The Shit Show That Is Havana
Everything that I have been told about Havana is true.
“It’s a major shit show!” someone warned me just before I went off to visit it a couple of weeks ago. And having just returned, I can confirm that this is definitely the case. Havana is a complicated mix of decrepit infrastructure, confusing rules and pure filth – a complete and utter mess. Rolling blackouts are the norm, and streets are often blocked due to a pile of rubble, usually the result of a recently collapsed building. Forget about getting a decent internet connection – it doesn’t exist, and if you connect – know that you won’t find Facebook. There is a separate currency for the locals and if you aren’t careful they might try to sneak it into your change. Stray animals (some of the most beautiful dogs) expertly dodge the old cars and bicycle taxis that roll through the narrow streets. Children will ask you for candy –their parents will ask you for your clothes. And the billboards will display the same old images of Che Guevara and Fidel Castro with slogans that assure the locals that of course there couldn’t be anything better than this. For this unseasoned traveller, the whole thing was surreal, so dark and twisted. It was indeed a shit show, and I loved every minute of it.
People describe Havana as being a city where time stopped after the 1950s. Viva la revolution! Viva los coches clasicos! Las calles y los edificios! Everyone was right when they told me that Havana is a dream locale for street photography! You can’t turn a corner without finding some children playing ball in the street, or a senior citizen donning a housecoat or an undershirt in a doorway. The urban decay makes a city like Detroit look almost orderly – and my North American feelers warned that what I was wandering through might not be safe. But it was very safe. Old Fidel imposes strict rules about bothering the tourists – a comfort to say the least, but a reminder that what is bringing me joy, only adds to the misery of the people who have to live there. Everything you’ve heard about this city is true, yet there are countless layers to it that I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand.
While Cuba has been at the top of my bucket list for quite some time, it was a last minute decision to go, after I was asked to use up some of my vacation time at work (lest I lose it when we get too busy in the coming months). I’d resisted going to Cuba in the past as it didn’t strike me as a good destination for me and the travel partners of the moment. For starters, most Canadians who travel there go for the cheap all-inclusive deals, where they can sit on the beach, drink free rum and complain about the crappy food at the buffet. I know I’m in the minority here, but that is not my idea of a vacation. If I was going to do Cuba – then I was going to do it my way – which would mean getting down and dirty with the people and exploring its capital city, Havana.
I should also confess that I’m not the best person to travel with, and as much as I would like to blame all of my travel partners for my vacation dramas, I can’t deny that the common denominator has always been me. I am a loner at heart and I like photography, and in the past few years taking pictures has become a bit of an obsession, which only means that now I’m even more of a loner and that I really, really like photography. In short, I have fine-tuned some rather anti-social characteristics, and impose impossible expectations on anyone who dares run off to some far off locale with me.
So with not much time to prepare anything, I had an excuse not to seek out a travel partner, and since I was going solo, Havana seemed like the perfect bucket list item to check off. I would be able to do the city my way – and not have to be concerned about the needs of someone who would prefer to spend their days laying on a beach chair, recharging from a night of binge drinking and hobnobbing with Germans. For eleven days, I would be alone, free to explore the city as I saw fit, and of course, to work on my photography skills.
I’d travelled solo before, but in fact usually I was meeting someone, somewhere, so I have never really travelled on my own for more than a day or two. I either had friends at the destination, or someone would be joining me along the way. This isn’t just a happenstance arrangement either. This is a preferred practice, as I’ve learned that being tied by umbilical cord to another person can be disastrous. It turns out that I’m one of those type-A personalities, so I need my space, and more so, I need to be able to wallow in some sort of self-imposed structure – even if it’s only that time spent on the airplane getting somewhere. What an unnatural thing it is to travel for two weeks and spend every waking (and sleeping) minute with one or more people. You don’t do that in your regular life – I can’t imagine doing it in a strange location for several days or weeks either.
As such, I have strict rules for whoever I travel with. We will not spend every minute with each other. I need time to myself to wander. You go off shopping by yourself because the idea of hanging out in a store turns my stomach, and quite frankly, you don’t need me for that. I’ll do the art galleries without you – knowing that that isn’t your thing. Let’s meet up for dinner and talk about our days, and let’s do some of the major attractions together. But let’s not be joined at the hip. Many people are perplexed when I suggest this strategy to them, and I understand that I’m the odd man here – but I’m a type-A, and I’m getting older and set in my ways, so these are rules that I need in order to cope.
Havana has turned out to be one of the best trips that I’ve ever taken, and that’s a bold statement to make when I consider that I was totally cast adrift on this one. I met people while I was there, but English speakers were few and far between, even in the tourist spots I visited. More often than not, I was required to interact using my limited Spanish skills, and my surprising talent for charades. I had no problem getting food or directions, but except for the rare occasions where I met with an English speaker (most often a hustler looking to get some of my money), my ability to express myself was severely limited. If you haven’t put yourself into a situation like that before, I highly recommend that you try it. It’s a major brain bender in that it will force you to learn a little more of the language, and it will also give you time to reflect on those things about yourself that you might not always want to tackle. In Havana, there were thousands of people around me, but I was definitely alone – with lots of time to think.
