And so after only 1 weekend in Havana I have already done several of the clichés I joked about. Drinking mojitos and rum+coke ( cocacola happily doesn’t exist here. Instead we have Tukola), smoking a cigar, dancing salsa (with prostitutes), swimming on an idyllic beach and walking for hours through mesmerising backstreets where crumbling villas and clapped-out cars meet in a lazy visual unison that feels both oddly familiar and quite alien. Havana feels, in places, a lot like Gibraltar and its infrastructure much like SE Asia. The sunlight here is so strong that in the morning and afternoon hours it is a photographers dream. I must look quite strange walking along; head turned upwards scanning balconies, courtyard gardens, between flats, up precarious stairs and through windowless-windows. It seems unnecessary to add to the already vivid descriptions of such a place because after a while words like ‘time-warp’ and ‘relic’ seem to lose all meaning. As an example of the atmosphere of Havana I will try to explain a couple of events.
Last night we saw scores of young Cubans walking along the Malecon (the long, sweeping concrete wall that forms the sea front here. Like a classic promenade everyone comes here to meet and socialise, to ‘cruise’ or just have a cigarette, to debate the latest baseball scores and to deal). We followed them to an open-air stage set-up opposite the American embassy. And here is a very powerful image. Directly opposite the windows of the American embassy are over 50 huge black flags each with a single white star on them. They all flap atop tall steel poles and can be seen from quite a distance. It is a very peculiar site indeed and upon asking our host Rauol what it was all about, the meaning seems to justify the image. Being the glass panes of the highest floors of the near 15 story blocks those funny yanks have a huge set of LED sentences that scroll across its surface. In Spanish they announce such things as - “Isn’t it strange that your highest qualified citizens like doctors and civil engineers choose to drive taxi’s because they earn more money?”. And so on. In return it was decided to visually block these statements with a high wall of billowing black flags. In their entirety they conjure up a very ominous and sombre atmosphere. What feeling this must give any American working in this building I don’t know. You must just feel like an absolute cunt every time you go to work. This was then the backdrop of a very fun concert last night. With large bottles of rum and coke we joined hundreds of young Cubans in front of a large stage. We grasped that it was a sort-of student event, although there was no real indication of this. Just many many dolled up men and women. Once the alcohol made is speedy journey to our heads inhibitions were flung far and we danced like fools, I think as I can’t rightly remember. The contrast to ‘dancing’ in England is quite apparent. In England we have the phrase ‘living for the weekend’, or even the cringeworthy ‘having it large’. People ‘work’ all week then get fucked and fucked on a Friday and Saturday night. Here people work all week then also let their hair down. They drink, but not to vomiting excess, and everyone properly dances. None of this slut-fest all flesh and no soul, or indie all style and no grace. The dancing here is seems effortless - quite relaxed and casual but with so much passion and sensuality. There’s something about the dancing and the socialising on the Malecon that is very enviable. Of course there are the seedier clubs where if you bend particular features you could be anywhere. We met a very helpful man on our first night who took us into someone’s house, up the stairs and to a small ‘restaurant’. We call him Desmond but I’m not sure if this is correct. We bumped into him again the night after, and he was quite drunk and dressed smartly with a very short and sweet young lady friend. We went with them to a posh-ish hotel bar and had mojhitos and smoked dirty Lucky Strikes. We knew the score, we were paying for their drinks but it was fine. We all got quite tipsy and I suppose a tad rowdy. In 3 days I have already grasped some simple Spanish and key words. There was lots of shouting of “ Chica, ehhhhhhhhhh, for you, ehhh, ahahahaha”. Usual semi-sexual banter. It’s at moments of high testosterone and inebriation like this that I tense up and have to adopt the best impression of laddish behaviour I can. And so when Desmond (who by the way is a fairly intimidating black man with a firm handshake and aggressive undertones) smacks my shoulder and tries to enter me into the conversation I do the best I can to sound like I too would like a Chica (woman) for myself. You just basically laugh loudly, go “ehhhhhhh sie” and possibly do a mock salsa move whilst sitting down. It just puts you into an embarrassing situation that I usually try to avoid. I had no intention of going out at all but I decided to go along to a club that Des recommended. We were drunk so it became fun. I danced provocatively with 4 women who were very polite in the sense that they didn’t slap me for being such an awful dancer and not quickly removing my un-inspired hand from the small of their back. We have since learnt that in many a Cuban club, if a woman is on the dance floor she is basically selling herself. In retrospect this makes complete sense because these women were prostitutes and seemed very miffed when we decided to leave. Some male members of the party were ever so slightly hurt at being deceived in this way. We all thought that they were sweet women. Here a woman might not class herself as a prostitute but if she is dancing with you with the premise of sexual contact then she will expect to have everything paid for her and possibly a bonus. Come to think of it, that’s not too unusual even in England is it?hmm.
