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How to look Cuban in one simple step!

Cuba is a rainbow of different-coloured people, from those that are very black to those that are very white, and every colour in between. There were blond Cubans, brunette Cubans, African Cubans, indigenous Cubans, even Chinese Cubans, as well as all kind of combinations of the above! It was another thing that I loved about the place. Everyone is all mixed together, and there are no ghettos of blacks, nor suburban areas of only whites, nor any of the class differences that are often associated with these. Black and whites play together as children, hold hands in the street as teenagers, work together as adults, and get married, and it is totally normal. It was such a wonderful, inspiring part of life there that I really wish we could take and export it around the world.

With such a diverse range of people, I figured that I could probably pass as local, in the same way as I did in Argentina and Chile. But everyone seemed to know automatically that I was local, and in the beginning I could never work out why. I wasn’t walking with a backpack and camera in hand like other tourists, but there seemed to be a stamp on my forehead that screamed ‘gringo’. I didn’t work out until almost my last day in Cuba what the problem was.

On my last full day in La Habana, I decided to change casas in order to save a few dollars. A couple of friends had recommended a cheap casa, so I decided to try it out, and found that it was central, clean, with lovely people, and for a fraction of the price that we paid at other places. A true bargain! After settling in to the Casa I worked out why it could be so much cheaper. They didn’t ask me for my passport, didn’t want me to register, and there were no signs up that signify an official ‘Casa Particular’. I realised that I had discovered an illegal Casa! I’d heard of ‘illegal casas’ – black market operations that operate without the government’s knowledge and pocket all the money for themselves. I’d wanted to find one, because I’d heard that they were much cheaper than the ‘official Casas’, but had had no idea how to find them. But somehow I stumbled into one without planning to.

The system of Casa Particular is incredibly tightly controlled by the government. Ostensibly this is to protect the tourists, but really it seems to be a revenue raising enterprise for the government, with official Casas having to pay about $200 a month in taxes. Of course, this means the cost is passed onto the tourist, who pays more than $20 a night for a room, which incidentally, happens to be more than twice the minimum monthly wage for Cubans.

I would never have expected that this casa was illegal, as the front door to the place was directly opposite the ‘Capitolio’, probably the most famous building in Habana! This was not a back street, hole-in-the-wall operation. It was extraordinarily public. They were hiding in plain sight, so to speak. The penalty for operating an illegal casa apparently can by quite high, so there is a lot of risk involved, especially if you have envious neighbours who dob you in. I guess the casa I found had good neighbours… Or perhaps they slipped them a little bit of money on the side to keep them quiet. I was too shy to ask.

Regardless, it is still risky to have foreigners staying in your house if you are not official, and it makes it much easier for the Casa owner if you happen to look a little ‘Cuban’ and can blend in a little more. In my first few minutes there, I happened to overhear one side of a phone conversation that went something like this. ‘Look, I have this Italian staying here, but he’s complaining that the price is too expensive and he wants to find somewhere cheaper so I thought of your place. He’s in his forties, speaks excellent Spanish, and he looks Cuban. Would you mind if I sent him to you?’

When I had dumped my bags and settled in, I got myself ready to go walking for the day, and was about to leave when the lovely ladies at my illegal casa gave me the once over. They told me that I looked far too much like a tourist, and I needed to look local. I wondered how they were going to achieve this miracle, but I put myself into their hands. They grabbed me, and started rearranging my clothes, while I sat back and watched. As they worked they kept muttering that my knee-length skirt was too long, and my top wasn’t tight enough. When they had finished, I examined myself and found they had tied the top of my skirt with a couple of elastic bands and folded it a couple of times, to hike it up to just below my bottom, and done something similar with my top, and I was showing a lot more leg and stomach that I have ever shown anywhere but the beach! Now everything started to fall into place, and I realised why I hadn’t been able to pass before.

Cubans are by far the most skimpily clad women of all the countries I have been to. Cuban women wear short skirts and tight tops, and it isn’t limited only to those with drop dead gorgeous bodies either. I’ve seen women of all shapes and sizes dressed in tight mini skirts showing short fat legs and lovely round tummies! It was one of the things that I loved about Cuba actually. They really seemed to embrace their bodies, and love them, regardless of size, shape or colour. It was as if those corrupting magazines and media that seem to dictate what a perfect body should be in the West didn’t exist… Because in Cuba they don’t! I found it so refreshing, and I spent a lot of my time people watching, admiring the fact that larger women were embracing their bodies and dressing ‘sexy’ as well. They had a way of walking to go with their dress. They kind of sauntered, hips swaying in a rather lazy fashion, instead of the more determined, purposeful stride that Western women tend to adopt. Cubans in general are far less inhibited than we are in the West. Watching the dance floor is spectacular, as it appears that without exception, all Cubans can dance. Women and men flirt outrageously, with women rubbing their bottoms up against men’s crotches, in true dirty dancing style. Picture the kind of moves you see in Dirty Dancing in the ‘underground’ nightclub, only these are happening not only in night clubs and discos, but in any public arena that happens to have music playing in the evenings! It was fascinating to watch the interactions between men and women that appeared incredibly sexual on the dance floor, but after the dance the two would then go off to separate sides of the room, and it would become apparent that it was nothing more than a dance. Cubans seem to be incredibly liberated, expressive, and demonstrative, which made it so interesting to watch.

