Photos and Cigars

Our morning began like any other - in a hot sweat. We did a photo tour around the valley which was one of the very few things that I was able to arrange before I left the U.S. We went to numerous overlooks with differing views of the valley while being transported around in a blue Dodge from 1950. In between spots, our guide would ask us various questions about the U.S. and what we thought of Trump. 

It was interesting to get his perspective on everything as well. We eventually wound up at a tobacco farm where a man competing for “Most Likely to be Cast as a Cuban Cigar Maker” did a demonstration on how he rolls the tobacco. I am not known to smoke, but I felt an obligation to try one since it was offered to me and I am after all in Cuba. Unfortunately, I don’t really have anything to compare it to. I had an alleged “Cuban” cigar from Key West many years ago, but I don’t really know what makes one cigar better than another. 

All I know is that the cigar I had today was smooth and I didn’t collapse into a coughing fit. Based on what I saw at the tobacco farm, I knew I was smoking something that didn’t have any additives as it was straight up soft tobacco leaves rolled inside a harder tobacco leaf. Is this process different than a high-end cigar you would buy at a store in the states? I don’t know. I feel that perhaps these cigars have developed some kind of mystique due to the embargo. Cigar smokers are a sub culture that I really don’t understand — particularly after today when I apparently had the holy grail of cigars and I was like, “Yeah, it’s alright.” I just don’t see myself sitting at home with a brandy and wearing suspenders while discussing how it’s outrageous that the government is coming after my money. This is what I imagine cigar smokers do on a daily basis while in between rounds of golf.

We drove around a little bit more and the sun was really starting to bake down on us. We were quite sweaty, but it was nothing compared to two gentlemen we saw at the side of the road who welcomed the brief break from their labor while we stopped and snapped some pictures. I can only imagine what is like to do intense manual labor in midday with this weather. I did landscaping in D.C. in the summer, but usually when it got above 90, we went inside for a break and watched Maury on TV. We thought we had been busy for hours and based on the heat we were experiencing would have sworn it was about 1pm, but it was barely 10. 

We thought we might try to go to the beach to the north, but we needed to ensure that we had enough money for the taxi there and back in addition to our transportation tomorrow, so changing money was a necessity. However, the Cuban experience continued and the currency exchange was arbitrarily closed for a few hours in the middle of the day and wouldn’t open until 2:00. We did eventually get there, only to wait in a line that seemed to take about 45 mins to process approximately six people. From there I went to buy internet cards since not knowing anything about the status of our flights tomorrow was a bit disconcerting. By know it was 3:00, and all this standing in line was exhausting so we went back to our casa and relaxed for a bit.

Finally in Viñales

Our casa in Viñales exceeded our expectations (which by now were probably fairly low to be honest), but it appears to have been recently updated. Our host, Carlos had some mango juice brought to us and spoke excellent english. This was a problem in Havana where my iPad app spanish was not adequate to explain our complicated taxi needs. After resting for a little bit, we set out to explore the small town of Viñales. It has a very different feel than Havana. Things are much more calm here and people seem more friendly. We picked a random road to walk down and were not disappointed. 

The road proceeded through fields of tobacco, pineapple, and other stuff. On a couple occasions, people would talk to me and I remained on edge, ready to reject whatever they were selling me, but sometimes people are just being friendly. It takes some getting used to being the city boy that I am. Also, my confidence in my spanish improved drastically as people seem to talk much slower out in the country. It’s like comparing New York to Alabama. Things are just a little slower and drawn out in this part of the island. A man named Raoul greeted us and offered cigars, but I simply said I don’t smoke and he didn’t push it. He continued with pleasant conversation (again in easy to understand spanish) and I asked him if we could hike a bit around his property for pictures and he had no problem with it. 

We walked around some more tobacco fields and into the mountains a bit. Despite some mosquitoes and oppressive humidity, we had a pleasant afternoon in an environment that couldn’t be more different from our time in Havana. As reward for our sweat-inducing exploration of the valley, we stopped back at Raoul’s and bought a few cervezas as refreshment. We sat there a while while Greg finally got his requisite picture of an old man and I asked Raoul for some guava juice which was unlike anything I’ve ever had in Hawaii — mostly because it was straight up guava juice, no additives. That is something I really wish we would have more of in the states. We can have anything we want at any time, any season, but it’s never really . . . fresh.

