Cuba (2022)

Stranded in Santiago de Cuba

After a six-hour journey, we arrived in Santiago de Cuba. Once again, our booked accommodation was about a 30-minute walk from the terminal. Santiago’s streets went up and down, similar to the streets of San Francisco. On the way, children approached us. They saw the supposed rich foreigners, stood in front of us, extended their hands, and shouted, “One Dollar!” We had no dollars or any other cash, and it was certainly not a warm welcome. Adding to our troubles, Kevin was feeling unwell. His throat had been scratchy all morning, and it seemed like a cold was coming on. “Just not COVID,” I thought. But even if it were COVID, we wouldn’t have had testing or treatment options here. There was nothing here…
We passed by a pretty house opposite the maternity clinic. Yes, it looked good; we could stay here. We rang the bell, and nothing happened. I rang again. Still nothing. The windows were closed, and there was a grille in front of the door. I tried shouting, “Hello, is anyone there? We have a reservation!” Silence. We messaged the owners through a booking portal, but got no response. Somewhere online, I found a mobile number and became suspicious when I noticed that the number had a U.S. area code. I finally got a reply on WhatsApp: the house was currently closed, but their friend Carlos would come soon to sort things out and help us. Carlos – a name we had both grown to detest by now.
We sat on the steps in front of the house and waited, but there was still no sign of Carlos. A man from the neighboring house came out to light a cigarette. I seized the opportunity to approach him. This house here? No, nobody had been there for a long time. The people were gone. I thought about the U.S. area code. “Gone” in Cuba usually meant they had fled to the USA. Somehow, they must have made it. To make matters worse, it started to rain, and Kevin was getting worse by the minute. But Carlos was still nowhere to be found. “He’ll be here soon,” my WhatsApp contact tried to reassure me. Finally, after an hour of waiting, I gave him an ultimatum of another 15 minutes, or else we would leave. Carlos didn’t show up. We grabbed our things and found refuge from the rain in a bus shelter. From there, I booked an Airbnb nearby, and we walked straight there.

Tony and Grisel

Kevin was sick, our original accommodation (and thus our breakfast plans) no longer existed, and it was raining. The situation was grim. Soaked and tired, we arrived at Casa Colonial Grisel. This place would turn out to be an absolute stroke of luck. The house belonged to a very kind Cuban couple. Tony was a dark-skinned man whose black hair was slowly turning gray. Grisel was smaller than me. She always tied her hair in a ponytail and wore typical housewife dresses. During our time here, I never saw her leave the house once. Both of them were incredibly friendly and put a lot of effort into their guests. Tony explained that for an additional fee (which we had to decline because we couldn’t afford it), they could offer us breakfast. Other meals were currently unavailable because there were no groceries. We shouldn’t worry about water, though, as Tony had stocked up plenty of it, which we could buy from him. Unlike Virgen and Boris, Tony and Grisel were childless. They couldn’t rely on children sending them dollars since they didn’t have any. This was probably the reason their accommodation was one of the few that never closed even during COVID, as it was their only way to earn foreign currency for the MLC Stores.
Later, we learned that Tony had a brother living in Japan. Tony’s parents had also hosted tourists in their home before. So, the brother had met and fallen in love with a Japanese woman during her second stay in Cuba. After her pregnancy, she flew back to Japan, and with incredible effort, the family managed to bring the brother to Japan, where he now happily lived with his new family. Since the Casa was Tony and Grisel’s main source of income, it had to be ensured that there was always at least one person at home. If there were no guests, someone had to be present in case someone knocked. If there were guests, someone had to be there when they wanted to leave and come back since apparently there was only one pair of keys owned by Tony.
As Kevin wasn’t feeling particularly well and spent most of the day in the room, I stayed a lot in the courtyard or the kitchen, chatting with Grisel, and when he was around, Tony. After a while, Grisel always expected me with freshly brewed coffee (one of the few goods abundantly available in Cuba due to home cultivation). We talked about Cuba, about Germany, showed each other our wedding photos, and as an IT specialist, I also solved some smartphone problems for them.
It might sound a bit peculiar to outsiders, but their absolute highlight was their telenovelas. Telenovelas are popular all over Latin America. Here in Cuba, they had an entirely different significance: people structured their daily routines around them and gathered in front of the television. The telenovelas distracted them from the problems around them. While watching overly melodramatic relationship dramas on the screen, they forgot that the fridge was empty, that they didn’t know how to get clean water, or that the healthcare system had completely collapsed, and medicines, if available, were only found on the black market.
Unfortunately, Santiago was also marked by several hours of power outages. So it was no longer guaranteed that they could watch every episode of the telenovela. When the power went out, Tony and Grisel sat in their rocking chairs in the living room and fanned themselves. No one said a word. They both just silently stared into the darkness. During our time in the country, a news article from Tagesschau titled “Island of Sadness” was published about Cuba. Nothing embodies this sadness better than Tony and Grisel in the darkness of their living room.