But anyway, the fact that so many different sized women in Cuba wear whatever they want gave me a bit of confidence, so I figured, ‘When in Cuba…’ and went off walking in my mini-mini-skirt and equally mini-mini-top, trying to adopt the kind of Cuban ‘saunter’ that I observed in those around me. Interestingly, within a couple of blocks a man approached me, and instead of the English ‘hey beautiful lady’ or something that I would usually hear, he spoke to me in Spanish. I had no idea what he had said, so told him that I didn’t understand him. He looked surprised and switched to English, saying that he had assumed I was Cuban! So it was true! A shorter skirt and skimpy top, combined with a sway to the hips was the only thing needed to make me look local!

Anyway, while I was Cubanified, I gained personal experience of the ‘machismo’ culture of Cuban men. I had heard occasional comments that I understood as I walked around the streets before, but when I was dressed skimpily the comments multiplied at least ten times or more. I couldn’t keep the Cuban saunter up all day, and must have reverted to my Australian walk throughout the day, because the comments came in a combination of English and Spanish, as well as a type of whistle that sounded a bit like the hissing sound a sick cat might make! I’d heard the sound directed at me before but hadn’t realised it was supposed to be appreciative! Some of the comments were worse than others, some were quite charming. In English it was generally ‘Beautiful lady’ or ‘Hey, where are you from?’ with a couple hissing at me to get my attention, then made some pretence of wanting to know the time. In Spanish they were much more creative. ‘Hey gorgeous’ was kind of standard, as well as ‘Are you looking for a man?’ and ‘Wanna come dance with me, darling?’ but there was also ‘I thank God for your beauty’ that I heard a couple of times, as well as my favourite, ‘What a beautiful ass, thankyou for showing it to us!’ That one made me laugh out loud!

Interestingly, despite all this, I never once felt physically at risk; most men seemed content to appreciate at a distance without needing a reply. A few came closer to try to talk to me, but a short, ‘sorry, not interested’ put them off. None were persistent or tried to continue after I told them ‘no’ which surprised me, and is a lot more than I can say for men I’ve met in a lot of other places around the world, who just can’t seem to get the message that you aren’t one bit interested. The men were much more forward than in the West, but also seemed to back off more readily too, maybe because they are used to be rebuffed! They would have to be. Given the frequency of their come-on’s it is not possible that every woman they call out to accepts them. To be honest, I’m not sure how serious any of the comments are. I couldn’t help but wonder if I stopped, and took up one of the guys on their invitation to go dancing, whether they might look at me shocked and say ‘actually, I don’t really have time, and didn’t really mean it. I was only trying to be nice!’ But of course I was never game enough to try, just in case!

Maybe I’m being overly naïve, but it seemed to me that the Cuban way was just a different style of interaction between men and women. Men are taught to appreciate a woman that they see as attractive through sounds and comments, but I don’t think it is anything more sinister than that, and it is pretty easy to ignore. I know it goes against everything I’m supposed to feel as an emancipated, independent woman of Australia, I have to confess, it definitely made me feel more attractive as I walked around the town. I kind of liked it. I felt beautiful, powerful, sexy.

But as flattering as all the attention was, though, after a while it was tiring. After having to ignore or laugh off at least a hundred such encounters, I finally got so frustrated that I yelled at a guy who tried to talk to me! I tried ignoring him, but he kept following me. Admittedly, he was only asking me where I was from, so I decided there was no harm in answering. I said I was Australian. Then he asked me why girls from Australia don't want to talk to boys from Cuba! Well, that was it! I couldn't hold it in anymore, and told him that I didn't have to talk to anyone I didn't want to, that he was a bit creepy in continuing to talk to someone who clearly didn't want to be bothered, and that I was going to go and get my husband who was in the hotel room waiting for me, and he would kick his ass if he didn't leave me alone! He looked a little shocked and apologised, saying he was only trying to make conversation, and left promptly. I decided it was time to go back to being Australian, and put my skirt and top down and felt much more relaxed. But in order to help the ladies in my illegal casa, before arriving back home, I hiked it my skirt up a good six inches and tied my top as well, so I would not stand out too much as I stood on their doorstep! They hadn’t been arrested by the time I left the next day, so I guess it worked, but I couldn’t help wondering how many tourists going through their casa get the same ‘cubanification’ and how many people would put up with it!

Waiting in queues… Communism in action!

One of the effects of the communist era in Cuba has been that the Cuban people have an incredibly well developed system for queuing, that after my time in China, I definitely wasn’t expecting. Waiting for things in China was also a legacy from communist times, but instead of the communist era making Chinese good at waiting in queues, it turned normal Chinese people into monsters when there is a line involved! Chinese queue with their elbows, and generally the accepted form is to push and shove and push and shove until you have pushed everyone out of your way and you are at the front of the line and can get on the bus, go to the toilet, buy your ice-cream, or do whatever it is you were queuing for.

