Letters from Cuba, June 2009 (1) Toronto to Havana

Ten years ago, restless traveller that I was, I took my husband, Bill, to Cuba. We were both interested in the politics, society, architecture of this country. Bill, already in his late seventies, was nervous at the prospect of going there, and so I arranged for us to go via Canada, a country he had always wanted to visit.*   I organised most of the trip myself, but after becoming anxious at the audacity — or foolhardiness  — of what I was doing, I used Adventure Travel to arrange the five-day central portion.  Here are the letters I emailed to family and friends.

Fidel Castro & Camilo Cienfuegos 1959

Letter 1, Best Western Hotel, Toronto Airport

Saturday 6 June 2009

Almost in Cuba ­— our flight leaves at 8.30 tomorrow morning.

On our Air Canada flight from Toronto I sat next to a Canadian woman who holidayed in Cuba two years ago. She and her husband travelled round in the buses, like Bill and I plan to do. She said she went to Canada with a whole lot of questions, and came away with a whole lot more.

We haven’t seen much of Toronto, only our airport hotel** Last night we dined at at Vietnamese restaurant, one of the few businesses near the motel. It was called Van’s Passion, and the owner was setting up for the Saturday night cabaret – he showed us the huge and perfect roses he had bought for the tables.

I had a swim in the hotel pool and chatted to a Canadian family who had holidayed at Varadero beach resort, a popular spot in Cuba for Canadians wanting to escape the long northern winter.

Letter 2, now in Cuba:

Our Air Canada flight left promptly at 8.30 on Sunday. There was a big, ebullient, pony-tailed, Indian-born Canadian seated next to us. He was off for a ‘boys’ weekend away’ weekend at Varadero Beach, and had managed to incorporate some business into the trip. He seems to be on numerous high level think tanks advising heads of government and so on — or perhaps he was bragging — and he said tAir Canada is almost on its knees financially. Certainly the inflight entertainment wasn’t working, and every morsel of food had to be paid for on the spot.

During the flight we filled in three forms, including the all-important tourist card. (An advantage of Air Canada was that they arranged this, rather than passengers needing to sort it out for themselves.) Among items it is forbidden to import are bread toasters — when we later saw the precarious nature of electrical wiring in Havana, we decided this ban was perhaps wise.

Customs declaration for Cuba

On the approach to Cuba we flew through high columns of cumulous cloud, and it was a thrill to see the island. We arrived at Havana’s Jose Marti Airport around 12.00 noon, and were immediately struck by the fact that ALL airport workers were wearing masks as a precaution against swine flu.

Once through Immigration, our first task was to change Canadian dollars to Cuban currency at the CADECA (Official Government Exchange House). There are two official currencies: Peso Convertible (CUC), which is for tourists; and Cuban Peso (CUP or Moneda Nacional – M.N. for locals. We got considerably less for our Canadian dollars that we had expected, and are now working on the basis that one CUC is worth almost NZD2.

Our next task was to get a taxi to travel the 25km into town. We had been advised it was obligatory for tourists to use a Government tax; to agree on a price before leaving the airport; and that it would cost about $25. In fact, we paid $30 and realised later we’d been taken advantage of.

Our taxi was a beat-up Lada and we travelled into Havana at high speed. Our first impression was of a very green country, with a Caribbean feel — not the colourless place some people say it is. Just like the tourist brochures say, we saw some big American cars from the ‘50s, but we also saw Japanese cars, some World War II jeeps, an occasional Citroen, and, above all, beat-up Ladas.

I had written the address of our casa particulara (homestay) on a piece of paper: Case Ines, Calle Segunda #559 e/ Ayestaran y Ayuntamenta, Plaza de la Revolución. The address proved difficult to find – our taxi driver, and every subsequent taxi we took, had to stop to ask directions.

Our casa particulara was at Calle Segunda, Plaza de la Revolución

We were sightly taken aback to discover that Ines, the owner of our homestay was away at the beach until Tuesday. A sweet, 70-ish woman called Drina, who spoke not a word of English, was holding the fort. I summoned up enough Spanish to order desayuno (breakfast) next morning.

We chatted to a Frenchman, who was staying in the downstairs apartment, and is about to leave Cuba after holidaying here for two weeks. He has come annually for the past nine years, but no longer likes Cubans. He says they are all liars, and do not agree to fixed prices; that after living under Communism all their initiative has been sapped; that they don’t think about the past or plan for the future — for instance, if they get any money, they spend it immediately. We decided that since we have only been in the country for five minutes we would make up our own minds about all this.

Shortly afterwards, a harassed-looking neighbour arrived. Since Ines was away, he had promised to register Bill and me, and our registration had to be handed to the committee this evening. We had to show him our passports, as owners of casas are obliged by law to register tourists’ personal data with the authorities. We struck a minor setback when his biro ran out of ink; I offered him mine, but he said it would not be acceptable to the authorities unless the ink was the same colour — fortunately it was.  

*Our other options would have been Mexico and South America, as it was not possible to fly to Cuba from the USA.

**We have planned two nights in Toronto, rather than one, but Air Canada schedules were changed.

Blog by Ann Barrie