Steven’s Cuba Blog

Request for donations from the Cuba Aids Project:

A $2 REQUEST FROM YOU: We have a special project that needs funding.

ALL HIV/AIDS patients are equally important to us, but we have 2 that need special attention. Both are woman who were infected through no fault of their own under special circumstances. One has three young children who need clothes, updated household amenities and other special needs. The other is a very young woman whose family also has very similar needs.

We’d like to target $3,000 to help both of these families but we just don’t have the money. We have 1,600 people who are receiving this email. If everyone can donate just a couple of bucks, we can see this project through very quickly. 100% of it will go to purchasing the necessary items for them.

Please, if you can, find a way to help. If you can donate, here’s where you can find the info to do so >> http://www.cubaaidsproject.com/donate.php. We will keep a running tab on our website.

Cuba Chronicles, Chapter Nine

THE CALM BEFORE THE CALM

Trinidad de Cuba, Tuesday, September 13th, 2005,1:30pm

My host failed to wake up this morning in time for breakfast. Trouble is, some of the doors in this large estate are locked, and I had no choice but to wait for him before I could leave. I prepared my belongings so that I could be ready to leave asap. I would soon find out that my problems for the ride from Cienfuegos to Trinidad were only beginning.

Not 5 minutes after I left the casa, I started to hear a grinding noise and my bike felt very heavy all of a sudden. Fearing the worst, I looked back and was relieved to find that my sports bag was still on my bike, and hadn’t fallen off. I stopped the bike at a busy intersection on the outskirts of Cienfuegos at 7:30am, and saw that my panier (the platform above my rear wheel where my luggage is mounted) had bent its support arms to the point where it was rubbing against the rear tire.

I briefly wondered how it managed to support all the weight since the beginning of the trip, only to suddenly bend under less weight (My luggage - and myself - had been getting progressively lighter since the start of the trip). For some reason, there seemed to be an obscene amount of traffic going by that morning; busses, trucks, horses, motorcycles, cars and bicycles all slowed down to observe as I performed first-aid on my bike. About an hour, 6 tie-wraps, a quarter-roll of electrical tape and a sore shoulder from bending the aluminum back into place with my hands, I lightened the load of my travel bag by putting the heaviest items into my backpack. This didn’t make the ride any easier for me, of course, but it kept the panier from bending any further than it already had. I slowly started riding, often looking back to make sure everything was still in place. The bike felt a little off-balance, but I didn’t really have much of a choice but to go on at this point.

It wasn’t until 9:00am that I had left Cienfuegos, and the day wasn’t getting any cooler.

Immediately after leaving Cienfuegos towards Trinidad, you’ve got a very steep climb with sharp corners and very little area to build up your speed, and, like the view, are breathtaking. I’m loathe to admit that I walked my bike quite a bit over the first mountains. I only had to stop and ask for directions a couple times, mostly in the mountains upon leaving Cienfuegos, but after that, the scenic road (via escenica) levels off, wedges itself between the glorious mountains on your left and the inviting ocean on your right, and makes a bee-line for Trinidad.

I was amazed to find myself worried more about my bike than about myself. So far, we’d ridden together all the way from Havana, half-way through the island, to Trinidad. With no one else to talk to I often found myself talking to my bike… when I’d be tired or discouraged, I’d create these elaborate discussions where we’d take turns weighing the pros and cons of stopping to rest now or going on for a few more kilometers. We’d admire the scenery together, joke about that cute girl we saw waiting for a lift, or go over some of the multitude of worries that I unwillingly brought with me on this trip, about personal life, finances, or relationships. My bike became a close friend to me on this trip. Kind of like cowboys with their horses. Only weirder, I guess. On this stretch, though, it was more worry than conversation. I felt sorry for my bicycle as I could definitely tell that she was under a lot of strain. The steep climbs, muddy puddles and canyon-sized potholes didn’t help at all, and I resolved to give it a complete tune-up once we got to Trinidad.

