Rampant in Cuba
Well, I’ve now been back in London for a couple of days, but the time since has been most useful in resting and getting over the most amazing trip I made over the past week to Cuba.
Yep, that’s right. I can’t believe I was actually in Cuba – pirate haven centuries ago, plantation island, playground for the rich and criminal, and then platform for the first successful revolution in the Western hemisphere that led to a Communist government. Old Man Fidel is still there, which is why McDonalds and Starbucks aren’t there. But of course, we weren’t there for such comforts. Rather, it was really to soak in the atmosphere of a place rich in culture, history, politics, and cigars and rum too.
Without this trip, I wouldn’t have known about the Cohiba and Montecristo and Partegas brands, nor about Havana Club and Ron Varadero. Nor visited the very bar where the Daiquiri cocktail was invented, and reputedly with the assistance of writer Ernest Hemmingway as well. It’s important to assimilate such useful cultural knowledge. Heh.
Havana, the capital, seemed like a place frozen somewhere in time. I don’t want that observation to sound critical – which it’s not meant to be – for the city has a definite vibrancy and excitement to it. But it was the people, the architecture, the sense of old world charm which lent a very different atmosphere to the modern and comparatively more bland life that we come from.
Old Havana – or Havana Vieja as it’s known – comprises narrow and closely set buildings on the eastern edge of the city, with some of the oldest baroque Spanish houses and churches still standing, many of them looking decidedly decrepit, yet still inhabited and fully functioning. The entire area has been declared part of the “cultural heritage of humanity” by UNESCO, and is, in fact, the largest intact colonial centre in Latin America.
The middle of the city also contained many fine buildings, and even a little Barrio Chino – or Chinatown – although I strained hard to find any Chinese people there. Yet Cuba is home to quite a few Chinese residents who arrived in the 19th century. One of the country’s most famous painters, Wilfredo Lam, is actually of part Chinese ancestry.
A striking landmark in this part of town is the Capitolio – essentially a twentieth century replica of the US Capitol building in Washington, built by an earlier Cuban administration, when the country came under the US orbit.
To the west was the newer and much more sprawling district of Verdado, which we approached by walking the long stretch of the Malacon, Havana’s famed esplanade area, where many locals gather, even under a hot sun, with waves crashing dramatically against the embankment. We soon reached the landmark Hotel Nacional, which was actually financed by Mafia money, where the cool respite of a cocktail was readily available.
And further inland was the Jose Marti monument – dedicated to the man who helped led Cuba to independence from Spain. And he sits there with a pensive expression, overlooking the huge square – the Plaza de la Revolución – around which many important buildings of the Cuban state are gathered.
But the face that shadowed us through our travels in Cuba wasn’t that of Jose Marti. Instead, it was the iconic image of Ernesto “Che” Guevara, the Argentine-born revolutionary who, with Fidel Castro and others, successfully overthrew the Batista regime in the late 50s. And even if we may be unfamiliar with Che, we all recognize that image of him, with the beret and the distant gaze, immortalized by photographer Alberto Korda, which has made its way into global consciousness as the embodiment of the young revolutionary. And here he is, mounted dramatically on the facade of the Interior Ministry.
Some may find it revolutionary chic. I think it’s kitsch. One proclaims one’s cool credentials now simply by wearing a Che Guevara T-Shirt. And I was struck not only by how visible images of Che was around Cuba, but also by how the government there has sanctioned him even as a tourist icon, judging by all the Che T-Shirts, posters, postcards and other accoutrements being marketed in the various gift shops.
And so there’s Che the man. But there’s also Che the icon, used mercenarily, purposively by the state. This makes for a fascinating study into how history can be manufactured, how heroes are created and commoditized, not just to venerate the past, but also to serve the needs of the present. Every country does it. Cuba’s redeeming feature, in this regard, is that there’s no obvious cult of personality surrounding Fidel Castro himself.
Anyway, enough of social commentary. Back to the travelogue. So, after spending a few days in Havana, we embarked on a long road trip towards Trinidad, an old colonial town located in Central Cuba, on its Southern coast, stopping along the way in Santa Clara. This was the site of a major battle during the Cuban Revolution, and the main attraction there was a monument and mausoleum to Che Guevara.