After taking a shower back at the casa, we headed out to get the traditional Cuban dish called Hawaiian pizza. We saw pineapple fields and we saw pigs, so it was a safe bet that all would be fresh. After sweating profusely from just sitting down, we felt we needed another shower, but we soldiered on and went back to the area where were this afternoon for some dusk photos. After this eventful and adventurous day, we had a couple cervezas back at the casa and called it a night.

The Most Adventurous Taxi Ride of All Time

After taking some pictures near the Malecón and having our breakfast of fruit, we attempted to negotiate a ride to Viñales. Initially we had wanted to get there by way of the beach, but he quoted this as costing 250 CUC (basically 250 USD). This was not appealing, so I changed the routing which got us to $150 and ultimately down to $120. This still seemed high, but with limited options we agreed. 

We picked up his brother, who would be helping him drive back to Havana after dropping us off and then we went to a money exchange since we wouldn’t have that option in Viñales. The exchange was inside a swanky hotel. This appears to be where the rest of the Americans and European tourists are staying. I have a hunch they are experiencing a very different Cuba than us. After getting money, we continued on in our 1948 Plymouth special. 

There were no seatbelts or air conditioning as was to be expected. It was odd to be riding in such an old vehicle. After driving for maybe 30 mins, we abruptly pulled off to the side of the road as the car died. We hadn’t quite gotten out of Havana yet. The heat and stop-and-go traffic had evidently been too much for a car that was built during the Truman administration. The driver assured us, he would take care of it and find another car as needed. As we waited, I looked at my map and discovered we were just three blocks from the Viazul bus station. 

I considered this as an alternate method of getting to Viñales since it was recommended by a friend who had been there a couple weeks prior. I thought perhaps our car dying so close to the station was a sign, but after 30 mins, the driver tried cranking the car over again and motioned for us to get back in. After driving a few more minutes, we stopped at a gas station to get some diesel. They were out. We tried another one. They were also out. Eventually we topped off the tank and the repurposed tug boat engine under the hood was no longer thirsty. 

After another hour of driving we pulled over to a service station to let the engine cool for a bit and and to put air in the tires. Time and time again, the driver and his brother told us that Viñales is muuuuy lejos. If you look it up on a map, it really doesn’t seem that way. It’s 90 miles. That’s an hour-and-a-half for most people, but when you’re driving a tug boat car from 1948 that gets 5mpg, I guess you have to plan on making some stops. In the end, it took us almost five hours, but as those before me have stated, it’s an experience. 

Sure we could have hopped on an air-conditioned bus, but that would be like going to Ireland and having it be sunny everyday, or going to Russia and not having to pay a bribe to a cop. We had the authentic Cuban classic taxi experience…and not the kind of convertible classic car that the tourists ride around in through the streets of Havana. Ours was the real deal right down to the oil leak and the one door handle that they remove and attach to all doors to open and close them.

Further Adventures in Old Havana

Continuing our journey around Havana, we meandered through the narrow streets, zigging and zagging with no particular destination in mind. Cuba is known for its abundance of old classic cars, so we did our best to showcase them in our photographs with varying success. For educational purposes, I should point out that not everyone drives an old car from the 50s, but they account for at least 50% of the vehicles. Those that aren’t are vehicles made in Eastern Europe that are probably less reliable than their American counterparts that are 60 years older. 

The streets are filled with the smell of exhaust fumes and smoke billows from every intersection. Needless to say, there is no smog check here. We made our way to the Museum of the Revolution which chronicles the events that led to Fidel Castro’s rise to power and the “heroes” that made Cuba the way it is today. While not remotely as bizarre as going to the Hanoi Hilton in Vietnam, the museum’s focus was on random artifacts like, ‘Here’s a pair of pants! So and so wore them when they were in high school!” As Greg remarked, it was almost like a parallel with catholic devotion and relics.

We eventually got some food at café. This was no easy task. Places are either filled with only tourists or are filled with no one at all. Neither of these was appealing, but we finally had some sandwiches and beer at a place that Cubans appeared to be enjoying as well. After eating we gathered some photography equipment and got ready to take some pictures at sunset. We headed over toward the Capitolio, which bears a striking resemblance to the U.S. capitol. 

Greg and I did some time-lapse of the transition from day to night as classic cars did their best to poison our lungs with noxious fumes. I think we both look forward to some sleep although our place is a bit warm and muggy. Actually all of Cuba is warm and muggy. So far the only relief from the heat has been to sit down with a local beer or two. Thanks in part to the very late arrival of Cubana last night/this morning our time in Havana quickly draws to a close as we plan to leave tomorrow for the small town of Viñales. That being said, I feel we have adequately seen old Havana and are anxious to get out of the busy, noisy city and experience a different part of Cuba.