As I was thinking this, I hear a “pop”, and just catch, out of the corner of my eye, a small shiny object being flung far into the shrubbery bordering the road. Indeed, it was the aluminum panier - the other side, this time. It would seem that I “repaired” it so tightly that it had no leeway to move or sway, and that the pressure of one pothole too many caused the bolt to head for the hills. I repaired that side as well, leaving my bike looking like a frightening amalgam of orange metal, tie wraps, and electrical tape - a two-wheeled Darth Vader, if you will. Despite all of this, it kept on going strong for the rest of this ride, all the way to Trinidad.

The extra weight on my shoulders, the later-than-usual departure, and the misalignment problems on my bicycle all started to take their toll on me. Somehow, I lost track of my water and food intake during the ride, and ended up finishing all my water with still at least 25 km to go. Now, if you know the temperatures in Cuba during the day, you know that there’s no way you’re going to bike 25 km on a sunny afternoon over hills without any water. I had no idea if there were any paladares or canteens between where I was now and Trinidad. So what did I do? Well, I pulled over to the first house that I saw, and knocked on the door. A friendly young lady answered, and I explained my situation to her, while her kids and some other people kept talking and glimpsed at me occasionally. Before I could finish, smiling and without saying a word, she went to her kitchen, and returned with her arms full of several bottles of water, juice and other drinks. It would’ve been enough for a small family. She insisted to the point of impatience that I take everything, and when I told her that I was no way that I would take anything without giving her something in return. In a generous, human battle of attrition, she finally conceded and took some money that I had offered her (still less than I would’ve paid at a restaurant or bar). Before I could leave, she wrote down her address on a piece of paper and made me promise that next time I was in town, I’d visit them if I had some more time to talk.

With my spirits much higher, I continued on my way to Trinidad. I’m not too sure what the beverages I was drinking were, but they were damn good. Half a bottle after the miscellaneous-sugary-orange-drink, I felt a surge of energy as if I had been drinking sweet black coffee all morning. Averaging 30km / hour, I met the “Bienvenidos a Trinidad de Cuba” sign in less than an hour after stopping at the house.

My first impressions of Trinidad were mixed - on one hand you’ve got the beautiful cobblestone streets, historically fascinating buildings and homes, stunning horses sharing the streets with Audis, gorgeous geography with the main part of the town nestled in between the Topes de Collantes mountain range / nature preserve on one side and the ocean on the other. A lot of this was offset by the fact that there seemed to be more tourists than locals in this small town - therefore “hustling” is carried to an art form, here. One person tried to convince me that he was sent to “wait” for me from the casa owner in case I got lost. He was extremely convincing, clever and believable, but his story failed to pan out when he claimed to be the owner’s husband; he looked about my age (late 20s); the casa owner is in her 80s.

I quickly got my bearings, and found the “Casa Mercedes”, with her son and grandson sitting right in front of it. Like the casa in Cienfuegos, it was a huge estate sprawling reaching from one street to the one behind it, all behind an unassuming exterior.

One thing I love about these homes is how they combine durability, elegance and common-sense with esthetics. This particular home had many rooms, covered and well-shielded from the elements, all leading to a central semi-covered “courtyard / dining room”, with a staircase added that leads to the sprawling terrace on top of the house. Given the climate, of course, it makes perfect sense - but I’d still love to have a similar place here in Montreal. That would probably cost a few magnitudes of order more than I can afford, though.

Like Yadin’s casa in Santa Clara, this was another one of those homes that I just couldn’t bring myself to leave. More so than any other place I’ve been, I quickly became “part of the family” and had some of the best conversations of my trip here. I ended up spending an insane amount of time here - about 16 days, or 1/3 of my trip, to be exact. Not consecutively - 10 days on this leg of the trip and 6 days later on, on my way back from Santiago de Cuba. That’s pretty telling about what an incredible time I had here. I’m tempted to say that it was my favorite destination in Cuba, but then… I’m tempted to say that about every city I’ve been to there.

Trinidad is a city with an incredibly rich history.

