Steven’s Cuba Blog

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.

U.S. Treasury - Major League Morons

I learned via just a minute man that the U.S. treasury has finally decided that Cuba can’t play in the inaugural World Baseball Classic. It blows my mind that they would make such a stupid call; actually, no, it doesn’t. Could you just imagine how awesome it would be if the Cuban team played and beat the Americans, on their home turf no less?

Seriously… what could possibly be the justification for disallowing Cuba to play? Citing the completely idiotic embargo doesn’t do much to add credibility to the Treasury Department’s case; there isn’t a great financial interest for Cuba or for Cuban nationals to participate. It’s a sport, but once again the U.S. government seems intent on infecting the rest of the world with its misguided, malevolent politicking. It would be in the interest of both countries if Cuba participated in the tournament, as the U.S. would be applauded for its diplomatic gesture, and Cuba would have added exposure and credibility on the world stage (something which, obviously, the U.S. won’t stand for).

It’s not America’s blind hatred of Cuba and all things Castro that leads to idiotic outcomes like this; every U.S. government in recent memory has had to cater to the immensely powerful Miami Cuban exile community, or severely cripple their chances of winning an election. The way the districts are divided in the U.S., it’s nearly impossible to win an election without their support.

Funny to think that if the electoral system was shaped just a little differently in the United States, Cuba would be allowed to be play baseball in a supposedly international tournament.

Hmmm… this post was supposed to be about baseball, wasn’t it? I guess the Cubans I’ve met are right when they say that “every conversation eventually degenerates into politics”, and my blog is obviously no exception…
Let them play!

Update:

Canadian International Olympic Committee member Dick Pound said yesterday that U.S. bids to play host to future Olympic Games will be damaged by the Bush administration’s decision to prevent Cuba from playing in next year’s inaugural World Baseball Classic.

[…]

“Certainly it’s important for any country that’s bidding for the Games to be able to represent with confidence that athletes and coaches from around the world will be able to come to their country.”

[…]

“Sports should be separated from politics,” U.S. Soccer Federation president Bob Contiguglia said. “That’s been a FIFA and an IOC philosophy, and we concur with that philosophy. In soccer, we’ve played Cuba in sport on many occasions and it’s never been a problem. We’ve had teams go to Cuba and they’ve come here. So it seems kind of short-sighted that the administration would do that.”

Havana Rhythms

When most people think of Cuban music, they automatically think of Salsa, Son and other typically Cuban beats. Indeed, as a foreigner, these are the most common sounds I hear on the Island. However, Cuba - and especially Havana - has a burgeoning underground music scene. Alternative, Hip Hop, Experimental, and all sorts of fusions and fringe-mixes are cropping up in some of the small bars and clubs around town.

Searching for more on “independent” (not sure how independent it can be…) music in Cuba, I came across “The H Music“, a website featuring free downloadable tracks and bios - and not much else, at the moment - of new and unique Cuban artists, such as Telmary (who I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never heard of before):

Sin tener un disco personal, Telmary muestra, a modo de impresionante carta de presentación, sus colaboraciones con artistas como Gema & Pável, Pío Leyva, Yusa, Issac Delgado, Gerardo Alfonso, Aceituna Sin Hueso, Giraldo Piloto, Lucía Huergo, X Alfonso, Kelvis Ochoa y Francis, además de enrolarse en conceptos grupales de carácter intermitente como el proyecto Rotilla, Cool Cool Filin, Los Otros (con William Vivanco y Kumar) y, por supuesto, Interactivo. Xis y DJ Dalua, de Brasil, y Guillaume Fageon, de Francia, también han contado con sus servicios, y hasta en alguna ocasión alternó con el mismísimo Afrika Bambaataa. Todas estas experiencias le han permitido redondear su propuesta, nutrirse de vibraciones antes de lanzarse en protagónico. Por ahí circula una maqueta que nos enfrenta al resumen de esas sesiones, con verdaderos éxitos potenciales si la difusión funcionara según presupuestos distintos. Además, tiene de todo: canciones para cautivar al público que pide una simple desconexión y temas donde lo actual, con su carga de contradicciones, está bien presente. Pone la misma convicción cuando canta “Pa´ que enamore” (con su antológica oferta de “pescado fresco” y ese pegadizo pregón de “azucenas, girasoles”) como cuando interpreta “Los revolucionarios” y se cuestiona la doble moral de postulados extremistas con una pregunta sencilla, de todos y para todos: “¿hasta cuándo?”.