Nothing works in this country

Our limited data volume on our SIM cards was slowly running out. Free Wi-Fi is not common in Cuba, so we always relied on our mobile data. I was already at the ETECSA store (ETECSA is the communication provider in Cuba) an hour before it opened, and there were already numerous people waiting. With a loud “Ultimo” (last one), I made myself noticed and found out that a lady in a pink top was ahead of me in line. Most Cubans didn’t have mobile data but relied on so-called Wi-Fi codes. You could buy codes for 30 minutes, 1 hour, or even more and redeem them at Wi-Fi hotspots, for example, in public parks. Naturally, Cubans also wanted to use the internet (even though it’s censored). Some took advantage of this by buying up the limited Wi-Fi codes early in the morning at ETECSA stores to sell them at higher prices near the hotspots. Even though I was there an hour before opening, all the codes were already bought up when it was my turn. Fortunately, we only needed to recharge our data volume; otherwise, it would have been really difficult. On the way back, I bought a pack of juice and canned fruits for Kevin, who was lying in bed coughing and sneezing. During a pandemic, one naturally has concerns. We both didn’t think it was COVID because it seemed more like a common cold, but we were both fully vaccinated, and we didn’t have access to testing. So, we had no choice but to wait out the illness. I was still feeling okay, but I had a bad feeling that it was only a matter of time. The general atmosphere in the city didn’t make it any better. People saw someone from Europe and reacted as if there was a walking ATM. Since this person from Europe was a blonde woman, in addition to the attempts to get money, which I didn’t have, there were also sexual comments and whistles. I couldn’t even cross the street without someone yelling something at me. Since my mood was already at rock bottom, it often ended with me shouting angrily at people on the street. Cuban lightness and joy of life? Nowhere to be found! Poverty and hunger have made people mean and deceitful.

Our original plan was to cover the long distance from Santiago to Havana by night train. We didn’t know if it was possible to pay for train tickets with a credit card, so after bringing Kevin his newly charged phone and his food, I went to the train station. On-site, it became clear that the method of payment didn’t matter, as all trains were fully booked until September. Alright, then, we had to go by bus. Right next to the station was the Viazul office. There were already several people inside, so the counter was occupied. A man stood at the door and gestured for me to sit on one of the sofas in the waiting area. He seemed to work for Viazul, as he was coordinating the queue. Eventually, it was my turn. I approached the counter and asked the man for two tickets to Havana for the day after tomorrow. “There are no tickets. Sold out,” was the curt reply from the man. That was unusual. Normally, we would buy our tickets a day in advance, and the buses were never full. “And for tomorrow?” I asked. “Sold out.” “When are there tickets to Havana again, then?” I felt like he was genuinely checking the computer for the first time. “August 9th in the evening,” he said. That was too late! Our flight from Havana was on August 10th, and the bus journey from Santiago to Havana takes about 20 hours! I thanked him and walked away from the counter. That’s when the man who was coordinating the queue approached me. He could take me to Havana, even the day after tomorrow. He had a shared taxi, a Colectivo. He could organize a spot for us for €70 per person. For €110 per person, we could have a seat with more legroom. PayPal was accepted; he assured me. It was only then that I realized the man didn’t actually work for Viazul. He was lurking here, preying on desperate tourists like me, and taking a commission from drivers when arranging Colectivos. I had a really bad feeling about this guy, but I still let him give me his phone number. He dictated it to me, extended his hand, and introduced himself as “Carlos” with a dirty grin on his face. On the way back, I typed like crazy to send Kevin a message, telling him everything. What were we supposed to do now? We had rebooked our flight, and now we might not even make it? There was one last option: Cubana, the national airline, had an office in the pedestrian zone. If not by land, maybe we could arrive in Havana on time by plane? As long as I didn’t have to get into Carlos’s Colectivo. There wasn’t a power outage, which was rare, but the office was still closed. Someone had written “No Internet” on a piece of paper. So much for that. Completely dejected, I reached the accommodation. Tony’s parents were visiting, and when Tony and Grisel saw how desperate I looked at their door, Grisel made me a coffee and invited me to sit with them. It all poured out of me. No, Carlos’s Colectivo was not an option. There had to be another way. Tony’s father picked up the phone and tried to call people. Maybe someone had a way to take us to Havana? Unfortunately, no luck. We checked the bus schedule online again. One of the stops was Havana Airport. If we took the bus directly from Santiago to the airport on August 9th, there was a certain risk, but we could still catch our flight. I went to the room and discussed everything with Kevin once again. Yes, we would try to go directly from Santiago to the airport. Our room wasn’t booked yet, so we could also book it for the next few days, ensuring accommodation in Santiago until then. I ran back to the station. It started to rain, but I didn’t care. Our last chance was to secure a spot on this bus. I arrived soaking wet. Carlos grinned and waved at me. I ignored him and went straight to the counter. Two tickets for the bus to Havana Airport. The man took our passports and my credit card and filled out the forms for the tickets. Just as he was about to hand me the completed tickets, my phone vibrated. Kevin had sent me a screenshot. There was indeed a bus on August 8th! I held the screenshot in front of the man’s face, furious. “What? There are no earlier buses to Havana?” The man was oblivious to any fault and asked, “Do you want to exchange your ticket for one on this bus?” “Yes!” Our return was secured! When leaving the office, I was the one who was grinning, waving at Carlos. I stood in the station entrance area, as the rain still hadn’t stopped. An older man was selling small bags of crackers. As a reward for the day, I bought one from him. Back at the accommodation, Tony, Grisel, and Tony’s parents started cheering as I told them the story. Tony’s father raised his fist in the air and exclaimed, “You’re a fighter!”