The beach most convenient to Trinidad is Playa Ancon. Its main sandy stretch contains some cookie-cutter tourist resorts, but head eastward a few more minutes and you end up at a spectacular rocky shore with the clearest waters I’ve seen on the south coast of Cuba. I spent a few entire days biking and lounging here, whether alone, or with the casa owner’s grandchildren.

I’ll go into more detail about Trinidad de Cuba itself in the next Cuba Blog entry.

Return…

Well, I’ve been away for a while, but I promise to start writing (finish?) this trip report. I will likely be returning to Cuba within the next few months, so it makes sense to finish writing this before I start a new one… actually, I’ll be bringing my DV camcorder to Cuba next time…

Unlike my last visit, I won’t really have a “mandate” so to speak - I’ll be on my own, and mostly just want to hang out in Havana and a couple other cities I liked (everywhere…), try to go to a Cuba-Linux meeting, take lots of photos / video, etc.

And despite succumbing to Japan in the final game, congratulations to Cuba’s baseball team for an incredibly strong showing. I had never been a baseball fan, but after watching Yadel Marti pitch, I just might start following it.

Havana - Tickr

Watch the video

Cuba Chronicles, Chapter Eight

AT SIXES AND SEVENS

City of Cienfuegos, Saturday, September 10th, 2005, 12:30pm
Getting from Santa Clara to Cienfuegos was easy - I had to backtrack a little on the carretera, then take the wide, smooth “Autopista Nacional” westwards for half the trip. Eventually I stopped to ask for directions - and just in time, too. A police officer told me “yeah, just get off the autopista by taking that dirt road south, and turn right when you hit the carretera”.

“That dirt road” ended up being somewhat less hospitable than what we consider a “dirt road” here. Cows, goats and other mammals chained to farmhouse fences blissfully ignored me as the “whizz whizz whizz” of my bike pedals swept by them, and potholes the size of basketballs kept me swerving like a getaway driver. This was obviously a very tight-knight farming community, as people either followed me with cautious eyes or smiled and waved at me. After about 10 minutes, I saw someone biking the other way, and stopped to make sure I as going in the right direction. He said yes, and told me that the carretera central is just around the corner, which it was.

Slightly less smooth than the autopista, the carretera was still a ways better than the cratered dirt road I just passed - which, incidentally, would come back to haunt me soon. I came across a large, open-back people-carrying truck / bus, that was carrying many kids to school. The kids were taunting and/or cheering me on, so I decided to have a little fun and race with the truck. I managed to pass it for a while as it stopped to pick up / drop off passengers, but then it caught up to me - the kids were cheering like it was a baseball game, and I had a huge smile across my face, as did they. For no reason, I felt really happy all of a sudden.

I kept up the pace, playing hide-and-seek with the truck for a while, 2pac blaring on my headphones, not realizing how long or far I had been going. To the kids’ disappointment, the truck turned off onto a dirt road, and I raised my eyes to see the city limits of Cienfuegos only a few kilometers away - I had just covered 25 km in little over half an hour! I also hadn’t eaten anything, so I stopped off at a roadside cafeteria for some rice, pork and beans - and beer, of course. A side note - while I’ve always been something of a beer snob, having very pointless opinions on what kind of brew I drink, I’ve slowly fallen in love with Cuban beer. Cuba - known more for its rum and cigars than its beer - has several different styles of beer brewed all over the island - from the clean, refreshing Cristal to the stronger, malty Buccanero (gotta love the name), and always served very cold. I wish I could get some of it over here. Hey, Cuban export and trade ministry, you reading this?

I struck up a conversation with two thirty-something ladies (who, of course, looked younger than me), asking about Cienfuegos, its history, what to do, etc. I took down some notes in my moleskine, thanked them, and got back on the road. The first thing you see when approaching Cienfuegos from the northwest is the huge smoke chimney from one of its many factories. Once inside, though, you’d be forgiven for thinking that the city is very similar to Santa Clara - geographically, at least.

Symmetric streets laid out in the neoclassic style, and a town center with an expensive, ritzy “boulevard” nearby. While they have many points in common - like actually having street names printed at intersections - they also have a very distinct atmosphere. Cienfuegos has a certain air of “nobility” to it somehow. There is a palpable sense of pride - everyone walks with their hide held high, but without any air of superiority or condescension.

