Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Tropicana Club, Havana, Cuba
I'm curious about the famous Tropicana club. Since arriving in Havana, many Cubans have said the same thing. Namely that it's expensive, at around USD 70 a ticket, but fantastic. Even though it's a Friday night Al, I and our two new Danish friends are ushered through the doors and to our table. I'm given a red rose while the boys receive cigars. I try to swap my rose for a cigar but am abruptly told 'only men'. Our ticket includes a free glass of bubbly, half a bottle of Havana Club rum and a can of Tropicola.
I have visions of a kitsch cabaret show filled with flashy showgirls wearing large headdresses. I'm not disappointed. Heralded as a 'Paradise under the stars' (it's outdoors), there seems to be thousands of people here, mainly tourists.
I'd been to Le Lido in Paris a few years ago and it's a very similar experience although France does it with much more style and class. Although it's a great night out, I find the choreography a bit too cheesy at times.
Walking back to our 'casa' in Old Havana, we're beckoned off the street into an impromptu jamming session (or Peña), in a small art shop. Guitars, maracas, claves, guiros and drums all blend together harmoniously producing the soulful Son music heard all over Havana. At midnight the musicians take off down the road towards the Malecon, still playing their instruments.
Castro mural, Havana, Cuba
All over Cuba there are billboards and road signs with messages from Castro . The one I see most often says 'we're doing well'.
Capitolio, Havana, Cuba
El Capitolio is styled and named after the US Capitol building in Washington DC, and houses the Cuban Academy of Sciences. Before the Cuban Revolution of 1959 it was the seat of government.
It's only my third day in Havana and I'm curious to know what Cubans really think of Fidel Castro. As my Capitolio tour guide is friendly I decide to start with him but make the mistake of telling him I used to work for the BBC. He clams up and tells me he could lose his job if he were to speak out against the government. I also learn quickly that the word 'regime' puzzles Cubans.
Reading up on the subject of press censorship I discover that Cuba has one of the highest number of incarcerated journalists in the world. Speaking out against the government leads to job/home loss and social ostracism at the very least, if it doesn't land you in jail.
The only newspaper available is the thin tabloid, Granma, mostly filled with political propaganda churned out by the ministries of the Cuban Communist party.
There are three national TV channels and a radio network. Internet costs USD six an hour therefore making it too expensive for locals to use, although I later hear that many Cuban professionals have access at home.
Plaza de la Revolución, Havana, Cuba
View of Havana from the murky windows of the José Martí monument
Plaza de la Revolución, Havana, Cuba
Plaza de la Revolución (Revolution Square) is one of the world's largest city squares. It's a focus for political rallies and the place where Fidel Castro regularly addresses Cubans. It's a vast empty space, dull and souless. I feel I'm in Russia.
The square is dominated by a huge concrete tower and a statue dedicated to José Martí, a leader of the Cuban independence movement and a national hero in Cuba. Behind the monument are the heavily guarded offices of Fidel Castro.
Opposite the memorial on the far side of the square is the famous Che Guevara image with the slogan 'Hasta la Victoria Siempre' (Forever Onwards Towards Victory), a slogan that permeates Cuban culture and appears everywhere in Cuba.
From the top of the tower through murky windows I can see all of Havana.
Partagas tobacco factory, Havana, Cuba
As cigars are offered on every street corner in Havana I decide to visit a tobacco factory to see what actually goes on. The only way to visit is by a guided tour and I'm not allowed to take photos.
Partagas tobacco factory has 600 workers and takes on 120 apprentice rollers a year for its nine-month training course. If the apprentices pass the exam at the end of nine months, they qualify as professional rollers. Only 35% of apprentices make it.
The 260 rollers are paid around 45 CUCs a month (which effectively equates to USD 45), double the average Cuban wage. Apprentices earn 12 CUCs a month.
The rollers who work Monday to Friday from 7.30am to 5pm must roll 110 cigars a day or their wages are docked. On average it takes the two minutes to roll a cigar and four days to produce a cigar from leaf to packaged product.
As we walk up the stairs a worker stealthily slips a handful of cigars into a tourist's hand in exchange for a note. Afterwards I ask how much the tourist paid. It was 5 CUCs.
Plaza de San Francisco, Havana, Cuba
Looking for a cheap place to eat, we venture into Centro Habana, a rougher version of Old Havana.
During my meal I wander off to the ladies and say hello to the Cuban woman outside, who I assume is the toilet attendant. I tip her as is normal but she looks at me quizzically. 'Don't you want it?' I ask thinking that maybe I've offended her. 'Well, ok' she replies taking the money and hugging me. I realise my mistake. She's not the toilet attendant after all and I've given money to a random person.
