First Impressions of Cuba

Our first day in Cuba, we arrived early in the morning. We quickly found our taxi driver at the airport who we scheduled to come pick us up, and waited for him to go get the car from the parking lot. See, Keegan and I had both been really excited about this drive. I’d scheduled an “American Classic Car” to come pick us up from the airport, bringing us in style into downtown Havana. As we waited for the driver, we got excited with every passing car. Each car at the airport was a classic car. Painted in vintage, pastel tones, with a thick black smoke flowing out of the exhaust pipe. You could hear them from a ways away, clanking and shaking as the engine worked overtime just to drive. As we excitedly pointed at each passing car, getting thrilled about the prospect of that car being our ride from the airport, at some point, we were right. The car was a beautiful black vintage car that was so old, you could hardly see the brand. We were stoked.

American Classic Cars have become a symbol of Cuba in many ways.  Of course, one of the few things we really knew for certain about this cryptic island nation before coming was the blockade. We, in fact, weren’t really supposed to be there. There’s no such thing as being an American “tourist” on the island. That’s strictly forbidden. Instead, there are 13 reasons listed by the Office of Foreign Assets Control (OFAC) as “licenses” to travel. One of those is the “General License: Support for the Cuban People,” which requires no prior application, and is self-monitored. Essentially, as long as we spend a full schedule supporting the Cuban people, by giving them money, buying them supplies, supporting their organizations, and reinforcing the difference between the Cuban People and the Cuban Government, we qualify for this OFAC license.

So about the blockade. It is incredibly difficult to get modern technology into Cuba. Many of the cars on the island are American cars from 1959 or earlier—from the pre-revolution days. Many of the cars, though, are new imports from China or Russia. These, our driver was explaining, are the cars of the elite.

As we drove, there were a few things I noticed. First, the highway signs were distinctly in the Russian style. Yes, this is the GeoGuessr addict in me geeking out, but it’s something I couldn’t help but notice. Second, the roads were pretty nice, and the area, despite being technically Havana, was very undeveloped. It felt like we were driving through rural areas, just outside the capital. Third, as we began to approach Havana, it did not look nice. It looked old. Not frozen in time old, like a European city’s heart or even like San Juan, but it looked run down. This observation became even more apparent as we made our way to Old Havana (Habana Vieja). Piles of trash littered the streets, brightly painted buildings lost their luster, and the pavement was filled with holes.

We arrived at Plaza Vieja, the main square where our guesthouse was. Remember how I mentioned supporting the Cuban People? Well, because of that, we can’t stay in a hotel. The hotels are all government-owned, and therefore, the people make no profit off of them. Therefore, we have to stay in a “Casa Particular.” There’s a whole network of Casas Particulares in Cuba, with well-intentioned, normal people who get almost the entire benefit of the business (besides a small amount of tax that goes to the government). We found ours on AirBnB, hosted by Ivelin.

We paid our driver $30—US Dollars work just fine as currency here—and we went inside with Ivelin. She showed us the apartment, on the fourth floor of an apartment building, and quickly ran down the amenities. We are lucky enough to be staying in an apartment that has electricity 24/7, minus when there are natural disasters and the entire island loses power. In most of Cuba, including parts of Havana, she said, there are frequent blackouts. Where her family is from, there is only a few hours of power per day. The rest—cooking, especially—has to be done in some other way. Ivelin also has good, working WiFi available for free, running 24/7, so we can do ample research and planning for things throughout the week. And finally, she has an air conditioner—it’s hot already, and I imagine it’ll be pretty nice this whole time. Of course, we’ll leave the AC off when we’re out—it’s not infinite energy here in this apartment—but it’s way, way better than most Cubans could probably dream of.