I pulled over to take out my notebook and look up the addresses of a few casas I was recommended - to find that I no longer had it! I had the list of all casas in that notebook, emergency numbers, and - most importantly of all - my travel journal! I was really, really upset. I biked around the city a bit to get my bearings, then finally came across two women sitting and talking in front of their house. I stopped and asked them if they new of any casa particulares around here, and they spent the next 10 minutes, walking with me, asking their friends, and finally getting me to a casa of a very nice family, not far from the town square.

The facades of these homes don’t look like much at all, but once inside, you’re greeted by a deep, sprawling estate, with high ceilings, open-air corridors, and beautiful architecture from many differents episodes of Cuban history. A similar home would easily go for over a million dollars somewhere else in North America.

And why oh why do all these casa owners always have gorgeous , twenty-something daughters?

I brought my bike in, and left it in the garage for most of my time in Cienfuegos - I ended up walking most of the city instead. Like Santa Clara, I felt comfortable and safe here. I was close to the town square, so spent a lot of time there on benches, writing (in a new, kindergarten notebook with frogs on the cover, that I bought from a state stationary store along The Boulevard / Paseo Del Prado), taking photographs, or people-watching.

I ate at the casa that evening, then went to bed early. The next day, after breakfast, I decided I was due for another day at the beach. I got my gear together, got on my bike, and cycled the mountainous but picturesque 20km to Playa Rancho Luna, a beach frequented by locals and tourists alike - although, on that day, mostly locals. The view on Cienfuegos’ bay from the high road is absolutely incredible.

It was nice to be surrounded by so many families and kids playing, and I met a young, re-married couple with a daughter that I spent the day talking to. The husband reminded me tremendously of one my uncles in California, and I bought them some drinks while we chatted.

After a few hours, the saltwater and sun started to take its toll on me, so I said my farewells and headed back to Cienfuegos, stopping at another roadside cantina for some pork and rice.

After a nice shower, I took a quick nap, then went for a walk before returning for a light supper. I was determined to go out tonight and get some music and rum in me (not necessarily in that order), so I went to “El Benny”, named after the famous Benny Moré, one of Cuba’s most famous singers, and a Cienfuegos local. It was a very nice looking place, although the music was the more traditional disco fare than anything you would hear from Benny Moré. I took a seat in the back near the terrace, when I overheard people talking English. I turned my head, and saw a group of Europeans - 2 guys and 3 girls - laughing about something. I asked if I could join them, and I spent the rest of night talking with these complete strangers about all sorts of stuff, as people came and went from our table and everyone wanted to get to know everyone. Two of the girls were Norwegian, and studying politics and spanish here in Cienfuegos for a few months. The others were Scottish and / or English, and were simply traveling around. One of the Norwegian girls caught my eye - until she started talking.

You know, when I was a kid growing up in the 80s, I always had the misguided belief that all Europeans are all some classy, elegant, cultured, perfectly educated group of superhumans compared to us North Americans. As I started traveling in my teens, I quickly realized this was far from being the case. The behavior of some Europeans I saw on this trip was quite colonial, and at times I felt almost embarrassed for them as they did or said very inappropriate things when in Cuba. Although, to be fair, a few of the Canadians I met weren’t much better (with some exceptions).

Anyhow… I got home around 3:30am, and fell asleep like a baby. I slept in the next day, of course. I spent most of it running errands, such as changing money or buying drinks for my ride to Trinidad tomorrow (tuesday). As I was sitting in the town center writing, a huge tour bus unloads a crowd of elderly white French tourists, and they quickly hurry to walk around the park, their hawaiian shirts nice buttoned and their camcorders and point and shoot camcorders ablaze. The sky has been grey and thundering here for at least an hour, but it still hasn’t rained.

A gorgeous young mother and her daughter are walking through the park, feeding rice to the pigeons. A few bright looking kids are running around, playing, occasionally asking one of the tourists from the bus for money.

