Visiting Cuba as a Writer, Leaving as a Storyteller
How do we tell stories that are more human and textured? In theory, I suppose it’s pretty simple: touch those textures. Feel the legacy in the grooves of your fingertips as if you were studying braille. Hear the voices floating about in the world. Breathe in the air and suck it into your lungs. Let the spirit of place fill you and empower your senses.
This is the genesis of a recent trip I took to Cuba with my husband and some of our closest friends, mere weeks before the pandemic started in China. We shared one goal: plan nothing other than safe, comfortable accommodations and flights. Island time doesn’t just mean laying on the beach all day; it also represents letting the local ebb and flow guide you like a current through these new surroundings. Using this eye-opening experience as an example, let’s dive deep into the subject of how storytelling is informed by making lasting connections, both with others and the world around us.
The Appeal? Real Life
There has long been a romance with the Caribbean, but Cuba really takes the cake. It’s by far the safest and largest island for visitors, genuine help and support is always a hand-wave away, and the history of the area is incredibly rich. One can waste away on Varadero Beach at one of many resorts, but you’re not going to experience the blood, sweat, tears and authentic smiles of Cuba. It does take patience, diligence and care to plan such a trip properly, but it’s worth every minute of time you invest in doing so.
As a writer, I was eager to soak up the stories and colour of the locals here. Thanks to how we mapped out only the essentials and left everything else to chance, it ended up being a holistic and deeply rewarding experience. The islanders, from the initially unsettling military presence down to the children playing dominoes and trying to buy our water bottles from us, were some of the warmest, most authentic folks I’ve ever met. I’m not going to comment on the political atmosphere or communism because it isn’t my place to do so; I’m not a local, was there for less than two weeks and certainly don’t have all the facts, but I will say that these wonderful people deserve the very best in life. It’s a strange thing to feel welcomed as if you’ve been family for years into someone’s Airbnb, served a fresh breakfast and hold fascinating conversations with individuals who have really lived. Life there is so different that I can’t hope to describe it here sufficiently.
Cabbies with Brass Balls, Locals with Hearts of Gold
Canadians make up the large majority of Cuba’s tourists, and right now my heart is breaking for those wonderful folks we met who depend entirely on the industry to survive. From the hardworking market vendors who barely break even on good days to the room cleaners, Airbnb hosts and local restaurants, there are many people at risk. Each of the Cubans we met, even the airport security staff, treated us with respect – well, other than some profiling in the beginning because not all of us were native Canadians, but not much could be done there. No, in all honesty, I miss the people and their warmness, and that’s saying something considering that our air conditioning has been running for two weeks straight.
Take our cab driver we booked who doubled as a tour guide, for instance – one who became our very own skeleton key to the heart and soul of the island. This endearing, very generous man went out of his way to the extent that we were welcomed into secret hangouts and treated like longtime friends. We never asked for or expected this sort of treatment but, with the guy charging ahead like a bull not to be messed with, we also respected that he was doing everything possible to let the stories of the real Cuba scream loud and clear.
You see, there’s a lot of control over who can see and do what, even on specific days (just try to get a tour of a cigar factory – it’s not happening). I kind of understand it but, either way, this tour guide of ours didn’t let anyone or anything get in the way, even when some officials did try to screw us over with gouging (being demanded sudden “fees” to allow us to exit Colon Cemetary was particularly interesting, but our cabbie’s no-nonsense attitude and experience got us out). In Cuba, you have to earn respect to get it, and it was crystal clear that this guy had done so long ago. As it turns out, he’d worked with certain officials over the years and told us a very colourful, sometimes unsettling story about his life, having fought in every recent conflict Cuba had been involved in and assisted many locals. The man was literally a hero in the eyes of all he knew and didn’t believe in picking sides; there was mutual respect you could see and feel between him and all he met, no matter what uniform they wore.
This was graciously extended to us, and I’ll never forget high-ranking military officials flashing a lightning-quick, well-intended smirk and welcoming us warmly, even with machine guns in their hands.
The truth is, most folks in Cuba seem to be morally grey, even if I don’t agree with what the locals often need to endure. Perspectives drive many of the… questionable decisions made at the top I’m sure, but it’s clear that Cuba has been undergoing serious change since the Castro days. You only really understand it when you interact with locals from all classes, learning their stories and views. This is especially prevalent in younger and middle-aged populations.
Stay a While, and While You Can
One more point: Don’t attempt to tackle everything on your first trip. It’s just not going to happen.
We learned this the hard way on previous trips and came prepared; we’re sort of the group who plans out “rest” days only to completely forgo the concept while abroad. Shifting our strategy to not plan anything specific and just convince ourselves that we’ll “lay on the beach or whatever” worked brilliantly to combat this. Considering that there’s a very real risk of Cuba losing its unique personality as it becomes more dependent on tourism, I’m fearful that many won’t get to experience it for what it really is.
