kucky bum... (travel tales)

lucky bum... (travel tales)

a friend of mine is down in cuba... he's been there for a week or two... about seven months ago he got back from another trip...

he saved his money, sold his motorcycle, sold his records, and left for italy... his original plan was to go hang out there until he ran out of money, and then come home...

however, after a few weeks, everyone got an e mail saying: "hi. i'm going to Kosovo. don't know when i'll be back".

he was gone for almost a year and saw most of that continent...

now, as i said, he's in cuba... he said he was only gonna be gone for 3 weeks, but who knows... anyways, this is the first real e mail he's sent since he's been down there...

With a little burnout from days of walking around cities, six hours until my next train, and a cheap internet source, I've decided to curl up in front of the computer screen for some hours and write a letter to everyone about what I've been up to.

After exiting the airplane, boarding and industrial style bus to get to the airport, I

was shuffled through the entry process. It was all a bit nerve racking, as I kind of had to proove that I was a good tourist that was going to give their country alot of money, and not the get-by-on-a-dollar-a-day-if-possible traveler that I am. I made up an expensive hotel that I would stay at and assured them that I had much more money on my "credit cards" than the cash I was carrying. I was full of the initial travel nervousness that I love.

Exiting the airport felt otherworldly at first. The first thing I noticed were three

giant billboards, of which I soon realized were all over the country. They were'nt advertising any products(there are none of those here), they were propoganda denouncing globalization, yankee imperialism, and glorifying socialism and revolution.

The cars that drove down the streets were mostly from the 50's-cars that people I know at home would die for.

I walked down the street from the airport, found a bush to slip behind, and slept a mosquito infested night underthe stars with the satisfaction that I had made it to the forbidden island, and was living the travel life again.

Havana

My first few days in Havana were mostly spent discovering what Socialism in Cuba (or anywhere) actually is. The city had a definate industrial feel. The bus I took from the airport was a semi a bus-like trailer behind it. Everything smelt like grease. There were no neon lights or stores pushing their goods. The only stores there were are the sparsly stocked food ration stations and the over priced dollar grocery stores.

I quickly learned how the insufficient economy works. As it is Socialism (almost)

everyone works for the government. They get their food ration cards, which dont give enough food to live on, and depending on their job, $5-$20 a month. Those who dont have relatives in other countries have to find means to an additional income. This is done by anything from selling to tourists, boarding people in their homes, or selling cake out of their windows. Its made for a strange food dynamic. For example coffee is sold for pesos and costs no more than the equivalent of four US cents a cup, while a jar of olives is sold for dollars and costs more than it would in the US.

The US blockades have had a larger impact than I thought. Things like pens rare. People save everything. I'll write more about this stuff in my next letter, since I have limited time...

My time in Havana was pretty short, as I was more interested in getting out into the country side. The highlight was getting to see some good Cuban punk rock...

My first adventure

My destination was east and I had almost no plans, except to visit Che Guevara's monument and tomb. To get out of the city I took a train (specially priced for foreigners) to the closest city where I would hitch my way to Santa Clara. As always, the idea was much smoother than the reality. Hitching is the main way that Cubans get around (nobody is allowed to own a cars, the ones on the streets are owned by their jobs i.e. the government) so I found myself standing with my thumb out among twenty other people. As night fell I walked further down the road, thinking that if I did'nt get a ride I'd eventually be out of town and would find a feild to sleep in.

I eventually came across a parked car. I assumed it was someone broke down,which is a common sight here. When I walked past I realized it was the police and they stopped me to marvel at the odd sight of foreigner walking down the street to a city fifty miles away.

Soon enough they had my passport and were radioing in my info to see if I was legit. They were in good spirits and it was obvious I wasnt in any trouble. They went on explaining that the police in this country were 'good cops' and how America is good (?). A police car came, claiming to take me to Santa Clara. I got in the back with a smile on my face, thinking about where this adventure would take me. We ended up back at the police station by in the town I originated in. Walking into the station I was greeted by a giant picture of Fidel and another of him in a typical revolutionary guns-in-the-air pose. I stayed there for hours as the processed my info, talked with some of the officers, and ate my bread and jelly.

After two hours of waiting for their promised vehicle to Santa Clara I gave up, grabbed my bag and left. I found myself a piece of beach away from any aparent traffic and fell asleep. At 7 am thenext morning I was awoken by fifteen adolescence who had a wonderfull time watching me, get dressed and packed up. I gave up and took a bus.

My Christmas was spent with a freind I made on the bus ride. He took me into his home, fed me, and let me take a much needed shower. Our two days together were spent talking politics, visiting Che, and expaining to me Afro-Cuban religion.

The monument to Che was reminescent of the old Communist monuments I saw in Eastern Europe- big, grey, and made of brick and steel. His tomb had him and all his comrads from their death in Bolivia. In it was an eternal flame, lit by Fidel.

Che is definately the national hero here. While Fidel seems controversial, Che's image is everywhere and anybody will talk about him with pride.

Since then I've spent a few days in a town called Trinidad on the Carribean coast. It

was a beautiful little place, but over run with tour busses. The best times there was at night when the tourists went off to their resorts and the Salsa music could be heard through the whole town. Music is every where in this country. I've seen so many Salsa bands since Ive been here. My favorite is walking down the streets at night and hearing people sing in there homes. Its either that or watch one of the two channels on TV.

Since Santa Clara I've managed to hitch hike, or somehow pass myself off as a Cuban and sneak onto the packed-like-sardines, prison style Cuban busses. Its been a feat making it this far without the train.

I'm now in Camaguey, staying with a Rasta guy I met while walking the streets. I was happy to leave the house of the super paranoid old lady to stay with a freind for free. His house is on the outskirts of town amonst the palm trees and Raggae music.

I've decided to catch a night train to Santiago de Cuba in the south east , the second largest city, for New Years. From there I'm going to village hop my way to there Sierra Maestra (Cuba's rainforest and home of the revolution) and hike to the 1972 meter summit. Hopefully I'll have enough time to do some hiking and scuba diving in Pinar del Rio.

I've met alot of cool people here and again have seen the reality behind a country that holds so much mystery. This letter was pretty random and there's plenty more to say but my time is up. Just like returning to the US before felt like I'd been gone for a long weekend, this feels like those seven months in the US were just a few days. It seems like yesterday that I sat on the bank of the Nile in Egypt.

Its definately nice being in the hot weather of the Carribean, getting to swim in its blue water, and eat 8 cent coconuts instead of that horrid California rain.

 

 

Anyway gotta go.

 

Happy New Years.

 

 

--Shane

must be nice.

Wow. Say why can't my trips be that cool?

Can we take up a collection of pens to send to the average cuban? We don't need those greedy grubby charities intercepting our pens...

that guy is a trooper.he gets a big thumbs up from me.

wow...good story...that guys hardcore.