I sat back here and enjoyed until the first drops started coming down, and went to bed early for my ride the next day.

Technorati Tags: chronicles, cienfuegos, cuba, cuban society, rancho luna

Cuba Chronicles, Chapter Seven

RETROGRADE

City of Santa Clara, Thursday, September 8th, 2005, 10:00am
I didn’t sleep much last night.

The heat was unbearable, but every time I turned on the air conditioner it rumbled like a Panzer. I was also thinking too much about what had happened the previous day, worried that the rest of my time here would be punctuated by encounters like these (they wouldn’t - I would end up not having any more “problems” in Cuba for the rest of my time here).

Yadin sensed my unease, and suggested that I take a day off (aren’t all these days ‘off’?) to relax and unwind. She was right - also, I’d been in Cuba for two weeks without ever visiting the beach! Without any (or rather, with considerably little) hesitation, I booked a bus to Las Brujas, a very small mixed tourist / cuban beach resort on the cayos of the north coast of Santa Clara. It’s about an hour away, past the little town of Remedios.

I met two italian tourists on the bus - they seemed alright but we didn’t talk much. After a brief stop in Remedios, we made it to the beach. As we pulled up, lo and behold, clouds were already moving. “Story of my life…”, I said to myself. My pessimism was unfounded, though, as the sky cleared up while I walked along the coast, away from the few other people on the beach, in search of a deserted area with a palm tree and a cheap plastic lounge chair.

With the sand under my feet, the sun beating down on my sunscreen-less (except for my tattoos) skin, and the ocean mist beckoning me to the waves, and not another human around (well, not in my immediate vicinity at least), everything just slowed down. For the first time in a very long time - years, perhaps - I felt completely, utterly relaxed. No work, no email, no responsiblity, no car payments, no ex-girlfriends, no debt. Nothing. Just the caress of the sun like a blanket on my (still-too-pale) body, the sound of the waves gently rolling up the sand, then retreating, and the sight of the pinkish translucency of your eyelid that you get when you sleep in sun with your eyes closed for too long… then you open them up and everything seems duo-tone, like you’re dreaming - or watching Requiem for a Dream.

The iPod shuffle starts playing “Sleep Now in The Fire“, which breaks the mood a little bit, so I do something I’ve never done before - I skip a Rage Against the Machine song. Bebel Gilberto starts whispering her silky smooth Brazilian Portuguese into my ear - August Day song.

Just like this rainstorm
This August day song
I dream of places far beyond

Ouvindo a chuva cair
No cinza um brilho aqui
Fico sózinha, distraída
Mesmo tom
Mesmo som
Como é bom, tão bom

This is the place, far beyond, I’ve always been dreaming of. This Island, this beach, these sights and sounds.
Anyways, this isn’t a blog about music; it’s a blog about Cuba.

My daydreaming is interrupted by the sound of giggling girls approaching. “Great,” I think to myself, “there goes my peaceful day of complete relaxation”. Slowly opening my eyes from their comatose state, I briefly catch a glimpse of the five twenty-something babes who then proceed to sit on the chairs right next to me (the rest of this side of the beach is nearly deserted), and start talking very loud in their lispy continental Spanish (”Cuantos Somos?” becomes “Cuantoth Thomoth“?) remove their clothing, and rub sunscreen lotion all over each other. I won’t get into details here, but I enjoyed the rest of the day very much talking to these complete strangers sitting topless a couple of feet away from me.

“Shit like this just doesn’t happen to me.”, I thought to myself. It seems to happen even less to the young cubans manning the bar at the other end of the beach - when I went there to refill my water bottle, they were zooming in on the girls with a pair of high-powered binoculars, giving me broad smiles and thumbs-ups while one of them gave me a new water bottle without accepting payment. They told me that cuban girls don’t sunbathe topless as Europeans do, so it’s pretty exciting when they get a bunch of young european tourists around here. As a joke, the bartenders offered to accompany back to my spot on the beach - just to be safe.

