Cuba’s a beauty beyond the beach

Cuba's a beauty beyond the beach
Havana may not be a resort, but it's in the capital that the nation's
culture lies
BY KEN DONOHUE, SPECIAL TO THE SUN SEPTEMBER 11, 2015

The National Capitol Building was the seat of government until the Cuban
Revolution in 1959. After falling into disrepair, the building has been
restored and is home once again to the National Assembly.
News that the United States recently reopened its embassy in Havana
brought back memories of a visit my wife and I made to Cuba a few years
ago. Like many visitors to this island nation, we spent the first week
of our trip at Varadero. While I have no complaints about sitting next
to the warm and inviting Atlantic, Varadero isn't a true reflection of
Cuba. It's a nice beach that happens to be in Cuba, where dozens of
all-inclusive resorts, catering mostly to Canadians, Europeans and the
odd embargo-defying American, stretch along a sand-fringed peninsula.

Cuba has always been a source of idle curiosity for me, in part because
of the visits my grandparents made more than 30 years ago, long before
it became a tourist mecca. Apparently, a great-uncle of mine had a farm
in Cuba. I'm not sure how my relative, a Canadian of Irish ancestry,
ended up in Cuba, but it's a country that has long been an intoxicating
draw. Ernest Hemingway, for one, had a home there, inspiring some of his
work.

Since there is much more to Cuba than beautiful beaches, we found
ourselves on a bus to Havana, racing along the country's north coast. As
happens in the tropics, the late afternoon sun didn't linger and the
dark of evening quickly settled in. In the distance, the lighthouse at
Castillo del Morro signalled the way to Cuba's capital and largest city.
Light poured into our bus, as we entered a tunnel and slipped beneath
the Bay of Havana. Less than a minute later, we were in Havana. It was
like stepping back in time, where the date was stuck on 1958, the year
that Fidel Castro came to power. Old American cars from the 1940s and
'50s ambled along dimly lit roads. Old, stately buildings stood over
narrow streets. The dark of evening added to the city's mystery, and hid
the scars from decades of neglect. It is a place that has probably
changed little since my grandparents visited more than three decades ago.

Wanting to experience as much Cuban culture as we could, we chose to
stay in a casa particular, or private home. The small third-floor
apartment was home to a friendly family of three generations. The
language barrier was no obstacle in our ability to communicate.

After dropping our bags and getting instructions on how to operate the
door lock, we went out and explored the neighbourhood. We stumbled upon
an El Rapido, a local fast food restaurant, and joined the long queue of
families and young couples waiting to order. Nicely dressed children
clamoured about, laughing and playing. One young person danced to the
music that mixed with the warm air in the restaurant, while another
tapped his foot to the beat.

We woke the next morning eager to explore Havana Vieja, the old part of
the city. Havana doesn't have the most developed transit system, unless
one counts the camel buses, which are crammed full of people and pulled
by a large truck. We were approached by a man asking if we needed a
taxi. It turned out that he wasn't a taxi driver, just a guy with a
dilapidated Russian Lada that made extra money driving tourists.

We drove along Havana's famed Malecon, a wide boulevard stretching along
the coast. Waves crashed over the seawall, reminiscent of a postcard,
and as the car laboured on, we stole glimpses down narrow streets.
Blocks of crumbling colonial buildings looked as if they were set in a
Hollywood movie about a city torn apart by war. Yet, there were signs of
rejuvenation. Thanks to funding from the Spanish government, parts of
the city were being restored to past grandeur.

Near Plaza de la Catedral, a small alleyway led to a charming square,
which was dominated by the church of San Cristobal de la Habana,
completed in 1787. My wife noticed a small group of musicians sitting in
one corner of the square, waiting for an audience. She put some money in
a basket and they began playing.

Havana, especially the old part, is best seen on foot, so after filling
our stomachs at a small eatery, we wandered the streets, immersing
ourselves in the heart of Havana. We passed by La Bodeguita del Medio
and El Floridita, the former drinking haunts of Hemingway, which
unfortunately have become overpriced tourist traps. Zigzagging through a
maze of streets, we stopped and watched a group of young boys playing
dominoes. They motioned for me to sit down and play. I could hardly keep
up with the pace of the game, as dominoes were quickly thrown down on
the table. Within minutes, the game was over. I shook their hands,
smiled and carried on down the street. I later learned that dominoes is
a Cuban passion, and ranks up with baseball as a national pastime.

And since a visit to Cuba wouldn't be complete without seeing a baseball
game, that evening we jumped in a taxi and went to Estadio
Latinoamericano, one of Havana's large sports stadiums. The Cuban
national team was playing a team from Japan. We stood in line at the
ticket window, only to be told we had to go to another area of the
stadium where foreigners had to buy tickets. We handed over two dollars
for the two tickets. I was later told that Cubans would have paid the
equivalent of four cents to watch the game. Still, two dollars to see a
baseball game with some of the best players in the world was a bargain.
Vendors, selling unwrapped, cold hamburgers from a box strung around
their neck, walked through the stands doing a brisk business. Cuba
handily won the game.

After spending a few days exploring Havana and wanting a change of pace,
we decided to visit Playas del Este, a string of beaches popular with
Cubans, about 20 minutes east of the city. We waved down a taxi, and
negotiated a fare. The driver motioned for me to sit in the front seat
so that we would look less like tourists. Not being a
government-approved taxi, he faced a large fine if he was caught
ferrying tourists.

We spoke briefly with the driver about life in Cuba, which he said was
difficult. He didn't elaborate. He told us that doctors and engineers
made $20 a month, while as a police officer he made $40. I asked him
what Cubans thought of Castro, and he said that most didn't like him. He
then told us about his baseball card collection. He had 600. He was
surprised that Canada didn't send a team to the worldwide baseball
tournament currently playing in Cuba. I told him we didn't have very
good baseball teams. He assured us we did.

We spent our last day meandering again through Havana's neighbourhoods.
We walked through the impressive Cristobal Colon cemetery, which like
Old Havana is an architectural wonder in itself. We then made our way to
the Malecon, which in the evening is a popular place to watch the sun
set. Young couples held each other in amorous embraces. And as the sun
fell into a darkened sea, we, too, were starting to fall in love with Cuba.

Source: Cuba's a beauty beyond the beach -
http://www.vancouversun.com/travel/Cuba+beauty+beyond+beach/11356957/story.html