|Plaza de la Catedral, Havana|
This is the hottest we have been since arriving in Cuba 5 days ago, our first time away from the cooling winds off the Atlantic Ocean. We are staying in Veradero, 135 kilometres to the south of Havana, in an all-inclusive where having fun and relaxing is the prime activity. Cubans have reminded us that this is their winter and indeed I see many with long pants and closed-toed shoes. Most days I wear capris, short sleeves and sandals.
We are lucky. The weather for our vacation has been full of sunshine and temperatures from 26 to 28 degrees Celsius. Other Canadians who have come to Cuba this year have had rain and cold weather.
Our intention today was to catch a bus from Veradero to Havana; we went to the bus station at 7:10 am. The cost is 10 pesos for the one-way trip. When we got out of the taxi, a man with bulging chest muscles enveloped by his Canada t-shirt approached us. They offered to take us to Havana for 15 pesos each; they promised it would only be 1 hour and 45 minutes. The buses take much longer. Our consideration was short.
The car that got us to Havana was a 1976 Jetta with black windows. There are few cars on the road. Especially when I think of home. The cars that were made in the United States pre-date the time that the US put an embargo on Cuba – 1960. Cubans are very handy with caring for their possessions, a matter of necessity being the mother of invention. Most of the cars are full of passengers; Heather notices that the drivers are men. On a previous excursion into the country, the tour guide told us about Cuba’s national sport – hitchhiking – and that is what we saw along the route. When we got to Havana, our taxi driver made us an offer. He will take us back to Veradero at the end of the day for $20 pesos each.
Margarita decided that double-decker bus is the best way for us to see New and old Havana. We got off the bus at the Castillo de la Real Fuerza, considered to be the oldest stone fortress in the Americas. Inside we found treasures retrieved from sunken ships, replicas of old ships such as Columbus’ three, and weapons used to defend Cuba.
|View of Old Havana from the Watchtower|
We ask Margarita many questions about life in Cuba, about how the money system works (there are two types of money in Cuba), education (education is free), healthcare (there are a shortage of supplies), where she goes to vacation (Veradero). This is a conversation that winds its way throughout our day.
A woman supervises the washroom inside. She hands me four squares of toilet paper. A dish with coins sits on the table beside her. Margarita has advised me the amount of the tip. I put in my 10 cents beside the $1 and $2 pesos. When I come out of the stall, my coin has vanished but the others have remained. I figure she doesn’t want to encourage my kind of tip.
When I return to the table, we decide to walk to La Bodeguita del Medio, famous for being the birthplace of the Mojito and the celebrities who have hung out there. The walls are covered with signatures of the famous and not so famous. The place is packed. “Would you like to see inside?” I nod. Margarita steps into the restaurant and leads us around the tables, into the back and out again. I am impressed with her confidence.
|Bronze statue of Ernest Hemingway at La Floridita|
There is a lot to see in Old Havana. The buildings are mesmerizing, some in disrepair and some having been restored over the years. I see hotels and restaurants and bars and apartments on the upper floors. What I do not see is places to buy clothing or food. Along one street, we find a place next to a bar that sells ron (rum).
We wind our way to the train station where we have agreed to meet our taxi driver at 6 pm. With many more blocks to go, we hire a taxi for $3 pesos. He lets us off close to a restaurant. Outside the restaurant, the maître d tells us that this is the best food in Havana.
The food is great, one of the best meals we have had in Cuba so far. The price is surprisingly high. That’s the way it is in Old Havana.
Heather watches the time. We leave the restaurant at 10 minutes after 6. Margarita is not concerned. “He will wait.” I wonder how she knows that. She shrugs her shoulder and leads us down the street to the train station. The taxi is not in front. We walk through the train station and down the block.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“To meet the driver,” she says.
Around the corner and down another street, we find a line up of cars. Our taxi is in the middle, our driver waiting for us.
And this is how we learn about Cuba time.