As the sun crept away over the horizon, I reluctantly realized it was time to leave. After stopping to get a sandwich composed of two paper-thin layers of bread covering a ham-like substance (probably ham), I grabbed the bus back to Santa Clara, and went over the conversation I had with the Spanish girls. In retrospect, I was pretty damn smooth - a rare event indeed. Now, I had met lots of incredible friendly Cuban girls (as mentioned previously), but I’d always been reluctant to go beyond anything resembling respectful distant conversation with them. With these spanish extranjeras, I was able to open up much more… why?

Well, here’s the thing - while it’s no secret what I think about Cuban women, I also have to mention that all the guys I met in Cuba were also fantastic people as well. I met lots that I had wonderful conversations with, and came away thinking, “Man, if I knew this dude back home in Montreal, we’d probably be best friend now.” I sometimes almost felt guilty flirting with a Cuban woman, because I’d be thinking to myself what incredible people the Cuban men are as well, and felt like I wasn’t allowed to “step on their territory” - I’m pretty childish and petty that way sometimes. Why? Well, one of the main reasons was that I often got the impression that my main draw to some of the ladies I’d speak to was the fact that I was a foreigner. My suspicions would be confirmed as I would talk about this topic candidly with others later on during my trip; some Cuban men don’t appreciate seeing a foreigner with a Cuban lady, for various [totally understandable] reasons I’ll get into later. Then again, it really shouldn’t matter - foreigner or cuban, we’re all human beings. Sadly, the impression I got of most other foreigners there was a very negative one, so I suppose it’s understandable why Cuban guys are wary of them.

Anyhow, the next couple of days in Santa Clara were great yet pretty uneventful… next stop: Cienfuegos.

Technorati Tags: cuba, cuban society, puppy, remedios, santa clara, trip report, villa clara, visit

Cuba Chronicles, Chapter Six

INCEPTION

City of Santa Clara, Wednesday, September 7th, 2005, 10:30am
I woke up early and feeling great to the sounds of dogs and pigs making their respective noises - this in downtown Santa Clara - and after a great breakfast and a lovely chat with my host Yadin, I drew up a list of sites that I wanted to visit. Santa Clara is a hotbed of revolutionary sites, museums and items to see, which makes sense given its rich history and central position during the 1959 revolution.

At the top of my list was the Che Guevara memorial (and, since 1999, mausoleum). I decided to leave the bike at home and take advantage of the beautiful morning air, walking the 15 - 20 minutes from downtown to the memorial. It’s pretty much a straight line up one of Santa Clara’s main boulevards, lined with peso ice cream stands (about the equivalent of 6 canadian pennies for a surprisingly good cone of ice cream) and other small ‘businesses’.

Now, regardless of your politics, a visit to the memorial is a nearly religious experience - and the museum’s caretakers make sure of it. A huge, sprawling homage to the most recognizable face of the Cuban revolution, it’s a must-see if you’re in or around the Santa Clara city area. Entrance is free, though there is a small fee for storing your bag or backpack before entering (they aren’t allowed inside the complex). Photography is also permitted outside, but not inside.

I started off indoors, preferring to take advantage of the air conditioning after my walk right away. There are two rooms: the first is the mausoleum where the remains of Che and some of his fellow guerilla soldiers lay entombed in the wall. There is some quasi-religious music playing, very dim lighting, and an ‘eternal candle’ burning at one end of the room. Although photographs are not permitted, I asked the attendant if I could take some notes. This would prove to be a mistake as I’ll explain later, though she didn’t object at the time.

I spent some extra time walking around and reading the name under the faces on the wall, though I didn’t recognize any of them besides Che. I then left the room, went outside (the mausoleum and museum aren’t directly connected) and entered the (heavily air-conditioned) museum. Here, you can find all sorts of items and tools used by Che during his campaign in the Sierra Maestra, as well as letters he wrote and some photos of him that I haven’t seen anywhere else. All of the items have some interesting accompanying text, and some of them were quite fascinating to behold (the Molotov Cocktails made from Canada Dry bottles were particularly cool). It does get a bit much at one point, though… I could do without seeing his inhaler, or improvised dentists tools he used in the wild.

