cubanicaragua: Chapter 17: Hello Havana!

I arrived full of dread of the Cuban customs process which I had heard was known to go to unreasonable lengths to ensure nothing contraband entered the country - but when I finally got my backpack and wandered into the area where people’s bags were being completely unpacked and sorted through, the guard waved me on to a mysterious dark and abandoned door way which I approached with much trepidation, until realizing this was actually the exit. Bewildered by my good luck I changed some money, got a cab (with a little bit of an argument with the drivers about which cab I wanted to get in) and was quickly shuttled off to my home stay. On the way I was determined to try out my Spanish on my grumpy Cuban driver who eventually dropped the grumpiness and decided to converse with me. I arrived at my home stay and after being shown around by my host Olga – went immediately to bed.

The bed was lumpy and bumpy and rather uncomfortable, and I was in temperature shock – for after 2 months of sweating under a single sheet every night – I was freezing under both a sheet and a blanket. I awoke feeling chilled and was quite happy to accept a reasonable breakfast from Olga before venturing out to find a bank and a new place to live – not that there was anything horribly wrong with this place – but the jackhammers next door were a little less than hospitable, and I had had enough of living in rooms without any proper windows – so, I spent the afternoon scouting out casas particulars –this was a great way to do an architectural tour of the city because the inside of houses is always as interesting as the outside – especially when they are real people’s houses and especially when they are Cuban houses.

the bulldozer as seen from my noisy room on saturday morning.

detail of a rag rug on the patio of my first room

old house in Vedado neighbourhood

The houses in this part of town are immensely varied – from pristine historical mansions, to crumbling historical mansions, to slightly run down 50’s era walk ups, to completely derelict 50’s era walk ups, to shiny pristine 50’s era walk ups, to sketchy looking 70’s high-rises – there are really all manner of houses here - some look like they should be condemned from the outside but sure enough someone lives there, some are bright and shiny newly restored gems – and pretty much every building would be a gem if properly restored - I found a few good candidates for accommodation, booked a place for five nights later and told Olga I was leaving in two nights. She didn’t seem bothered when I told her about the move and I was relieved to be leaving the construction zone sooner rather than later.

That night I joined Susana (my Cuban house hunter) a bunch of random Canadians and one Russian for dinner at a French restaurant that served nothing but pizza and pasta. The pizza was a reasonable 2.50 for a giant round of cheese and a few tiny streaks of tomato sauce – it tasted great as did the very strong mojito that I ordered with dinner. We walked home at about 10 and I was assured that I would be fine to go the last two blocks on my own, so with some slight unconfortability in my new and unfamiliar surroundings, off I went down the dark street – and other than being barked at by a few dogs – nothing happened. I went to sleep with an extra blanket and almost didn’t freeze.

The next day was house hunting yet again and I got myself all sorted out with a very nice apartment atop a three story old house with a nice view to the ocean. So I now had housing for about the next two weeks – and then would have to find something else or leave the city – this was not turning out to be the relaxing staycation I had dreamed it would be, but I figured I would just go with the flow and see what came my way. So, I spent the better part of that week holed up in my sunny lofty Cuban apartment eating fruit and catching up on work.