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!