Now, I was debating over whether or not I would publish this next part of the story, but I decided to go ahead and mention it anyways.

During my time at the memorial, I kept taking notes in my moleskine notebook. Since I had asked the attendant beforehand, I figured it was alright… As I left the memorial, two uniformed police officers and one in plainclothes approached me, and asked me why I wanted to take notes here… I guess the attendant tattled on me after all. They questioned me along the usual lines (”Who are you?” “What are you doing here?” “Why are you taking notes?”). This went on for a good 5 minutes, culminating in being asked to see my passport. Normally, I’d go along with it, but I’d felt I did nothing wrong. There was a crowd of tourists there watching what was going on, and I was getting pretty upset. As I started to raise my voice, and argue that this is a public museum and not a military installation, the officers backed off and apologized. I tore out the pages with notes from my notebook and offered them to the plainclothes agent… he flashed an embarrassed smile and said “No lo necesito!”, but I insisted and he took them reluctantly in front of the other tourists. I just wanted to leave, so I also gave him my passport, whose number he made a note of.

I was a little pissed off at this point, so I only half-heartedly walked around the outside monument, snapping a few pics here and there before leaving back to town. 20 minutes of sun and 3 (20 cents worth!!!) ice cream cones later, I was already starting to feel better. I then walked all the way past the town center, to the “Monumento del tren blindado“, or “Monument of the armored train”. This is a monument to an assault that the revolutionary fighters led against a train full of the dictator Batista’s men and weapons. They used a bulldozer - which can be seen at the monument - to destroy the train tracks early in the morning, then laid in wait until the train derailed and they would ambush the troops (most of which were already dead). It was a major victory for the rebels as they captured a huge number of arms and supplies. The inside of one of the train carts is a small museum display, and costs 1 CUC to enter.

I was getting pretty hungry by 2:00pm, so I went back to the town center, where I had earlier spotted what looked like a fast-food joint. On closer inspection, it was a fast-food joint in Cuban pesos. This meant that I could buy 5 hamburgers and a glass of juice for what amounted to about 40 Canadian cents. Now, you get what you paid for… the burgers were literally bread and patty - no condiments - and I didn’t bother asking what the meat was, nor did I want to know. But they actually tasted pretty good… I had one at the restaurant, then I wised up, went back to the casa with the remaining 4 burgers, and got some ketchup, tomato, hot sauce and onions to freak them up with. Hmmmm… this is a tasty burgah! I was stuffed until dinner for less than a couple of Canadian quarters. I was always pretty much the only non-Cuban there, and this place became my mainstay lunch visit for every day I spent in Santa Clara.

I spent the remainder of the evening sitting around the town square, writing, listening to music, talking to strangers - who cease being strangers once they know your name - and girl-watching. After the sun went down in a dark red blaze of glory over the horizon, I made my way back to the casa, where Yadin had made sure a *huge* meal consisting of half a fried chicken, home fries, rice and much more was waiting for me. Stuffed beyond anything I’d eat over here - I generally don’t eat much, but feel terrible to leave food on the table, especially delicious Cuban food - I capped off the night having a drink with Yadin and talking while watching clips from Telesur on one of the state-run networks. After Telesur, we watched some Cuban shows, and I have to say that I was very impressed with the production values of Cuban television, all things considered. I mean, I catch some arab shows here sometimes, and they look like the producers, artists and designers came out of retirement after a 20 year hiatus. Cubavision compares very favorably to Al-Jazeera.

A note about my run-in at the Che Guevara monument: Yes, I was bothered, annoyed and upset at what happened. In retrospect, though, it really wasn’t a big deal, and it was the only “incident” I had in my two months in Cuba - and one which was arguably my own fault. I don’t exactly look harmless and unsuspicious, and they don’t often get people walking around taking notes. I’ve had much worse things happen to me in the United States. I’ve also heard scarier horror stories arising from similar situations elsewhere, especially in Latin America.