By contrast the Cubans are extremely civilised, and when there is a queue for anything, there is no pushing or shoving; Cubans are far too easy-going and laid back for that. In fact, if you have to wait for something, there is rarely any need to queue up in a line at all. What happens is that you arrive at where a bunch of people are waiting, maybe it is in a bank, maybe for a bus, and you ask ‘Who’s last?’ Someone will raise their hand, and you remember that person, because that’s who you go after. When the bus comes, a rough line forms and you stand behind that person in the line. In the bank, when that person goes up to the counter, you know that you are next. It’s so brilliant, and civilised, and no one even bothers to try to push in, or jump the queue.


My favourite waiting experience was in Coppelia, Cuba’s most famous ice-cream parlour. The Lonely Planet describes it as a cultural experience without equal; it is a park with a number of different areas in which ice cream is served at ridiculously cheap prices. Rough queues form at the outer edges of the complex, each entrance having its own ‘line’ that leads to a certain area of the park. You ask who’s last, and remember that person and everyone kind of huddles around in a sea of people, but as people are called into the magical realm of Coppelia one table at a time, you realise that everyone knows their place. We were after a Cuban rapper and his girlfriend, and he spoke excellent English, sounding just like a hip hop DJ from a disco in the states! His English had a rhythm that really made it sound like he was rapping as he explained the process of waiting in line, getting a table and ordering your food. The average wait time is about an hour, he told us! We must have been there on a very average day, because almost exactly one hour from the time we arrived at the front of the queue and were let into the section of tables and chairs in our area.

I was hoping that it was bloody good ice cream to make it worth the wait! When it came I found that the ice cream itself was nice, but nothing particularly special. In any other country in the world, I’m sure I would be furious if I waited an hour, only to find that rather than the hundreds of flavours available in Haagen Daaz, Ben and Jerry or Wendy’s that there was exactly one flavour on offer that day, chocolate. I don’t even particularly LIKE chocolate ice cream, but I didn’t have much of a choice.

Five scoops of ice cream cost 5 pesos, or about 25 cents, so Joo and I ordered five scoops each, feeling incredibly decadent as we did so. But when our lone plate of 5 scoops appeared, I looked over at other tables and I was agog to discover that the standard was 3 plates each, or a whopping 15 scoops per person, as well as an assortment of cakes and biscuits to go with it! Joo remarked that it looked like everyone was eating ice cream for their dinner! The rapper and his girlfriend seemed to find this statement incredibly funny, and I found out why when their plates came out. Four cakes, four bowls of ice cream, and several biscuits later, they laughed that they really wouldn’t need dinner! I guess if you have waited in line so long you want to make the visit worth it, but I still couldn’t work out how so many skinny people could eat so much ice cream in one sitting and still stay skinny! I guess it’s not something that is done everyday, that’s for sure!

Despite the queuing, and the rather average tasting ice cream, the process of standing in line with other Cubans felt authentic and real, and gave me a shiver of excitement that I was experiencing ‘real’ Cuba. I found that I really didn’t mind the wait. Of course, the fact that the whole thing only cost me about 20 cents probably helped. But more than that, the wait gave us a time to chat, to socialise, and make new friends and no one seemed impatient or frustrated. By the time we got to the table, the rapper and his girlfriend had invited Joo and I along to a concert the following night, and we felt like old friends. I guess I could really see the beauty in the slower pace of life in Cuba that means people aren’t always in a hurry, that gives people the time to pause, to talk to people, and appreciate the smaller things in life. As I sat eating my five scoops of chocolate ice cream, I tried to imagine people in New York stopping their daily routine to wait in line for an hour for a bowl of ordinary-tasting ice cream, in only one flavour, and it made me realise how refreshingly different things in Cuba are. I couldn't help but wonder if the lazy, laid back nature of the Cubans that allows them to wait so patiently without complaint is due to the effects of communism, or simply the culture and climate, or some combination of both. Whatever the reason, though, I figure that it would be such a dreadful shame if that aspect of life there were lost in the corporate rat-race, should capitalism and the free market be introduced.

Trying to make sense of Cuba...

Cuba has been a country that I have wanted to visit for a long time, and not only because it is the birthplace of salsa dancing, which I have had a passion for since I was at university. But more than that, it is one of the only remaining communist countries left in the world, and the only one that can be readily visited. I get the feeling that Fidel Castro is fading, and when he dies that a great change is in store for the country. That’s not to say that I think there’ll be a McDonald's on every street corner or that rampant capitalism will take hold immediately. But I think that Fidel’s death will be a catalyst for change, and when that happens things will never be the same. I guess that is one of the reasons that I was fairly determined to visit Cuba on this trip, and not put it off until 'next time'. And it definitely did not disappoint. Being in Cuba was exhilarating, challenging, frustrating, amazing, and inspiring. I loved it! It was so different to any place I’ve ever been before and had me in an almost constant state of 'wow' from the first moment, from the buildings, the cars, the clothes, the people, the nature... even the money!

There are two economies at work in Cuba and two currencies to go with it. The 'convertible' peso (mostly known as CUC) which is roughly equivalent to the Euro, and the Cuban peso, 24 to a CUC, making 1 cuban peso roughly 4 euro cents. Tourists are supposed to only use convertible pesos, but Cuban people also need to use them to buy packaged goods, petrol, clothes, toys, as well as to get into the flashier nightclubs and have meals in nicer restaurants. With cuban pesos, also known as national money, things on the streets are incredibly cheap, by international standards at least. A bus ride within the city costs 40 cuban cents (less than two cents!) which is by far the cheapest public transport system I’ve ever encountered. A cup of orange cordial, or coffee on the street is 1 peso (4 cents) and a sandwich or piece of pizza is 5 pesos (20 cents). Three scoops of ice-cream in a cone is also 5 pesos.