“Libre” and “Montuno” (both mixes) are extremely good tracks.

Cuba Chronicles, Chapter Five

UPRISING

Carretera Central from Colòn to Santa Clara city, Tuesday September 6th, 2005, 5:30am
With the aforementioned farm animals urging me to wake up, I literally rolled out of the hard bed onto the floor, took a cold shower - there was no hot water in this little guest room in the backyard - and got dressed. The funny thing about cold showers is how great they feel after a hot day at the beach or on the bicycle, but how awful they are in the morning before the sun comes up. I was literally talking to myself out loud into putting each body part under the low-pressure stream of water, soaping it up, then rinsing it off: “Ok, and here comes the left arm! The left arm is getting cleaned… time to rinse it off Steve. And it’s rinsed! Followed by the right arm…”

Once again, the pre-dawn road to Santa Clara was beautiful, flat and straight. However, unlike the short 80km of the previous day, this trip would be 50% longer - 120km. Despite this, I was in high spirits. The strong tailwind I had and the many motivational billboards along the way - Venceremos! - kept me going strong until about a quarter to 1pm, when I reached Santa Clara.


A big, clean, attractive city with few tourists, the first thing you see upon entering the city from the North-West (after the billboards about quitting smoking, teen help hotlines and reminding you to always use a condom) is the huge Che Guevara mausoleum and memorial complex, which I visited the next day.

Biking into the city from this direction also lets you enjoy an awesome downhill from the outskirts into the heart of city. Flying past crowded horse-drawn carriages filled with smiling girls and old taxis honking at the car in front of them is especially rewarding after a long, straight, somewhat monotonous ride on the highway. I easily found my casa just a couple of blocks away from the city’s beautiful main square, settled in, and enjoyed a well-deserved shower - lukewarm.

This casa was one of my favorite ones throughout my entire trip. The owner, Yadin, was really, really, cool. We hit it off from the start, and got along very well the whole time I was there. A former computer programmer, she left IT to rent out a room in her beautiful 2nd floor flat. She’s also got two adorable and very bright kids.

/** (Plug)
Casa de Yadin
Bonifacio Martinez 60, between Sindico (E.P Morales) and Caridad (gral. Roloff)
Santa Clara, Villa Clara
Cuba
Tel: (053) (42) 206754
Tel2: (053)(42)274760
*/

Disclaimer - I will occasionally post the addresses of my favorite casas here. This is not an endorsement nor a service I provide, and I receive no commission or compensation for references. Nevertheless, if you do decide to stay at one of them, I’d appreciate if you mentioned that you heard about them from me, “Steve, el muchacho con la bicicleta naranja.”

After I unpacked and settled into my very comfortable, air conditioned room, and took my shower, I got dressed, and walked back to the beautiful town square / park that I flew by at 40km/h just an hour ago. It’s amazing how different the experience of visiting a city can be based on your method of transportation. No matter where you are, whether you’re walking, bicycling, on a bus or driving through the city, you’ll see a totally different side of it. Biking through the city on my in, I was struck by the symmetry of the streets and buildings, and the thought that this city was probably the most “modern-looking” city overall I’ve been to in Cuba so far.

Leaving my casa on foot along the same route led me to a similar impression, albeit from a different angle. People here seem to be, at first glance, somewhat more well-off in general than the other places I’ve been to. The pedestrian-only town square - center of most activity - is bustling at any hour of day or night, with people young and old sitting on the benches, laughing, just talking about everything and nothing. It was mid-afternoon, so all the uniformed students had just left class and were converging on the town square to hang out.

The boys in their white dress shirts - and I mean white; I’ve never ever seen anyone manage to get a piece of clothing so bright white - and the gorgeous girls in their also-white dress shirts and decidedly-too-high-for-their-age brown suede skirts were meeting, playing pranks on each other, talking about the teachers they love and hate. All of a sudden, I felt really, really relaxed, and comfortable. I lied down on an empty bench (it was in the sun, and everyone usually chooses the benches in the shade - and move along with the shadow when the sun starts hitting them again), took out my moleskine notebook, and started to write - about everything and nothing.

Right about then, two students, both spanish-looking classic beauties, walked by me, looked me up and down, and smiled. Unfortunately, they couldn’t be older than 17, so all I could do was smile back.

Yeah, I think I’ll hang in Santa Clara for a few more days.

