“Venceremos”: the long road to La Habana
While reading this I recommend the following music (not from Cuba, but fitting)
After the cuban revolution in 1959 the island had established close relations to the Soviet Union. In 1972 Cuba joined the COMECON, the economic organization of communist states. Since it was so close to the United States, the declared enemy of the Russians, the country was of special importance. Cuba received billions in US$ in economic and military aid, but in due course became increasingly dependent on the Soviet Union. In the strict planning of the eastern block Cuba was responsible for the production of sugar for the communist world. The result was a very one-sided economy.
Motherland or Death: We will win!
The first years after Gorbachev became russian president in 1985 the mutual trade increased. However, Perestroika and Glasnost finally made clear that the russian economy was in a terrible state. Russia became unable to continue its commitments to other countries. The flow of aid to Cuba subsided. After the collapse and disintegration of the eastern block in 1991 cuban sugar also had to cope with the competition on the world market and could not be exchanged for the imports any more which the monopolistic economy required. Trade with the Soviet Union declined by more than 90%. A time of isolation and hardship began for Cuba.
The cigar factory in Varadero
That situation sounded interesting enough for a visit. So after we had bought pens and lighters as presents and both of us a carton of cigarettes for own use and for making friends we boarded a Martinair charter flight to the Cuban town of Holguin. At the time it was necessary to book a number of hotel nights in advance and so we had booked a couple of nights in Varadero and in Havana. A connecting flight was supposed to bring us from Holguin to Varadero. Our idea was to cycle from Havana back to Holguin. A guidebook had told us that russian mountain bikes were widely available in Cuba. So in addition to the usual luggage we had bicycle bags, tools and repair gear and a variety of snacks for on the road. I still have a very detailed diary of this trip and a lot of events and places a read about in there now I had completely forgotton.
After we had already finished the first package of cigarettes on the long flight (we had seats in the non-smoking section but it was only social to make a little trip back to the smokers’ rows) we arrived in the sweltering tropical heat of the little airport of Holguin. In the moldy wooden hall we got our luggage, which we had to check in around the corner for the local flight. But when we tried to get the boarding pass there was a problem. My friend’s name was not on the passenger list. We showed the letter of the booking agency, to no avail. Eventually we asked to have a look at the passenger list ourselves. They handed over a greasy piece of hectographed paper. I found my name and … the name of my wife, a Mrs. Che. They had misspelled Mr. Sche into Mrs. Che. Mistake of the computer, said the employee with a smile and we got a couple of cardboard slips without seat number, flight number or destination as boarding passes and were all set.
Airport Holguin. At the left the Il-18 to Varadero
The plane was an old russian turboprop four engine Il-18. It did not look so bad from outside. Inside it was sticky hot, dirty, smoky, some of the seat belts were missing and the serving trolleys (empty) were parked between two rows of seats without securing. Outside the sky was changing from threatening dark to black. We took off when the first lightnings came down. My cuban neighbor reassured me: ”This plane did not crash the last 30 years, why should it crash today?”. Indeed, after a choppy flight we touched down softly at the state of the art airport of Varadero. “You see how good our pilots are”, was the comment of my cuban neighbor, who seemed not less relieved to get out of the wreck as myself.
One of the taxis
For 17$ a taxi was supposed to take us to the hotel Marbelle, which we had booked in advance. However, once on the road the driver told us that Marbelle was closed and brought us to a hotel called Ledo. The hall hotel was filled with the blast from a television which was surrounded by loitering characters, almost all of them mulatto women. After some discussion the cute receptionist had mercy and we got a room on the voucher on the name of the other, closed hotel.
Beach club in Varadero
We left our luggage and went for a walk in the tepid air with the slight fragrant of sea and mold typical for a tropical place. People sat on the ground everywhere in the wet streets and we had to be careful not to step on somebody because it was pitch dark. The only light came from the many open doors – usually together with the noise of a television. From time to time a decrepit bus, a taxi or a scooter crept by. We had a beer in an open bar of a hotel and then decided to go back. I was so tired that I almost fell asleep. The cute girl at the reception now was in company of a popper called Luis. He gave us a 3 Peso banknote with the portrait of Che Guevara and we in exchange some dutch coins. He recommended to go to a place called Caballito for dancing and meet chicas. We rather had another beer in the courtyard. People of both sexes started to approach us, usually by asking for fire or a cigarette and then wanted to go out with us. Eventually we succumbed to a guy who brought us to the place where a big crowd waited at the entrance. The cover was 5 US$ which we paid for our companion as well. That, while there were at least a dozen beautiful girls who tried verbally and physically to convince us to pay their entrance fee. Inside we hardly had time to sit down at a table before two girls appeared whom we only got rid of with the sacrifice of cigarettes. Meanwhile our companion had got us beer. He told us that we could get any girl here but shouldn’t pay more than 10 bucks. Girls kept coming to our table, ask for a drink or cigarettes, or offered their body right away. Some guys even offered their wives or girl-friends. We told the girls we are Russian or that our wives were waiting in the hotel. But excuses were void. Some replied that they had their own room and one even went so far to tell us that it would not take very long. Only one was a bit frustrated when I told her that we couldn’t buy everybody a drink in here. Eventually we sounded retreat and had a last beer with our new friend in a quiet bar on the beach.