Cubana Aviaçion

Unsurprisingly, our plane did not depart at midnight either. All of us were sitting at the gate with no plane for more than an hour. When the moment finally came, everyone stood up or flocked to the windows to see if there was really a plane coming to park. It was an Antonov 158. While in line to board, the man behind us was wondering why we were going to Cuba. Greg commented that we needed to get there before there are Wal*Marts and StarBucks. “And efficiently run airlines,” added the other gentleman. Midway through the flight, the spring and pin popped off of Greg’s tray table. 

I was not surprised. Sometime after 4am, we arrived at our home in Havana, an apartment we found on AirBnB. There was no response when we rang the bell despite calling ahead to explain the situation. Luckily there was a Norwegian woman on the balcony of the neighboring room that let us in. 

A few hours later we lethargically began our day by walking around Havana a bit. Within a matter of a few hours we had pretty adequately seen most of old Havana. We had walked along the Malecón by the water and saw a few old spanish forts. We walked inside of one, where a worker decided to tell Greg what to take photos of. He played along and soon found himself the subject of his own photos as the woman began snapping away with his camera. Then naturally she demanded a CUC for her hard work. All of this combined with our overall lack of sleep led us back to our place where we took naps.

Cancun? Cancun.

A lot of things had to go right today in order for us to get to Cuba smoothly. You probably know where this is going. While Greg and I were able to get to Cancun without incident, we then faced the daunting task of finding each other in the airport without the use of our cellphones. We arrived on different airplanes you see. By a stroke of luck, we found each other in a separate terminal that required a 30 minute bus ride (but in hindsight could have been walked in about 60 seconds). Once I spotted greg’s frail frame glistening brightly in the distance, I breathed a sigh of relief. Then he told me our Cubana flight was delayed until midnight. It was now a little after 1pm. That being said, we luckily did not have to sit around in the Cancun airport. Eventually we were picked up by vans and driven into Cancun to the Calypso Hotel. It wasn’t a super fancy resort on the beach, but it was far more than we were expecting. We both napped briefly and then went outside by the pool to drink cervezas. After drinking said cervezas and utilizing the free wifi by the pool, we decided to walk around and explore a little bit. 

We found a walking path by the water and some mangroves. It seemed like primarily locals were hanging out in this area — either fishing, napping, or just relaxing. After we reached the end of the path, we crossed the street to where there were absolutely no locals. We instead found throngs of tourists lining up to watch pirate shows and other silly things that seem like some kind of living hell for someone like me. I had enough exposure to obnoxious American tourists when I was going through customs at the airport. If you want to understand why a good portion of the world hates us, I invite you to go through immigration in Cancun.

Our dinner was also compensated by Cubana. Obviously, none of this time in Cancun is ideal, but it beats the alternative of being stuck in the airport with just one overpriced restaurant and no wifi. We weren't even expecting a hotel, so it could be worse. Of course, this is all assuming that we do still get out at midnight. Everything could still go horribly wrong and we don't get to Cuba at all. I was able to make a phone call to the place where we are (hoping) to spend the night in Havana so they're at least updated on the situation and seemed to act like this type of thing is common.

Let us hope we get out tonight. While there are certainly worse places, I would really prefer to get out of Cancun.

Cuba Ahora

If you're an avid traveler and have been following the news in the last 48 hours, you would know that numerous American-operated airlines have been granted tentative approval to fly from U.S. cities into Cuba for the first time in over 50 years. This is a major milestone in many ways. Cuba, as we know it (or as we don't know it) is no doubt going to be changed by this sudden influx of curious American tourists.

Thusly, it is my DUTY to get there before they do. Would it be easier to get there on Delta, American, or United? Sure, but I would have to wait at least 3-4 more months for that opportunity, by which time Cuba will be ruined by some frat boys from Boston. Slowly over the course of the last couple years, Obama has eased relations between the U.S. and Cuba and it has created a grey area where Americans can go, but not without some stipulations.

One must fit into 12 different criteria ranging from journalism to religious activities. You can guess which category I fall under. And as of yet, traditional "tourism" is still not sanctioned by the U.S. state department and is still a somewhat contentious issue amongst congressional republicans who still find themselves fighting the cold war. So my photojournalistic friend from the Vietnam/Cambodia trip will be accompanying me to Cuba by way of Cancun.

We will be flying on the state-run airline, Cubana de Aviación. Internet, as one might expect, is somewhat difficult to come by, but we shall do our best to post once a day . . . if possible.