Mumbling something about a disco down the road, she tries to drag me out of the restaurant. I tell her I'm with my friend and she promptly walks over to the table and sits down. Shortly afterwards her boyfriend joins us and tries to persuade us to go to a club down the road. When we decline, she leans over and asks slightly aggressively if we'll buy them both a drink but not here as the mojitos are apparently bad. Feeling I'm getting in deeper into something I don't feel good about (Al has no clue as to what's going on and is blissfully unaware of my toilet encounter) I agree to buy them a drink at the bar we're in. They insist on going elsewhere but I'm feeling uncomfortable at this stage and refuse. After a few minutes of unpleasant wrangling, they order beers and as soon as they arrive take off into the night.
Later I discover from others that this is not such an unusual situation. Quite often Cubans 'befriend' tourists. It's difficult to know whether they're just being friendly or out for the free drinks.
(Photo - Plaza de San Francisco, Havana)
Plaza de la Catedral, Havana, Cuba
Coppelia is a national institution in Cuba, with ice cream parlours in every town and city. Built in the 1960s, the Havana version is a futuristic but retro structure shaped like a spaceship, within a park. The place is always crowded with locals as a bowl of ice cream costs around 20 pence. Unfortunately there appears to be only one or two flavours on offer at a time. Today it's vanilla or pineapple.
I mistakenly forgot to read my guide book before going and fell for the scam highlighted at the beginning of the section on ice cream. On entering the park, two security guards ask if I'd like ice cream and when I nod, they usher me over to a small ice cream stand where a scoop costs USD 2.75 each. What I should have done, according to my guidebook, is walk past them into the main Coppelia building and sit a table with the locals waiting for the ice cream waitress. You
live and learn.
(Photo - Plaza de la Catedral, Havana)
Man in Havana
My guidebook states that nine out of ten people that approach you in Cuba are hustlers or 'jineteros/jineteras' (the female equivalent). We're frequently approached asking if we need somewhere to stay or eat, want to exchange some money, buy rum, cigars or old Che Guevara notes. Some are innocuous enough and normally a 'no gracias' is sufficient, but some are more difficult to shake off and follow you down the street asking questions like 'Where you from?'.
Although healthcare and education systems are good here (Cuba sends doctors to Venezuela and in return Chavez provides Cuba with cheap oil) there is a shortage of basic items. Many shops I went into had bare shelves or had run out of certain things.
With Castro's rationing system, little available work and a low minimum wage, there is crushing poverty and many Cubans resort to begging. Walking around we're regularly approached for certain items, usually in the order of money first, then soap, pens and sweets.
Jineteras are in effect prostitutes who approach western men selling their services. I'd read about the flourishing sex trade in my guidebook but never really saw any evidence of it. Several male travellers we met along the way said they'd been constantly plagued by female hustlers.
The art of making Daiquiris... Havana style
This is apparently Floridita's recipe for the delicious Daiquiri frappé.
Ingredients:
2 ounces of Havana Club light rum
1 tablespoon of sugar
1 teaspoon grapefruit juice
1 teaspoon maraschino
Juice of 1/2 a lemon
Crushed ice
Blend in a mixer and serve cold.
Floridita, Havana, Cuba
Havana's other famous resident is Ernest Hemingway and Cuba seems to have exploited everything connected with him for tourist gain, from tours of his rooms at the Hotel Ambos Mundos to his favourite drinking emporia, of which there are several!
On a quest to find the perfect mojito, which is surprisingly difficult in Havana (I like them very minty and not too sweet) I resort to trying Hemingway's preferred mojito spot, La Bodeguita del Medio (http://www.labodeguitadelmedio.com.mx). Mojitos here cost about four US dollars each and are admittedly the best ones I tried in Havana.
But my favourite drinking establishment is the expensive Floridita - the cradle of the Daiquiri (http://www.floridita-cuba.com). Here the drink de rigeur is the delicious Daiquiri frappé, another of Hemingway's favourites. His bronze statue leans against a corner of the bar. The barmen line up the Daiquiri glasses on the bar by the dozen as it's rare that people drink anything else here.
Casa de la Música, Havana, Cuba
Although it's easy to find live Cuban music in almost every bar and restaurant in Havana, the traditional places to hear bands is at the 'Casa de la Música' or 'Casa de la Trova', of which there seems to be one in every town.
The Casa de la Música in Centro Habana is not what I expected; a huge kitsch ballroom painted black with glitter balls and a stage. The band on tonight is a trio of girls belting out energetic salsa tunes, not my cup of tea but still utterly mesmerising.
