Cuba, the Beginning

So my premonition that I might not be able to write from Havana turned out to be correct. Internet there was $9US an hour, and still slow. What can you expect from a country that still uses telegrams? Yes, telegrams. So I have much to catch up on. To make it easier for me and for everyone, I will update in easily digestible nuggets rather than one big novella. Speaking of which, my great-aunt has just released a book! A real one, for sale and everything, about her life. So anyone who has heard the story of my grandmother’s half-sister and the orphanage and the mysterious parcel paper can rest assured that I didn’t make it up.

 

Well, the journey to actually get to Cuba was kind of, um, eventful. Eventful in a missing-flight and breaking-down-at-ticket-desk kind of way. I did consider whether to write about this part because I would like to maintain my aloof expert traveler persona, but it is better if you know the truth. I arrived at the airport an hour before the plane left, which it turns out is not enough time to check in for an international flight (who knew?). I still maintain that there is no reason I couldn’t have got on the plane apart from stupid bureaucracy. It was sitting there mere metres away from me for a full hour while I cried at the Cubana woman. Eventually it transpired that I was able to go on standby for a flight the following day, and I calmed down, and lay outside under a palm tree. No harm was done, quite the contrary as I met a nice girl from Lake Tahoe who was also sleeping in the airport.

 

Cuba is like another world. Things just… aren’t the same. The vintage cars really do exist, and people do use them. I took many photos which I will be able to put up when I eventually get my films developed (um, back in New Zealand). In fact, many of the coolest cars operate as collective taxis. Tourists aren’t allowed to take these, though I did with my aunt. Most of them are in various stages of decay, with the insides gutted apart from the seats so it feels as if you are sitting in a skeleton. And the cigars. People really do casually smoke them while walking down the street. Cigar smoke will always be a Cuba smell for me (along with rotting rubbish bins and blocked drains).

 

I guess that a lot of the things that are unique about Cuba are a result of their political system. But then maybe it’s the culture that has given rise to that system, or helped it survive. It’s so fascinating to be in a country that is organized in such a different way. Has it changed my politics? Yes, I think. I’m not a communist now, not at all, but it has helped me to see that there are other ways of doing things, other methods of organization. In our Western democracies perhaps we can become set in our ways, certain that any change we make has to be done through the existing systems, which we assume to be working and fair. I don’t know. Maybe I left with the spirit of revolution. So much for ‘Take only photos, leave only footprints’…

 

Now I have an urgent appointment with some cupcakes. Watch this space, and I will write more soon!