Cubans and Americans: "We are friends!!!"

Cuban National: "Canada? You from Canada?"

Kuli: "No, Alemania (pointing to himself) y Estados Unidos (pointing to me)."

Cuban National: "Estados Unidos!? Ohhhhh! We are friends!!!"

Yes, Cubans are very fond of Americans. This came as a bit of a shock, considering the history of the two nations, and the reputation of Americans being the worst tourists in the world. We had many Cubans approach us, both inside and outside of Havana - many "jineteros" ("jockeys" or hustlers), some locals walking along the beach - all of whom were very friendly. And curious. They asked many questions about the U.S., most of which I had an extremely difficult time understanding due to my terrible Spanish skills, and also because Cubans speak very quickly. It seemed as though almost everyone we talked to had a relative living somewhere in Florida, mainly Miami. Cubans also view Americans as being very wealthy. So many times we had to explain that the cost of living was much higher, and that we had to pay for every service - health care, education, housing (the government gives Cubans their houses/apartments), etc. But even though we are not wealthy by any means, as an American citizen/Permanent Resident, we have the option to make more money by applying for new/multiple forms of employment. In most cases, Cubans don't, and thus have a very aggressive way of selling "gringos*" services and goods. For example, multiple men offering tours will surround the "gringo (tourist) buses" and push their private tours on everyone exiting the bus. I'm positive that the phrase I used most often in Havana was, "No, gracias." Even with the aggressive selling strategies and colectivo drivers yelling "Taxi!" at you constantly, everyone was very warm and friendly.

For most travelers, first impressions of a country are made from inside an airport, and all travelers have to go through customs. We flew into the small airport in Varadero, a resort town 2 hours east of Havana. My first impression was that it looked like we had flown into a tropical Soviet Union. I was amazed and excited, for I have always been extremely interested in the former Eastern Block and Cold War. Going through customs was quite unlike going through American, Canadian or European customs - the customs offers did not resemble Robocop, were not hiding behind bullet proof glass staring at you accusingly as if you were guilty of a crime that was never committed (obviously, this is what you get in the US), and wore simple, green uniforms. Tourists lined up behind 10 booths, where they (we) would eventually enter the area in front of the booth to give our passports and answer any necessary questions.

Upon entry, I gave the customs officer my passport, and she immediately picked up the phone. I was escorted out of the area in front of the booth by 2 customs officers, one of which had just been threatening an Albanian tourist that if he messed up, he would be found (Very Tall Customs Officer: "If you mess up, I will personally find you..."). Surprisingly, this officer was extremely kind to me, reassuring me over and over again that "Es no problem, es no problem." I'm sure it was because I was visibly shaking with a dear-in-the-headlights look. He escorted me to a desk where a pleasant woman sat checking that certain travelers had health insurance, mainly Americans and other nationals whose countries that don't provide socialized health care. Luckily, we had purchased the insurance through Sunwing airlines, and were covered. The officer then pulled me aside for additional questioning. Kuli was there to help me speak, because I was too scared to remember my name. But Very Tall Customs Officer was so extremely nice to me, I was finally able to relax... a little.

VTCO: "Where do you live?"

Me: "USA."

Kuli: "Michigan"

Me: "Oh yeah, sorry. I mean Michigan."

VTCO: "How long will you stay?"

Me: "One week."

VTCO: "Where?"

Me: "Uhh..."

Kuli: "Hotel Atlantico in Playas del Este."

Me: "Yeah, that's right."

VTCO: "Do you know about American and Cuban relations?"

Me: "Yes." (panicking) "I am aware that Americans can enter Cuba with specific licenses or visas for various purposes, like education, journalism, art and performance, but just not for tourism... yet... (giving my very best please-don't-kick-me-out-I'm-innocent smile)

VTCO: "How do you feel about recent development?"

Me: "I think it's wonderful!"

VTCO: (nods in agreement, gives me a big smile, and an enthusiastic thumbs up) "Very good! You may go back in same line. Enjoy Cuba!"

Me: "Oh! Thank you so much! You, too! I mean... (smile)"

Wow! That was the the most friendly experience I have ever had with a customs officer. Ever. I went through customs without a problem, collected our luggage, and boarded the "gringo bus" to the hotel. I was finally completely excited to be in Cuba without fear of the regulations circumscribed by the embargo.

Cuban passport stamp- The customs officers do not stamp American passports, but rather your entrance and exit visa. To exit the country, travelers must pay 25 CUC.

Music in Cuba is a valuable and important part of their culture. The abundant street performers in Havana are very talented, and play and sing beautifully- blending well with one another, with impeccable intonation. The instruments played are not limited to different types of guitars and various percussion, but brass (I saw/heard a man warming up with lip trills on a french horn along the Malecón) and woodwinds, as well. It truly puts American street performers to shame- banging on upside down buckets loudly just doesn't cut it.

The police presences in Havana and the surrounding areas is quite large. I noticed the K-9 unit in Parque Cental, and could not resist taking the most discrete photo I could. As I was admiring another German Shepherd being escorted by a police officer, the officer noticed how happy I was watching the beautiful dog. He invited me over the pet Hido, the dog, and introduced himself as Mischel, not as Officer (fill in the blank), but as his first name. Slightly hesitant, I approached Hido, pet him and shook his paw. Mischel asked me where I was from, smiled, and told me that I had nothing to worry about because Cuban police are not like American police. "We are nice," he said with a genuine smile.