There is a lot of price fixing by the government, and despite the fact that the average wage for Cubans is between US$8-$18 per month, for me, it was one of the most expensive countries that I have visited. The budget hostels for backpackers that are ubiquitous in the rest of the Latin America do not exist here; the only option is to stay in a ‘Casa Particular’ which basically is a room in a house of a local family. A room costs around $20-$25 regardless of whether there is one or two people staying. That being the case, I got on the plane with a mission: to find a suitable travel companion in order to avoid paying the exorbitant room costs on my own.

I was lucky enough to find Joohyong, a Korean student, friendly and loquacious, that I liked from the first. We chatted about our plans, and it turned out we were both going to be in Cuba for about two weeks, and we planned to see similar places, so we decided to join forces and travel together. That mission accomplished, I turned my attention to learning as much as I could about Cuba.

Although Cuba is still quite fervently communist in many ways, there are small ways that the market economy is encroaching on life there. This has apparently only been allowed in the last ten years or so. People are allowed to operate business from their house in order to make a little bit of extra cash, and so you see a lot of people selling something from windows or doorways in their house, from coffee, sandwiches, refreshments, pizza, or watch repairs, jewellery, DVD’s. I found it such a contradiction that the insistence of the government in keeping out the free market, and maintaining the strict principles of communism, in that everyone is practically paid the same wage, was the very thing that created the need for the market economy in the first place, to supplement the minuscule government salary that they receive. Such operations are tightly controlled by the government through permits and paperwork and any profit above the wage allotted from the state must be declared, and is taxed heavily by the government.

In our first day in Havana, Joo and I were walking in the old town and we spotted one such business: a small sign on the doorway of a house that simply read ‘coffee’. We ordered some Cuban coffee, which was fantastic; strong and sweet, and at 4 cents for an espresso shot it is definitely the best value coffee I had in all my travels! We got talking to the gentleman in the house, and it turned out that he was fluent in English, as well as Spanish of course, and Italian, French and Arabic. Juan-Benjamin was the sort of man people could write a book about. The son of Iranian immigrants and a practiser of Santeria, an Afro-Cuban religion that mixes Catholicism with traditional African beliefs, he was incredibly sociable and he invited us into his house to sit and chat over our coffee. Unlike some over-touristed nations, everyone in Cuba seems delighted even to talk to visitors to their country. I also suspect that the Communist system means that people have less urgency in their daily, hence have a lot more time to sit and chat with foreigners if they want. There is a Cuban saying that makes me laugh every time I hear it. 'They pretend to pay us, so we pretend to work.' Of course, the laziness that is exhibited throughout the streets could also be attributed to the tropical climate, or simply the laid back culture. But for whatever reason, locals love making conversation, and I spent a lot of my time in Cuba simply sitting in a park or in the street and chatting with an array of local residents, such as Juan-Benjamin.

Cuba, he told us, is unlike any other place on earth. “You can’t compare Cuba to anywhere else,” he said. “ Things here stopped in 1959 with the revolution, while the rest of the world kept moving.” I asked if we could take some photos together, and Juan-Benjamin also took out his digital camera, which seemed sparkly and new, and quite possibly never been used. He certainly had no idea how to even turn it on! ‘A present from my god-son in Spain’, he explained proudly, ‘camera’s like this can’t be bought here.’ I chatted with Juan-Benjamin for the better part of the morning, intrigued by his story, his outlook, his experiences straddling the world of Cuba and the West. As we were chatting, I couldn’t help but notice the fact that the courtyard in the house was half under construction. Juan-Benjamin saw me glancing at it, and apologised profusely for the mess, explaining that the man that they had hired to do the work was caught by the police with his tool kit. They had questioned him as to why he needed tools, as his job was as a shopkeeper, and under pressure he confessed that he was working privately in his spare time in construction. He was jailed for a week! The crime, apparently, was working in a private capacity that was unsanctioned. Juan-Benjamin was hoping that he was to be released that day, and would come back to work for them immediately, but they weren’t sure what would happen when he left jail.

The story was alarming, and made me realise just how tightly the government tries to control people’s lives in Cuba. I met another person with a similarly sobering outlook on life in Cuba. While walking along the Malecon, a famous wall that hugs the coast for 8km across Havana, I started up a conversation with a man wearing a doctor’s coat and stethoscope. To protect his identify I’m going to call him ‘the Cuban Doctor’. Anyway, I immediately felt a sense of trust in him, maybe it was the doctor’s uniform, but for whatever reason, I boldly asked him some questions that I had been wondering about life in Cuba. I asked about the double economy system, and how Cubans can live when some things cost so much in convertible pesos, but they are paid so little in national money. I also asked him how people really feel about the government, because so far I’d only really encountered really positive comments from the casa owners, and it really contrasted with the account that I’d heard from Juan-Benjamin. I really didn’t ask much more than that, but he took the question extremely seriously, and asked me to sit with him while he explained his ideas about capitalism and communism, Cuban history, corruption, the West, the coming change, and much, much more. He gave me about three hours of his afternoon, asking nothing in return, and helped me to understand a little more deeply the paradox that is Cuba. He had clearly thought deeply about each of these issues, and his analysis was insightful, honest and realistic. He explained that most Cuban people are deeply patriotic, and in many cases this love is extended to their government. However, he explained, there are probably an equal number of people who are critical of communism and the decisions of the current administration. But they are pragmatic, and just aren’t sure that a Western-style democracy would make things all that much better. The closest example they have of such a system is the United States, which has not done a lot to endear themselves to the Cuban people.