Anpassung des Wechselkurses

Since we hadn’t eaten anything substantial throughout the day, we went to a pizzeria in the area. Originally, we wanted to have soup, but it wasn’t available anywhere. When you go to a restaurant in Cuba, they explain to you what they don’t have when they hand you the menu. In today’s case, it was pasta. So, we both ordered pizzas with whatever toppings were still available. In the pizzeria, there was a cage with parrots on the wall, which was way too small, and if the electricity happened to be working, makeshift fans on the wall provided some breeze.
Kevin was slowly starting to feel better; we had bus tickets to Havana, and we had learned to be frugal enough with our money to last until the end. When I returned to the accommodation, Grisel ran up to me, showing me a photo on her phone. In the news program, it was announced that the exchange rates would be adjusted: starting tomorrow, the exchange rate at banks would no longer be 1:25 but 1:119. This was better than the rate on the black market, and that seemed to be the government’s goal because the poor exchange rate was slowly depleting foreign reserves. Maybe we would even be able to withdraw money from ATMs at this rate. That would instantly solve all our financial problems. Otherwise, it might also be worth exchanging 100€, as the favorable exchange rate would give us some useful extra pesos in our pocket.

The next day, I headed to the nearest bank early in the morning. There was already a long line, although it would still be a while before the bank opened. By now, I was used to queuing up. I felt myself growing weaker, and now my throat was scratchy. While Kevin was on the road to recovery, I was the one starting to falter. But I couldn’t afford to get sick! I was the one who fetched the water. The one who organized everything. The one who spoke Spanish. I started to panic. Finally, the bank opened. A bank employee came out and started shouting something. I couldn’t quite understand what it was, but it didn’t sound good because the woman in front of me heard it and started crying. Everything was scarce in Cuba, including money in the banks. ATMs only worked for a few hours a day, and there weren’t enough foreign currencies to exchange for dollars or to load the cards for the MLC stores. The woman in front of me probably had no more balance and no more food at home. A man tried to calm her down, but she kept crying. Eventually, he took her away, and they left the line. The woman didn’t come back. I wondered if I would even be able to exchange money here and asked Kevin to come over to hold my place in line. He came over after a short while, and I went to the front to ask the bank employee who had been shouting earlier. No, they couldn’t exchange money today, she said. But she directed me to another bank. We went there, and instead of queuing up, I directly asked the employees again. No, they couldn’t exchange money here either, but I could try at the bank across the street. It finally worked at the fourth bank, and I had 11,900 CUP in my pocket. We dared to try the experiment with an ATM. I tried with my card first, but the machine spit it back out, saying the requested amount was too high. Kevin then tried to withdraw 1000 pesos with his card. Unfortunately, the receipt showed the poor exchange rate of 1:25. It was an expensive withdrawal, but at least we were fairly well stocked with pesos now. Who knows how long the good exchange rate would last? On the way back, we were already offered a rate of 1:130.