Cuba Chronicles, Chapter Four

RECLAMATION

Carretera Central from Matanzas to Colòn, Monday September 5th, 2005, 6:45am
Despite 3 straight nights of partying at Las Palmas outdoor nightclub - usually followed by more partying at a nameless after-hours “young communists” underground club paid in Cuban Pesos - I woke up energized at 6am Monday morning, having packed and secured my bicycle the night before. The flat, straight 82km to the small town of Colòn turned out to be surprisingly easy - I made it there by 11:45, with few stops.

I guess I was “in the zone” that day, feeling good, the jungle mist playing games with the light as it slowly rose above the palm trees. A bunch of little things helped too - there were hordes of butterflies out, some of them following bike or leading in front of me, criss-crossing and waving through the air. There are hundreds of species of butterflies endemic to Cuba, and some of them are really incredible to behold.

Colòn is a very small, quaint town, with lots of horse-drawn carriages. I easily found my casa through the unmarked streets - they all branch off the main street, which is just the carretera central, really - and went to my spartan but comfortable room. I was only staying here for one night, as a pit stop between Matanzas and Santa Clara, my next “real” destination.

The good news is that as a small town Colòn was very inexpensive. Everything - including the fancy restaurant in the hotel I ate at - was paid for in Cuban pesos. I had a huge, delicious pork filet with potatoes, beans, salad and rice, for something like 50 cuban pesos, or about $2.50 CDN. For reference, a similar meal here in Montreal would cost me at least $15. I spent the rest of the day running some errands, making phone calls and posting a couple of blog entries from the local ETECSA (phone and internet state company), and taking photographs.

Then, I returned to my casa and found the owner chatting with her daughter who had just arrived - an absolutely stunning 21 year old bombshell, and a single mom. This would be a recurring theme throughout my stays at casas (especially unofficial ones), and I would have to try quite hard indeed not to get myself into any trouble staring at them too long.

What is it, exactly, that makes Cuban women so incredible? To be fair, there are beautiful women all over the world - again, I love Montreal - but there just seem to be more of them in Cuba - especially tucked away in the villages and small towns. It’s just the little details that jump out and grab your attention - the way they walk, the way they coyly look at you as they walk by, the way they shift their eyes and bat their eyelashes semi-consciously when talking to you, the way their hips meet their waist at the most perfectly curved angle. Why, why, why? There are several reasons that come to mind:

• The climate? Sure, people sweat more and dress less than elsewhere, and get nicely tanned but there are other hot countries too.
• The genetic diversity? Yeah, this is a big part of it. Cuba was really a total melting pot of cultures - Spaniards, Africans, Natives, Asians, and even Arabs have lived here - and intermixed - for 500 years. Today, most people of mixed-descent have inherited the best features of their ancestors; it’s not uncommon to meet a stunning, dark-skinned mulata with curly long blond hair, and slightly slanted green eyes.
• The diet? Well, beans, pork, salad and rice are a staple here - along with rum and beer. But most everything is fresh - frozen and canned foods seem to be rare, and as far as I’ve discovered, everything is organically grown. In fact, most of the farms / hydroponics I visited also had their own lab for research into new organic growing techniques.
• The economic situation? Not having many cars means that a lot of people are walking, standing around for a bus, or biking all day. People just seem healthier than literally anywhere else I’ve been.
• The culture? Well, there’s the dancing…

Sorry, I got sidetracked there a bit. Where was I? Right. Colòn. I conversed with the daughter and absolutely adorable granddaughter for a while before retiring to bed; I wanted to get an early morning start for the long 120km to Santa Clara.

My spartan room had suddenly become not-so-spartan; a few small green lizards had found their way into my room. They were pretty cute, so I let them stay, turned off the light, and went to bed, with the sounds of roosters, squealing pigs and barking dogs singing me to sleep - and waking me up at 5am the next morning.

Cuba Chronicles, Chapter Three

LAUNCHPAD

Autopista between Havana and Matanzas, Thursday September 1st, 2005, 10am
I got off to a rocky start this morning - I had planned to be on the road by 8am, but I had some complications getting my sports bag and other equipment secured to my bike. The fact that I had to set everything up downstairs, outside in the morning mist (I wasn’t about to set up my bike upstairs and then carry it down or shoehorn it into the tiny elevator) didn’t help matter much either. I paid the casa owner, got on the bike, and rode up to the Malecon. I took my time and headed all the way east until the Paseo, then turned right onto to it until the Capitolio and the ramp onto the ciclobus - a conveniently gutted city bus used to ferry people with their bicycles to and from the Playas Del Este (the only other way to get across the Bay is the tunnel, and bicycles aren’t allowed there for safety reasons).

