Cuba

 

The USA will grant its citizens permission to visit Cuba for one of 12 reasons.  I qualify as a freelance journalist, which is one of the 12 reasons. I intend to study and write about the transportation system. The online application at the U.S. Treasury department was easy and the approval came the next day.  I don’t think it’s a big deal but the email details what I am supposed to do while there: sedition, basically. My very nature warrants that. No, I am not taking any spark plugs with me.

My preconceptions about Cuba are that things need to change. I also believe that it is up to the Cuban people to make it happen and everything I have heard is that they are staunch Socialists that support the revolution and everything that comes with it.  While I generally support the embargo, I can’t help but think that if Cuban citizens had easy access to the USA it might foment dramatic and rapid change for the better. Of course I think that! All Americans think the rest of the world wants to be like us.  Still, any country that felt the need to prevent its own citizens from leaving can’t be all good.

I also need permission from Cuba to enter the country, which costs $75 and is available at the departure gate.  It took me forever to find that out. Thank you UAL.

Credit cards… I called several to provide them travel notices and they all said nope! However, reading comments here I am a little less worried.  Apparently the credit cards frequently work and there is an open black market for U.S. dollars. I will take plenty of Currency ($1,000.00) including some Euros and British Pounds, which are legally traded. I am bracing myself for long lines everywhere.

Don’t use google maps to find a hotel in Havana.  Cuba does not operate on the internet the way the rest of the world does.  Use booking.com or airbnb. I intend to use airbnb but don’t know how the meet up will work because I will not have a phone or internet once I get to Havana.  Stay tuned.

Day 1.

April 13,2019

At the Houston airport United has a check in counter just for Havana. I bought the mandatory $75 tourist card and got a Cuban flag sticker for my boarding pass. At the gate I again had a chance to purchase the required pass. Seems kinda inefficient, especially after numerous gate agents checked and rechecked the sticker. My fellow passengers generally had a ton of crap as carry-on and several enormous bags to check.

Right now I feel like an idiot because I packed some pens, stickies, and dental supplies for trade or barter. Again, no spark plugs. I really don’t know what to expect.

The plane is an ERJ-175. I nearly got bumped due to weight restrictions. This plane barely has the legs for this flight even with just normal baggage. Why, pray tell, why do nearly all of my fellow flyers close the window shades? Why?  All passengers were given three different forms to fill out for customs. Instead of the usual five minutes they took about 15 minutes to fill out. Only two of them were collected.

On final approach I could see a lot of buildings in the countryside lying in rubble and what looked like a good highway system. It was a clear day and I could see Florida on one side and the Cuban “mountains”,  which are anything but, on the other side. After crashing on to the runway we disembarked “presidential style” down a flight of mobile stairs. The terminal was run down with missing door handles, peeling paint, broken floor tiles,  and lots of chewing gum on the floor. After getting through customs there was an obnoxious cab driver in my face. He wanted $30 for a ride downtown. I knew this was steep but no other driver would even talk to me. I was his mark. He offered to exchange some currency for me but I didn’t trust him. Hidden inside another side of the terminal was the official exchange where I traded 100 euro for 109 CUC. The CUC is pegged one to one with the U.S.$. It was a good exchange rate for the Euros.  The psycho cab driver was still on my elbow so I accepted the inevitable and got in. I gave him the address of an airbnb I tried to book earlier – the revised destination cost me an additional 5 CUC. Turns out the airbnb is located in one of the worst slums I have ever seen. I got out anyway just to get away from psycho driver and started walking.

