Here, in front of you, stands and ex-idealist, ex-romantic, ex-innocent and ex-I-want-to-change-the world person. I cannot possibly imply that my trip to Cuba is to blame for all these painful changes but it certainly has its share.
Cuba... la isla bonita... salsa, light, sea, smiling people, antique cars and revolutionary spirit. I packed my bags to go to this island not as a normal tourist. I always felt tourists were inferior creatures... nonono, definitely not as a tourist. I was a traveler. I was this super cool person going to Cuba to experience everything this island had to offer. I was just about to find out what made these people so superior of us all, suffering a blockade from the superpower but still being able to smile and dance at any chance.
And there I was... My first impressions of the island were not prime examples of this superiority I have to admit. I entered the bathroom at the airport after a 10 hour flight and apart from being asked for any kind of coins (since I did not have any Cuban money) by a random cleaning lady I was also asked for chocolate, candy or even clothes. Well I gave her politely a euro I had on me and backed away very very slowly trying not to wake up my fears.
Next thing I remember was the face of the immigration officer who put me in this cubical and looked and me trying to identify the American spy hidden inside me. Thank God I look innocent enough... After explaining my reasons for going to Cuba and apologizing several times for the fact that I was not rich enough to book a room in a big state run resort.
In the “casas particulares”, the Cuban version of bed and breakfast, I learned all the things that I now like about Cuba. The simple people who like to earn their living by providing good services and promoting the tourist industry of their country showed me that if you have strong will and sharp mind, no matter how difficult the economic situation is you can always make a decent living. Out of the lot I will keep in my mind two cases. The super grandma in Havana where me and Peter stayed for about a week in total is a person who in her 80’s is still full of life. She is the prime example of happiness of a non-political person in a highly politicized country. After all in Cuba even buying the daily bread is a political act. The second person is Angel in the sleepy town of Santa Clara. He owned a famous (to the readers of traveler’s bible, the lonely planet) bed and breakfast. He was the impersonation of good humor and good mood, always ready to lend a hand whenever the clients had trouble. Of course this was out of self-interest but for some reason it felt good…
I am afraid the list of good things ends here. From now on the only thing I could write about is the wickedness of people. In the charming streets of Havana where beautiful architecture met poverty and pollution to its extremes we were treated as tourists… which for the average Cuban basically means a wondering cow ready to be milked. We were offered taxi rides, city tours, meals (even when they saw us waking out of another restaurants), hotel rooms, cigars, sex, rum… everything. For some reason Peter was more popular among cigar sellers and me among musicians, playing just for me just for one peso. The fact that they were selling things/themselves is not as annoying as the frequency of their attempts. We could hardly take any ten steps without being asked to buy something. Of course most of the time their intension to sell was hidden… they seemed more interested to meet us and talk and then they revealed their real face. What irritated me the most was that they shamelessly treated us as people with low intelligence. Tourists to these Cubans is a separate race, that only looks like the humans but does not share any other characteristics with them.
I was sad to realize that the real comandante en jeffe in Cuba is not Fidel but the desire for money. I could imagine that this is what happens to every poor country after the tourist invasion. But I could never believe that my long admired Cuban people would go down the road of wickedness and disappoint me that much. On the streets I was often approached by young mothers asking me for my clothes, which was kind of ironic because the only clothes I had I was wearing them. As my luggage arrived only ten days later I was walking around in the same destroyed jeans and black t-shirt. Still these women gave me the evil look when I (putting my honest face on) told them that I did not have anything to offer. Even after showing them the holes on my jeans they still would not believe that I was telling the truth. You see I was a tourist… which equals a rich white bitch who has to give them nice stuff from the west…
Ah Fidel, what have you done to these people?
To spice things up, Cubans are very sensual people; a characteristic that I would admire very much had I not seen what I saw there. We saw numerous young beautiful women in the company of freakish 60-year-olds trying to hold a conversation in a universal language and to forget about what was coming after desert. According to the Danish guy I met on the airplane this is very common among “normal” girls… “Just like you” as he put it, and in case you are wondering, the price was only 10 dollars a night. So from his experiences I figured that there are three types of women in Cuba: a) the professionals of love, who look rougher and he would not touch, b) the “normal girls” who do it for money because they are too poor (sometimes their family makes them do it). The basic difference between group a and group b is that group b has a different profession. So a girl in group b can be a nurse or work in a shop or a teacher but in the night when she goes out in the club she will pick up a nice white tourist and earn their ten box. C) In this category he put all the girls who hook up with someone because they like him but they always expect a present in return. However this should not offend the male tourists. As I found out Cuban girls expect material payment for their services from their deeply loved boyfriend or husband.
All this disintegration in the Cuban society cannot only be blamed on the blockade. People of course are tired of struggling for survival and of making politics out of things we consider normal. Running water electricity and bread are still major issues of political debate among cubans. And although they would never admit it they got tired of their second father too...
My personal conclusion from this trip that in the end of the day I am glad I took it, is that Che is dead... very dead indeed but victory is still far far away.