Technorati Tags: che guevara, chronicles, cuba, santa clara, trip report, villa clara, visit

Will Hydro-Québec help solve Cuba’s energy woes?

Over the holidays, I had the opportunity to have dinner with a family friend who used to occupy a rather senior position at Hydro-Québec, one of the world’s premier authorities on hydro-electric power generation and transmission.

After a while, the conversation turned to Cuba (as it does so often with me…), and I was surprised to find out that there were, in fact, high-level discussions going on in the late 80s to build a large network of hydro-electric dams in Cuba. Apparently, these talks have recently been restarted.

Today, nearly all of the nation’s electricity is generated by nine plants, which are running on either oil or gas power. Largely based on ex-USSR technologies, these plants can be costly are difficult to repair as the parts needed are no longer manufactured and must be custom-ordered. The increasing number of blackouts in 2004 and early 2005 testifies to the problem, although recent measures taken by the Cuban state have helped rectify the situation somewhat. Regardless of its uptime, electricity reaches everywhere in Cuba; for better or worse. You find power lines in the most remote locations, and even the tiniest of villages has lights and television.

Despite the fact that Cuba does not have very large rivers, four sites were identified as being favorable to damming; it was asserted that on hydro-electricity alone, Cuba could go a long way towards power self-sufficiency.

The initial project never went through not because of economic or political concerns, but environmental ones. During and after the difficult “periodo especial” which Cuba went through following the fall of the Soviet Union, environmental protection became a huge priority for the state, since manufacturers and producers “could no longer ignore the possibility of a future with very limited resources.”

Because of necessity, conservation, self-sustenance and environmentalism became the keywords of the day. Organic inner-city gardens began sprouting up; 90% (!) of Havana’s fresh produce is from local farms and gardens. The bicycle made a comeback in force - to this day, I can personally attest to the fact that Cuba in general, and Havana specifically, is one of the greatest cities to cycle in. Eco-tourism is taking off all over Cuba, with health spas and uber-specialized health clinics all over the island.

Given the growing sense of eco-responsibility at the time, it didn’t make sense to flood hundreds of square kilometers of land - destroying countless species of flora and fauna that exist only in Cuba - and invest billions in hydro-electricity while nuclear energy was also being invested in (The two nuclear reactors are over 50% complete but are now mothballed).

Nuclear Central, Jurugua, Cuba

However, recent advances in hydro-electric manufacturing and production have allowed damming with minimal effect to the surrounding environment; our growing understanding of ecology also allows gives us more flexibility in gently displacing species - and, soon, entire ecosystems - without destroying them. Consequently, there is fresh interest in large-scale hydro-electric development in Cuba.

Solar, wind and other renewable resources are also high on the list of Cuban researchers and power producers. Regardless of the economic, political and social causes behind it, the truth is that Cuba is now in a very interesting position with regards to the use of renewable energy. The current economic climate leaves Cuba little choice but to slowly consider abandoning fossil fuels, and move on to become one of the first countries in the world to adopt environmentally-friendly, renewable power.

Google Earth has high definition satellite imagery of Havana

Google Earth, the famous mapping and geo-locating application from Google, now has some high-definition satellite photos of Havana. Unfortunately, the rest of the cities in Cuba are still in low-def, but they should be soon to follow. Also missing are the street names; hopefully they’ll be included soon.

The Capitolio and Prado.

The Plaza de la Revolucion.

Havana Flyover.

It’s funny how the colors seem so different from eye level than they do from a bird’s eye view. The familiar reds and whites of Havana buildings and the lush greens of the trees and grass seem so much more vibrant from the ground.

Also, looking at it in Google Earth reminds me how huge of a city Havana really is. It’s big and sprawling, yet so much of it is easily accessible by foot, like Paris or Budapest.

Sueño de Cuba

Brett Gaylor - whom I met at the Montreal Videologgers meetup - has a beautiful little video clip from when he visited Cuba back in 2003.

It’s incredible to look at this and remember that just a couple of months ago I was walking those very same streets, getting ready to leave the wild island that so warmly welcomed me into its heart for over two months.

I love video.