I was looking for a hotel or a BNB or even just a room to rent. No luck. I found a high rise hotel, the ”Melia Cohiba”. It was quite ostentatious. I was quoted $517/night. None of my credit cards will work here and I only have enough currency, if they will accept  U.S.$, for one night. Then what? I brought a bivvy sack I can crawl into if necessary but every where I look is covered in dog shit. I kept walking and eventually heard some English being spoken by a group of youngsters from California. They were tattooed and kinda rough looking but sold me a one hour Internet access card. More on that later. I explained my situation to one of the guys who wrote down “Cuavto de rental” on my notepad and suggested I go door to door showing it. No matter how hard I try I can not pronounce Cuavto de rental. It was getting dark – desperate not to have to camp out I took his advice. The first six or eight doors I knocked on pointed me to either across or just down the street. This is perfectly normal behavior here. Eventually I found the La Casa de Mary.  Basically it’s a private hostel. For 25 CUC per night I have my own room, air conditioning, and my own bathroom. I jumped on it.

Dinner out was fish? I pointed to “filet de poscado” on the menu , said the word pesche, she said the word fish and yet what I was served looked like pork. I had to cut it with a knife, like pork. It had the texture of pork. It tasted like pork. It was eat it or go hungry.

It’s true. There are 1950’s era cars everywhere – in various states of repair. Mostly Chevy’s but also some Russian and Italian stuff. Art Deco is still popular. The Riviera casino still looks just it does in the old movies.  Murals feature Frank Sinatra, Marilyn Monroe, Charlie Chaplin, and vintage Coca Cola. This place is stuck in 1950! How magnificent it must have been. Some of the grand casa’s are still quite grand. Most are in a state of decay. The one I am staying is is quite nice and as near as I can tell has about four college age other guests sharing one room.

After returning from dinner I was invited to join the family out on the second floor veranda with grandma, mom, auntie, daughter, son in law (Stephan), nephew, and an adorable 6 year old granddaughter banging on an old piano. Several family members enjoyed some rum along with the piano, the chorus of barking dogs, and traffic noises in the pleasant evening air. I enjoyed it as well.

Stephan is from Austria and is quite fluent in English. The conversation inevitably turns to politics. News here is sparse and he is curious about what’s happening with Brexit. He is quite supportive of England and blames Angela Merkel for ruining Europe. The refugees, he says, work for six months to become vested in the social programs and then retire for life. He also laments that the EU news does not cover the violent crimes the immigrants commit.   

Now I finally broach their view of America with the embargo and all. They all agree that Cubans have little or no animosity toward Americans. They blame their own government and aren’t even sure of the name of their current president. I am however acutely aware that the volume of this conversation is much lower. They seem almost unaware or unsure of what the embargo entails. They tell me that nothing is ever going to change.

There are almost no stores. In my almost three hours of walking yesterday I saw one small store. There is virtually no retail except a few restaurants. I have seen no consumer goods. None!  Nearly everyone is very well groomed and stylishly dressed, but I see no clothing stores. My hosts do not contradict my observations.

There is obviously an underground free market capitalist system at work here.

Day 2.

My hostess and her daughter both spent about half an hour each this morning going through the yellow pages and calling many shops trying to find me a motorcycle or moped to rent. Finally the mom said forget about it. Move on with your life.

I don’t know what I was thinking. I did not exchange nearly enough currency at the airport, mostly because psycho cabbie driver was watching my every move and I did not want to reveal all of my stashes. A 10 minute walk took me to the local bank which had a waiting line of about 1/2 hour outside. There is a fair amount of jostling about to jump the line but a stern woman comes outside periodically and settles all disputes, with authority. When called inside I see the line is even longer, but there are chairs and air conditioning. The woman of authority scolds me for trying to type on my tablet. A fellow patron, using gestures, warns me to put it my front pocket, not my back pocket where it could easily be picked. The teller, who could only be described as “sloth”, studied my passport intensely, questioned me about the information,  wrote it all down, and only then called for witnesses before counting out my currency. Another teller has spent the last 20 minutes counting the staples in his stapler (not kidding). Two other tellers were doing nothing. I’m just baffled. If you are accustomed to any degree of efficiency Cuba can be kinda frustrating.