The bus ride costs a few cents, and it’s worth just about that. I ended up standing next to several other people, mostly men, some in work clothes, others in suits, all with bicycles, mopeds or small motorcycles balanced treacherously on the bus’s uneven floor. I was in a particularly awkward position, in the center of the bus with one arm steadying my overweight Marin mountain bicycle and the other trying to steady myself on the overhead hand grip. Every turn the bus took, I had to lock my arm so that I didn’t fall over my bike. This 15 minutes bus ride was almost as gnarly as the hours-long bike rides I would later undertake… in all fairness, though, my bike was horribly unbalanced with way too much weight on the back.

At the other side of the tunnel, we got off the ramp single file, and everyone went their separate way to work. I got on the right-most lane of the highway, reserved for bicycles, and started making my way to Matanzas. The highway is mostly straight with few hills, but there were a couple of forks where I had to stop and ask people which way to go. Everyone was immediately friendly and helpful - I didn’t get lost once anywhere in Cuba, mostly due to everyone’s approachability and willingness to help.

The excessive weight I was carrying quickly became apparent whenever I faced an uphill climb, even a very small one. I never had to resort to walking my bike, but I came pretty close a few times. I did make sure to build up a lot of speed on top gear before an uphill (my speedometer creeped over 50km/h several times), and I overcame a few of them en valseuse - standing up on my pedals.

It would become all too obvious that leaving as late as I did would make it very difficult for me - by 11:00am, the heat was nearing unbearable levels, and by 12:30pm it was painfully clear that I would have to stop until the sun started going down, whether I wanted to or not. I pulled into one of the tourist resto-stops at the side of the highway, ordered a soda and relaxed in the shade. I also took advantage of that time to ask for some tap water, and refill my 1.5L Ciego Montero bottle, adding some drops of purifier (Tap water is more or less safe around the city, but I have a history of bad luck while traveling, so I didn’t want to take a chance at the very start of my trip). At around 1:45pm, I got back on the road. I only stopped once more at 3pm to drink and water and relax in the shade near a big oil refinery with a Canadian flag flying high.

The scenery, needless to say, was quite breathtaking all the way from Havana to Matanzas. It starts off as your average, “Autoroute des Laurentides”-ish divided highway, but the crowded leafy trees and lampposts quickly give way to spectacular natural views just kilometers away from Havana. You’ve got the ocean and sandy beachy shores on your left (I was almost tempted to stop and jump into the waves on more than once occasion), and vast fields and hills just covered with Palm trees and all sorts of vegetation as far as the eye can see. There are many species of flora and fauna endemic to Cuba, so it’s no stretch of the imagination to say that you’ll only see sights like this in Cuba.

By the time I made it to Matanzas, a light rain had started so I had to stop and cover my equipment with my tarp and put my raincoat on. I had serious trouble getting my bearings in this city - there are two “parts” to the city separated by a huge bay (Matanzas is the 4th-busiest sugar port in the world), and as with several other Cuban cities (as I’d be loathe to discover), there are also two addressing schemes; the “old” one and the “new” one - names, and numbers.

My good luck invariably had me carrying contact addresses in one format while in reality the city still functioned on the other. I rode for a full 30 minutes through the unmarked suburban/rural sprawl of eastern Matanzas, searching for an address I wasn’t even sure was accurate, eventually realizing that I was going in circles.

Tired, soaked and with the sun disappearing past the horizon, I gave up, and approached a group of 8 young inked / pierced guys sitting on the curb in front of their house - something I would never do here, not out of fear, but out of embarrassment. I explained my situation to them, told them the address I was searching for, and asked if one of them would get on his bike and show me how to get there. The youngest one - Yanmay - volunteered, and soon we were on our way. Within 10 minutes we were at my casa. I thanked him, paid him some change (very little for me, but probably a couple weeks salary for him), and he offered to show me around the clubs and such while I was staying in Matanzas.

I spent the next few nights hanging out with him and his friends, and - as a sign of things to come - made my first real friend in Cuba (excluding people I already knew through work or the Internet). I made many more of what I call “friends” (I don’t use the term loosely) in Cuba these +/- 2 months than I have in the past year in Montreal.