After the bustle of Havana, Trinidad appeared positively sedate in comparison. We trekked into town in a Sunday morning, and what did we see? A low-rise and widely-laid out settlement, with houses painted in fading pastel colours, baking in the hot Carribean sun, dogs yawning themselves to sleep, women peering out through the grills of their windows. Where was everyone else?
Ahh, it was Palm Sunday – the week before Easter – and many were gathered in the Iglesia Parroquial de la Santisima – the Church of the Holy Trinity. How appropriate. Trinidad, after all, is named after the Spanish word for Trinity. And it served to remind you clearly that Cuba remains a country with deep Catholic roots, despite more than forty years of socialism.
We spent a large part of the following day on what turned out to be the most strenuous activity of our trip to Cuba – a long trek through trails in the Topes de Collantes, part of the Sierra del Escambray highlands about twenty-minutes north of Trinidad. From an altitude of about 800m above sea-level – high enough to feel a distinct cooling of the winds – we hiked downwards thorough thick vegetation until we reached the Saldo del Caburni, where a cliff stood, with a steep, plunging waterfall. Needless to say, the journey up the hill was much more difficult.
Soon, our week in Cuba came to an end, and so I left the country, happy and enriched, sun-burnt, and with a pretty satisfactory checklist of cocktails sampled – Mojito, Cuba Libre, Daiquiri, Havana Especial, Presidente and Mulata. It was a good trip to a most interesting country – with loud colours, bright sunshine, a rich history and easy going people. Now I know what the Havana Club is, and the bottle I brought back with me is certainly going to provide quite a bit of joy.
But the coffee I had in Cuba sucked. It was truly, utterly crappy…I guess you can’t have everything your way.
Travel Notes: We journeyed to Havana onboard Iberia flights from London Heathrow via Madrid. While in the city, we stayed at the Plaza Hotel, a centrally-located classic establishment open since 1909. In Trinidad, we stayed at the Finca Maria Delores resort, about a two kilometer walk from the heart of town. Flight connections, accommodations and internal transfers were arranged by Trips Worldwide in the UK. For a good meal, try La Mina, located at the Plaza de Armas in Havana’s old town, serving authentic Cuban cuisine, with live music performances as well.
Yep, that’s right. I can’t believe I was actually in Cuba – pirate haven centuries ago, plantation island, playground for the rich and criminal, and then platform for the first successful revolution in the Western hemisphere that led to a Communist government. Old Man Fidel is still there, which is why McDonalds and Starbucks aren’t there. But of course, we weren’t there for such comforts. Rather, it was really to soak in the atmosphere of a place rich in culture, history, politics, and cigars and rum too.
Without this trip, I wouldn’t have known about the Cohiba and Montecristo and Partegas brands, nor about Havana Club and Ron Varadero. Nor visited the very bar where the Daiquiri cocktail was invented, and reputedly with the assistance of writer Ernest Hemmingway as well. It’s important to assimilate such useful cultural knowledge. Heh.
Havana, the capital, seemed like a place frozen somewhere in time. I don’t want that observation to sound critical – which it’s not meant to be – for the city has a definite vibrancy and excitement to it. But it was the people, the architecture, the sense of old world charm which lent a very different atmosphere to the modern and comparatively more bland life that we come from.
Old Havana – or Havana Vieja as it’s known – comprises narrow and closely set buildings on the eastern edge of the city, with some of the oldest baroque Spanish houses and churches still standing, many of them looking decidedly decrepit, yet still inhabited and fully functioning. The entire area has been declared part of the “cultural heritage of humanity” by UNESCO, and is, in fact, the largest intact colonial centre in Latin America.
The middle of the city also contained many fine buildings, and even a little Barrio Chino – or Chinatown – although I strained hard to find any Chinese people there. Yet Cuba is home to quite a few Chinese residents who arrived in the 19th century. One of the country’s most famous painters, Wilfredo Lam, is actually of part Chinese ancestry.
A striking landmark in this part of town is the Capitolio – essentially a twentieth century replica of the US Capitol building in Washington, built by an earlier Cuban administration, when the country came under the US orbit.