Although one of Cuba’s top cardiologists working in one of the best hospitals in Havana, the Cuban Doctor makes the equivalent of about 18 dollars per month. He explained that all Cuban people get a ration card that entitles him to a monthly allotment of food that can be purchased at special government stores known as ‘bodegas’. Items at bodegas are sold at a highly subsidised price, so things cost about a twentieth of what it would cost in ordinary markets. Through his ration card he can buy about 3 kg of rice, 250g of beans, 2.5kg of sugar, as well as some other things such as coffee, pasta, salt and cooking oil.

‘But it’s definitely not enough to feed myself,’ he explained. ‘If I had to live on my salary alone, I would definitely die,’ he said.

‘So what do you do then?’ I enquired. He explained that some people get second jobs privately, others operate a small business from their home, some scam tourists, yet others survive on supplements from relatives overseas. But one this is universal: most do it tough. He spoke about the difficulties that he faces on a daily basis, and for him one of the hardest things is the control. Not having the freedom to leave Cuba, and travel wherever he wanted. And not having the freedom to speak freely about the things that he doesn't like. He also remarked on the fact that some people in his workplace do their jobs poorly, but get paid the same amount as him, which he feels is unfair, and makes him quite frustrated. He would like to be rewarded for his effort. He spoke about the fact that in the past many people have found life under the communist system so unbearable that they preferred to chance taking a boat to Florida.

'Some people make it and have a better life,’ he told me, ‘But some people drown in the sea on the way. I never thought that I would get so unhappy that I would consider it, but right now, I'm on the verge of taking the chance and going myself.’ At this alarming statement, I interjected, encouraging him to wait and see what changes the next few years might bring. We exchanged addresses so we could be penpals, in the traditional sense of the word because Cubans aren’t allowed to use the internet, he explained. To be honest, I’m doubtful that I’ll manage to write, because I can barely manage to keep in touch with my closest friends and family, but he was so earnest about writing that I’ll make an effort, I guess. He told me to be careful what I wrote in my letters, because mail is often intercepted and read by government officials. My heart broke a little for the Cuban Doctor, with his desire for a better life, and his idea that if only he could get to America or Australia or some other Western country that things would be okay. I tried to make him see that things weren’t as simple as all that, and that the life of a refugee in the West can often be harder than the place that they are fleeing. But I was touched that he shared his story with me, and his time, and I fervently hope that Cuba can change in a way to make people like him be able to have the futures that they dream of.

Not everyone’s story is as sad as this, though. I encountered so many people that were fiercely proud and supportive of their government and the communist system. They acknowledged that some things were difficult, but were quick to point out the long list of positive things that Cuba has, thanks to the communist government. One memorable encounter was with a young girl of about six or seven years old. I took my poi out onto the street one night to practise, and was practically mobbed by neighbourhood children who wanted to play with them. I gave up the idea of practising, and supervised the kids playing instead, but there was one little girl who wasn’t interested in playing. She just really wanted to talk to me, and spent most of the evening by my side. A couple of comments that she made really stood out.

‘Do you know that I am a student in primary school, and my brother goes to high school?’, she announced, proudly. ‘And in Cuba all children can go to school AND university for FREE! Did you know that?’

I responded with what I hoped was a suitable degree of awe.

‘And see that over there? That’s a hospital. Did you know that in Cuba all people can go to the hospital and everything is FREE’

‘How wonderful!’ I dutifully replied.

It was a really interesting interaction for me, for a number of reasons. Firstly, her desire to share her love of her country with a visitor and the manner in which she went about it which was so cute. But it was clear that she these were ideas that she had been taught by her elders; she was far too young to have come up with them on her own. It showed me (if the multitude of government sponsored billboards, posters and slogans hadn't already done so) that propaganda is definitely alive and well in Cuba. But as I thought more about it I figured that they have the right to be proud of their health and education system, and why shouldn’t they have the right to hold them up as examples for the world? As a developing nation, they have same amazing statistics, that many more developed nations should envy. The life expectancy for both men and women is close to 80 years. There is universal free medical coverage, almost universal literacy, and the population is incredibly well educated and informed. And unlike many nations, access to education is not determined by race, socio-economic status, or family connections. A lot of really positive things come out of the system, and I think it's really important that any consideration of Cuba should also acknowledge that not everything under communism has been bad for the people.

