Havana 4

I dithered all night over it, but by morning I had decided that I would try to take a bus to Guanabo beach outside Havana, inspite of difficulties due to shortages of public transport. After breakfast I walked to the designated bus stop at Agramonte and Gloria, but couldn't find the private bus service so I went to the public bus stop. The protocol in Cuba is that when joining a queue, you ask loudly: ¿El ultimo? (Who is the last in the queue?). Somebody will respond, then you become the last in the queue and should respond likewise when you hear the question again. Some Habañeros grumbled about a tourist competing with them for a bus seat, but the lady in front of me defended me, saying: he is queuing like the rest of us so he has a right to take the bus.

I got onto the second bus which, of course, was packed. The fare was 40 centavos. It took about 45 minutes to reach Guanabo. I overshot the destination stop and had to walk about 500 metres back. The beach was a couple of streets off the main road. The sand was fine grained, the water was a lovely transparent aquamarine and there was a cool breeze flowing through the palms. I took off my shoes and socks and dipped my feet. My first contact with Caribbean water. I just had to do it. (I had not planned to swim; I had no companion to look after my daypack, for one thing.)

In the village I found a sandwich, some pastry and a drink. I was pleased to spend pesos instead of dollars because it was incredibly cheaper paying in pesos.


Down to the beach again. There was a tourist couple taking their ease under a palm frond parasol. Some lifeguards were hovering about. A policeman passed by to check.


To return to Havana I walked to the last stop on the line to be sure of getting a seat. This was a smart move as the bus was packed again. In fact I had to stand for the first part of the journey until a seat became free. I sat next to some kids, one with a puppy. I gave them some candies. The trip back was uneventful. On the way back to the casa I stopped for a peso ice cream. The seller looked at me as if I had not paid enough so I checked by asking: ¿Cuesta un peso? She nodded. I wondered if she had hoped that I would pay a dollar by mistake.


I had sand on my face due to the wind and the sunscreen and my hair was all mussed up. I was glad to shower the sand off. I felt pleased that I had managed to get out of the city. It was good to get away from the city aggro caused by the lack of public services. The decrepitude was much less oppressive when diluted by space. The day before I had been revolted by the sight of a dead dog in the middle of a Havana street that looked like it had been there for a while.


The night before I had sensed that the landlady was miffed that I had chosen to dine out, probably because it meant a few dollars less for her. She made a fish dish for my last night. It was quite good too. When you see how few kitchen utensils the average Cuban kitchen has, you wonder how they manage to produce tasty home cooking and your heart goes out to them in their scarcity.