(Photo - A cafe in Havana)
Son, Havana, Cuba
The immediate thing I notice about Havana is the live music spilling out of every bar or cafe on to the street at all hours of the day.
Someone once told me that there are only two places in the world where 'duende' exists, a word which is difficult to translate but is generally used to convey spirit, passion, zeitgeist etc., especially through music. The two places are Andalusia in Spain and Havana. It's evident the Cubans love their music and the traditional soulful rhythms of Son permeate throughout the old town.
Dancing ability, like in Brazil, is innate.
Plaza de Armas, Havana, Cuba
Che Guevara's handsome face seems to adorn nearly everything in Cuba from huge billboards to murals and road signs. I never tire of seeing him. He must be one of the most photogenic people I've ever seen.
Around the leafy Plaza de Armas, the bookstalls appear mainly to sell his published journals, or books by or on Fidel Castro. He is affectionately referred to as 'Fidel' by Cubans. I can't imagine talking about 'Tony' at home.
Che has iconic status here. Castro not only made him a Commander (hence the reference to Che, Comandante, amigo) in 1957 but granted him Cuban citizenship in 1959. The more I hear about Che, the more fascinated I become. There are several interesting photos of Che and Castro together, two educated (Che was a doctor and Castro a lawyer) charismatic personalities who came together and changed the course of world history.
(Photo - books stalls on the Plaza de Armas)
Habana Vieja, Cuba
Habana Vieja (Old Havana) is a great place to stroll aimlessly. Colourful and atmospheric the old town is a hotchpotch of crumbling houses standing next to elegantly restored hotels and museums. Habaguanex uses the money brought in by tourism to renovate the old town. It's a slow process and while this is happening several generations of family are living together in small dilapidated apartments. The high ceilings allow extra floors to be added to create more room.
The buying and selling of houses is not permitted in Cuba as they're effectively all owned by the state, as are most things. Relatives tend to live together and younger generations naturally inherit their parents or relatives houses.
Old Havana, Cuba
Although Hotel Raquel is lovely, it's way beyond my budget to stay here, as are most hotels in Havana.
The guidebook lists several 'casa particulares' but the one we pick is full. This doesn't seem to be a problem. The landlady of the 'casa' is soon on the phone to her friends and tells us to wait until someone comes to pick us up. It's a steep learning curve on my first day but I realise everyone in Cuba knows someone who will give you shelter or feed you in their home, at a price. In fact you need to go out of your way to avoid being 'hustled' (more on that later).
After visiting a couple of shabby 'casas' in run down areas of Centro Habana we return defeated to the Raquel to check out. The same hotel porter from last night asks us where we're going and when I say we don't have anywhere to stay yet, he recommends a 'casa particular', which is where local people rent out a room in their house to tourists for between 20-30 CUCs (CUCs roughly translate to US dollars). It's an easy way for local people to make money and the government also profits by levying a tax. Although I had read about the dual currencies of pesos for locals and CUCs for tourists, I hadn't grasped how cash-strapped most Cubans are. With pesos locals often pay much less for the same things.
Thankfully he takes us to a fairly pleasant casa right on Old Havana's main street, Calle Obispo, albeit run by a slightly scary landlady who immediately whisks our passports off to register us. No doubt the porter will receive some sort of commission for his trouble.
(Photo - Calle Obispo)
Cuba
For various reasons I haven't managed to obtain a visa for Cuba so I'm worried I'll be stuck in Caracas for a while. I needn't have worried though as the airline sells them at the check-in desk, which is fortunate.
My flight is delayed for three hours which means I don't get into Havana until seven-ish. Al is waiting for me at the Hotel Raquel, which is much plusher than anywhere I've stayed in South America. I feel completely out of place entering the marble foyer with my backpack, but it's good to see a familiar face from home.
Hotel Raquel has been spectacularly restored by Habaguanex to its former colonial splendour, complete with stained glass ceilings and Italian marble pillars. Tourists visit the hotel to take photos.
I'm tired and hungry so one of the hotel porters recommends a restaurant and offers to escort us there. I don't realise at the time, but this is a taster of what's to come in the next three weeks. We end up eating on the balcony at El Patio, a large restaurant on Plaza de la Catedral. Half the menu isn't on, something else I'll have to get used to, but the views of the floodlit cathedral and beautiful colonial houses surrounding the square make up for it. I like Old Havana already.
