Sunday, 23 October 2022: Walking Old Havana while Fending Off Hustlers

On Sunday morning, I woke up tired.  Was it my uncomfortable pillows (too big and hard)?  Maybe it was the bad air:  exhaust from old cars and moto-taxis with no emission controls and more people smoking with no non-smoking areas in restaurants.  Thankfully, I’m able to eat most of my meals outdoors.  Maybe it was too much air – I had cranked up the fan in my room (instead of using the air conditioner) and I had to adjust it during the night because it was blowing directly on me.  Hopefully, I wasn’t getting sick - a couple people had missed the 90th birthday party I’d attended two days earlier because they had tested positive for covid.  Thankfully, current covid case numbers in Cuba were down.

When I reserved the room, I asked to have breakfast at my casa particular the first morning knowing it would be a Sunday and figuring it would be easier.  The breakfast was ok and included tea, guava juice, sliced fruit (guavas, bananas, and watermelon), avocado, cucumbers, warm bread, three slices of cheese, and a scrambled egg.  I had them hold the sausage.  As I was to learn after staying in several more places, this was pretty much the standard Cuban breakfast fare. 

After breakfast, I was off to explore more of Havana on foot.  The city is relatively compact (many of the best historic buildings are within a one-mile radius of where I am staying).  I first walked west on Calle Brasil (calle is Spanish for street) where I encountered a long line of people queued up to buy bread.  I walked past the Dandy, a bar recommended by my Denver friends, Marc and Maggie and on to the Capitolio Nacional.  Oh my Dog, the 1950s American cars – many of them nicely maintained.  I need to do a separate blog post with my photos of the cars.

The impressive Capitolio Nacional in central Havana was constructed in the 1920s.  It was the seat of the Cuban Congress until Fidel Castro’s forces took power in 1959.  From then until 2013, the Cuban Academy of Sciences and the National Library of Science and Technology were located here.  The interior can now be visited on guided tours.

 

Along the way, a thin young woman in her 20s with light black skin approached me but didn’t try to hustle me for money. She recommended I visit a collective on the other side of the Captolio.  I envisioned this to be an open air market where I might find Cuban books and music CDs.  After taking some photos of the Capitolio, another woman (slightly chubby, mixed race, around 30) approached me and I asked her about the location of the collective.  She insisted on showing me the way. 

I had misunderstood the first woman because when we arrived, I realized that the collective only sold cigars and rum.  The fellow running the little shop told me I would be supporting small entrepreneurs if I bought some cigars and rum.  I tried to explain that I needed neither but he kept bringing out smaller and smaller cigar boxes as I edged closer to the door.  Not only did I not need cigars but I didn’t think I could get a box through U.S. Customs anyway.  Once I got out of there, the woman followed imploring me to give her $10 for her sick children.  After my experience yesterday, I decided that $10 for sick children must be the going rate.  I kept walking at a fast pace while replying, “No, lo siento” (No, I’m sorry), to each of her entreaties.   She finally gave up.  I shouldn’t have followed her to the collective store in the first place.  A waste of her time and mine. 

I made my way over to Avenida Agramonte and walked north to the Museo de la Revolución.  DAMN!  Closed for remodeling.  This was the one museum in Havana that I really wanted to see.  As a consolation I suppose, there was a military display across from the museum that could be visited for a small fee.  However, I could see the small display of tanks, planes, and military vehicles from the outside of the surrounding fence and wasn’t all that impressed.  Castro’s boat, the Gramma, was on display in a building with glass walls.  This was the leisure yacht that Fidel Castro and his compañeros took from Mexico to Cuba in 1956 which kicked off the final phase of the revolution.  I didn’t figure it was worth my time just to see an old boat.  

I was turned off by the long line of people waiting to enter the fine arts museum.

 

Across the street from the military display was the National Museum of Fine Arts.  I thought about visiting but looked at the long line to get in which wasn’t moving.  I have an aversion to standing in line after spending six years in the Ohio National Guard and U.S. Army Reserve.  I was in a “fuck it all” mood anyway having been shut out of the museum of the revolution.

