Cuba is an island of contradiction. From immigration mug shots to the tobacco fields of Vinales, from bustling Havana to cave waterfalls above Trinidad, contradiction appears to be a way of life, and native Cubans return to recapture the ‘tranquile’ way of street musicians, farming or building a bed and breakfast.
Cuba claims the most doctors per capita – free to Cubans, not tourists. Tap water leads to dehydration and fainting. Our walking-tour guide has two female doctors on site within minutes. They prescribe hospital. The ambulance is a Cuban taxi. We are in a Mad Max movie complete with Cuban style Frankenstein vehicles. The driver parts oncoming traffic with the horn. He has us at emergency on the far side of Havana in less time than it takes to buy drinking water. The hospital staff do excellent work, the tour guide refuses payment but organizes every detail of transport and admitting in a quiet, sensitive way. If angels exist, they are truly sweet-natured and we met one in Havana.
We are told the main autopsista (freeway) stretches 1,200 km from Pinar del Rio to Guantanamo. It doesn’t. Get third and fifth opinions on everything, and expect contradictions. The sometimes six-lane highway was built after the revolution and disappears in random places. If the traffic slows to a crawl, it may be a police road check or cattle wandering towards greener grass. Incomplete overpasses shelter commuters, Cold-War-era Russian trucks are makeshift transit buses and share the road with horse-drawn carts. Mix all this with bicycle taxis and Yutong motor coaches loaded with European tourists, and you begin to see the ingenuity and persistence of Cubans.
You can rent a car. We met a French couple who did; it was stolen. Fortunately, they had removed their luggage. Crime is rare, good maps are scarce, taxi drivers ask for directions.
Tourists are anxious to see Cuba before the Americans arrive. If Raul Castro has a plan, it’s not news on the street. Not all Cubans will talk politics; many will sell you the best mojito, cigar, taxi ride in Cuba. Expect to be pestered by touts and middlemen.
If you find a free beach, maybe in the Bay of Pigs, meet local fishermen rowing in over the reef with a fresh catch. They will cook you rock cod, sell you a coconut off the tree, plus straw, or the best mojito in Cuba. You can see bats and boa constrictors, pink flamingos and bee hummingbirds by foot, horse and cart. Pre-American arrival rate is reasonable, and if the guide’s horse is named Peppy, the interpretive work is excellent.
We watch old men plough with teams of oxen while teenagers blend with throngs of tourists and hook into Wi-Fi with their smart phones.
Cuba is an island of contradiction. Will the fascinating texture of mixed cultural roots, throbbing music and wild places vanish when the Americans arrive? Cubans have absorbed invasions before; the great Cuban contradiction will survive.