That being said, life for Cuban people definitely is not easy, especially in terms of economy, and people have to resort to all kinds of methods to try and supplement their income, some legitimate, others not so. That is the reason that a lot of people come away from Cuba feeling disillusioned, frustrated and unhappy. Many tourists that I spoke to told me that they really didn’t like Cuba at all, and when I asked why told stories of hustlers, corrupt baggage handlers and casa owners that treated them just like walking wallets. While most people I met seemed to want nothing more than my company, I definitely encountered my share of people that were eager to take advantage of any sort of connection with foreigners and those elusive convertible pesos! One of the most innocuous of many encounters was with a guy who wanted me to buy an internet card that would allow him to access the internet for an hour. Worth 6 CUC, for him it wasn’t the price that was prohibitive, but the fact that he was Cuban. ‘Cubans aren’t allowed to use the internet,’ he explained. ‘It’s only for foreigners. We can use a local Cuban email address, which doesn’t cost much at all, but everything else is blocked. And all the correspondence through the Cuban mail account is monitored. Foreigners are the only ones allowed to buy the cards that gives unfettered access to the net.’ I felt for him, so I gave him the $3CUC internet card that a fellow tourist gave me. I was saving it to send some emails home, but decided that he could use it more. It was far more common that I would talk to someone for half an hour or so, before they would suddenly say something like, ‘Do you have a few dollars that you could spare to buy me a beer?’ I was always embarrassed to refuse, but I didn’t have a few dollars to spare to buy myself a beer let alone someone else! But at the same time, I always felt a pang of disappointment when I encountered people that seemed to want to take advantage of my ‘foreignness’ to get something. But whenever I would become frustrated I would remind myself that local people earn such a small amount of money, and they do whatever they have to survive... As a friend from couch surfing explained to me ‘people do a lot… a lot of informal, illegal things… and a part of this is sometimes tricking foreigners or taking advantage of them. I don't like it, but it’s part of the reality that people have to take into account. At the same time, there are also foreigners coming here to take advantage of the economic situation of Cuban people. Who suffers? The average, everyday traveller.’ So I forgave them when I felt hassled and smiled and walked away.

But one thing I couldn’t forgive was the guy who tried to mug me on one of my first nights in Havana! Mugged probably isn’t the right term, but I don’t know how to use the past-passive form of the verb ‘to bag snatch’. Basically a man pushed me to the ground, and tried to snatch my bag. Fortunately, I’m in the habit of keeping a pretty good hold on my bag, and I refused to let it go, so after a couple of unsuccessful yanks, he ran away and I was left unharmed. I’d heard that crime was basically non-existent in Cuba, so it surprised me a lot. I’d been through places that were considered far more dangerous, and survived unscathed, so I definitely wasn’t expecting it. It was stark reminder about the affects of poverty, and Cuba is definitely a country with widespread poverty and economic difficulties throughout all levels of the community. But the question needs to be asked. How much of this is caused by the communist system, and how much is caused by economic troubles resulting from the trade embargo? In place for over forty years now, the U.S. embargo prohibits American companies from operating in Cuba and sanctions are imposed on foreign firms that do business there. This has had a huge affect on so many aspects of life in Cuba, from access to vital food and medical supplies to transport. The embargo makes it difficult and expensive for Cuba to buy new cars, buses, and trucks. The latest introduction in the public transport system in Havana is trucks that carry a carriage on the back, affectionately known as 'camels' because they look like they have humps. When you look at the roads, it really does seem like life stopped back in '59. People still drive American cars from the fifties, and ofttimes carparks look like classic car shows! The embargo also makes it almost impossible to access spare parts, so they improvise, and take parts from other places, other cars, integrate it all and somehow manage to make it work. The public transport system is notoriously unreliable. I heard someone say that Cubans have two jobs. One is their actual job, and the other is getting to their job. The daily commute for people in Havana can be as much as 3 or 4 hours, because there are just not enough buses in the country to fulfil the need! Also, access to oil has also been difficult. Before the collapse of the Soviet Union, Cuba had a relatively plentiful supply, but since then it dried up. Now Venezuela is supplying oil, so things are better than they were but it is definitely not abundant nor cheap.

The embargo has meant that generations of Cubans have lived with limitations and restrictions, and learnt how to make the most out of whatever they happen to have. I was also astonished to learn that many people actually WASH and DRY plastic bags and re-use them, taking their own along to markets. This is not out of desire to protect the environment, particularly, but rather to economise. In order to make a profit, markets just can't afford to give them away, and they don't mass produce them like they do in other places, so people have to supply their own, which I thought was fantastic, and definitely something we could learn from. There is a spirit to the Cuban people that is really inspirational. They have so many admirable qualities. Despite their hardships, they exhibited such an easy-going nature, a laid back warmth and friendliness that often made me feel like family from the first moment that I met them. They are resourceful and creative. Their simple joy in life, their passion for dance and music, and an ability to enjoy themselves that by far outstrips other developing nations that I have spent time in. Regardless of their political views, they are united in their deep, abiding love for their country. They are patient, polite, and have an incredibly civilised system of waiting in queues that should be exported around the globe! (I'm going to write a whole blog entry about that next). There is practically no racism, and class-based differences are also minimal. They are sociable and open, and even in big cities there is a very real tangible feeling of community. And above all, they definitely know how to party!

Being a super-tourist in America!