The fight for water

Everything is scarce in Cuba, but it’s especially dire when it comes to water. It was a tropical summer with temperatures soaring above 30°C, and tap water was absolutely unfit for consumption. Bottled water was necessary, but it wasn’t easy to find. There was no water in sight at the MLC stores. Sometimes, I remembered the store in Camagüey, filled with bottles of water, but it was consistently closed due to power outages. Water could only be found on the streets. I had to search for it extensively, sometimes walking for half a day in the heat until I spotted a bottle of water somewhere. And when you did find water, it was often incredibly overpriced. Fortunately, Tony had stocked up on water, which we bought in small quantities, albeit regularly.
Next to our room, Tony and Grisel also rented out another, significantly larger room. A few days after our arrival, Mustafa and his three children moved in there. Mustafa was originally from Morocco but had been living in Canada for a long time, where he worked as an engineer. In the good times, he had once traveled to Cuba with a friend and loved it so much that he wanted to bring his children back after the pandemic. He was shocked when he realized the conditions he had brought his kids into. There was no food, no water, and basically nothing else. Facing similar cash-related problems to ours, he decided to cook for his children. He was thinking of something simple like chicken with rice but couldn’t find either in any of the MLC stores. Eventually, on the black market, someone offered him chicken, but it was evident that the meat was spoiled. Rice was unavailable even on the black market. That’s when he gave up on the cooking idea.

After our marathon at the banks, we passed by an MLC store and couldn’t believe our eyes: there were piles of six-packs of bottles stacked there. The bottles didn’t look exactly like the water bottles we were familiar with, but they were of the same brand. I could see through the glass that there was something written on them, possibly “Gas.” It seemed like it was just carbonated water. A crowd had already formed in front of the store, and a man was letting one person after another in. We immediately got in line, and this was the only time when nobody responded to my “¡Ultimo!” Here, when it came to drinking, there was no order; the law of the jungle prevailed, and people shamelessly cut in line. It took quite a while for our turn to come (meanwhile, Kevin had gone to another MLC store to get some juice. They were just delivering sausages there, which had also led to chaotic situations). When we finally got our turn, we quickly bought two six-packs for a whopping 11€.
While carrying the six-packs back to our accommodation, I looked at the bottles again. Oops! It didn’t say Gas; it said Gaseosa. We had just bought 12 bottles of highly sugared soda! However, by now, we had developed a mindset like the Cubans and offered soda bottles in exchange for water bottles at the accommodation. Mustafa exchanged one bottle for his children, and Tony and Grisel also took one. So, at least we got two water bottles, which was an incredibly good deal for us.

In the following days, the general water situation was about to worsen. Naturally, Mustafa was concerned about his children and wanted to ensure they drank enough, especially considering the temperatures (especially when, thanks to a power outage, the air conditioning didn’t work). So, he invested most of his cash in water bottles for the kids. However, Tony’s stored supplies also ran out, and suddenly we had no access to water. This dramatically worsened the situation all at once. We were now dependent on the overpriced water being traded on the streets. Kevin still wasn’t 100% well, and I wasn’t feeling great either, but I couldn’t afford to weaken. So, despite our conditions, I still went out, sometimes multiple times a day, to find water. At least, after a short while, I knew every corner of the city. Somehow, it was still a vacation, and perhaps from a psychological perspective, it was reassuring to convince oneself that we were still doing some sightseeing.
While in Cienfuegos water had cost 40 CUP, in Santiago, I was relieved if I could find a bottle for 200 CUP. I could afford it, but it was a different story for Tony and Grisel. I told them about the places where water was being sold, but 200 CUP was too much money for them. So, they made coffee or tea and ate fruits to get some fluids. Eventually, I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I handed them some of our soda bottles so they had something to drink. Mustafa also received some of our precious soda bottles, as his children were naturally thirsty.

Regarding food, we were fortunate to have a few affordable eating options nearby. A man sold coffee, juice, and yucca balls for 5 CUP from an entrance. After a few days, he recognized me and greeted me with a smile every time he saw me. There was also an inexpensive restaurant with a lovely rooftop terrace. They could only serve 1-2 dishes from their menu, which varied greatly from day to day depending on ingredient availability. However, they offered delicious fresh juices, and on the rooftop, there was a cat mom with a kitten. We deliberately dropped a few pieces of meat for them to ensure they had enough to eat, as everyone was suffering due to the situation in Santiago and throughout Cuba.