Breakfast was an omelet at a classy restaurant. My waiter spent at least an hour talking to me, and wow, was he informative. He has an uncle in Ft. Lauderdale and is hoping to immigrate via the family plan. He was also quite proud of, and defensive of Cuba. We were both very careful with our discussion but I can sense that the Revolution means as much to him as the American Constitution does to me. To him, Fidel Castro is as much of a good guy as George Washington is to me. We were both being very careful and lying just a bit. I did not express my true feelings about Che Guevara. I sense he held back a bit also. When asked about the embargo he said it didn’t matter, and I don’t think it does. They have everything they need, sometimes via the black market, and sometimes not. They don’t have to struggle to survive. When asked about Internet access he complained about the high cost and showed me how he goes through a proxy website on his smartphone where he can watch YouTube or anything else he wants.

He asked what did I like and dislike about Cuba. One of the things I mentioned is how beautiful the women are. He enthusiastically agreed and added how “affordable they are”.  He must have seen how taken aback I was and felt the need to explain that what you get for about $150 is a Victoria’s Secret caliber college girl for dinner, cocktails, dancing, and the whole night. You get the whole package. He emphasized again, with joy, that it included dancing! Wow! You also have to pay her cab fare home in the morning.

I learned that the hitchhikers I saw are not hitchhikers. They are hailing the large vintage cars cruising back and forth for what is basically ride sharing. For a small fare you can hop in with other commuters going the same way. The tricky thing is how to hail one going to the right place. Pointing up with your hand is different than pointing down the road with your finger, which is different than pointing down at the road, etc…

I told my waiter I came to Cuba to study the transportation system and next planned on taking the bus to Centro Havana. He found this very amusing. He was chuckling so hard he could barely tell me to take the 222 bus. He disappeared into the kitchen and I could still hear him chuckling. The busses are Chinese built, very large, and quite modern. What’s the big deal? Fare is about $1.25. I saw the 222 leaving the bus stop just as I arrived. No problem, I’ll wait for the next one. And wait I did. About 40 minutes later I watched as people fought their way to get off the 222. No one will voluntarily step off to make way because there is no guarantee you will be able to get back on. My aforementioned waiter could not have made me understand the degree of folly I was contemplating. I set out walking.

Centro Havana is about a two hour leisurely stroll away and somewhat dull. Somehow I forgot to pack a hat and am now paying the price. You would think I could just pop in somewhere and buy one. Nope. There is no retail. None.  The other (East) side of Centro is again, a ghetto. If I wasn’t sure the passed out men in the doorways at 1:30 p.m and empty rum bottles in the street would have been a dead give away. My custom is to get a haircut wherever I go. I don’t need one, nor could I afford one. A basic haircut was $25 and a “full treatment” was $50. I head back towards my end of town stopping along the way for a pizza in an air conditioned restaurant.

So far my least favorite thing about Cuba is the dogs. It’s not the ever present smell of dog shit, or the incessant barking I mind. It’s that they still have their balls attached. I somehow find it offensive.

Dinner was an awesome caprese salad and “tagliatelle langosta”, or noodles with lobster. I know what lobster tastes like- and this ain’t it. They were sold out of shrimp.

I can’t get my one hour Internet access card to work. I doubt I used up the whole one hour last night. I have tried numerous times today to buy another card from Etecsa vendors. Usually they just say “no”, or “maybe later”. It’s kinda frustrating living without the internet – how did I ever do it?

Day 3.

I am getting desperate for internet access. Here’s how it works: first you need an access card from Etecsa, the local phone company. It has a 12 digit username and a 12 digital password that you have to scratch off to see, like a lottery ticket. Then find a WiFi network with Internet access. Public parks have WiFi but I prefer the comfort of my hostel. First sign into wifi then open a browser and enter 1.1.1.1. in the address bar.  This opens up a window to enter the combined 24 digits of the cards username and password. Voila, you can now check your email. When you are finished turn off your WiFi and the clock stops. That’s how it’s supposed to work anyway. I couldn’t make it happen.