One thing I was warned about and was very worried about was food. And although all I have eaten so far is fried chicken with rice beans and salad, it is not bad food. Just nothing to write home about. Although I am of course. It’s also more expensive than I’d anticipated. 5-10 pesos for a plate of food. £3-6. Beer is 50p, our accommodation is £7 a night. It’s cheap but it’s not cheap cheap and it all adds up fast. One thing that I think I like although it is very frustrating for a visitor is the lack of signs. I am a person who needs signs, and visual indications – clocks, bold street names, business signs. Here the streets and buildings will be full of all the services you want and need but it’s not obvious what or where they are. You just need to dig a bit and get to know the streets. This will be rewarding in the long run. Also having been to bustling food markets in SE Asia it’s quite sad to see the state of the markets here. Maybe food is just not a huge priority. Maybe it’s all to do with sanctions and restrictions, taxes and stuff but the markets only seem to sell tomatoes, strange potatoes and meat as the main items. Smaller stalls selling bits and bobs are there too but there’s no exciting smells and sounds. We went in search of eggs for a couple of hours this morning. Eggs are rarely sold on Sunday we now know. Some items are in such short supply that once it is put out on show it will be gone quickly so you better not hang around. Particular types of bread, and street food too. But its fine, you just walk further and there will be another opportunity.
It’s the usual score with a country that is struggling. The people are very helpful but usually aren’t being nice for free. This does happen but the people are poor and you in contrast are minted. As long and you both know the score everything works out well. It only takes a stuffy tourist or a local who thinks you are stupid to usurp the happy balance.
Yesterday we hopped into a taxi and went to a beach 18km away. The driver took us to a ‘Cuban’ beach, not a tourist one because the police would likely stop him there because of the poor state his vehicle was in. One of my fellow honorary Cubans is Ruth. She was particularly excited because she hadn’t ever been to ‘postcard’ beach before. I remember when I arrived at my first beach in Thailand, 3 years ago. I was alone and had no one to share that experience with. You see these photos on TV and in magazines but until you experience them with all your senses you don’t really know if they exist. And so I really enjoyed experiencing this with my 5 friends. We all just ran into the water and it was heaven. None of us expected to be in paradise quite so soon. We ate langoustines and sipped beer and mango juice. We watched an albatross circling above and these enormous birds of prey that hang around in groups of 10 ish. Stunning wings they have. We had 5 hours here until our taxi returned. The beach was near deserted as it’s winter in Cuba and the locals don’t see the point. Obviously us sun-parched Britains lap up any rays we can find with all the zeal of a famished dog. It was a blissful day that felt a little like the film E Tu Mama Tambien. So relaxed and free of worries. In a few days time we have to disrupt ourselves, pack up and find our own casa’s in the centre of Havana. Once this is done we can relax properly and start budgeting more.
When you go to a new place and especially immerse yourself in a different culture it can be quite exhausting which is why ive found the time to sit down and write on the balcony. The kids below are playing a strange game with a ball. They throw it at each other and every now and again someone has to stand facing a wall whilst the ball is lightly hurled at them. It makes no sense but they seem to love it. There are LOADS of police here too. Mostly on foot, patrolling and watching. It makes you feel both safe and under close scrutiny. I’m looking forward to learning as much as a can about the ticking of this country and really want to become competent in the language. Not that many people speak English so you really have to make the effort. We are going to the University and then our offices tomorrow to find out what we will be doing. I almost forgot why I was here for a second, oh yeah something about architecture.
