Last Days of the Revolultion Part 2 – Cuba November 2006
Foggy-eyed and bleary-brained, I tried to ignore the hostess. That didn’t last long. First came the realization that Hosh was me. Then the rest of that sentence clicked in.
I snapped to attention. All of the alcohol that remained in my bloodstream vanished in an instant. My vacation flashed before me eyes. I was now staring down two weeks in Havana trying to get my buddy out of jail. For I knew, he’d run over Fidel’s dog and was on his way to the gas chamber.
I grabbed as much paperwork as I could and followed Nolan and his wife. (That’s the sports writer, who had come to inform me of the present situation). We went to the corner to hail a cab. It was after one, but there were still quite a few people milling about the busy Calle 23. A “cab” in Cuba is, as in most of the world, whatever car will stop when you wave money at it. The first couple of cars pulled over and after hearing where we wanted to go summarily sped away.
A bus came by and we took that instead. I was amazed. I was able to sit down. All day I’d seen buses with people packed inside to a level I’d previously only thought possible in India. And here I was sitting.
Anyway, we arrived at the police station. Well, I did. Nolan and his wife stayed on the other side of the street, leaving me to wander into the Cuban police station, alone, in the middle of the night. I envisioned spending fifteen minutes trying to explain what I was doing there. I settled on “Mí amigo…el gordo.”
I walked in. Four young tourists were sitting on the curb just inside the gates. At least I’m not the only one here, I thought. I entered the building and Duncan was standing right there by the phone. He was about to call home as he’d forgotten my cell phone. I’d only written it down for him earlier in the day, for exactly this type of situation.
Evidently, he’d been pulled over and didn’t have his ID nor rental car papers. (Hey, they said they’d charge us $200 if we lost those!) I produced said documents and that was all they needed. Five minutes later we were gone. We took the four Irish with us, back to their hotel. The girl had her backpack stolen, with her passport and all her money. Now that sucks.
We dropped them off and went to celebrate our bullet-dodging. I don’t know how Duncan and Nolan communicated without me as we didn’t get too much going with me this time out. He does a morning radio show, that part I got. We knows Félix Savón, too, one of the greatest heavyweights in history.
I wasn’t sure what else he was saying. I was listening for “I’ll give him a call you can stay with him…” Now that would be cool. I could challenge him to a few rounds and familiarize myself with Cuba’s medical system!
Anyway, I think it was just name-dropping but no worries.
DAY THREE:
With the next day came the first adventure outside of Havana. The freeway does not run through the city and the city’s streets are not in straight lines. I’d say it took about an hour to get out of Havana and onto the Autopista. I think it’s a safe bet we did not take the most direct route.
Cuba is relatively flat and covered in sugar cane. The holes in the transportation network are evident quickly. Aside from the lack of signs pointing us to the Autopista, when we got there we saw hordes of people hitchhiking. Though we saw the odd long-haul bus, for the most part hitching is how people get around in Cuba. There are official stops with a government worker there organizing things, and beyond those there are people waving money as an inducement to skip by the official stop. Being that it is illegal for Cubans to ride with foreigners (not illegal for you, of course, just them) they usually put the money down when they see your tourist plates. This probably took longer with our clapped-out rattler than with most tourist cars…it didn’t take long to notice we got the car shaft, the worst rental in Cuba probably. Some, however, are willing to take the risk and will seek a ride from you anyway.
The Autopista is the equivalent of an Interstate. There are a few differences, though. For one, there are no lines. It’s just a free-for-all. Thankfully, there aren’t all that many cars. Another key difference is that they never finished the Autopista. It runs halfway across the island and then disappears, only to reappear about 45 kilometres from Santiago de Cuba at the far end of the country.
Some things, however, are just like home. Some guy in an Audi blasted by us at 150. A few minutes later we blew by him as he was engaged in conversation with La Policia.
At Santa Clara, we got off the Autopista and headed north for Remedios. The driving got trickier as the roads became a clutter of people, cars, animals and bicycles. Those vintage cars that Cuba is famous for, by the way, are mainly beyond the scrapyard – held together with duct tape and wishful thinking, belching and lurching along within an inch of death, spewing noxious fumes as they go.
The antique furniture in people’s homes, on the other hand, is outstanding. I live in a neighbourhood with a lot of antique furniture stores and don’t give them a second look, so it’s not something I’m into at all. But trust me, this stuff down here is amazing.
Remedios is a beautiful little town with houses pressed against narrow streets. The town square features a large church and small park and is the centre of life. I wandered around the back streets for a while before settling in at the café to relax. And that’s about all there is to do in Remedios. It reminds me of Savannakhet, in southern Laos. In fact, Cuba reminds me of Laos. There’s not a whole lot to see or do, but you just go, wander, sleep and eat. And drink lots of beer at night.
DAY FOUR:
The next day was a long trek “off the Autopista.” Following the northern road (yes, there is only one northern road), we headed east in search of Cuba’s best-and-least-known beach. The first town we past was Yaguajay, scene of a famous revolutionary battle. It has a bit of a wild west feel to it, and has clearly been treated as a friend of the Revolution, as it seemed wealthier than it ought to be so far off the beaten track.
As the afternoon went on, the signage became increasingly lacking and it was getting tougher to track our precise location. We missed the turnoff for the beach. But that was no big deal. You see, the turnoff was supposed to be hard to find.
However, I’d said all along that the turnoff wasn’t mandatory because we’d soon be hitting a town and from that town there was another road. I think aliens came by one night, and used their evaporator rays to wipe that town off the face of the earth because man, did that town ever not exist. And so the sun started to set and we had no clue where we were.
Tags: Cuba, Travel, Travel
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