So I headed off to Etecsa central first thing and arrived at 8:40 a.m.  Just like the bank there were people mulling about waiting to get in. I was #17. The sign said they opened at 8:30 but when someone on the inside unlocked  the door at about 8:40 there was a mad rush to form a line with plenty of loud vocal discussions about who was ahead of who. I went to the end and just to make sure I was at the right place I held up my used up access card and politely asked can I buy these here. Yes, was the consensus and a woman gestured, as did several others, that I could just walk right in. They even stepped aside a bit giving me room to walk right past them. So I did. A large finger in my face backed me right back out the door to the end of the line. I got a bit of a tongue lashing to boot. About 30 minutes later the same large fingered gentleman motioned me to walk past everyone else in line and come inside. I showed my used up card to a woman at the counter where I was directed to go. She just threw up her arms and left. Not knowing what to do I just stood there. No one would even make eye contact, so I just stood there some more. Finally the woman at the next counter finished with her customer and motioned me to come on over. The cards are good for one hour of access and cost one CUC each. I asked for twenty each. No! Ten? No! Five? No! I told her this was a very inefficient conversation. How many can I buy? Three. You take what you can get, providing you have a passport. My info was once again scrutinized and recorded. For a $3 purchase!

A street vendor had stale gristle sandwiches for about $5 each on the way back to my hostel. I used a separate card to access the Internet with my tablet. It synced nicely with Google and updated google maps with an extension google suggested I download while I was still in Houston.  Google maps continues to work accurately with no sim card and wifi turned off! I really need to learn how google does this, or even knew I was headed to Cuba.

After successfully touching base with the folks back home it is time to head out. This time I head West to the outer burbs. I pass a small store I have been curious about but there are twenty or people in line just to get in. I also pass a dance studio where younger men wearing tights leap around with some obvious athleticism. Not what I was expecting.  

My general plan is to look for a hat, and a motorcycle rental shop about 5 km away. I pass through a small, but intense, slum. Of course the motorcycle shop was not there but I did find a retail store with no line. It is a little bigger than a 7-11.  There was very little merchandise, mostly soda pop and laundry soap. The shelves were mostly bare.

It’s hotter than hell and I am breaking out in a heat rash on my legs and arms. The spf 70 I slobbered on isn’t helping. The last thing I want here is a medical issue so I head back to the hostel and will do my exploring in the mornings and evenings. I decided to give the bus another try and it worked well outside of the inner city. My fellow passengers seemed a bit curious about me and attempted to make small talk. I sense no animosity from the locals and wonder if they give any thought at all about the embargo. I got off the bus with only about a 1/2 km walk home.

I found an official merchandise store, “Artesanal and Industrial”, with large images of Fidel and Che on the windows. It is difficult to describe how pathetic this store is. It reminded me of the crap you see in a low income garage sale, and not much of it. The four photos below comprise the whole store.

My hostess welcomed me back in with a chilled glass of mystery juice and some sliced pineapple.

Dinner was at the Wapa Waffle house. A spinach and cheese crepe with a Batido de Helado, a custard or maybe egg nog shake. The shake was good.

Day 4.

My intention is to take a bus West out into the countryside and have lunch.  I have not seen any publications of any kind, let alone a bus schedule/map, and I can find no one who knows how to do this. Mostly they just want to know why I want to do this.

The walk to the West bound highway takes me past a general store with no line.  There are four aisles and a girl watching every aisle. Here is what they stocked:

1. Beer & Rum
2. Laundry supplies.
3. Hellman’s mayonnaise.
4. Two flavors of juice boxes. I bought one of each and some water.
5. Water.
6. Canned tomatoes.
7. Several flavors of diet cookies.
8. Instant coffee.

When I got to the highway I scouted about some and decided to walk back along the coast in search of a shipping and industrial area I saw from the air. The walk takes me past some “low income” housing. Adjacent to this slum housing is a recreation area that I hear music coming from. The music is dancing music, Salsa dancing. It is mostly older women and a few men. A very attractive woman, Emelia, in her mid 70’s (guessing) starts chatting me up. She is a cougar! She wants me to dance with her and shows me her moves several times. I am flattered but move on.

