Hola Cuba!

In February Kim and I went to Cuba. We might as well have gone to Mars. Just 90 miles from the US, it was one of the most contradictory and counter-intuitive places I’ve ever visited.  

The Havana to which we were first introduced was colonial city glowing in the afternoon sun. Residents and tourists alike strolled by pastel building facades, perused the book fair in a shady square,  and gathered on the promenade along the ocean to watch the setting sun.  

It would be easy to get lost in that romanticism were it not for the stark reminders that Cuba is a different universe, especially once we left the confines of the old city. The main square, the Plaza de la Revolucion, is a concrete expanse that makes Tiananmen Square look cheery.  Along the old fort is a tribute glorifying the shooting down of an American plane during the missile crisis.

While the inconveniences facing tourists pale in comparison to those thrust upon the citizens of Cuba, they did remind us that we were a long way from home. There are plenty of charming, hip restaurants, but the food was never better than mediocre, as access to fresh ingredients is so limited. In those restaurants, and in hotels, the only Cubans we saw were the ones serving us, as the locals are not allowed to patronize these establishments, even if they could afford it. Instead, they huddled around the entrances to hotels and in parks, trying to gain access to one of Cuba’s scarcest commodities – internet. Tortuously slow internet.

Dealing with money brought a bit of confusion as well. There are 2 currencies, one for locals and one for tourists. As ATMs and credit cards aren't options, we were often in search of a currency exchange or counting our coins in hopes that we could afford one more beer. Taxis didn't have fixed prices, so every ride involved a negotiation followed by either regret over paying too much or a twinge of guilt over taking advantage of the driver.

Searching for that elusive internet signal

Was Havana beautiful? Dreamy? Charming? Absolutely. Havana is a city made to be photographed.  But, as lovely and ornate as the buildings in the old town are, they’ve been neglected for fifty years. Those of us who don’t have to make our lives in the ruins have the luxury of feeling wistful and nostalgic seeing the decaying buildings strung with laundry and the balconies propped up by 2x4 planks. 

For those who have to live in a city in constant decay, though, I expect this is considerably less romantic. The poverty was unavoidable.  The shops that passed for food markets had uncovered raw meat stacked on countertops bordering the sidewalk, buzzing with flies as mopeds and stray dogs passed by constantly. Such shops are only for Cubans, and only accept the separate currency paid to Cubans. The streets in the more residential areas were littered with broken glass and dog poop.

The Cuba of Cubans seemed pretty much impenetrable. We did not have - or, more accurately, did not know how to take - the opportunity to hear much from them.  The language barrier made it difficult to have more than a superficial conversation with anyone other than our tour guide and apartment manager, who were a study in contrasts. The tour guide toed the party line, proudly showing off revolutionary monuments and bragging about the country’s educational institutions and healthcare. We had to remind ourselves that this was all she knew and all she had been taught. Without access to information from the outside world, she seemed oblivious to the unfairness of a system where taxi drivers make more than doctors, and the government seizes houses unless the owners prove loyalty to the party. She had just been selected to participate in a study abroad in Germany, and I would love to see how that shapes her world view.

Carla, our house manager, was a different story altogether. Pretty and energetic, she had a smart phone, and knew the ins and outs of obtaining forbidden internet access to connect with the outside world. (If we wanted an hour of internet in our apartment, we would text Carla to text her guy, who had rigged a system to borrow the signal from the internet service in a nearby park.)  Carla knew about American TV. She showed a humorous disdain for the city-wide power outage, and for the difficulties in obtaining goods in Cuba (the coffee pot in our apartment was leaking and it would take months for the owner to ship a new one from China.) I have the sense that Carla represents the direction in which Cuba is moving, an encouraging thought.

Despite the poverty life went on. We saw people living their lives on doorsteps and sidewalks, talking and laughing with neighbors, listening to music. Kids played ball in the streets; old men played chess; people walked their dogs. Without access to media and material goods, their entertainment seemed to be each other, which is a nice thought. Well, a nice thought until you realize they also don’t have access to good jobs, Amazon Prime, or a free press.

A charming street scene, though nothing like the gritty, more typical neighborhood where we stayed 

I don’t know anything about Cuba though. I talked to two women. I took some pictures. I drank a bunch of daiquiris. I took a classic car ride through the city. I got food poisoning. All the food poisoning. I threw up a fancy restaurant. Twice. All I know is what I saw during our 4 days there. I didn’t understand it, but I liked it.

More pictures!

Day One

Day Two

Day Three

Cars!

Vik, Iceland

On our last day we drove along the southwestern coast of Iceland to Vik, famous for its black volcanic sand.

Just west of Vik is Dyrhólaey,a small peninsula with views of black lava columns rising from sea. It was an overcast afternoon, and with the black sand a number of these photos look like I was shooting black & white, but are actually in full color.

Along the way we stopped at a farm that was one of the many areas affected by the 2010 eruption of the Eyjafjallajökull volcano, which created an ash cloud that affected air traffic in Europe for weeks. More importantly, it almost finished off Walter Mitty.  The volcano covers a massive area, part of which can be seen under the gray clouds in the farm pictures.
 

There were waterfalls, of course. Please to enjoy Seljalandsfoss:

And, not to be outdone, Skogafoss:

Finally, the drive home brought more cloud porn. The sky put on quite a show for us that evening.