(Photo - Old Havana)
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Friday, April 06, 2007
South America Highlights
I've been asked a few times which are my 'favourite' places in South America so here's my Top 10 in no particular order:
1) Torres del Paine National Park, Chile
2) Antarctica (ok, not strictly South America)
3) Angel Falls/Canaima National Park, Venezuela
4) Atacama Desert/Uyuni Salt Flats, Bolivia
5) Los Glaciares National Park (Fitzroy), Argentina
6) Inca Trail, Peru
7) Lake District/San Martín de los Andes, Argentina
8) Iguassu Falls, Brazil/Argentina
9) Devil's Nose Train, Ecuador
10) Buenos Aires, Argentina
Other places which are also fantastic but I didn't have room to include:
- Ushuaia, Argentina
- Valparaíso, Chile
- Cusco, Peru
- Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
- Perito Moreno Glacier, Argentina
(Photo - Torres del Paine National Park, Chile)
Caracas, Venezuela
It's my last day in Caracas and although it's not been my favourite city, I think its reputation as a lawless jungle is largely exaggerated. While not feeling completely safe, I found Rio much more menacing (and have not had to resort to carrying around my belongings in a plastic bag).
I've really enjoyed Venezuela, which has re-enthused me about travelling in Latin America, since my 'low' in Ecuador. Still, after nearly six months travelling in South America I'm ready to move on.
Downtown Caracas, Venezuela
Back in Caracas I decide to visit the craft centre of El Hatillo, 15 kilometres outside the city. It's famous for its department store, Haansi, of handicrafts, all of which are massively overpriced.
In town I decide to follow Lonely Planet's Simon Bolívar tour of downtown Caracas. Most interesting of all though is a concert in the main square (Plaza Bolívar) protesting against President Bush's interference in Latin America. Bush is currently in Argentina and Chavez never misses an opportunity to rile his nemesis.
Mochima National Park, Venezuela
I've arranged for our group to take a boat out to some small Caribbean islands just off the north coast of Venezuela, one of the best places to snorkel or dive according to my guidebook. We dive at a spot called 'Las Burbujas' (The Bubbles) where small bubbles rise out of the volcanic rocks on the sea bed. As I'm waiting for the dive master to help me go down I realise he's forgotten I don't yet have my diving certificate and have no idea what I'm doing. A slight sense of panic sets in.
Only a few metres under water I can already see a range of beautiful corals including masses of brain coral covered in technicolour Christmas tree worms. The colours are incredible, spanning all the colours of the rainbow. More ominous is a huge well-camouflaged stone fish and a moray eel. In my hurry to move away from the stone fish I cut my foot on some coral which throbs and itches for days afterwards.
Although the water is crystal clear, the islands are hot and arid, almost desert-like, affording very little shade apart from the odd cactus plant.
On the way back to the coast we stop off at an island entirely covered in plastic bags and bottles which we affectionately name 'Garbage Island'.
(Photo - 'Garbage Island')
Santa Fe, Mochima National Park, Venezuela
Not completely happy with our accommodation on top of a steep hill in Playa Colorada, we move to the beach front hostel 'Cafe del Mar' in Santa Fe. The beach is similar to the one at Playa Colorada but it makes a difference being able to step out of your room on to the sand.
There's not much to do here except swim and relax, which is just perfect. We wile away the evening playing card games, mainly 'cheat', the clear favourite of the group. The losers must perform a dance - sadly the most humiliating forfeit we could think of at the time.
(Photo - writing my journal)
Playa Colorada, Mochima National Park, Venezuela
Playa Colorada is pleasant enough but nothing special - a curved bay with orange sand and dotted with a few palm trees. Arriving quite late we relax at a bar on the beach which sells beers at 25 pence a bottle.
Guácharo Cave, Caripe, Venezuela
While several of the group are out horse riding in Caripe, the rest of us play challenging card games such as Go Fish and Crazy Eights.
We're heading for Playa Colorada in Mochima National Park but first stop off at Guácharo cave, named by the Indians for it's unique nocturnal birds. Alfred Hitchcock sent a team to Venezuela to capture the sounds of the cave for his film 'The Birds'.
Orinoco River, Venezuela
During the night I dream my hammock is spinning out of control. I sleep badly, there's a symphony of snoring going on all around and I can hear people peeing into the river. Early in the morning howler monkeys fill the jungle air with frightening whooping sounds. It's so loud I feel they're very close.
On the long trip back up the Orinoco to Tucupita we run out of petrol. I discover that we'd donated ours to take a local sick child to hospital early in the morning. The child unfortunately died on the way.
At a local village we exchange some bottles of fizzy drink for petrol and continue on. More bad news in Tucupita awaits us. Paul's backpack is missing and a rat has chewed it's way through Ian's bag.
Before we can continue to Caripe, our stop for the night, Paul files a police report for his stolen bag.
