News of the Revolution is thin on the ground in today’s Granma, with the official newspaper of the socialist party noticeably less in pages than previous editions I have bought.
Today, it feels like time to move on. I have almost ran out of streets to walk down in Habana, and there is only so many times I can stop to talk to people on their doorsteps that want to know where I am from. Also, I cannot linger any longer beside games of baseball in the street in the hope that the ball will come to me again, so I can check if I really do have a good baseball arm like a man told me a few days ago, and that the throw that left my arm with pinpoint accuracy a few days ago was not just beginners luck.
Perhaps indeed I have already outstayed my welcome in Cuba, with all my rejections of the offers of cheap cigars, cheaper rum and even cheaper women, from men that want their girlfriend to be my girlfriend for the duration of my stay in Cuba. I was warned before I came that some of the local Cubanas wanted to be the girlfriend of extranjeros as their route out of the country, but not that some of them would have slight moustaches. They walk away with a flick of their hips, still single.
The walking in Habana has been hard, but worth it. I have visited places I wouldn’t otherwise have seen, and spoken to people I wouldn’t otherwise have met. I have had conversations with engineers and painters, students and the unemployed, and a man who manages to makes a comfortable living from having his photo taken by tourists whilst he pretends to smoke a cigar.
Cuba is how I imagine Spain was 30-40 years ago. Life is hard and the people are poor but friendly. If they ask you for money or a regalo for their children and you tell them ‘no tengo’, almost all of them are still poor and still friendly. Never did they smile more than when they asked where I was staying ('hotel o casa'), and I told them 'casa como siempre'.Interestingly, nobody I spoke to knew where Fidel and his brother live in Cuba.
The family-orientated culture is also similar to Spain, with walks on the main squares and plazas on Sundays, and gossiping on the front door steps all week, including late at night when weary Scottish travelers are trying to sleep. A real community spirit exists within even the poorest of barrios, neighbours greeting each other with a kiss, and sharing each others home-made baking and a refresco on each others doorsteps.
Basical foodstuffs seemed expensive throughout Cuba, some items similarly priced in Cuba’s mercadores as back in Britain, but with less choice and often entire shop shelves laid bare. I ate from the same street vendors and fast food joints as the local Cubanos, and never felt particularly unwell, even after one hamburger that looked pink and tasted cold in my mouth. The risk was worth it for the refreshing fruit batidors (shakes) that I enjoyed in the heat of the day.
When Franco died, things changed fairly quickly in Spain, and I wonder if the same will happen in Cuba with the passing of Fidel and his brother. As an outsider looking in briefly, it seems like ordinary Cubans do need a few political changes that could bring them new opportunities in their country, but not at the complete expense of the last 50+ years of socialism and the current way of life in the country. There is a lot that could be learnt from the revolution and the daily struggle by the people of Cuba and how they try to overcome it.
Hasta La Victoria, Siempre!