Cuba Chronicles, Chapter Two

SHAVING THE YAK

Casa Particular, Vedado District, Sunday August 28th, 2005
I woke up sunday morning after a comfortable night’s sleep, despite the heat. The friendly but distant casa owner prepared me a decent breakfast, and then I spent the better part of the scorching day walking a few miles up and down the deserted, beautiful Malecon. I also assembled my bike and took it around the block, making sure everything was solid.

It was a good idea to get here on the weekend, giving myself a day to familiarize myself with the city and get my bearings. Most of the city is easily walkable from where I was staying (Vedado): Habana Vieja, the Port, etc. The only part of the city I didn’t explore in detail was Miramar, which, if you live in Montreal, can be compared to the West Island; suburban, many foreigners and rich families, more expensive. That alone made me prefer the inner city streets of Vieja and Barrio Chino, which were more of an artsy “Plateau” type of attitude.

On the way back, I stopped at a paladar for a well-deserved drink. Bottled water was $1.50 CUC; a bottle of beer was $1.00 CUC. Guess what I drank for 2 months?
Back at the casa, I spent the rest of evening going over some papers for work, sitting on the balcony, until the sun went down in front of me in a red-and-purple sky. I could definitely get used to this.

Havana, Monday August 29th, 2005, 1pm
I met up with the doctors from the Escuela Latinoamericana de Medicina (ELAM) that I was working with this morning, and had some great conversations about what kind of participation they’d like to have in our project. This led to a fair amount of “Yak Shaving” - “Sure, we’re totally interested in participating in this online community project of yours! First, we’ll need computers and an internet connection” - but it was still way more productive than similar meetings I’ve had in North America, or - gasp! - Europe. People are excited and motivated when you come to them with new ideas, and they actually take the initiative and make sure that they’re doing their part to make the project work. Despite the excessive paperwork and bureaucracy involved in getting the ball rolling, Cubans make things happen.


Afterwards, I went to the University of Havana, and biked around much of Havana, including the awe-inspiring Col√≥n cemetery. The whole jintero / jintera phenomenon (hustlers, prostitution, etc.) really didn’t stand out to me as much as others said it does. Now, that might have something to do with my dark skin and attitude, but I still don’t quite pass for a local. My bicycle is much flashier than I’d like, and while I didn’t bring any fancy clothes with me, I’m still dressed slightly different than the average Cubano. I get a lot of looks - but Cubans are the type to stare at everyone who walks by. It’s not a bad thing or a good one - it’s just the way it is. (Some Cuban men also feel the need to holler at every girl that walks by, and again, it’s only out of courtesy - most of them don’t expect a response, but they feel that if they don’t acknowledge her, she’ll feel upset. So they’re only doing her a favor, really…)

Havana, Capitolio, Tuesday August 30th, 2005, 12pm
Sitting in the internet cafe in the capitolio - probably the fastest connection I’ve had in all of Cuba - checking my mail and various other things I need to catch up on. I walked another big chunk of Havana Vieja and surroundings today - Zapata, Avenida de Los Presidentes, and pretty much all of Barrio Chino. On foot, I got approached more often by Cubans, whether hustlers or not. After making it clear that I had no money on me, most of them were still just as happy to sit and chat.

I decided that I’m going to leave Havana on Thursday, find a place to stay in Matanzas for a few days, then continue on eastward.

Cuba Chronicles, Chapter One

GENESIS

Sitting in the lobby at Pierre-Elliott Trudeau Intl., August 27th, 2005, 5:45 PM.
Well, this trip is off to a great start - the Cubana Aviacion flight’s been delayed 2 hours until 8pm. Which means that I won’t be in Havana until midnight. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, but the fact that I’ve got 60kg of equipment with me means that I won’t be taking the bus to the city, and will have to settle for a $20 CUC Taxi. I’d been planning this bicycle trip for a long time - nearly a year, to be precise. It was originally supposed to be a purely personal trip - a sabbatical, if you will. However, as the departure date was nearing, it turned out that one of the projects I had been working on for a while had taken on some Cuban members, and I could get a chance to work with them for a few days before starting my bicycle trip across the island. So the plan was 5 days of “work” in Havana, and then 6 weeks of bicycle travel as far east as I wanted to go, then backtracking to Havana, and maybe heading out west to Pinar Del Rio and Vinales, time permitting.

On board Cubana Flight 170 to Havana, August 27th, 2005, 11:30 PM.
Approaching Jose Marti Intl. airport, it’s immediately clear - even from the plane - how radically different Cuba is from any other place on Earth. While Montreal from the sky was lit up with street lights, skyscrapers, and car headlights, much of Havana is shrouded in darkness. Looking up at the starry sky and looking down at the city are in fact not very different - both give the impression of a backlit canopy with holes punched through it. Which is to say, peaceful and beautiful.