The once spectacular swimming pools at this recreation area look long abandon. They were probably once part of the adjacent Riviera Hotel and Casino. The lobby looks like a movie set just waiting for Frank Sinatra to stroll through.

In front of the Riviera an overly friendly man I call “The hand” asks me where I am from and then gleefully greets me with “welcome to Cuba” and wants to shake my hand. Ok, I see what’s coming but shake his hand anyway. He doesn’t let go and puts his left arm around my shoulders violating my personal space. He wastes very little time with small talk and gets to the point:

The Hand: Would you like a nice lady?
Me: No.
The Hand: A very nice lady.
Me: No.
The Hand: Cheap.
Me: No
The Hand: Very cheap.
Me: No.

This conversation is getting boring so I pull away with some physicality. He lets go immediately. There was no economical reason for him to continue.

I continue walking East and discover a four story shopping mall that has a general store, electronics shop, perfumery, women’s shoes, and a fashionable women’s clothing store.  All of them are generally pathetic. Most of the available spaces are boarded up.

The fashionable women’s clothing store has a baseball hat! This morning I used up the last of a whole stick of sunscreen. My forehead is peeling and my eyes feel like they have sand in them from the sun. The sweat running down my brow into my eyes doesn’t help. The heat rash is back and I am chafing in places I don’t want to talk about, but ultimately I refuse to pay $36 for a baseball hat.

The ramps in the mall are missing guardrails in numerous place which makes me nervous with little kids running around and all. The general store has the exact same stuff that the small store I went in to earlier had, just more of it. They also had frozen chickens. Below is a picture of the line for the chickens. I never saw the line move.

The mall had a pay toilet. There are some things you just can’t unsee.  Let me explain: The protocol in Cuba is after wiping your bum is you do not put the toilet paper in the toilet. Put it in the adjacent overflowing trash can.

A mile or so further was “The Embassy” building. The armed guards posted on the corners were quite friendly and willing to chat. I asked one of them if this housed the Japanese embassy? Yes. The Dutch embassy? Yes. The Ecuadorian embassy? Yes. His smile tells me he sees what’s coming. The U.S. embassy? Only laughter.  In the photo I took from across the street the marquis still says, in ff Scalia font, United States of America. There is also an American flag flying. I thought Obama had withdrawn the staff after the sonic assaults. I am thoroughly confused.

Across from the embassy is a flag pole sculpture garden with some other types of monuments. I guessing this was once quite impressive and a part of the lipstick the USSR was trying to put on Cuba and socialism in general.

A bit further along the coast was another massive but dilapidated recreational area that included a soccer stadium.

Hotel National, which is the most impressive building I have seen in Havana.

This is where a fellow pedestrian says to me “I saw you in Centro yesterday.  What are you doing man?” He doesn’t understand what “walking the earth” means. We walked along for quite some time conversing very naturally. Again, someone tells me that the embargo does not affect life in Cuba and that there is no animosity towards Americans. He tells me about how dangerous it is to get off the island.  The plan for most people used to be just get off the island and then make their way to Mexico where they can sneak in to the U.S.A., but according to him Donald Trump has ruined that. Also, the Mexicans murder his people. There is some anger in his voice. As we come back into town he invites me to join him in a bar we walk past. When I see what kind of bar it is it hits me like a shock wave. He’s interested in a more “intimate” relationship. How could I not have seen this?  First Emelia, The Hand, and now this.

The park across from the University had benches in the shade so I took a seat with three nearby students. They spoke English and were quite chatty. Two of them were studying Cuban history, computer science for the other. I asked what does one do with a history degree in Cuba? The government will give them jobs teaching school, for about $40 per month.  I inquired does the University teach Economics? No, not at the university. I told them I studied economics – Capitalist, not Socialist. The smiles and friendly chatting was over. They got up and left.