When I was younger I had a fascination with America, that I think was based on the fact that most of the television shows I watched, and the movies, as well as most of the novels I read, were set there. When I was about 12 or 13 years old, I had a back injury that meant I had to spend a month or so in bed, during which one of the things that I did to occupy my idle brain was reading a book on the United States. I was bored, so I studied the U.S. like my life depended on it. I memorised all 50 states in alphabetical order, and to this day I can still recite them aloud. As I grew older I became disenchanted with the politics of America, and as a linguist, the idea of going somewhere where I couldn’t learn another language did not appeal, so I never imagined that I would ever go.

When I was planning my trip, I actually tried my hardest to work out an itinerary that avoided the U.S., and American Airlines. This wasn’t out of any desire to boycott the place, exactly, but rather because I really wanted to go to Cuba. And thanks to the U.S. embargo against Cuba, you cannot have an itinerary that goes to both the U.S. and Cuba, nor can you use any American Airlines flight in your entire trip if you want to go to Cuba. I tried all kinds of permutations to try and get into Cuba on my ticket, but in the end had to give up. So I figured that if I couldn’t go to Cuba, I may as well make the most of it and see some of America while I was there. So I visited Miami, New York and Washington D.C. And to my surprise I loved (almost) everything about it. I wondered the other day if I am simply a travel slut… There is not a single place I have been so far that I haven’t loved, and I seem remarkably easy to please in a new destination!

I think part of the reason why I liked it so much was because of being able to remember and relive my teenage fascination for all things American, and partly because after months in South America, it was exhilarating to be somewhere new. I felt the same excitement that I had my first week in South America, the feeling of discovery, of adventure, when little things are thrilling and gratifying. Miami was a lovely surprise in many ways and a nice transition place from South America. I didn’t expect it to be so… Hispanic. In many ways it felt more like where I had just come from than what I had imaged the U.S. to be.

My first conversation in America was with a lovely lady on the bus from the airport. I had a coughing fit and she offered me a bottle of water. But the interesting thing is that this happened entirely in Spanish. She came from Guatemala 20 years ago, and brought up her family in Miami, but still doesn’t speak a word of English. We had a wonderful conversation during which she told me about her life in Guatemala as a young girl, and her hardships in the U.S. Then later that afternoon, I went to the laundromat, which was incredibly exciting for me. Strange how little things are exciting in a new place. But there are no do-it-yourself laundromats in South America. There are lots of laundry services were people wash your clothes for you, but it just isn’t the same! So it was the first time in months I’d used a washing machine, and I was excited. From the moment I walked in the door, I didn’t hear a word of English spoken. There I met another guy from Guatemala. He was using the machine next to mine, and one of the first things that he said to me was ‘Hi, I’m from Guatemala and I’m an illegal.’ What a way to begin a conversation, I thought! It is my personal belief that no person is ever ‘illegal’ and I told him so, but he didn’t seem to get what I was saying. Anyway, I asked him a little about his experiences as an illegal immigrant. He has been in the U.S. for 7 years this time, but it is his 3^rd time. He was caught and deported twice before, and each time he managed to find his way across the border in a different place in order to find work and send money back to his family. He told me about crossing the border in the desert in Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. He is studying English, and working as a kitchen hand in a Japanese restaurant in South Beach. A strong catholic, he believed that God’s hand had helped him get across the border safely. He had such a sense of joy in being alive, and was so grateful that he was able to help his family, and the pleasure that he took in being a dutiful son was incredibly humbling and inspirational.

Despite my severely limited budget, I was determined to take advantaged of the winter sales, and thanks to some inputs of cash for my birthday I went a little bit crazy in the shopping malls in and around Miami. Actually a lot of my purchases were necessary. My most important buy was a new pair of shoes. My sneakers that I brought with me from Australia had been drenched in the rainy season in South America, and had developed such a putrid stench that I could smell them even with my shoes and socks ON! And when I took them off the smell could kill babies and small animals. I tried everything to get rid of the smell, without any success, so finally decided that the only thing I could do was throw them away and buy a new pair! I also did some clothes shopping to replace items that I had literally worn out, and of course, books!!!

I love America’s bookshops! I couldn’t help myself. The books are so cheap here that I went a little crazy! I went in to Borders to buy a Central America Lonely Planet and walked out with five novels and a new Spanish dictionary! Now I have to carry them all around with me, which I didn’t think about in the shop! In New York I also discovered Barnes and Noble, which I much prefer to Borders. The shop in Union Square was my haven on cold evenings. I would sit on the fourth floor, and I would get through a novel in a couple of hours while sipping a cappuccino! Just like a library, only it comes with a coffee shop! But so much better than the local library, actually, because they have all the newest releases, and you don’t have to put a hold and wait for someone else to return the book to read it. I loved it! I know it’s not the intended purpose of such stores, but travellers on a budget need to take advantage of anything free that they can!

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I made it a personal mission to try every type of chocolate bar that I’d never seen before, and discovered some seriously evil products in the process. My favourite was a terribly decadent sweet called ‘Reese’s Peanut Cup’, which was a little like chocolate-covered peanut paste, in a cute little cup. On one of my first days I went on a search for White Castle, just like Harold and Kumar did on the very stupid stoner movie ‘Harold and Kumar go to White Castle’. The White Castle burgers were tiny bite-size mouthfuls that I ate four of, but I regretted it as they were dreadfully plastic, and definitely not worth the search! Although I loved my time there, I’m glad that I left America when I did, as I was eating everything in sight, and after only two weeks there I could hardly fit into the jeans that I bought for myself the day I arrived. Actually, that was something that surprised me. There is a lot of talk about the problems with obesity, and that America is supposedly the most obese country in the world, but I hardly saw any fat people! I couldn't help but wonder where they all are! Certainly not in Miami, New York or Washington D.C., that's for sure. If I had stayed much longer, though, I might have been in danger of joining them! More than two weeks would definitely have been dangerous!