A touch of vacation

We had been in the country long enough to slowly get used to certain things. For example, there was a cockroach in the bathroom. That was not an uncommon sight in Cuba. Instead of freaking out, I decided to name the cockroach Carlos (there really isn’t a more fitting name for a shabby cockroach!) and greeted him every morning from then on. We also saw rats, both alive and dead, and trash littered the streets everywhere. If the stench of the garbage didn’t make you feel sick, the constant smell of diesel from the supposedly wonderful old cars certainly did. Yes, the situation in Cuba was dire, especially here in Santiago. Nevertheless, we were on vacation, and I wanted to see at least a bit of the city.
During my scouting tours in search of affordable water bottles, I had already seen quite a bit of the city, but there were still a few areas that were unfamiliar to me. When we entered Santiago by bus, we passed the Monumento a Antonio Maceo Grajales, an absolutely gigantic monument on Plaza Antonio Maceo Grajales. Upon closer inspection of the map, I noticed that this square was located at the apex of a sort of triangle formed by the streets Avenida de Los Libertadores, Avenida Las Américas, and Avenida Victoriano de Garzón. The triangle was a little over 5 km in size, and I decided to walk around it completely.
In addition to the impressive monument, I also passed the Parque Histórico Abel Santamaria with its Soviet architecture, which contained a heavy, cube-shaped monument in its center. I also passed a stadium where a solemn anthem was being played. There seemed to be hardly anyone inside, maybe it was just a rehearsal. As I walked through a typical Soviet-style housing estate, I saw a street vendor selling fresh mangoes and decided to buy one. Fruits were something you could rely on being available and affordable in Cuba. The mangoes were incredibly good and huge. Plus, fruits also provided much-needed hydration.

On another day, Kevin was finally feeling better, and I seemed to have overcome the worst of it too. We went to the promenade in Santiago. There, a small tower with a clock and the letters “CUBA” set up for photos caught our attention. If it weren’t for the crisis, this would have been a lovely spot. There were some stalls (at one of them, we even found water for 200 CUP) and a small sports area with fitness equipment, but it appeared deserted.

Our biggest excursion was probably our trip to Castillo del Morro, an old fortress in the bay of Santiago recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage site. There was supposed to be a beach nearby where we wanted to swim again. Initially, we planned to go there with Mustafa and the kids, but something came up for them early in the morning, so they intended to join us later. Buses in Cuba are unreliable, but there are camiones, trucks where seats for passengers are installed in the cargo area. Grisel explained everything to us, and we took a camion to Antonio Maceo from where we had to walk to the fortress on foot. The camion arrived at the expected stop, and we boarded. It was packed, and more people got on at every stop. Among them were many young people who seemed to be heading to the beach in question. Since the cargo area of a truck is not usually meant for passenger transport, it quickly became incredibly stuffy. All in all, the ride was far from pleasant, but I must admit I’ve experienced worse in regional trains in North Rhine-Westphalia.

As planned, we arrived at the bus stop and disembarked along with a crowd of people who, as expected, were heading to the beach. Perhaps we were still a bit spoiled by Rancho Luna, the fantastic beach in Cienfuegos, but this beach didn’t look good at all. It was very small, there were no shaded areas, and it was quite dirty. We decided to go back home after our visit to the fortress. But first, we had to get to the fortress. We were the first ones there, right at the opening. There were some souvenir shops in front of the fortress, but they were all still closed. Inside the fortress, we were surprisingly warmly welcomed (no, this is not a given in Cuba, contrary to expectations). While exploring the fortress, a friendly cleaning lady approached us and showed us the way to a truly beautiful viewpoint. Later, more visitors arrived at the Castillo, although they weren’t tourists, just a few Cuban families and a class from a military school, all neatly dressed in military uniforms.

Auf dem Rückweg machten wir dann doch in einem Souvenirgeschäft halt, da man dort anscheinend mit Karte zahlen konnte. Und was am besten war: Sie hatten Wasserflaschen! Die waren zwar extra-teuer, aber wir mussten kein Bargeld dafür verwenden! Die Gelegenheit nutzten wir aus, um uns direkt auch mit Souvenirs für unsere Familien einzudecken. Leider war der Empfang des Kartenlesegerätes so schlecht, dass die Kartenzahlung erst beim gefühlt zwanzigsten Anlauf geklappt hat, aber am Ende hatten wir Wasser und Souvenirs und das mit dem gleichen Betrag an Bargeld in unserer Tasche wie zuvor.