To the west was the newer and much more sprawling district of Verdado, which we approached by walking the long stretch of the Malacon, Havana’s famed esplanade area, where many locals gather, even under a hot sun, with waves crashing dramatically against the embankment. We soon reached the landmark Hotel Nacional, which was actually financed by Mafia money, where the cool respite of a cocktail was readily available.
And further inland was the Jose Marti monument – dedicated to the man who helped led Cuba to independence from Spain. And he sits there with a pensive expression, overlooking the huge square – the Plaza de la Revolución – around which many important buildings of the Cuban state are gathered.
But the face that shadowed us through our travels in Cuba wasn’t that of Jose Marti. Instead, it was the iconic image of Ernesto “Che” Guevara, the Argentine-born revolutionary who, with Fidel Castro and others, successfully overthrew the Batista regime in the late 50s. And even if we may be unfamiliar with Che, we all recognize that image of him, with the beret and the distant gaze, immortalized by photographer Alberto Korda, which has made its way into global consciousness as the embodiment of the young revolutionary. And here he is, mounted dramatically on the facade of the Interior Ministry.
Some may find it revolutionary chic. I think it’s kitsch. One proclaims one’s cool credentials now simply by wearing a Che Guevara T-Shirt. And I was struck not only by how visible images of Che was around Cuba, but also by how the government there has sanctioned him even as a tourist icon, judging by all the Che T-Shirts, posters, postcards and other accoutrements being marketed in the various gift shops.
And so there’s Che the man. But there’s also Che the icon, used mercenarily, purposively by the state. This makes for a fascinating study into how history can be manufactured, how heroes are created and commoditized, not just to venerate the past, but also to serve the needs of the present. Every country does it. Cuba’s redeeming feature, in this regard, is that there’s no obvious cult of personality surrounding Fidel Castro himself.
Anyway, enough of social commentary. Back to the travelogue. So, after spending a few days in Havana, we embarked on a long road trip towards Trinidad, an old colonial town located in Central Cuba, on its Southern coast, stopping along the way in Santa Clara. This was the site of a major battle during the Cuban Revolution, and the main attraction there was a monument and mausoleum to Che Guevara.
After the bustle of Havana, Trinidad appeared positively sedate in comparison. We trekked into town in a Sunday morning, and what did we see? A low-rise and widely-laid out settlement, with houses painted in fading pastel colours, baking in the hot Carribean sun, dogs yawning themselves to sleep, women peering out through the grills of their windows. Where was everyone else?
Ahh, it was Palm Sunday – the week before Easter – and many were gathered in the Iglesia Parroquial de la Santisima – the Church of the Holy Trinity. How appropriate. Trinidad, after all, is named after the Spanish word for Trinity. And it served to remind you clearly that Cuba remains a country with deep Catholic roots, despite more than forty years of socialism.
We spent a large part of the following day on what turned out to be the most strenuous activity of our trip to Cuba – a long trek through trails in the Topes de Collantes, part of the Sierra del Escambray highlands about twenty-minutes north of Trinidad. From an altitude of about 800m above sea-level – high enough to feel a distinct cooling of the winds – we hiked downwards thorough thick vegetation until we reached the Saldo del Caburni, where a cliff stood, with a steep, plunging waterfall. Needless to say, the journey up the hill was much more difficult.
Soon, our week in Cuba came to an end, and so I left the country, happy and enriched, sun-burnt, and with a pretty satisfactory checklist of cocktails sampled – Mojito, Cuba Libre, Daiquiri, Havana Especial, Presidente and Mulata. It was a good trip to a most interesting country – with loud colours, bright sunshine, a rich history and easy going people. Now I know what the Havana Club is, and the bottle I brought back with me is certainly going to provide quite a bit of joy.
But the coffee I had in Cuba sucked. It was truly, utterly crappy…I guess you can’t have everything your way.
Travel Notes: We journeyed to Havana onboard Iberia flights from London Heathrow via Madrid. While in the city, we stayed at the Plaza Hotel, a centrally-located classic establishment open since 1909. In Trinidad, we stayed at the Finca Maria Delores resort, about a two kilometer walk from the heart of town. Flight connections, accommodations and internal transfers were arranged by Trips Worldwide in the UK. For a good meal, try La Mina, located at the Plaza de Armas in Havana’s old town, serving authentic Cuban cuisine, with live music performances as well.
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