I decide to head back through town to my hostel with a stop at the bank for a little more local currency. I have been spending more on food and water, mostly water, than I planned.

Along the way I wanted to enjoy an ice cream cone while I tried to figure out what the several large lines were for. The stand would not serve me, or anyone else for that matter. A guard chased me away and then I realized that the lines were for the ice cream that no one was being served.  About two blocks away I bought a delicious ice cream cone for .40 CUC. There was no line. I have a theory. Stay tuned.

The bank hours are 8:30 to 3:30 but at 2:00 there was still a line and I was told no. Come back tomorrow. OK. I know better than to argue with the woman of authority.

My hostel is in the most affluent area I saw. The nearby Parisian Cafe has photos of Harrison Ford with various wait staff on the walls. The adjacent Park Lennon has a bronzed statue of John Lennon sitting on a bench. I’m glad I found this area.

Dinner at a fancy restaurant in the hood was Marlin with a melted cheese sauce.  They were out of shrimp. The Marlin looked like pork. It cut like pork. It had the texture of pork. It tasted like pork. Who knew?

Day 5.

The bank opened a little late, as expected. I was told “no” by the woman of authority but after emphatically gesturing that all I wanted was to exchange a little bit of currency she said ok.

An hour and half at the bank left me looking for breakfast. Along the way there was a line outside a store with a lot of arguing taking place. I shot a short video and then walked about 1/2 a block when I heard even more commotion.  I looked back and started up another video (Playback for both videos has problems. I am still working on it.). I continued filming until an elderly woman saw what I was doing and gently held my arm and put her head on my shoulder. She then proceeded to hug me gently for several long moments. One of the uniformed security guards was slapping heads. The women were slapping back. The guard went back inside and came out with two more guards and they all started slapping heads. The women, generally in their 50’s and 60’s, relented and took a defensive posture against the wall while continuing to wait.

Later I learned the line was for meat. There is a butcher shop next to my hostel about six blocks away with no line at all. Stay tuned for my theory.

Finding breakfast took a while because the first two restaurants were sold out of eggs already.

I am terrified of getting stranded in Cuba. My credit cards will not work and I only have enough currency to last about one more week. I need a few more CUC just for my taxi ride to the airport and breakfast. There is no American embassy in Cuba, or even a consulate. My flight leaves at 5:00 this evening and I plan to be there by 1:00. I am not taking any chances.

I was packed up and waiting for my taxi ride to the airport when the hostess handed me  business cards for her two other properties in Cuba. One in Centro and one on a beach. I accused her of being a capitalist. She guffawed and slapped me on the leg.

Back at the airport psycho cab driver spotted me again and wanted to chat. He still creeps me out.  

My life is better when I bring my wife back some little something from my independent travels. Here there is nothing to buy. Nothing, save laundry supplies.

Here is my theory:

There are three social classes in Cuba.

1. Government employees who have a steady and secure life. The pay is very low but, I think,  they qualify for non-rationed subsidized goods including food, rent, utilities, and clothing. Healthcare is free to everyone, but I would wager theirs is better.
2. Capitalists, or people with capital like my hostess, Mary. She has three properties and she just made more off of me in the last four days than a government employee earns in 2.5 months. I would also include people who work in the tourism industry into this category. I was told that some of them earn up to $15/hour.
3. Everyone else. These are the people desperate to leave the island and their inescapable abject poverty. These people are risking their lives just to leave this Hell Hole.

My theory continues: The long lines for ice cream, meat, and non existent goods are comprised of the “everyone else” class. The capitalists buy their meat next door to my hostel and have to pay for it. The government employees receive their goods via delivery or some other system.

Judging from some patriotic responses I encountered I theorize that government employees feel a sense of pride and duty by serving. Not unlike a British soldier who proudly spends his entire career in India or some horrible desert in service of Queen and country.  I think the typical government employee is a fervent socialist and supporter of The Revolution. I am no different, just a different ism.