So, I decided this would be a good time to take a one-mile walk down to Estación Cubre, the railway station where I would get the train to Santa Clara on Tuesday.  Luckily it was open but I could not buy a ticket now.  I’d have to come back on Tuesday morning to buy my ticket.  The station would open at 8:00AM and the agent confirmed that the train would leave at 5:00PM on Tuesday.     

From the station, I walked a few blocks to the Jibaro Restaurant on Calle Merced.  A pretty young waitress brought me a berry drink and Asian noodle dish with soy sauce and a few vegetables.  It was all delicious and I made a mental note to come back.  And, oh yes, they would change money.  They gave me 170 Cuban pesos to 1 for my $50 bill.  I should have changed more as that was the best rate I got in Cuba and by Tuesday, I needed more pesos. 

After lunch, I was still tired so I headed back to my room for a 1½ hour siesta.  At 76, you’re entitled to a nap when you damn-well please.  Afterword, I felt rested so it was time for more walking.  This time up Calle Mercadores for more photos of the old city.  Along the way, I was approached by Alejandro, a handsome guy of maybe 30.  Told me his mother lives in Colorado.  We talked about Cuban history and former President Batista.  He wanted to show me the sights of the old city.  Told him I wanted to discover places on my own and didn’t need a guide.  Oh no, he said.  He was my amigo.  Yeah, right.  He also offered to change dollars at 200 to 1.  Hmmm – why such a good rate?  I became really suspicious of the guy.  I wanted to walk in the direction of the Castillo de Real Fuerza and he wanted to walk with me.  The guy was nice but too pushy.  How would I get rid of him?  He stopped for a minute to talk with some people and I just kept walking at a fast pace without looking back.  I hid behind a wall to take a photo of the Catedral de la Habana.  When I took a peek back down the street - ¡Gracias a Dios, no Alejandro!

The impressive Catedral de la Habana was constructed in the 18^th Century.

 

I arrived near the harbor and shot a photo of some old canons and a very old city wall next to the Parque Maestranza.  Now, I was approached by Franklyn, a 45ish guy, who said he was named for Franklin Roosevelt.  He had an old classic car (not in great shape) and wanted to give me a one-hour driving tour of the Christ statue and fort east of the harbor for $80.  Again, it was hard to shake him.  Havana was starting to remind me of Tangier, Morocco, where I was accosted repeatedly by obnoxious touts in 2012.  At least the Cuban touts are more pleasant and polite than the Moroccans.  I had to get rude with the latter.         

The 17^th Century El Moro Fort and lighthouse (built in 1844) located north of Old Havana where the harbor meets the Straits of Florida.

 

I photographed a beautiful statue of the valiant General Máximo Gómez, a hero of Cuba’s wars of independence in the 1870s.  By now I was tired from all the walking and stress of fending off touts.  I headed south on Calle Aguiar toward the Plaza Vieja.  At the Café Bohemia, I chose vegetarian croquettes, a fruit smoothie, and a chocolate torte.  I sat at a table on the plaza in the late afternoon shade eating and reading a book.  I decided I like Cuban restaurants – the very accommodating staffs are friendly but not pushy.  AND, the touts and beggars don’t mess with you while you’re eating!

What the hell is wrong with me?  I almost slipped on a step in front of the café.  Am I just tired or am I getting old and clumsy?  I almost twisted my ankle this morning.  The old brick streets are very uneven so I started wearing hiking boots in the city. 

While I was eating three cops or maybe security people walked by.  They were not wearing guns.  I’ve seen very few cops here so far.  If this is a “police state”, it’s not evident.  Maybe there are plain-clothes dicks on the streets and I haven’t noticed them.  Touts and beggars aside, most of the people on the streets are well-behaved:  no drunks, druggies, or homeless. 

I was back in my room before 8:00 PM.  The street below my balcony was relatively quiet (it was Sunday night, after all) and soon, a short, refreshing shower cooled the humid tropical air.  

© Will Mahoney 2022

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