Cuba, the summing

The mango tree in the landlord's garden drops fruit when the wind blows hard. He said that now and then you can hear a plop. He worked as an ideologue of the communist party. Presumably he wrote pieces in official newspapers, etc. I wondered if he really believed in the revolution.


Breakfast consisted of minicroquettes and scrambled eggs. No milk for coffee. If there is no desire for milk, then one will not be unhappy when it is absent, I reflected. I had a suspicion that my observation wasn't original. But I caught myself already starting to live in the future, imagining what I would do when I got back to the Netherlands. I was obviously Cuba-fatigued. Tired of being hassled by panhandlers. Tired of not being able to reach destinations. Tired of everything being a little messy, a little more bother. I yearned to be back in a country where things just worked.


I needed to kill time until noon. I wished I had some reading material left; I had given away all the books I had. I trimmed my toenails. At 1100 I couldn't stand the boredom any more and went out for a walk. I discovered that the cigar shop was open again. Cuba still managed to surprise. I bought a packet of 20 cigarillos for K. There was a strange export limit of 23 cigars in force when I was there. (It has probably changed since.) Incidentally imitation and poor quality cigars are a standard street scam in Cuba, so one is advised to buy from official shops.


I was tempted to buy some cheap books in Spanish for reading practice, perhaps Castro's History Will Absolve Me, or works of Isabel Allende and Henry Miller, but I knew that I would falter in my good intentions. Paulo Coelho seemed to be popular in Cuba.


There was neither spaghetti nor pizza available for lunch at Rumbos for reasons that will remain a mystery to me. The waiter was sullen. I spent the rest of my pesos on peanuts.


The landlord told me that Isabel had a couple of lodgers who were also going to the airport and I could share a taxi with them. I showered and checked out, abandoning my thongs and sneakers. The two were mother and daughter. The mother was Dutch Indonesian and had been visiting her daughter who was studying for a few months in Cuba. I accompanied them on a last-minute shopping spree in Holguin. They bought trinkets, cigars and rum.


It is a little odd that a small city like Holguin has an international airport, the Frank Pais airport. I suppose it, and Santiago de Cuba, are the largest cities in the east. The customs check was slow. I bought one last CD from the airport shop before boarding.


Our takeoff was delayed because a couple of Dutch nationals were denied entry and had to return by the same plane that brought them to Holguin. I never knew why they were personae non gratae.


Was it worth it? Would I do it again? Certainly one does not go to Cuba for the cuisine. While I ate many competently cooked meals, they were doing the best they could with basic ingredients. As for beaches, Australia has better ones, and other Caribbean islands can compare with Cuba. Cuba wasn't exorbitant but wasn't a budget destination either. You could get the same quality for much less in SE Asia. The Spanish colonial architecture is worth seeing, but a little wasted on me. I enjoyed Cuban music whenever I encountered it. Most of all though, Cuba was an adventure, one of those oddities that fascinate travellers. A place to collect tales to bore listeners for years to come.


What would become of Cuba? It was sad that it had fallen so far behind in development and it might be hard to catch up. The starvation days of the Special Period may be over, but there was so much human potential going to waste in Cuba. They did have the advantages of high literacy, excellent medical care and people who are adept at improvisación. I once saw a documentary showing a Cuban who had fitted a Lada engine to an American car body. Now that's clever.

Loma de la Cruz

I was pleased that there was an EGREM shop in Holguin. I had accepted that there might not be one when I did not buy CDs in Havana, to travel lighter. However many of the artists or recordings that I sought were not available, and those on sale were a bit unfamiliar. I picked out a handful of CDs and another two from Artex nearby. But the cigar shop we had visited on the first pass was closed due to the freeze. Apparently the freeze was in response to recent US belligerence. Maybe the shop at the airport might be open. Worst come to the worst perhaps I could get some in Schiphol airport. Wow, I thought Cuba was getting boring and this happens.

The other shops in the plaza had queues of Cubans outside, waiting to stock up. I got a bottle of rum from the counter at Rumbos. I carried the booty back to the casa, then walked to the foot of the hill to await the Swedes. They were quite late. Apparently they had overslept, they had no alarm clock, and the landlady didn't rouse them.


The steps up Loma de la Cruz were unergonomic so the climb was tiring but there was a good view of Holguin's surrounds from the top. There a church at the summit, as the name suggests, with residues (candle wax, devotional objects, etc) left by visitors. In a small cavern was an art gallery run by a local artist.