Once we finished the tour, it started to get real. She closed the door, turned on the AC, and we exchanged money. This is the first sense that we got that there’s something off about this island. The car was fun, the city was run down, but it hadn’t hit yet that something is majorly wrong here until now. We, of course, can’t use credit cards in Cuba because of the embargo, so everything is going to have to be a cash payment for the week. The highest bill Ivelin provided us with is the 1000 peso note.  This is worth $2.30. We exchanged $140 of US dollars—seven $20 bills—for bills worth $2.30 or less. The total amount we got was CUP 58,800—with an exchange rate of 440:1. If you were to look on Google, you’d see that $140 is CUP 2,880—with an exchange rate of 24:1. So why did we get a whole order of magnitude more? Well, this is the private rate. Private rate isn’t the most rare thing in the world—Lebanon and Argentina are famous for it—but I wouldn’t say that a 2,000% difference between the private and official exchange rate is an indicator of a healthy economy. Now, the private 440:1 exchange rate isn’t even close to the most outrageous exchange rate I’ve ever seen in my life, remember, The Uzbek So’m is 13,500:1, and the Vietnamese Dong is 26,000:1,  but the exchange rate isn’t the only indicator of a bad economy. It’s that the largest bill they have is worth $2.30. In Uzbekistan, it’s not uncommon to pay with bills worth $17, and in Vietnam, a note worth $19 is very common. These countries have had time to catch up with their inflation. Cuba is still undergoing inflation, because that 1,000 CUP note I was holding was indeed worth 24:1 just five years ago. But within that time, its value has depreciated by 2,000%, and now, it’s worth a whole order of magnitude less than it was worth just a few years ago. Think, I had that tutoring business in high school, for which I used primarily cash. If I charged $50/hour back then, and then the same inflation occurred in the US before I could spend that money, I would have effectively charged less than $3/hour by the time today rolled around.

$140 in Cuban Pesos with the Black-Market Exchange Rate

As we’re sitting there, with a brick of cash in hand, she started telling us, excitedly, panicked, about the situation in Cuba. We didn’t ask for a lesson immediately, but she couldn’t help herself, and we were more than eager to listen.

She touched on “the big three”—the wages, the revolution, and the current situation. First, wages. If you have a government job, you get a wage. She was a piano teacher, employed by the government. Again, that’s how socialism works. You work for the government, even if you provide what should be, in a capitalist economy, a private service. She doesn’t make money from the lessons. She doesn’t earn more money if she gives more lessons, and she doesn’t make money if she teaches better. If she is a piano teacher, she makes $15/month. There’s nothing she can do to increase it. That’s just the wage. Now, remember, the taxi cost was $30 from the airport. Yes, that’s tourist price, but the tourist price may be double or triple what a Cuban may pay. So still, a Cuban may be paying $8-15 for the same service. That’s a majority of a month’s salary, if not the entire salary. And we just gave this taxi driver twice of what Ivelin could make in a month as a piano teacher. Looking at other jobs, it doesn’t get better. Doctors—you know, those important, life-saving professionals who allow for more humans to be functioning in a productive economy—make $20/month, just slightly more than average for their importance. And again, we just gave this taxi driver 150% of a doctor’s monthly wage for a 40 minute ride from the airport. A pensioner, like Ivelin’s grandma, makes $5/month, making life absolutely and completely unaffordable for her and her friends. It was at this point when we started to realize that there is something massively wrong here.

Then, she moved onto the revolution. Every Cuban has a story about the revolution. It wasn’t that long ago, only 1959, so the entire older generation remembers life before the revolution. They remember the hope of a brighter future, the frustration over losing what they once had. They remember the dreams and promises of the revolutionaries, and they have watched the erosion of that dream into the hopeless, depressing situation that is Cuba today. Ivelin’s family had three properties before the revolution, two of which were butcher shops, in the south of the island. When the revolution came, the party said that they could have only one of those properties to live, and the others became property of the state. The state stole the butcher shops from her family, removing their source of income and all they had built in their lives. Before, they could afford two cars and live a modest life, but now, they have to rely on Ivelin to be ablet o afford anything. Most Cubans, it seems, have not fully gotten over the redistribution of resources—this “original sin” of the revolution. Many, it sounds, are still frustrated, angry, and hurt by it.

Finally, she educated us on the current quality of life. Sparknotes version: it’s shit. As I’ve mentioned already, blackouts are more frequent than not in most of the country, all Cubans are allotted 6 GB per month of cellular data (provided they pay for it) and the only way to get more is to have someone in Miami pay for it in US Dollars, at the 24:1 “official” exchange rate. Without contacts off the island, you are capped at your 6 GB/mo. For someone like Ivelin, who makes a living by advertising her services on Instagram, this is challenging to manage. But electricity, WiFi, and Data are “first world” problems to the Cubans. Cubans don’t have access to medicine. If you want Tylenol or Motrin, good luck. Tampons? Nonexistent. These goods are obtained only from tourists, sold only on the black market at prices inconsistent with a government salary.