The capitalists don’t really want things to change either. They are doing just fine. If Cuba opens up to international investment they will be crushed under the heel of western competition.

The everyone else class has no political power. They spend their days standing in lines for ice cream, or fighting for a frozen chicken. Hopeless.

Right now John Bolton, our national security advisor, is in Miami scheming up a way to block Venezuelan oil from reaching Cuba. There is a major difference between an embargo and a blockade. Right now the U.S.A. has the goodwill of most Cuban’s. A blockade of oil would create, to say the least, a major hardship on the population and that goodwill would be lost. I know some additional restrictions have already been announced. I do not expect a counter revolution in the near future for the reasons stated above.

I do however support the embargo. There needs to be repercussions for certain policies or behaviors. That being said, this embargo appears to be quite ineffective.  

Some random observations:

1. Bras are very common but not mandatory for women of all ages, so you have to take the bad with the good.
2. In Barcelona they speak Spanish with a bit of a lisp. In Cuba, the accent is spoken with as few hard consonants as possible, Havana is Habana, Cuba is pronounced with a soft C, etc…
3. The men wear a lot of large gold bling. Watches, bracelets, and necklaces.
4. Bats come out at night.
5. Pastries are not very sweet or very good.
6. Smoking is nearly compulsory.
7. Terriers are popular because, I postulate, they are good at harassing rodents.
8. There are lines for nearly everything.
9. Restaurants frequently run out of things on the menu. A typical dinner is around $7 to $10. Breakfast is $4 to $7. There is not a lot of street food.

As to my purpose of going to Cuba my summary report of the transportation is as follows.

It sucks!

The roads are in generally excellent condition. Sidewalks and pedestrian walkways were just the opposite.

The inner city busses, while modern and in good condition, are overwhelmed. Of course, if the number of busses increased to an adequate number, the vintage car ride sharing would end, creating significant unemployment and would change the flavor of life here. The rural bus services are barely visible and impossible, for me anyway, to make effective use of. All of the modern busses I observed were made by either Zyle Daewoo or Yutong.

Ride sharing services are very prevalent. A vintage convertible Chevy can accommodate seven or eight passengers. Non convertibles a few less. The larger Cadillac’s and Buick’s a couple more. The vintage cars appear at a glance to be in very good condition, but they are not. The glossy paint usually covers poorly repaired body work. The tires are often mismatched and curiously are frequently snow tires. They squeak, rattle, grind, belch, and smoke their way down the street with poor fuel mileage and high emissions.  

Taxies are generally available but not radio dispatched.  The cost is one CUC/km, or $1.60/mile. The cars are usually Kia’s, LADA’s (Renault), and, unknown to me, various Chinese brands.

Privately owned cars are common and are usually Toyota’s, Kia’s, and older LADA’s.   

Motorcycles run the gamut, but with few sport bikes (crotch rockets). Motorcycle sidecars are common. Most common are Chinese scooters of low quality and more than a few of them are all electric. The more expensive scooters from Taiwan were not seen. Suzuki 125cc street bikes made under license by Lifan and Taeko are popular for obvious reasons. A few vintage MZ bikes (German) are still around offending the populace with their total lack of aesthetics.

Shipping docks were not investigated, but the container ships observed offshore were not very large.

Train tracks in rural areas appeared unused but auto traffic always stopped before crossing them anyway.

Jose Marti airport has multiple terminals, all with lines for nearly everything, and accommodates large modern aircraft from multiple international carriers. Cubana de Aviacion, the Cuban national airline, operates exclusively with Russian aircraft, and displayed a minimal presence.  No private or non turbine aircraft were observed.

For outside links of interest watch these.

Here are some photos of interesting vehicles.

Here is just some random architecture, in varying states of decay.

This is stuff Cuban’s bring with them when returning to Cuba.

Too see all photos go here.