The Swedes couldn't change their tickets so they were committed to leaving for Santiago de Cuba the next day. They paid for their lunch with a whole mess of coins. They complained about running out of money, yet they seemed nonchalant handling it. I hoped that they would be more sensible with money for the rest of their holiday. I gave them my contact details, we parted at the natural history museum then I went back for a siesta. In the evening I had a good final dinner in Cuba at Restaurant 1720. I could shop for the rest of the souvenirs the next day as the flight was for late afternoon.

Holguin 3

Graphic deficiency warning: there are only a couple of photos left of Cuba to present, and none for today. I must have been really weary of Cuba and yearning to go back to Europe.


I reminded the dueña that she had promised to show me where the barber was, so she asked a kid to take me there. I had probably the cheapest haircut in my life. The official price according to the notice on the wall was 2 pesos, but he charged me 3 and I gave him another as a tip. That came up to under 16¢ at the official rate of exchange.


At 1230 the taxi came to take the three of us, the Swedes and I, to Holguin. It cost us $18 because the driver had only $2 change. Somehow I think that was not a coincidence. We went to the first choice of casa in the guide book. There was no answer and I soon realised that they were not operating any more. At Isabel's, L's former casa, it was full house. We tried another one from the book. They wanted $25 for only one night and we declined. I decided to try Hilda, the former dentist while the Swedes tried a neighbour of Hilda's. The neighbour sent them to another casa so we parted and arranged to meet that evening. I waited for a while but no sign of Hilda. I went back to Isabel who sent me back to the first offer. This time they agreed on $20 as I was staying two nights.


Later that afternoon, I discovered the probable reason Hilda was out was that the government had suddenly declared a freeze on the sales of dollar denominated goods. So people were out stockpiling. I wondered if it would affect my plans to buy cigars and a bottle of rum for K back in Heemstede.


We had dinner at Rumbos; that place was getting to be a regular haunt. Afterwards we had ice cream, but there were only sticks left, no cones.


I think this was the day I spotted a stretch Lada and regretted not taking a photo of it. (But if you do a search on "stretch Lada" you will find some specimens.) It was a superlong Lada, made by welding sections together, like how they make stretch limos. I supposed that it was used for weddings, etc.


The film at Cine Frexes was cancelled. I wondered if the dollar goods freeze had anything to do with it. Oh well, an early night then. I would shop for the cigars and rum after breakfast, then meet the Swedes to climb Loma de la Cruz which overlooks Holguin. When we first arrived from Baracoa, J had confused loma (hill) with lomo (pork) while reading the guide. Huh? Pork of the cross?, she had exclaimed.

Holguin 2

J2 was flying to Havana, and we would not meet L until noon, so we had a leisurely morning. J was taking the bus westwards that night. At the breakfast table I joked with the landlady that I needed to get a new wife.

J and I walked around town a bit before lunch. After another lunch at Rumbos we caught up with L. She wanted to check her email at the Pernik Hotel, which was also near the Plaza de la Revolución. We bargained with some bicitaxis but eventually settled for a normal taxi for $2. There were some monuments at the Plaza. We studiously read the inscriptions, but mostly we enjoyed walking around the shady park there.


At the Pernik Hotel, an edifice from the Soviet era, L checked her email over the slow connection, J read a bit about Cuban history from the guide, and I napped on a chair. Afterwards we caught a bicitaxi back to the centre.

We met for pre-dinner drinks at the Begonia, a bar fronting the plaza. Dinner at the Piropo consisted of a chicken pizza for me and spaghetti for J. There was some kind of fashion show at the plaza that evening but we had to leave L before it started.


I walked J to the bus terminal. Nobody was selling tickets. A German traveller waiting there also had no ticket. Which meant there was nothing to worry about. In some places procedures can be informal and I was sure that tickets would be sold either just before the departure or on the bus. While waiting we chatted about our experiences of South America. J would be continuing to Central America after Cuba. She had an address from the landlady of a dentist in Mexico City who could do some dental repairs. Then it was time for her to go. A big hug, and she departed into the night.


I went back to the casa instead of the festivities in the plaza. The next day I would have an early start as L and I would attempt to catch a workers' bus to the beach town of Guadalavaca.

Holguin 1

I shared a room with J last night. There was no space at the casa where we arrived so the landlady called another lady who came over to walk us back to her casa. Hilda was a retired dentist. I opted for breakfast but J didn't, to save funds. The landlady gave her some coffee and I gave her a couple of slices of fruit from my breakfast.