But I needed every minute of those two weeks to see everything that I wanted to see. When I travel I generally tend to avoid the tourist traps, but for some reason I turned into the tourist from hell in the states, wanting to see everything in the guide book and more. I would start early in the morning, and make a list of things to see and do, and then would keep going well into the evening. For me, I think the charm of the sites was that they were all places that I was very familiar with from television, in movies, or had read about in books. Much more than the non-English speaking world, America has relevance and familiarity for Australians. Although it was my first visit, most things that I saw were not new to me. I had a frame of reference, and it helped to put things in context. Admittedly, mostly that comprised of me saying something like, ‘Oh my goodness, that’s where Miranda stuffed her face with cupcakes on Sex And The City!’ when I stumbled across the Magnolia Bakery in Greenwich Village, or ‘This is exactly where Hiro was standing when he teleported to New York in Heroes!’ when I walked through Times Square. In Madison Square Gardens I remembered a scene in How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days when Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson went to a Celine Dion concert, and walking along 5^th Avenue I was excited to find myself standing in front of Trump Tower, and couldn't help but think of The Apprentice. It gave me such a sense of accomplishment, being able to see in person places such as United Nations headquarters, Grand Central Station, Central Park, the Statue of Liberty, the Staten Island Ferry, and of course, the musical 'Rent'. I recognised so much of what I saw from references in television and the media, but somehow each of the places was even more impressive in person, like television couldn’t quite capture the life and atmosphere of the place.

Washington D.C. was grand, just like a capital city should be. The best thing was that just about everything was free! I wished that I had a few more days to spend there and explore the world of free stuff more, but my waistline is glad that I had to leave! Again, I found myself overjoyed to see the White House and the Capitol, but if I’m honest, most of my excitement came from remembering scenes from the West Wing! I kept imaging that I saw the cast when I passed a man or woman in a business suit! I never realised just how much television I watch until my visit to the states! I loved the monuments to Lincoln, Washington, and the other bloke. The scale of these monuments were so amazing, and the way that they honoured the former leaders of their country actually reminded me very much of the type of grand gestures in China for Sun Yatsen and Chairman Mao. But the best thing about Washington was a total surprise for me. I impulsively visited the Holocaust Memorial Museum, which was amazing. So captivatingly put together, you get an ‘identity card’ when you walk in that contained the true story of a person who lived during the holocaust. As you walk through the different sections of the museum, which go through different phases of Hitler’s aggression in Europe, and you can follow what happened to your person in that period by reading the booklet. At the end you find out whether your person lived or died. The exhibits were touching, compelling, emotional, and beautifully compiled. I read each plaque thoroughly, and spent most of an afternoon there. At the end of the museum I was glad to discover that the person in my Identity Card, a Hungarian lady called Agnes, survived, and actually came to Australia after the war!

I'm probably gushing a little too much. I'm not trying to say that everything in America was rosy. I found Americans to be quite aggressive in their style of interaction and at times this made me uncomfortable. New Yorkers, in particular, always seemed busy, and a little impatient with the rest of the world, because they aren’t going at their frantic pace. I was yelled at by a businesswoman for walking on the wrong side of the street. I didn’t know there WAS a wrong side of the street to walk on! But apparently in New York walk traffic needs to follow the ‘stick to the right’ rule that cars do. I found Americans to be loud, demanding, and impatient. But maybe that was just New York. Maybe it was because I could understand everything that was happening around me, but I also found that there were many strange people in America too. The strangest I encountered on a bus in Miami while on the way to the airport with my ever expanding backpack on combination of public buses. The gentleman got on, muttering under his breath, and shaking his head. I kept glancing over at him, and one of the times he happened to be watching me right back. He got up out of his seat, looked me straight in the eye and laughed out loud, gleeful. ‘I’m psychic, and your plane is going to crash and you’re going to die. Have a nice day!’ I immediately looked away, trying not to show just how freaked out I was. I had a moment when I wondered if it was possible, I mean, I was going to be going to New York, after all… But thankfully, the plane was fine, and he was just a freak.

But despite the strangeness, the impatience, the loudness and their somewhat overbearing natures, I found Americans to be welcoming, friendly, and helpful. Especially when they found out I was from Australia, then they were much kinder! Overall, I had an absolute ball in America, and I felt really at home there. I surprised myself and those closest to me as well, I think, by just how much I liked my time there. There was so many beautiful things to see and experience, and I was disappointed that I didn't have time to see Boston, Chicago, and especially Niagara Falls, especially that I was so close to them all. And I think the west coast of the U.S. is probably completely different again. Not to mention the South, and the Mid-West. When I left I felt a very real and profound regret that I couldn’t stay longer to see it all. But such is the lot of global wanderers such as myself! So many places to go, so little time... (and money!)