Experiencing Cuba as an Habanero, not as a Tourist

I wrote up a short travel essay about my trip last year to Cuba. It was published at the end of last year over at the travel website DIWYY so I decided to post it here as well… Here is the essay in its entirety. Slideshow from my entire trip is at the very end – you can click on it to go to the set on Flickr or (click here to see the photos):

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Back in late May I made a trip that I have dreamed about for years – to meet my family for the first time.  You see, forty-four years ago my parents left Havana, Cuba with my then two year old sister and left behind all they had known to start a new life in the U.S., where I was born. A measly but politically significant 90 miles of water had kept us apart for far too long.

I’€™ll preface this to say that this is not a typical tourist account of my visit, simply because I was not a tourist. I did not stay in a hotel, I did not eat in any restaurants, I did not go to any night clubs. I experienced Cuba and lived like a middle-class family does in a supposedly class-less Spanish colonial city of over 2 million.

This essay is not meant to comment on the political climate although it is hard not to talk about it. It invariably touches on every aspect of life, from who is allowed to purchase a car to the random power outages to the government issued “€œlibreta“€ to the dual currency system. But despite the isolation that has kept Cuba in a state of seemingly suspended animation -€“ evidenced by the prevalent almendrones (classic American cars) seen everywhere -€“ time has marched on. Flat screen TVs, cell phones, DVD players with USB ports and name-brand clothing sent by relatives in the U.S. are prevalent.

To be clear, there is a level of poverty but from what I saw, Cubans are not lacking in the basics. They simply sacrifice too much for those basics. For example, there is state TV but satellite TV is illegal; there is clean running water but it’s typically not hot; dishes and clothes are washed by hand, not by an appliance; you use brooms instead of vacuums; eating out is a luxury and staple items like whole milk, beef, fish, even mayo are luxuries.

So what did I experience? A daily cafesito (pre-sweetened espresso), chatty neighbors that can hear everything through the open windows, deliciously creamy homemade arroz con leche, 30 minute power outages, black market street vendors calling out their wares (ranging from brooms to homemade pastries) and once, even the sounds of a santeria ritual. I watched telenovelas and pirated HBO specials or read the Granma (the daily propaganda filled government newspaper) while rocking in the chairs my grandparents sat in 50 years ago. I was caught in a downpour while walking through the University of Habana’s campus and took shelter with students, I swam in the unbelievably clear aqua waters at the nearby beach and I walked the streets of a beautifully restored Old Habana. I even started to enjoy the cold shower after the oppressive hot & humid days.

But most importantly, I got to experience my history. I stayed in the house (built in 1917) where my mother and aunt grew up and I visited the church where they had their First Communion in 1950 just a couple of blocks away. I drove by my mother’€™s high school, saw the church where my parents were married in 1964, stopped by the house where they lived as newlyweds and where my immediate family began and saw where my grandparents were buried. I saw my family’s beginnings and endings, our past and our present all in just eight days.

This history is extremely significant to me because it was so far removed from my life until now. My parents left their country and their family with just a few suitcases and settled into a brand new one with hardly any material possessions. I can’€™t even imagine this sacrifice but this trip drove it home for me, pun intended. And it made me finally experience the family history that I knew I had but never really felt due to the politically imposed distance.

I met strangers that, despite living such contrasting lives, felt like the family they were the second we met. I was amazed at how comfortable we all were and I saw for the first time people whose mannerisms, behaviors and physicality reminded me of myself. The way they argued over which bus route was better, my Aunt’€™s sense of humor, the shape of my cousin’s face. I was surrounded by more family on this trip than I have left here in the US and it was comforting.

My last day was spent with family doing the stereotypical Cuban activities – drinking Havana Club with a splash of Cola, playing dominos in the sweltering heat and listening to music. And even though I was ready to go home, I was already looking forward to the return to my Cuban home.