We met the Australian girls at Holguin's central plaza. L's priority was to locate her missing boots and J volunteered to help her. I helped the Aussie J2 with arranging her air tickets to Havana (she had a shorter vacation than L), and exchanging travellers checks at a bank. She was one of those people with inconsistent signatures and this caused delay because her countersignature didn't resemble the original to the clerk. So she had to sign the lot again. Sometime during that morning, probably while J2 was waiting to be served at the airline office, or after lunch, I explored a couple of nearby plazas; they were all close to the centre. The intriguing totem poles above were outside an artists' centre. I also found construction workers using old cine film as measuring tape.

This was the inside of a state run cigar store. I noted some prices because I was planning to buy some as a gift for K, back in Heemstede. Cigars earn some foreign exchange for Cuba.

The cigars are stored in a room with controlled humidity to preserve freshness.

J2 and I had lunch at a bar/cafe called Rumbos. I had the plain meatless spaghetti, which was OK, considering. We were supposed to meet L and J in the plaza at 1200, but there was no sign of J. So I walked back to the casa to fetch her. L came part of the way to make a phone call at a call centre. I have difficulty reassembling the exact sequence of and rationale for events; it was that kind of confusing day. But it doesn't really matter.

In the evening, we met at the Restaurant 1720, a restored mansion which faces the plaza, to have dinner. Earlier that afternoon we had daiquiris there and it looked promising for dinner. And it proved to be good; I enjoyed my shrimps in garlic sauce. Portions were small but dainty. The waiter made some paper roses out of the red napkins for the girls. After dinner we emerged on the plaza, the girls lit up a couple of cigars that they had bought earlier and vamped for photos next to old cars.


When the sun went down a funk rock band started playing on the stage, and the plaza filled with townspeople. We stood in the night air and listened, nibbling on peso peanuts sold by itinerant vendors. A dissident started chatting to us. He said that the system was stuffed, an unsurprising statement. He also claimed that on Fidel Castro's passing there would be secession because regional commanders would take control of their respective areas. A bold but unverifiable claim.

To Holguin

A day of travel, so no pictures. This was when camera memory was expensive and I didn't take extraneous shots. I gave one of my old T-shirts to Yumi's cousin. It was from a conference and had a slogan in front. She said, I hope this doesn't say something like Down with the revolution in English. I assured her that wasn't the case. I packed then took a picture of Yumi and her cousin. She extracted a promise to send her a copy, which I eventually did, as a postcard.


I met the girls at the appointed spot in the centre of town. It turned out the driver wanted $80 instead of the $70 negotiated by our contact. We declined and asked around for another car. Eventually the driver gave in and we set off at 1400. (In retrospect it seems silly that we balked at paying $2.50 more each. I think it was our feeling that the increased price was a broken promise.)


We headed west to Moa. The car was an old Lada and the driver swerved all over the road to avoid potholes. Once he failed to see one in time. He cursed and waved his fist when we hit the pothole. As you can tell there was little traffic on the road. He also coasted down hills to save petrol.


Moa is the centre of nickel mining in Cuba and an important source of revenue to Cuba. It is operated jointly with a Canadian company. There wasn't much visible from the road except a smelter plant. There were some glimpses of coastal scenery though.


The driver stopped to fill a couple of times, once in Moa and again in a small town. The second time, he put us down outside a small shop and went off to get the petrol, probably to avoid being seen with a car-full of foreigners. Who know what strings he had to pull to get the petrol. At the back of our minds was the worry that we might be stranded in a small town for the night.


We arrived in Holguin after nightfall. The driver dropped us off outside our chosen casa and zoomed off. I think he had spotted a policeman or civil guard approaching. Unfortunately in the rush one of the Australian girls had forgotten to take her hiking boots out of the trunk. In the next couple of days, we tried to help L track down the taxi, but to no avail. She ended up looking for and buying another pair of boots for her hiking trip in the Sierra Maestra—not an easy purchase in Cuba.


Staying in the casa were a German woman and a Chinese man who ran a travel agency in Tokyo. The woman was going to take the camionito (lorry bus) to the coast the next day. She promised to tell us how that went if we met again.


I had not had any lunch that day, except for some peso peanuts with beer. Holguin seemed quite lively because of the romeria (religious festival) going on.