(Photo - Winamorena II community)
Orinoco Delta, Venezuela
Despite being woken up early by snoring and the eerie sound of howler monkeys, I think I slept quite well.
Today we head up the main cañon and out to sea. On the way we stop off at another local community on the river bank very similar to the last, called Winamorena II. Before reaching the sea we stop off at Pedernales, a party-esque town where there are murals painted on the roads and walls, loud music blaring over the town and people drinking beers on the street. I wonder if it's like this every day. I imagine Jamaica to be a bit like this.
There is an oil rig flame burning in the distance and as we head towards it we become beached on a sand bank. Rocking the boat from side to side eventually frees us after an hour of trying. On the way back to camp we spot river dolphins, red ibis and capuchin monkeys.
Travelling through dense mangroves, Lilo, our guide pulls a long skinny bud from the Carolina tree and asks me to blow on it. I tentatively do as he says. 'Blow harder' he says. I oblige accordingly and suddenly the bud magically bursts into a shocking pink shower that leaves me transfixed like a child.
It's our last night in the jungle and Lilo has put on a special spread for us with more of the dreaded White Eagle and a bucket of rum punch. It's a full eclipse tonight and we contentedly spend the evening drinking and playing several rounds of 'cheat'.
(Photo - red ibis)
Full moon on the Orinoco, Venezuela
Following a candlelit dinner of spaghetti bolognese, our cook brings out a bottle of White Eagle Whisky. With not much else to do, apart from retire to our hammocks, we manage between us to devour three whole bottles. It's vile stuff and even mixing it with coke only makes it slightly more palatable.
At midnight we climb into small canoes for a trip up one of the narrow 'cañonitos' (channels) of the Orinoco. Tonight it's a full moon and there's an enchanting feel in the air. Slowly we paddle up the river. The only thing I can see are the black trees silhouetted in the silvery moonlight. It's magical. Slightly nervous about tipping the canoe, as I'm only two inches from the surface of the water, I keep deadly still. The only sounds to be heard are the birds, still singing sweetly and the slow gush of water as we paddle on. It feels like a dream. Back at camp I'm brought sharply back down to earth by the whisky-induced snoring next to me.
(Photo - Orinoco River)
Orinoco River, Venezuela
The Orinoco is exactly how I imagined it - a brown river lined with mangroves, palms and thick vegetation. On the long boat ride to our jungle camp a guide spots a sloth in the trees. It barely moves as we all crowd around to take photos.
Before reaching camp we stop off at a Warao community called Wakajara de la Horqueta on the banks of the river. The Warao are the second largest indigenous group in Venezuela, after the Guajiro. The name literally means 'canoe people'. Their houses are built on stilts at the riverbanks connected by a wooden walkway. Litter is everywhere. I'm particularly disturbed to see lots of empty plastic Coke bottles tossed in the undergrowth, a sign of how western civilisation is creeping in.
Tucupita, Venezuela
It's a night bus ride away from San Felix and our final destination of the Orinoco Delta, the second largest delta in South America after the Amazon, covering 25,000 square kilometres.
At 7.30pm the night bus leaves Santa Elena and immediately the driver switches off the lights so there's no option but to try to sleep. The air conditioning is on overdrive and my fleece is inadequate in staving off the blasting cold air. I therefore sleep badly and when I'm thrown off the bus in San Felix at 5am I barely remember climbing into a dilapidated Cadillac taxi for the 2.5 hour drive to Tucupita, a hot river town and the jumping off point for Orinoco trips. The taxi driver has loud music blaring when we climb in but we soon kill his fun by covering his speakers with our daypacks so we can sleep.
Deprived of sleep we head to the agency that will take us down the river into the jungle.
(Photo - In Tucupita after travelling for 15 hours)
La Gran Sabana, Venezuela
Santa Elena is a small town of 12,000 people centred around one main street. It's the base for trips into Gran Sabana and the six-day hike to Roraima tepuy, the highest in Venezuela. I briefly contemplate doing this as I'd love to see its unique flora but regrettably I don't have the time. One day I'd like to come back and climb it.
Instead I settle for a tour to explore the region's vast, rolling grassy highlands. The trip is not what I expected and actually consists of visiting four different waterfalls, all of which pale in comparison to Angel Falls, especially as the dry season has rendered them particularly unimpressive. I won't be disappointed if I don't see another waterfall for a while. Added to this, I seem to have been bitten all over by 'jejenes' (vicious gnats).
The day ends with a sunset view over Gran Sabana, and the place where Jurassic Park 2 was filmed. Dinosaurs would not seem out of place here, even now.
(Photo - La Gran Sabana)
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