Hasta la victoria siempre... el commandante amigo.
Cuba... la isla bonita... salsa, light, sea, smiling people, antique cars and revolutionary spirit. I packed my bags to go to this island not as a normal tourist. I always felt tourists were inferior creatures... nonono, definitely not as a tourist. I was a traveler. I was this super cool person going to Cuba to experience everything this island had to offer. I was just about to find out what made these people so superior of us all, suffering a blockade from the superpower but still being able to smile and dance at any chance.
And there I was... My first impressions of the island were not prime examples of this superiority I have to admit. I entered the bathroom at the airport after a 10 hour flight and apart from being asked for any kind of coins (since I did not have any Cuban money) by a random cleaning lady I was also asked for chocolate, candy or even clothes. Well I gave her politely a euro I had on me and backed away very very slowly trying not to wake up my fears.
Next thing I remember was the face of the immigration officer who put me in this cubical and looked and me trying to identify the American spy hidden inside me. Thank God I look innocent enough... After explaining my reasons for going to Cuba and apologizing several times for the fact that I was not rich enough to book a room in a big state run resort.
In the “casas particulares”, the Cuban version of bed and breakfast, I learned all the things that I now like about Cuba. The simple people who like to earn their living by providing good services and promoting the tourist industry of their country showed me that if you have strong will and sharp mind, no matter how difficult the economic situation is you can always make a decent living. Out of the lot I will keep in my mind two cases. The super grandma in Havana where me and Peter stayed for about a week in total is a person who in her 80’s is still full of life. She is the prime example of happiness of a non-political person in a highly politicized country. After all in Cuba even buying the daily bread is a political act. The second person is Angel in the sleepy town of Santa Clara. He owned a famous (to the readers of traveler’s bible, the lonely planet) bed and breakfast. He was the impersonation of good humor and good mood, always ready to lend a hand whenever the clients had trouble. Of course this was out of self-interest but for some reason it felt good…
I am afraid the list of good things ends here. From now on the only thing I could write about is the wickedness of people. In the charming streets of Havana where beautiful architecture met poverty and pollution to its extremes we were treated as tourists… which for the average Cuban basically means a wondering cow ready to be milked. We were offered taxi rides, city tours, meals (even when they saw us waking out of another restaurants), hotel rooms, cigars, sex, rum… everything. For some reason Peter was more popular among cigar sellers and me among musicians, playing just for me just for one peso. The fact that they were selling things/themselves is not as annoying as the frequency of their attempts. We could hardly take any ten steps without being asked to buy something. Of course most of the time their intension to sell was hidden… they seemed more interested to meet us and talk and then they revealed their real face. What irritated me the most was that they shamelessly treated us as people with low intelligence. Tourists to these Cubans is a separate race, that only looks like the humans but does not share any other characteristics with them.
I was sad to realize that the real comandante en jeffe in Cuba is not Fidel but the desire for money. I could imagine that this is what happens to every poor country after the tourist invasion. But I could never believe that my long admired Cuban people would go down the road of wickedness and disappoint me that much. On the streets I was often approached by young mothers asking me for my clothes, which was kind of ironic because the only clothes I had I was wearing them. As my luggage arrived only ten days later I was walking around in the same destroyed jeans and black t-shirt. Still these women gave me the evil look when I (putting my honest face on) told them that I did not have anything to offer. Even after showing them the holes on my jeans they still would not believe that I was telling the truth. You see I was a tourist… which equals a rich white bitch who has to give them nice stuff from the west…
Ah Fidel, what have you done to these people?
To spice things up, Cubans are very sensual people; a characteristic that I would admire very much had I not seen what I saw there. We saw numerous young beautiful women in the company of freakish 60-year-olds trying to hold a conversation in a universal language and to forget about what was coming after desert. According to the Danish guy I met on the airplane this is very common among “normal” girls… “Just like you” as he put it, and in case you are wondering, the price was only 10 dollars a night. So from his experiences I figured that there are three types of women in Cuba: a) the professionals of love, who look rougher and he would not touch, b) the “normal girls” who do it for money because they are too poor (sometimes their family makes them do it). The basic difference between group a and group b is that group b has a different profession. So a girl in group b can be a nurse or work in a shop or a teacher but in the night when she goes out in the club she will pick up a nice white tourist and earn their ten box. C) In this category he put all the girls who hook up with someone because they like him but they always expect a present in return. However this should not offend the male tourists. As I found out Cuban girls expect material payment for their services from their deeply loved boyfriend or husband.
All this disintegration in the Cuban society cannot only be blamed on the blockade. People of course are tired of struggling for survival and of making politics out of things we consider normal. Running water electricity and bread are still major issues of political debate among cubans. And although they would never admit it they got tired of their second father too...
My personal conclusion from this trip that in the end of the day I am glad I took it, is that Che is dead... very dead indeed but victory is still far far away.
Hasta la victoria siempre... el commandante amigo.
