I arrived to the airport 15 minutes later than I had planned
(9:15 am), but was happy to see that the counter of AeroMexico was clear, so I
got immediate attention and had plenty of time to get the gate for my 10:50 am
flight. Surprisingly, there were very few people there. Was I going to have an
almost empty flight? No, it is just that the inhabitants of Cancún have a
different sense of time, and apparently being there 60 to 30 minutes prior to
departure counts as being on time.
The flight was completely uneventful, and I landed in La
Habana one and a half hours later, ready to tackle this new adventure. I
started by exchanging money, from dollars to CUC’s (Cuban convertible units). Someone,
who shall remain unnamed, told me that the currency exchange accepted only
dollars. Not so, and I wish I had brought my money in euros, Canadian dollars,
or even Mexican pesos, because dollars trigger an automatic 10% conversion tax
(consider it the way in which Cubans get even with the Gringos for 60 years of
economic blockade). On top of that, the conversion rate is 1 US dollar = 0.968
CUC; if we incorporate both the tax and the conversion rate, then we get a real
exchange rate of 1 dollar = 0.868 CUC, or 1 CUC = 1.15 US dollars. This
unfavorable rate makes expenses in CUC’s 15% higher when accounted in dollars.
For example, a 30 CUC taxi is really costing US$ 34.50, a 35 CUC room is
costing US$ 40, and so on. It would not be a big thing, but for the fact that
tourists pay 25 to 50 times more than Cuban citizens for just about anything.
Now, I support charging the tourists more, but I also think 5 to10 times is
fair. 25 to 50 times is, in my humble opinion, an attempt to fleece the
tourist, and that cannot bode well for the nascent tourist industry of Cuba.
Cuban citizens use a different currency than tourists,
called the Cuban peso or CUP. 1 CUC = 25 CUP, so when the cost of visiting the
aquarium is 5 CUP for the Cuban adult, and 10 CUC for the foreign adult, then
the latter is paying 50 times more!
A certain person who shall remain unnamed told me that I
should go to the guest house of Esther, without any further indication. So I
confidently asked the taxi driver to take me to Casa Esther, only to be lectured about how useless that was as an
indication. “There are thousands of Esthers in La Habana. Why my mother is
called Esther.”, complained the taxi driver. “Very well, then take me to your
mother’s house.”, I retorted. You can imagine how well my witticism was
received. At the end I told him to take me to a house he could recommend in the
old Habana, which he did. I landed at the house of Nuria Barrios. Neptuno No.
1024, esquina con Espada. Phones (+53) 7 879 4029, (+53) 5 817 2997 (cell and
WhatsApp), (+53) 5 264 8186 (cell and WhatsApp). Emails nuriabeatriz1908@gmail.com, fabbeds@fabbeds.com.
I was a bit unhappy about location because this part of La
Habana is quite run down. In retrospect I could have asked the taxi to take me
to one of the newer or better kept parts of town, such as Avenida de Los
Presidentes, Barrio Miramar, or Barrio Kolhey (where Finlay did his seminal
research work on Yellow Fever in 1881). True, transportation would have been
more of a challenge, but at least you would be walking through nice
neighborhoods rather than fearing that a façade would collapse over you. Mind
you, I have no idea if there are guest houses in those neighborhoods but I
think it would be worth giving it a try.
On the other hand, Nuria was a font of very useful
information about what to see and do in La Habana in particular, and Cuba in
general. But before I get there, given that she was not there when I got to the
house, the empleada showed me to a
very comfortable room that I engaged for 35 CUC. I left my stuff in the room
and took to the streets. On the way in I had mapped the neighborhood in my
head, so I undid a few blocks to go visit the Universidad de La Habana, and from there drifted to the Barrio de
La Rampa. I had the idea of renting a motorcycle, but my informants really had
no idea where I could do that and just kept pointing me in the direction of the
older big hotels. I had a seafood lunch along the way (acceptable but not
great), and eventually went past a festival entitled Arte en La Rampa, and for 2 CUC’s went into a large building where
they had shoes, handcrafts, a gallery of photos of Che Guevára, and a stage
where young singers were presenting their songs. They were pretty good, and I
must have heard their singing for nearly 2 hours. After that I went to another
stage, where a band that would have made Santana proud was jamming very cool
dance music. I enjoyed them for another hour, and then realized that the heat
of the afternoon had abated, and that it would be a fine time to go to the malecón (the seaside promenade).
It is a fine malecón,
very suitable for cruising in a pink Cadillac convertible, but it is totally
devoid of shade! In Mexico the malecón
would be shaded by hundreds of palms borrachas
de sol, inviting the residents to go for an evening stroll, for the kids to
run and play, for novios to walk
holding hands and sharing kisses, and for dozens of street vendors to sell
fruit, yummy tacos, popcorn, or cotton candy. Alas, not here, where the malecón is completely bare and nobody on
his right mind would think on strolling along it under the sun. After a block I
turned away, thinking it was time get back. I had made a long loop, and was
flying by instruments, but in no time whatsoever found known landmarks. I was
almost at my residence when a black couple engaged me in conversation, made big
exclamations of delight on knowing I was Mexican, and insisted on showing me
some cool places near my home. The places were interesting but very dingy, and
when they walked me into a bar where I just had to order the best mojito n Habana I knew I had fallen for
one of the oldest scams in the world. So I politely declined to order anything
and said goodbye; then I got the “we are hungry and could you please buy us
some milk?”, apologized for not being to help them, and walked out.
Unfortunately there are dozens of these scams to help the government fleece the
tourist, so I will have to be very alert.
I was a bit miffed with the world when I got home and
finally met Nuria, a portly woman with a motherly disposition, who immediately
welcomed me to La Habana, and set me at ease with her standard list of
admonitions: “Whenever someone offers to show you around say to them ‘No, thank
you. I prefer to be alone.’.” She also interrogated me about my plans, injected
a good dose of reality check in them, and helped me map a good itinerary for my
two weeks here (I had bought a country map, and she deftly drew a day-by-day
itinerary of where to go and what to do). I believe I understand how things
work here: She has a general plan, so she is going to mobilize her network of
guest houses and colectivos, so a car
will come to collect me in three days and drive me (and other travelers) to
Viňales, for a three night stay at a guest house in her network. My Viňales
host will then arrange the following colectivo
to take me to Cienfuegos, and after two nights the pattern will repeat to take
me to Trinidad, then to Varaderos and finally back to La Habana for one last
night before Nuria’s husband drives to the airport. I am taking a leap of faith
and trusting my newly-acquired travel agent!
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