I quickly adopted a schedule to fill out my days, and as this was a photo tour, the plan was very simple. I woke up at 7am, had a quick breakfast as provided by the casa particular, and set out on my morning walk. I was based in the Vedado neighborhood, and would make my way through Central Havana, and then through Old Havana. A one way trip was about 5km. As the sun was starting to get too bright, I would make my way back. I’d be in Vedado again by around lunch, where I would pay a visit to one of only two restaurants that I frequented (once again, I like structure so I was happy to become a regular at only one or two paladares, and not busy myself with exploring others). Meals were usually a sandwich, two mojitos and two bottles of water. I followed lunch up with a nap back at the casa and by about 5pm, I would be back out on the street to do the route all over again. I’d return home by 8, just as it was getting dark, have a quick dinner and be in bed by 10.
With each walk I would meander down different streets and alleys, whatever turned my fancy, or wherever there seemed to be plenty of people congregating, or wherever the light happened to be good. I’d challenge myself by trying out different lenses or using the speed light. I was never bored on these walks, but the heat was unbearable, even for someone like me who loves high humidity, so I was always thirsty, drowning in sweat and kind of smelly. My socks were just rancid by the end of the day – so much so that since my return home to Toronto, my dog has been revisiting a nasty habit of taking socks from my hamper and chewing on them – something that I’d hoped she grew out of a few years back.
I found the locals in Havana to be friendly, but more often than not, they were a little camera weary. I usually used a 24-70mm lens, which is rather large. I know that street photographers should do everything possible to be discreet, but I fail in that regard, because this lens takes such fantastic photos, that I can’t bear to sub it for a smaller, and more restricting prime lens. As a result, people would see me and instantly cover their faces, or walk back into their homes, or worse, approach and ask for a donation for me to take their picture. I have a problem with giving people money, and while I’ve done it on a few occasions where I thought that the shot was absolutely worth it, I have a problem with fostering a society of beggers. A man approached me one day and asked if I would like to take a picture of his young daughter. I suspected that this would be followed by the oft heard request for a peso, so I politely declined. When he told his daughter, in Spanish, that I wasn’t interested, she appeared heartbroken, but I held firm. The Americans will be coming soon, I thought to myself. She will find much more respectable ways of hustling the tourists when she gets older.
The American influence was something that I thought a lot about on this trip. At the time of the writing, the official view is that Americanism is nowhere to be found in Cuba. The government rejects it, except to point out the horrible atrocities they’ve committed in other countries, which includes meddling in the affairs of Venezuela and Iraq. For the people, however, it’s another matter. They have openly embraced any form of pro-USA consumerism that they can get their hands on. I saw taxi drivers with American flags draped on their vehicle or dangling from their rear view mirrors. Their clothes, most likely bought on the black market or from donations from tourists, contained all the popular brand names. The music of Beyonce and Bruno Mars was everywhere, and even though these people couldn’t speak a lick of English, I got a kick out of egging them on to sing a verse or two from Single Ladies.
Barack Obama opened the doors a little bit to trade between Cuba and the USA, and I will share the obvious sentiment out there that this will be a good thing – at least, and hopefully for the people of Cuba. Their future survival depends on being able to compete on the world stage, so simple things like communicating on the web will be vital for them. Raul Castro, and hopefully his eventual predecessor will begin to ease up on the restrictions imposed on the Cubans, so that the entrepreneurial minds of that country (and there are many of them) can begin to live up to their promise. But there will be a sacrifice to all of this. I feel selfish for saying it, but the charm of Havana, its surreal chaos, the smiling attitude of its people, will all be gone the minute the golden arches and the Gap move in. American influence may try to retain for the tourists, the look and feel of fabled Havana, but it will be a Disney-esque version, where the old buildings will be spit-shined and polished, where the working class will be moved out, the roosters and stray dogs along with them, so that Hilton can sell off spaces to the elderly couple from Arkansas, who will do a victory lap along the pristine Malecon, past the licensed street vendors, en route to the Salsa Extravaganza Show at the ritzy new casino in the centre of town.
I really enjoyed the ‘shit-show’ that was Havana. Here’s a perfect example of the effects of too much socialism. The idea that we’re all equal, which looks so good on paper if you concentrate on the concept that everyone will be happy, has already proven to be a complete farce. Humans simply aren’t programmed that way. And such an experiment is doomed to fail if you’re going to go to great lengths to piss of your closest and most influential neighbor – who in turn will turn off the tap to all trade.
But the grass isn’t much greener on the other side. Capitalism has a tendency to gobble up its weaker people– and quite frankly, it was capitalism gone awry, that facilitated Castro’s march into power. The pendulum swung sharply in the 1950s, and so perhaps it will swing back the other way today, as set out by a law in physics. Therefore, I expect that the Cubans will throw their necks out to embrace it, just as soon as their leaders let them. What kind of shit show will Havana look like in a couple of years? It’s going to be tough to say – but I’m quite sure that the city that I discovered a couple of weeks back will be long gone.