Stray dogs and cats roam the country- from city to country side to beaches and resorts. This was one of the Hotel Atlantico dogs, who was sociable and friendly. She regularly greeted guests and locals with a wagging tail.

Gata habanera

A non-touristy street in Habana Vieja- the buildings are falling apart from both outside and inside, but for many reasons the residents can't do much to help their situation. At first glance, a person from a developed, first-world country would think that they were uninhabited, but upon a closer look, they are filled with people- people living in apartments, barber shops and beauty salons, paladares, ballet studios, markets, pharmacies, etc. I peered discretely into as many doorways and windows as I could, while Kuli constantly reminded me that I "can't go into people's houses." ("Yes, Kuli, I know" and/or "Dude, I'm not!") My fascination with traveling to other countries is driven by experiencing how the "normal" person lives; to gain a first hand view and understanding of the culture.

Cuban parents don't have to worry about how much "screen time" their children are getting. A palm branch and imagination are all they need.

A school bus- new(er) and in "good shape."

Not so "new" are the colectivos- privately owned (not government run) taxis that are most commonly 1950s Chevys and Fords and Soviet made Ladas. Supposedly, within the last few years, colectivos have been allowed to drive foreigners, although many travel companies warn travelers that they will pay extra for riding in them. The price for locals is 10 CUP - 1 CUC would cover about 2.5 times the cost. But, since the colectivo drivers know that tourists want the experience of riding in these cars, the prices they negotiate sky rocket to anywhere between 5-30 CUC.

We made the (poor) choice to take one of these death traps to the Hemmingway Museum. We were taken for a ride in more ways than one. To make a long story short, Kuli negotiated a 15 CUC price to go to the museum. Upon arrival, I had realized that I left my wallet at the hotel, and only had 11 CUC. The driver said he would drop us off, and come back for us in an hour after driving more people, and take us to Havana so we could exchange money and pay him the rest. We now owed him 25 CUC total for this. Since we were at fault, we couldn't negotiate any lesser amount. After an hour, we found out that the driver had taken a nap while waiting for us. He drove us to the Hotel Inglatera to exchange money, which I did. When I came out to give him the 14 CUC we owed him, he then told us it was 25 CUC for each of us, 50 CUC total. I vehemently protested, and he quietly threatened us that he would get the police involved. After becoming disgusted and enraged, I said loudly, "Fine! Where are the police?" With that, he withdrew immediately, and took only what we had given him. My abhorrence of taxi drivers is international, and sadly, I had to add Cuban colectivo drivers to my list.

Notice the yellow wrist band on Kuli- since we stayed at an all inclusive resort, we were given wrist bands that could not be taken off easily. Even if our pale skin, clothing, cameras, backpacks, dumb looks on our faces, and visible disorientation didn't give us away as tourists, the wrist band did. There was no hope for us in this colectivo.

On our way to Pinar del Río, the truck in the right side of this terribly taken photo (that's my bad) hit the bus we were in. Many locals gathered to see what the problem was, and about 10 minutes later, the police arrived. I thought this whole situation was hilarious, and drew in funny looks from the other tourists on the bus because of my laughing.

Unlike like Kuli, I welcomed the delay of the tour, because I was able to look around another city and ask our tour guide millions of questions about Cuba while we waited. Our tour guide, Doli, explained that we were in the poorest province of Cuba, and it was quite apparent. What truly made me understand the level of poverty in Pinar de Río compared to the province of La Habana (Havana), was that the people walking along the streets weren't trying to sell you souvenirs or services, ask you for money to take your picture, sell you month old newspapers, etc. like they do in Havana. They were asking for shampoo and hand cream- items that, even if they had the money to buy them (these are considered luxury item, and are bought with CUC), were probably not available in the local stores.

On our last day in Cuba, we went to Plaza de la Revolucíon briefly before going to the airport. Throughout Havana, and the rest of Cuba, Ernesto "Che" Guevara's portrait is seen everywhere- on billboards, painted on walls, in hotels, restaurants, buses, on buildings, etc. This man, along with Camilo Cienfuegos and Fidel Castro, helped lead the second Cuban revolution. (The details are provided in the above links.) 

The José Martí Memorial in Plaza de la Revolucíon- Martí's poem "Guantanamera" has been set to music and is considered by many as the national song of Cuba.

School children on a field trip to the Plaza de la Revolucíon.

An overall fantastic experience, I'm hoping to be able to visit again soon, and before the Americans ruin it with McDonald's, Starbucks, and other cockroach like corporations. A warning for any traveler, mainly American: If you can't handle buses not arriving on time, random power outages, not being able to understand why you can't have certain things when you want them, like you would in an American restaurant, don't go to Cuba. Similarly, if you think everyone will speak English, tend to be oblivious and /or generally rude and disrespectful to the locals, their culture, and the Cuban government, believing that these things will make you feel better about yourself, don't go to Cuba. This country has an abundant amount of tourism, and it's obvious which tourists are sensitive to the people and culture. Cuba, and the rest of the world, doesn't need anymore discourteous and moronic tourists. 

Best,

Jennifer

*Though the term "gringo" has mixed connotations, I use it not in a harmful, racist or derogatory way, but purely to make fun of myself for being an obvious tourist.