CUBA VI - TRAINS, PLANES, AND
AUTOMOBILES
Cuba is a land of transportation
choices. People walk, bike, horseback to work or shop. Pedi-cabs (large, roofed
tricycles, with peddler in front and two or three riders in the back - aka
bicitaxis), horse-drawn carriages (coches de caballo, hold two to three), horse
carts (hold up to ten), coco taxis, government taxis, independent taxis, busses
of all kinds, trains, and planes carry Cubans and tourists throughout the
island. There's a transportation hierarchy. Walkers probably want a
bike. Bicyclers long for a motorcycle. Cars are a premium, being at the top of
the personal transportation chain.
Our favorites are pedi-cabs. The
drivers are all fun and funny, taking special pride in their bikes, their music, knowing the neighborhoods. I still remember the darling rasta guy with
his tweaked out cab, the roof like a Cuban flag, reggae blasting from front and
rear speakers. We develop good rapport with peddlers, ride close to the street
action - people walking, biking...coco taxis, and hear what's happening
in town, what beach not to miss, what bands are at the House of Music tonight.
Horse-drawn carriages are fabulous
and more expensive, and I love the clip-clop of hooves on cobblestone streets.
In Varadero we walk to a coche to our taxi to the bus station. In Cienfuegos we
share a horse-cart with a trio of Britts, sailing around Cuba. We head back with
them to the yacht club, where they pay the driver $10. Later over a cold
Crystal, the driver (invited in for a beer by the sailors) asks us for $10 more
- highway robbery for the two kilometer trip! The bartender kicks him out.
American automobiles are
everywhere and, for the most part, in impeccable condition. (where do they get
those parts?) We ride in a '49 Chevy, a stunning '51 Pontiac Chieftain, a
cool-blue '55 Bel-Aire, a '58 Edsel Corsair (remember those?), a classic '59
Cadillac Eldorado. In Viñales Valley we take off in an old Soviet Lada, with a
ruskie driver...who drives like an Italian.
Under relaxed regulations, many
of the old classics are used as taxis. Cabbies can be negotiated to fifty cents
per kilometer, and often offer a flat fee. This is half that of newer
government taxis, with rides costing $1.00 per km. The newer taxis also have
air conditioning and English-speaking drivers. One driver refused us because he
was polishing his '52 Oldsmobile, and wouldn't drive in his dirty shirt,
sending us around the corner.
If a driver owns the car, a taxi
license is $350 per month. If renting a government car, he pays $25 per day. In
either case, the driver is fully responsible for the care, upkeep, and fuel.
Venezuelan gas is $1.20 per litre, and the old cars are gas-guzzlers. Lack of
emissions control adds to the smog of Habana, and without air conditioning,
windows are down, and riders suck up fumes. Still the classic old American cars
are fun! And photogenic. Roberto, Andres, Carlos, and Duano take such pride in
their cars. Drivers are fitted out with fake Rolexes and diamond ear studs, and
their cars are decked out with the latest Argentine video players (yea, like
that's a good idea), blasting Latin music videos from dashboards. Often drivers
can't find a casa or a street, can't read a map, but they are often brother or
uncle to our casa owner, and hey, we negotiated a great price.
After a week in and around
Havana, we take an overnight train (tren Français) to the other end of the
island. Not without great effort. Taking a pedi-cab to the ticket office, we
are herded into a small, hot office (for foreigners) where two women hold
court...but don't speak a word of English. A translator is called, and after
about ten minutes, we begin to understand the process. The overnight train goes
Tuesday not Monday, despite the schedule on the wall. We flash our passports,
and tickets are hand written. Our passports are checked five more times -
confirming our trip at the station, standing in line, getting through the gate,
boarding, and again once we're seated. And we're not crossing ANY borders.
Hmmmm.