On the beach in Varadero
The next morning started with a positive and a negative experience. Against all expectations the hot shower worked. But somebody had already stolen all my friends pen and lighter presents, his sun glasses and my cap (original from China, green with a red star; thought that would be appropriate for the occasion). Well the stuff with the exception of the sun glasses and the cap were intended to be given away anyway. We were still tired from the flight and the late night and went to the beach where me friend immediately fell asleep. The sand was immaculate, the water tepid and the girls much prettier than close by in Miami Beach or Cancun. If they wouldn’t be so pushy. Wherever we were the sound of “Psss, Pssss” followed. We seemed to be the center of the universe with a lot of cuban planets revolving around us.
We would have bought that bike
On the way back we passed the dollar shop. Cubans are not allowed inside. A guy walked up to me, gave me a dollar and asked to by a lighter for him inside. I was curious about the shop and went. When I came back and gave him the lighter he asked whether I could buy him shoes. He hadn’t got any. I thought when he could afford a lighter for a dollar he must also be able to afford shoes and walked away.
The typical american road cruisers for which nobody in Cuba had the gasoline any more
We were a bit fed up with all this attention and decided to take the bus to Cardenas, supposedly a more typical town. It is outside the special zone of Varadero, which is closed to Cubans who do not live or work there. But all the buses seemed to go in the opposite direction. People we asked pretended to not know and sent us anywhere. Eventually we met a woman who was helpful and sent us to the right spot. Next to the bus stop a couple of old men sat in the shade of a porch. But it was not a cafe but a cigar factory. They were happy to show us around. The bus still did not come. While we waited a guy walked up to us and asked where we came from. When we told him he smiled, replied “capitalists” in his normal voice and then whispered while looking around “communismo est muerto”.
Varadero city bus
Eventually a decrepit bus arrived. The driver charged 1 US$ which disappeared in his pocket right away. The bus was full but some people got up and offered their seats. We declined.
In the streets of Cardenas
Cardenas indeed is an attractive town with run-down colonial buildings. Battered buses, huge old american cars and horse carriages took care of transport. Shiny and well kept bicycles sometimes carried whole families. People were much friendlier and less pushy here than on the other side of the fence. Some asked us to take pictures and even declined the cigarettes we offered. The town also had a beautiful blue and yellow station without visible traffic and while we nosed around in the rusty junk on display on the rails an old former railroad man came and gave us a tour.
The station in Cardenas
The ticket booth did not see a customer for a while
Model of a railbus as memorial for the railway employees
On the walk back to the bus we were surprised by a tropical downpour and took refuge in a stylish, but dilapidated old cafe with colorful tiles and a piano. Their only drinks on offer were infusiones, hot water with a colorful sugar bar to dissolve. The waiter told us that all the women present were on offer as well. To provide evidence of their advantages he patted their buts and tits in turns. He kept asking why we didn’t like them and we felt increasingly embarrassed to say no since they were all very attractive. He kept dancing with all of them with the movements only these people are able to do. We asked ourselves why these women tolerate this kind of machismo.
Bars offering infusiones and music
On the way back we could pay for the bus in local money which was a fraction of the dollar the driver before had put in his pocket.
People in the streets of Cardenas
This was the time when the situation in Cuba was the worst. There was basically nothing to buy. The only chance for young people to have some fun was to become friends with a foreigner to be able to enter the places where you had to pay in foreign exchange. People had to live on food cards. But even the stuff on the food cards was not always available. Girls sold their bodies to have some fun, get some money to buy nice clothes or simply to buy food for their family. People who wanted to take advantage of foreigners especially concentrated on places like Varadero, where it was easy to meet one. Therefore it was best to get out of there as quickly as possible.
Typical degree of use of cuban buses
The next day we wanted to go to Havana. There are direct buses, but the train from Matanzas is much more attractive. Covered in sweat we arrived at an insignificant one story building, the bus station. There they handed each of us a piece of cardboard with a number, for queuing, and sent us to the port number 3. Our waiting numbers were 7644 and 7646. The bus was supposed to leave at 10.35 and indeed, at 10.25, a battered vehicle with a trailer for additional passengers arrived. After some shoving the doors of the bus opened and the countdown of the numbers began at 7500. With rising apprehension we waited but we were lucky enough to be among the last to get on. The bus was packed.
