nevertheless, it wasn’t as dire as Habana Vieja. By this point, we had been in Cuba long enough to simply accept certain things. And so, we continued walking until we finally reached the cemetery.
As we strolled through the poor neighborhood of Cienfuegos, a carriage with a couple, clearly tourists, passed us. They were going in the opposite direction as we were about to enter the cemetery. An older lady greeted us at the entrance and collected a small entrance fee, which wasn’t much. Since the couple before us had just left, we were now the only visitors in the cemetery, and the lady took this opportunity to show us around. She pointed out the grand tombs and explained that the wealthiest people of Cienfuegos were buried here. The cemetery was still in operation. In this part of the cemetery, there was a grave with wilting flowers and melting candies under the sun. Just last week, a seven-year-old girl had been buried here.
After the lady showed us the impressive part of the cemetery, she pointed towards an entrance and explained that this was the section of the cemetery for the poorer population. She didn’t accompany us there, so we went on our own. It felt like stepping into a different world. While we had just walked past proud marble statues, in front of us were overgrown and half-broken stone slabs and some crooked tombstones. Some graves seemed newer than others. One tombstone had a relatively new-looking picture of a young woman, smiling happily into the camera. Nowhere else is the gap between the rich and the poor as evident as in this cemetery.
After a while, we turned back. The woman at the entrance asked us for our details, as in Cuba, tourists always need to be registered, so the Cuban government knows where the tourists are at all times. She noticed she didn’t have a pen. I rummaged in my backpack and handed her a red Antenne Thüringen pen that I had with me, which she accepted gratefully. In Cuba, something as simple as a pen can be hard to come by. Additionally, I found it amusing that now, at this small cemetery in Cienfuegos, a lady was welcoming guests with an Antenne Thüringen pen in hand.
On the way back, we once again noticed that there was nowhere to buy a proper drink. The heat was almost unbearable. We remembered that there were affordable water bottles in the burger restaurant in La Punta yesterday. Since Kevin thought the way was too far, I went there alone again, but unfortunately, this time the shop was closed with no note indicating if or when it would open. Empty-handed, I made my way back. Once again, I was caught in the obligatory Caribbean downpour and arrived back at the accommodation completely soaked.
For the rest of the day, we took it easy. I was sitting on one of the rocking chairs in the courtyard, reading a book when there was a knock on the front door. Mayra and Gonzalo opened it, and the next tourist was already in their house. It was Lluis from Barcelona. He was spending a total of two weeks in Cuba and was eager to explore the country and its people. He greeted us briefly, and we introduced ourselves. Then Gonzalo showed him to the other available room.
In the evening, we wanted to return to the promenade as the food stalls were supposed to be open by then. However, it quickly became apparent that we wouldn’t be able to get any food there, not because there was nothing available, but due to the incredible crowd. A throng of people had gathered in front of every stall. They shouted, pushed, and waved CUP bills in their hands, while the staff struggled to take orders and manage the rush. Besides the fact that it was nearly impossible to see what was being offered in the stalls due to the crowd, the law of the jungle prevailed in front of the stalls. The concept of queues seemed alien here. People elbowed their way through, pushing and shouting. We observed the spectacle briefly from the outside before turning back and deciding to dine at one of the restaurants in the city center for our dinner.
We chose a restaurant named Shalom. Not only was this the Hebrew word for “hello,” but a menorah, the famous Jewish candlestick, was also depicted. We considered ourselves fortunate because we were the last ones to be let in. All tables were occupied, and behind us, the waiter closed the gate at the door, denying entry to any more guests. However, our experience inside the restaurant was disappointing: there was nothing Jewish about it. When we received the menus, we were first told what they didn’t have. Kevin eventually ordered a pizza, and I opted for chicken. Strangely, our drinks were supposed to arrive only after we finished eating, despite our obvious dehydration. Kevin and I exchanged puzzled glances. For a country so reliant on tourism, the lack of service awareness was astonishing in Cuba.