As the aircraft’s landing gear deploys - and its metal parts start clanging - I down my Crystal Cerveza and a flurry of thoughts that I had managed to subconsciously avoid so far start coming to mind:

• What the hell am I - a Canadian / Iraqi-Assyrian (CIA?) - going to do in Cuba for 2 months?
• I’ve never biked this far before, not even at home, and especially not for weeks at a time. What if my bike breaks down in between cities? What if I get injured?
• Did I bring enough money? What about credit cards? What if I get robbed?
• What am I going to do with my Powerbook? Carry it in my backpack through 35+ celsius degrees heat in direct sunlight while biking for hours at a time?

These questions plague me for about 30 more seconds, and then my cooler side bitch-slaps my nervous side and convinces me to relax. I’ll do whatever I want in Cuba - I have no other agenda than to learn, and have fun. If the bike breaks, it breaks. Cuba’s got a fantastic inter-city bus system. I won’t get robbed - I’m a bearded, heavily tattooed, dark-skinned muscular guy wearing ragged clothes. I’ve got enough money, and my powerbook will have to put up with the heat or STFU and die. ’nuff said.

Sorry to bore you, but the landing, disembarkation, customs and taxi ride to my casa were all woefully uneventful. I exited the air-conditioned plane into a scorcher of a Havana night, with the recent rainfall still hanging in the air. I changed some money to about $100 CUC, then I walked through the “nothing to declare” portal with my huge bicycle crate on the wagon - which could’ve contained many non-bicycle related items - with not so much as a second glance. The predicted $20 taxi to the Vedado district was fine as well, but was also a rude awakening to the fact that my spanish is nowhere near as good as I thought it was.

When I got to the casa, the popular owner - known as the “casa mafia” in Havana - told me that he had no space for me, even though I had reserved a full month in advance. He sent me downstairs to a neighbor’s home, which was dilapidated but spotless. It wasn’t worth anything near the $30 he was charging me, though. I’ll stay here for 5 days, then likely leave Havana early and make up for the lost time on the way back.

On Snail-Mail and Email in Cuba

Communication with my friends in Cuba has been proving to be quite the daunting task.

Example #1 -
I wrote an email to a friend there, which was immediately bounced back to me with the following error header:

This is an automatically generated Delivery Status Notification

Delivery to the following recipient failed permanently:

xx@xx.vcl.sld.cu

Technical details of permanent failure:
PERM_FAILURE: SMTP Error (state 9): 550 Mail from <steve.mans@gmall.com> to <xx@xx.vcl.sld.cu> prohibited from your location (UNKNOWN@UNKNOWN ip=72.14.204.194)

Now, it’s obvious that the message was rejected, and never made it to the recipients’ inbox. However, I later received a reply from the recipient who told me that she received my message - a few days late. I asked her to forward me the message, which she did… and the header was obviously manually truncated/modified from the original message. My SMTP skills are a little bit soft, but… it’s pretty obvious that the message was screened, bounced, and then queued for review somewhere.

There is actually a physical person between me and her scanning all of our email.

That is so not cool. The more I try to figure out how to extend the work I’ve been doing around Cuba, the more I run into really really discouraging shit like this.

Example #2 -
I’ve just received mail (regular, snail-mail) from some friends, and the letter was obviously opened, then put back in the envelope and taped shut again. No comment. Oh, and it was a “Hey, how’s it going?” kind of letter, nothing more.

I can’t help but wonder how much more progress Cuba would be making technologically, economically and socially if they invested as much effort into improving the system as they do in spying on their citizens. I understand the need to protect the revolution - it is worth protecting, IMHO - but the state’s fear of the Internet is due to its own misunderstanding of it. Information is indeed power, but the state should be more worried about its citizens feeling watched than about them emailing with friends.

Open up net access - not just email, but full, uncensored access - and the relations Cubans and Cuba build with the rest of the world will flourish. Most Cubans I’ve met already feel that the majority of their problems are directly related to the policies of the United States, and not only to the Cuban government. Let them talk about it, let them get the message out.

Like someone once said, “Our greatest natural resource is Cubans”. Give these Cubans a voice, and they will do the work for you in terms of educating the world about Cuba and correcting misconceptions and propaganda spread through the American media.