LA HABANA, CUBA - 7 April, 2003
To up the challenge and confusion for tourists, Cuba had three currencies circulating - US dollars, Cuban pesos and the Peso Convertibles. The Cuban peso was 26 pesos to US$1 at the time I was there. The Peso Convertible was worth the US dollar. They exist to provide change in coins or more US$ circulation without actually having US dollars. However, unlike its name, it cannot be converted to anything after you leave Cuba. It is best not to get too much of this Monopoly money.
I changed US$10 worth of Cuban pesos today and could try and buy things from the Cuban-peso places. My first try was at a stall selling bananas by the unit, 0.50 peso each. Bananas by the unit? Usually, they were sold by weight. I checked them out and realised the bananas were in various stages of rotting, that it was best to pick and choose through the lot for the best-looking ones one-by-one. A man bought ten and he had to carry them himself, no plastic carriers provided, of course.
Cuba must be the American Dream Car Haven for classic-car lovers. My thoughts went to Claudio from Buenos Aires. He was the proud owner of a 1938 Chevrolet. Here, the models were mostly from the 1950s, just before the Cuban Revolution. While cars of this age had died everywhere else in the world long ago, here, because the Cubans are the best mechanics in the world (nothing is ever thrown away, everything is fixed), the cars were all given a second, third or whatever chance in life. Some grand old ladies were barely surviving. Others were mighty impressive, with fine paint jobs and smooth red, white leather upholstery inside.
As I walked along the Malecon to La Habana Vieja (Old Havana) and around Old Havana itself, I was at the receiving end of many callings of 'China' (Chinese girl), 'Chinita' (little Chinese girl), 'Japonesa' (Japanese girl) and funnily, unique to Cuba, I supposed, 'Mao Tse Tung' too. It was worse passing construction or restoration sites and in Old Havana, there are many such state-funded restorations. I was constantly harassed with hootings, hissings, odious cat-calls, disgusting flying kisses, leerings and more 'China's.
Old Havana was the touristy area of La Habana and it was also the place where the poorest people of La Habana lived. Ironically, the decrepit houses the tourists had come to admire housed these poor people.
Nelson had told me a doctor might earn US$20 a month, a lawyer US$12 and general workers, about US$6. How do people survive with this pittance of a salary? He had explained many had to do some sort of side-lines, like setting up make-shift stalls to sell food, drinks or whatever. But even these were taxed.
Indeed, along the streets of Old Havana, many had opened a window to the side of their house facing the street and attached rectangular card-boards, stating whatever they had to offer. 'Refrescos' (cold drinks) usually went for 1 peso. 'Pan de Jamon' (Ham sandwich) was priced from 4 to 12 pesos. 'Pizzas' fetched the price of 3 to 5 pesos.
My wallet was overflowing with 260 pesos. At these prices, I wondered vaguely if I could finish spending this amount by the end of my two weeks. Such was the disparities between what the tourists pay and what the Cubans pay.
I took a seat at the counter in a cafe, filled with Cubans. I had been seeking out one such place for a while to 'eat like the locals'. There was a huge crowd at the counter, with three or four lines of people waiting for the 2-peso 'pizzeta' (little pizza). The woman took her time serving the pizzetas. She looked BORED. She randomly served the people and some guys yelled at her as they claimed they were here first. She was unmoved, looked right through them and continued her task languidly. The tray was finished and we had to wait for the next tray to be heated up. I noticed no plate, or serviettes, were provided. You use your own paper or hand.
How wasteful our societies are, actually. Most purchases came with a disposable something, be it a cup, a bottle, a paper plate, a plastic bag. But Cubans could not afford waste.
I ripped a page from my diary and indicated I wanted one pizzeta please. She looked right through me too and turned away unsmilingly. I remained ignored as she served all the others at the counter slowly and randomly. She finally decided to hand me a piece when the 'queue' was left to me and another woman who wanted three pizzetas and there was only one pizzeta left on the tray.
Meanwhile, near the Plaza de Armas, an area filled with fancy restored hotels, package tourists were following their group leaders everywhere and dining and drinking in US$ bars and restaurants. A restaurant overlooking the plaza, had a live band playing 'Cuban son'. Not quite Buena Vista Social Club but the music was great and tourists were dancing and having a wonderful time.
You could almost never find a spot where locals and tourists mix. The price difference was just too impossibly huge. I believed the state (now it is pronounced with a more sinister sneer) was also intent on separating locals and tourists.