Caribbean nature
Once again, we rose early in the morning. After breakfast, our pre-booked taxi arrived to pick us up. True to Cuban style, it was another vintage car – and what a beauty! The car was 95 years old, although the engine was, of course, not original and had been replaced with one from a Lada. The driver was immensely proud of his vehicle. He honked the horn repeatedly, grinning at us as he did so. Our first destination for the day was Laguna Guardaroca, a nature reserve with a lagoon inhabited by numerous birds. The flamingos were the clear stars among the birds here. It was crucial that we arrived early because only 30 people were allowed for a morning tour each day. When buying the tickets, I made a quite foolish mistake that would later prove to be quite costly: we didn’t have many Cuban pesos with us, but the entrance fee was 100 CUP per person, totaling 200 CUP. So, I asked if we could pay with Euros instead. The gentleman at the counter asked for 20€, and without thinking, I handed him a 20€ note. Kevin then pointed out to me that I had paid ten times the amount needed. Well, at least the reserve could certainly put the money to good use.
A young Cuban woman guided us in a group of 12 people through the densely wooded forest. She pointed out termite nests on the trees and holes in the ground where spiders hid. Although these spiders resembled tarantulas, they were relatively harmless to humans. She also explained that there is only one species of snake in Cuba, which is non-venomous. She shared an anecdote about catching her little daughter playing with this snake once. The plant life here was also abundant. For example, there were mahogany trees, which some excessively wealthy CEOs liked to use for their desks.
After a short while, we arrived at the shore where rowboats with drivers were already waiting for us. Since each boat was supposed to accommodate three people, a Swiss traveler joined us. Our driver was named Ricardo. He made an effort to show and explain everything to us. Since I was the only one in the boat who spoke Spanish, I translated quasi-simultaneously into English (the Swiss traveler was from the French-speaking part, so German wasn’t an option here). Ricardo sat behind me, so I had to turn around each time I wanted to communicate with him. He explained that besides the many water birds, there were crocodiles here too. I turned to Kevin and the Swiss traveler to translate. Kevin was casually letting his hand dangle in the water to cool down. “Kevin, there are crocodiles here.” He swiftly pulled his hand out of the water and didn’t let it dangle again.
On the shore, densely overgrown mangroves reached into the water, and from a distance, we could already see several water birds. The highlight wasn’t far off: the flamingos. At first, they stood in a group, but as the boats approached, they all took off together and flew past us – a magnificent sight!
While Ricardo rowed us back, he asked me with curiosity about the situation in Germany. We talked about COVID-19, the Ukraine war, and inflation. Surprisingly, our opinions on many points weren’t so far apart, despite living in two different countries with completely different systems.
On the shore, the Cuban woman from earlier was already waiting. She guided us back to the entrance via a different route, stopping here and there to show and explain specific plants.
After a short while, “our” taxi driver arrived again with his vintage car. Unexpectedly, he had two girls from Germany with him. It seemed they had overslept this morning and were now beside themselves when they found out they couldn’t visit the reserve so late. However, this didn’t seem to be the only additional business of the taxi driver because instead of taking us to “Rancho Luna” beach as planned, he handed some money to another man, and together with the still grumbling girls, they led us to a VW Polo. Hold on, a reasonably modern car in Cuba? Yes, but the fact that it was still running was close to a miracle. Something was wrong with the axle because as soon as you sat on the back seat and moved even slightly, it started squeaking. Moreover, the entire interior lining of the doors was missing. Inside, there was only bare metal and a few wires. Somehow, we still made it to the beach, and we agreed to be picked up at 2:00 PM.
There was already a lot going on here: teenagers splashed around in the waves, children built sandcastles, and people relaxed on beach towels. We managed to get two sunbeds in the shade for a few CUP, and from then on, we took turns going into the water so that one of us could always watch our belongings. We could confirm a cliché here: Caribbean beaches are absolutely dreamy! The water was pleasantly warm and surprisingly clean. In the small waves, you could swim back and forth and enjoy the time. Time flew by. We cleared our spot a little earlier to explore the area. There was a small promenade with drinks, snacks, and large speakers blaring out loud music. Next to it, the first couples were already dancing salsa. While looking for the taxi driver and the two German girls, we also observed a mare with her foal grazing nearby.
Back in the city, we had a light dinner, and Kevin rested at the accommodation while I walked to Jose Marti Park one last time and continued along the main street promenade. Eventually, it got late, and I turned back. Nevertheless, we needed to go to bed early because tomorrow we were heading to El Nicho and then on to Trinidad.