Told to arrive at five pm, we
spend two and a half hours in the station, an architectural wonder, filled with
food stands and a growing crowd inside. Baseball playoffs on numerous TVs keep
everyone sane and (with the hometown Habana Industriales winning) happy. At
7:27 sharp we pull out, leaving Havana, with a view of the sun setting over the
Capitola. I settle in with a good book[1]
and a nice local red wine. Before long my Cuban seatmate offers me a plate of
chicken and rice. Children play in the aisles until lights-out at eleven. In
the morning someone gets on with baskets of warm banana bread for fifty cents a
loaf. Plains like Texas, with miles of cattle and bilious white clouds, pass
by...as does the morning, along with horses, goats, fields of corn and yucca,
mango orchards. The advertised twelve-hour trip takes seventeen. Thank gawd for
air conditioning!
Busses are great bargains. Just
look for Cubanacan, Cubatur, or Havanatur travel agencies (in any town or most
hotels) for trips, tours, events, activities, maps, and hotel to hotel bus
trips. Even though we stay at casas, agents always know a hotel closest to our
casa or the heart of town. Like Viazul busses (booked at bus terminales[2]),
these are a fantastic ride - punctual, safe, new and comfortable, air
conditioned, with a bathroom at the back. Inexpensive, we ride five hours for
about $10, passing fishing villages, shrimp farms, cactus fence posts, a rodeo.
Drivers stop at roadside stands for fruits, vegetables, coffee breaks.
Viazul terminals swarm with
cheap food - $1 pizza, .50 sandwiches, .10 helados. Viazul ('v's pronounced
'b') busses are Yutong state-of-the-art Chinese-made. Local busses (Astro
metrobusses) are even less expensive (crowded and less comfortable), but the
prices are about one tenth and paid in MN. We pay $1 for a journey we taxi'd
two days before for $40. Warned by locals, we don't even attempt trucks
(camiones - hot, crowded, standing-room-only, high-walled with no visibility).
In Havana, Varadero, and other
larger cities, tour busses (usually double-decker) are available. Passengers
can get on and off all day long for five-dollar day-pass. A great value, they
allow tourists (especially) to see and stop at various sites, beaches,
venues...and then get home easily. We meet a local medical student who claims
one of the best days of her life was riding the jump-on, jump-off bus in
Varadero - a birthday present from her husband.
We take a Viazul bus from
Santiago to Baracoa and are amazed. On a grey day, suddenly - sunflowers. We
roll through the mountains of the revolution, trying to imagine how Che and
friends pulled this off...all the way to Havana. Interest peaks as we close in
on Guantanamo and find that Guantanamo is a thriving Cuban city. The bus rep
(sideman to the driver on all busses) tells us over the years (since the US took the
land and port)[3]
fewer and fewer Cubans have been allowed on base, where there are only two
Cubans left working, the others all being retired. Near the check-point for the
US Guantanamo base, he comes back to ask me to put away my camera. If they see
a camera, the bus will be unloaded and everyone checked. "Just one,"
I plead. "Not going to happen," he insists.
Once we clear Guantanamo, it
turns into the road to Hana...on steroids. This road was built in only three
years in the 60's and connects Baracoa to the rest of the island. Men blow
kisses along the route. We cross rivers, watch gossamer clouds hang over
thatched huts. We stop at a magnificent lookout nearing the end of the island
and are mobbed by sellers of Baracoa products - coffee, coco, and chocolate.
The dark chocolate bar is fantastic! The coco-ruchos - far too sweet for my
taste. The coffee belongs at Noble. The far East point of Cuba was discovered
by Columbus. Having been cut off from the rest of Cuba for generations, Taino
indians and people of native descent abound here. A trip to Baracoa allows a
rare adventure...and a different taste of Cuba.
Cubana Airlines flies us to and
from the island. New planes have replaced the old Russian ones, but cola is
still topped up with plenty of Havana Club for farewell cuba libres.
[1]
Havana Lunar, Roberto Arellano
[2]
Ticketing nightmares at every Viazul station - long waits for
hand-written tickets. But great for people watching and baseball playoffs on
big screens
[3] Seized in 1905 as one of the spoils of war
(Spanish/American), Guantanamo base is a real stickling point for all Cubans,
especially since we began torturing prisoners and denying them due process. In
protest, Fidel has refused to cash the US rent checks since the start of the
revolution.
No comments:
Post a Comment