Ivelin left us to nap, and afterwards, we set out exploring for the first time. Our reactions were the same—this is not a nice place. Whereas before we’d noticed the trash, now, it was impossible to ignore. Poop, trash, flies, and sewer water are all over the streets, sidewalks are in disrepair, and the buildings do not look nice. But we were able to, after a while, look past that. What we then began to notice was a lack of businesses. There weren’t signs for businesses, there weren’t advertisements or anything. I’d try to find a place to eat, just by walking around, as you’d do in the center of any major city, but it was impossible. We were so confused, unable to understand why we couldn’t just find a restaurant. We ended up eating right on the Old Square, where we’d been hounded by hustlers from four different restaurants, each trying to get us to eat at their place. It reminded me of Marrakesh, actually, with inescapable hustle.

We got two plates, one with Ropa Vieja, and one with Vaca Frita, and a plate of Tostones Rellenos. All are traditional Cuban dishes that I recognized from my days in Little Havana, Miami. Ropa Vieja and Vaca Frita are both shredded beef dishes, and Ropa Vieja is cooked in a sauce with peppers and onions. Both dishes came with plantains, bean rice (arroz morro), French fries, and a salad. I don’t like beans much, but this arroz morro is actually incredibly delicious, and I’m excited to have more of it throughout the week. It’s sweet and flavorful, and doesn’t get any of the weird texture that beans usually give. The food was amazing, and made us excited for what was to come!

After another nap, we headed out to Vedado—the richer, more developed neighborhood of Havana—for an evening among Cuba’s most elite at the Fábrica de Arte Cubano, or FAC.

The FAC is an old industrial-building-turned-night-club, and the warehouse vibe of it is certainly not lost on the visitor. When you enter, you get a card to keep track of how much money you owe, and you pay at the end. Sure, it’s a pretty fair tactic to make sure that you’re not really thinking about how much money you’ve spent on the night, but I bring it up because it shows that the people who attend this place can afford that. They have the privealge of not worrying about how much they’re spending on an evening, and instead, would rather just focus on enjoying the best of Cuban art and performance.

All around the warehouse, there are different bars, spread across the three floors and the outside. We enjoyed getting some food and a few drinks, including the Cuban classics—the mojito and the canchánchara. Of course, you know what a mojito is, but canchánchara is another classic Cuban drink made of a sugarcane spirit, mixed with honey, lime juice, and soda water. We also walked around, admiring the art. Most of the art was, in some way, about Cuba. Either about the island, the society, its problems, its future, or its people. Photographs of Cubans of all backgrounds were placed against models of the island and artistically displayed opinion polls about what the future of Cuban Urban Planning and Greenspace should be. The Swiss Embassy’s anti-drug campaign was displayed on the other side of the wall from hammerhead sharks whose eyes were headlights from scrapped “American Classic Cars.” This was not a pro-Government place. This was a progressive place with a free-thinking spirit that was allowed to exist in the center of one of Havana's wealthiest suburbs. It was trendy, in the same way that an art exhibit in New York or Paris may be. The same tropes—minimalism, pastel colors, sans-serif fonts, recycled art—were visible. It didn’t feel foreign. It felt, actually, oddly familiar. The people had cell phones—they were recording on the iPhones and uploading their videos to Instagram. Cuba, I realized, may not be as far behind as the classic cars and trash piles on the streets may have led me to believe.

We headed to the dance floor for a minute, where they were playing a mix of American and Latino songs. Again, there was music I didn’t recognize, but nothing felt strictly Cuban.  

At 10:30, the main event started. Everyone sat down on the second floor to watch the night’s performance. I had no idea, but it ended up being a dance show to Richter and Piazzolla’s Four Seasons—two works I was very familiar with. I was having the best time, and I was wonderfully entertained. Keegan and I wanted to meet some local people, but we didn’t end up finding anyone to spend the evening with. We were tired, and after a round of Salchipapas (French fries with meat and egg), we headed home.

Our first day in Cuba really immersed us into an optimistic view of Cuba. We saw the classic car as cool, we mostly ignored the trash on the street, we had some amazing food at one of Havana’s best paladars (privately owned restaurants), and spend a wonderful evening out with artistic and progressive spirits looking to make the best of their situation.