While we were walking back, we saw the Camion stopping at the back. We ran towards it, and the driver kindly waited for us, allowing us to board quickly. The return journey was much more pleasant as the vehicle was not as crowded anymore. The only worrisome moment was when a gas cylinder rolled through the bus until the conductor stopped it with his feet. While we were already on our way back, we received a message from Mustafa saying that he and the children were now at the Castillo. We had just missed each other. Fortunately, Kevin and I were there early, because as it turned out, no Camion was scheduled to return later, and Mustafa had to walk back to the accommodation with the children, a two-hour journey. Meanwhile, there was another power outage in the city.

Matanzas is burning!

I was in the room when Grisel called me, “Nathalie, come quickly! Something terrible has happened!” I rushed out, and Grisel motioned me to join her at the television, where a large fire was visible. A lightning strike had hit an oil tank in Matanzas, and it was now ablaze. This event would pose further challenges for the country: the lack of oil would lead to more power outages, not to mention the environmental implications of such a fire. A large cloud of smoke drifted towards Havana, and I could only hope that we would arrive there safely and that our flight would indeed take off. Matanzas remained a dominant topic in Cuba even after our return, and it took six days to finally bring the fire under control.

The Botanical Garden

On our last full day, we wanted to visit the botanical garden. For this, we had to take a taxi. However, we couldn’t find any information online about whether the garden was open on a Sunday. Grisel also didn’t know if the garden was open or not and suggested asking at the reception of Hotel Casa Granda, a 4-star hotel right by Céspedes Park, as they sometimes offered tours to the botanical garden. Yes, the botanical garden was open, assured the woman at the reception. So, I went to the nearest taxi, and the driver even offered us a good price to take us to the garden, wait for us, and then bring us back.
Upon arriving at the botanical garden, we faced disappointment: it was closed. No, I wasn’t going to give up that easily! People were sitting in the front yard of the neighboring house. I approached the fence and called out to them. One of the men came over, and I asked if there was a way to enter the botanical garden. Hotel Casa Granda had assured us it was open, and this was our last day in Santiago. If we didn’t see it today, we never would. He smiled at me, took out his phone, and signaled me to wait for a moment. Shortly after, a man emerged from the entrance of the botanical garden and waved us in. It turned out that the man I had asked for help knew the guardian of the botanical garden, who actually lived inside. He had called him and explained everything. As a result, the guardian opened the garden just for us. Not only did we have the whole garden to ourselves, but he also gave us a private tour. He seemed delighted that people were interested in the garden, so he took his time to explain the different plants to us. Of all the excursions in Santiago, this was by far the best! The absolute highlight was a large tortoise that had its enclosure in the park. The guardian had brought it in his shirt pocket from Venezuela, and since then, it has been living in this park. We thanked the guardian multiple times and didn’t hesitate to share some of our cash as a well-deserved tip. As we left, the guardian closed the entrance behind us and waved us goodbye.

At the grave of Fidel Castro

Since our bus to Havana was scheduled to depart in the evening, we could make the most of our evening. Mustafa recommended visiting Cementerio Santa Ifigenia. Numerous significant figures of Cuba were laid to rest here, with Fidel Castro probably being the most famous. Even the immediate vicinity of the cemetery felt different from the rest of the country: the houses were new, and the streets were clean. It didn’t feel like Cuba. In addition to the regular entry fee, there was an additional charge for taking photos. We purchased a photo license and proceeded to explore the cemetery with its lavish marble graves. The cult of personality was palpable here. There was a changing of the guards every 30 minutes. During this time, sitting was prohibited. Everyone had to stand quietly. In a solemn procession, similar to the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace in London, the new guards emerged from a small house where the old ones disappeared, while marching music played from speakers. It was interesting to watch, yet anything that appeared polished or orderly in Cuba had a certain undertone because nothing else on the rest of the island was beautiful or orderly.

The rest of the day, we spent reading and resting. Eventually, we bid farewell to Mustafa, and later, we said our goodbyes to Tony and Grisel. I wished we could have taken them to Germany for a better life. They more than deserved it!

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11