Back in the 60's

Habana

It was the last destination of my trip. Travelers who I asked about my dilemma between Cuba and Puerto Rico all said I should go with Cuba.

True that I felt like I was in another world when I landed on the island. Cuba, its summer heath, was so different from the cold in Buenos Aires.

As soon as I got out of the plane, they asked for my visitor's card and they sent me to security without asking questions.

For security, it seems the country you're from is more important than the luggage scan. When I said I was from Canada, they chose not to open my bag.

Same for another control, where a threatening woman, sitting on a small chair in the middle of the room, asked where I was from. Canada was the magic word.

I waited forever for my bag, but it finally came. I said Canada a third time to get out without any problem.

Before calling for a cab, because it is not too tempting to take public transportation in Cuba, I changed all my euros and part of my american dollars in cuban convertible pesos. Because they refused to change my argentinian pesos. And I wasn't sure I could find some ATMs.

For people like me, note cuban convertible pesos (CCU) is for tourists, with an exchange rate of one for one american dollar. After, you can exchange CCU for national money (1 CCU = 24 pesos in national money). So we need to make sure the change we get is in the correct currency.

I was told a taxi from the airport would always cost 25 CCU. What you discover afterwards is it is possible to negociate. When I left the island, for the same trajectory, I paid 20 CCU.

Anyway, like I said, I felt like I was in another world. From the backseat of my taxi, I felt like I was filming an episode of Pan Am. The roads looked like they were  made at another time and they are not well maintained. Houses and buildings, half built, are frozen in time, like all those cars which probably only have the body from the past. And there is all those people, waiting for a bus where it doesn't seem like there is a bus stop.

For the first day, I couldn't miss the Capitol, some colorful little houses, those people who literally live in their doorway, sitting on the side of the road.

I went to an official cigar store... and the appartement of a stranger who sells cigars, real or fake, with a discount.

I went through an endless rain, supposedly rare... and the beggining of a cold which I started to fear considering I needed to take a plane a couple of days later.

In Cuba, I found great people. People who always have a father, a cousin or a brother living in Toronto. They ask for our name and offer to share a coffee, a beer, to find a woman who does bang-bang. Sometimes, it feels like Thailand...

Having a clear deadline, I didn't want to exagerate. I walked Habana from the old town to the Revolution place. I visited the Necropolis, a cimetery, and the Cuban Arts Museum. I can't forget the fortifications on the other side of the bay, where I was told how they work in the control tower.

"If it's a Canadian boat, we say welcome. If it's a French boat, we say welcome. If it's an American boat, we get the canons and we say boom!" 

At least, that is clear. 

Chance being on my side, I could see the last day of Habana carnival.