Some examples of this authenticity? Homemade mojitos and Romeo & Juliet cigars while laying on the beach, steps from downtown Varadero and our casa particular. Wading between indigo jellyfish during a shimmering sunset, not too far out, and letting the ocean carry us back to shore as if mother nature were cradling us with care. Dancing randomly in a plaza with locals who brought their own beer and music, friendly stray dogs joining in for a chance of a belly rub and a little dinner. Being serenaded by random travelling musicians by sitting at the same table as them for a beer. Bucking huge swells while hanging onto the foredeck of a catamaran surrounded by dolphins, the wind turning our feet purple and legs dangling over the side of the hull.
No fast food. No smartphones in our faces. No nonsense. Just the way it should be sometimes. Hell, I nearly gave my iPhone to the heart-of-gold cleaning lady, Diana. She took such gracious care of us in the Varadero Airbnb we had that was steps from the beach, which I’m happy to link here, but I couldn’t help but feel that doing so wouldn’t exactly fix things. Maybe next time. At the very least, we brought two large cases packed with soaps, hygiene products, toilet paper, and other hard-to-find necessities, handing them out wherever we could. Random kids on the street, our ultra-friendly restaurant servers, cleaning staff, you name it; nobody was left out whenever we had them with us, especially those who were clearly in dire need of someone to care. Plenty of hugs, plenty of tears, and plenty of lasting connections.
I’m not saying that people don’t have it rough there, either. It would be disrespectful and stupid to pretend it’s all white sand and marimbas; I can’t count the times we literally had no choice but to walk through sewage, were hit on by hookers, and saw folks lining up for a three-hour wait just for fresh eggs – sometimes all at once - but there’s a reason the people of Cuba try to cope with the negatives and do their level best; they want to keep going and enjoy the journey. Doing the best we can and staying in the right mindset is essential to feeling our best, no matter what the rest of the world piles on. It’s something I’ve personally reminded myself of in recent weeks, as detailed in my previous post accompanying an update on Project Galileo.
In short, we were alive and grateful for being reminded of the essentials. Each succulent taste, sight, sound, touch, and scent was as unbiased as they come. Cuba and its people taught us what existing in this world was all about, even before we left the non-resort half of Varadero. And they did it with real storytelling and personality. We were shaken by the effect.
A City of Tastes and Textures
Then, there was Havana itself. In a nutshell, just go. Take four days at a minimum, walk the streets, and make friends with the locals. Yes, they’ll want to sell you something or advertise a business that they’re proud to own, but most of the time you’ll feel completely safe. We walked the entire length of the Malecon, dancing out of the way of waves that exploded over the side, at least three times. Every restaurant we dined at had a menu, staff, and level of customer service that I haven’t seen “back home” in any form.
That said, there are areas such as Chinatown and the prostitute-packed area – ironically at a lower level dominated high above by the Hotel Nacional near a local hospital – that you should avoid at all costs. Especially at night. Otherwise, it’s not some scary horror setting despite the many run-down buildings and strange atmosphere. You’re not going to find many streetlights, but most of Havana (and all of Varadero) is relatively safe and welcoming all the same. Walking to the ice cream temple that is Coppelia for a mountain of strawberry swirl at one in the morning is a particular favourite moment of mine, as was finding a hole-in-the-wall pizza and pasta joint where locals would line up with their own dishes while catching up after work. We ate here three times, and they had the best pizza I have ever tasted. A bit strange to eat a whole pizza folded like a burrito, but hey, their local cervezas help you get over it (oh, how I could use an ice-cold Cristal right now).
Lastly, on the subject of food, we avoided anything run by the government or resorts, and I’m so glad we did. There’s a common misconception that the food in Cuba is terrible and will spur a revolution in your stomach. This was not the case for us, and we learned the truth from the locals: those who do get sick typically stick to resort and government-run places, where something is added to the food as a preservative that also apparently triggers, well, “side effects.” If you’re looking to avoid a full-on colon blow and want to treat your palette, walk the cities and go where the locals eat. Even if it’s packed, you’ll be glad you did – and will likely make many a new friend along the way.
Closing with this snapshot of my better half, I’m reminded of the openness and passion we felt in Cuba. Every street explodes with vibrancy, personality and emotion – sometimes to the point where it can be overwhelming, and you won’t be sorry for helping the locals make their living while making new friendships. We’ve recommended our cabbie, Airbnb hosts, restaurant servers and others to friends who had later visited this majestic country, and we even keep in regular touch with some of these locals despite the connectivity limitations.
They’re our friends as well now, and I’m forever grateful for it.
I suppose the point of this thing is the following: don’t be afraid of what you don’t know. It doesn’t mean you need to understand the differences, just that you understand that there are differences. Not all are “bad.” This same philosophy can easily be applied to everyday life once you do reluctantly return (and reluctant you will be). In that sense, I believe that wholesome people really do help us become better ourselves, all while wiping the clutter aside and remembering what it’s really all about. Now, for this pandemic to end so we can go back. Cigars are insanely expensive here; I’d much rather support the locals I miss so dearly and give them a hug.
Family’s kind of like that.