Street in Matanzas
After arrival in Matanzas we had to walk to the station since there was no other transport. We were covered in sweat again. This time the waiting numbers were 56 and 57. Around the corner was a run down joint. Again the only drink on offer was infusion, the name for colored sugar solution. So we left our luggage at the station and walked to the main square. But all the cafes there had a long queue waiting at the entrance. Before we could decide which queue to join a guy approached and told us that he knew a place where we could have a beer. On the long walk there we met one of his buddies. We ended up in an alleyway where they produced some bottles without label. The beer was cooled with ice which they crushed against the wall of the house. The guys were farm workers and complained bitterly about the situation. With a lot of beer we washed down the grief and then staggered uneasily back to the station.
Not much to do...
The waiting numbers were for the ticket sale. Kindly people asked each other which number they had to join the queue. The price of the ticket was 1.05 Peso, less than 0.20 US$ in black market exchange rate.
Waiting room and station in Matanzas
In 1916 the Hershey company, a big American chocolate manufacturer, bought big tracts of land about 40 km east of Havana to produce their own sugar. To transport the sugar and melasse between the mill and the port of Havana the company built a railway which ends at Matanzas, 92 km from Havana, a trip which took us almost 4 hours in 1992. This railway was basically unchanged for 70 years. The railcars in use were built by the American Brill company in the early 1920’s, the tracks were completely worn out and the electric wiring was original.
The Brill railcars built around 1920
Spare parts for the old trains were rare and had to be manufactured by the cuban workshop to keep the trains running. In 1998 the Cubans finally bought much younger 60 year old second hand railcars from Barcelona in Spain. However, with the closure of the Hershey sugar mill after 86 years of continuous operation in 2002 the main reason for existence of the railway had disappeared. After Hurricane Irma in 2017 big parts of the line were unusable and so far the line was not rebuilt. The Hershey railway is one of the last of the numerous interurban railroads built in the Americas.
Along the line to Havana
With frequent stops the train idled through a varied countryside where swamps alternate with mountains. A conductor in a neat uniform with an enormous peaked cap did his job with obvious pride. Meager cows grazed on fat grass along the line while people sat in front of straw covered huts. About halfway the train passed the enormous sugar mill to which it owed its construction. The black smoke from the chimneys were visible from faraway. There was no food on the long train ride and we were glad to have our provisions bought for the bicycle trip. From a friendly soldier we got a lollipop, but it was so disgustingly sweet that I disposed of it secretly.
Long stop in a rural station
The american Hershey company was not allowed to use the tracks of the main railway operator, United railways, an english company. Therefore the electric railway did not end in Havana main station, but in Casablanca, a terminus on the other side of the Havana harbor entrance. When we arrived at the terminus it was dark. Again we were not well prepared and had no idea where we were. A woman tried to help us in decent German and so we followed the crowd to an unlit, overcrowded ferry, which shuttled us across the bay to the Malecon, the coastal boulevard in Havana.
The ferry across the entrance of the Bay of Havanna at daytime
In Havana we had booked a room in a Hotel called Gran Via. However, nobody seemed to know the hotel. We thought about flagging down a taxi but there was hardly any traffic, let alone taxis. A slick guy in Hawaii shirt, creased pants and oily hair with a cute girl clinging to him told us the hotel would be in Playa del Este, outside Havana. He told us to wait; he would look for a taxi and come back. To buy cigarettes on the way we gave him a dollar. We never sew dollar, cigarettes, girl and guy again. So we didn’t believe what he had told us.
The only snack stand on the Malecon in Havana
We passed a park with some parked big cars. Three guys loitered around a car. It turned out that they were Russians who worked in Cuba and spoke better German than Spanish. In their car we drove around Havana to find Hotel Gran Via. Eventually we stopped at another hotel. They confirmed indeed that our hotel was at the beach Playa del Este far outside town. They were not willing to accept our voucher but sent us to a waiting taxi outside. Despite a lot of misfires the taxi made it to a hotel under palm trees.
Car on the beach in Playa del Este
But the hotel was dark. The gate was closed. We made a lot of noise and the taxi driver blew his horn until finally a window opened upstairs. A guy told us that the hotel was closed. Eventually, however, since we had the voucher, he opened the gate and we got a room with an unmade bed. But there was also a bar where they sold beer and the guy even sat down with us to tell his story. We had finally arrived.
The garden of the beach Villa in Playa del Este flooded after the torrential rains
The next days we roamed about Havana in search of the russian mountain bikes. We did not find any. We tried to buy bicycles from people in the street but even for green bucks they were not for sale. The shiny bicycles some Cubans rode were on loan from companies for their employees. In the foreign exchange store in the diplomatic neighborhood they had a race bike, but it was not for sale. We could order two and they would be delivered in about 6 weeks….
In the streets of Havanna
La Habana, one of the world's most beautiful cities, merits a separate story
Thus the idea of a bicycle tour in Cuba died….
People in the streets of Habana
Here is the link to the previous post
