Well, I’ve been in Cuba for two weeks now and it’s been an eye opener. I’ll do specific posts for the cities I’ve visited but felt it would be useful (for my own sanity if nothing else) to capture my thoughts on this unusual island.

The good

Cuba is a safe destination. I’ve never felt at risk of harm on the streets and I’ve walked a lot of them now. I’m sure if you try hard enough and act stupid enough you may find yourself some trouble but compared to many places I’ve been there just doesn’t seem to have that threat hanging in the air. There are no drug dealers, no disaffected youth protecting their ends, no Friday night drunks spilling out of a flat roof estate pub, no football away days, no street drinkers, no fascist flag shaggers. This might be a result of a heavy handed state, but l’m choosing to believe that this society just doesn’t have those kinds of issues.

Cubans live on the streets. Not literally, but there’s a sense that the street is an extension of the living room for many. Kids still play in the streets unsupervised (shock horror), neighbours sit on their front steps to chat, people fix their motorbikes with their mates on the road. The public internet zones are in local squares which helps keep them busy. This all helps to keep the streets safer.

The live music is without equal. You will not find a better location anywhere in the world for top notch live music. Music and musicians are valued here as an important part of the country’s national identity. Venues and cultural centres are everywhere, supported by the state, not left to crumble like at home.

Cubans like to pimp their rides. The cliché of immaculate 50’s American cars is actually true. I saw them in Havana for tourists, which I expected, but I also saw them across central Cuba where no tourists venture. This extends to their motorbikes and scooters too. There’s plenty around that are very shiny with all kinds of needless tat attached. In Holguin there seems to be some kind of speaker arms race amongst the scooters. It’s not a dull bass thud from the back of Golf GTI but speakers blasting out reggaeton that can be heard from four streets away.

Some things are cheap. Money is a complex thing in Cuba, official outlets offer the official exchange rate, whilst changing on the black market can get you double that rate. As a result, a can of beer in a bar will usually cost 70p-£1.50. My adopted local yocal unfortunately doesn’t sell spirits by the shot, just the whole bottle at a time. Happily a bottle of Havana Club rum will set you back £5.

The bad

Well, this could be a long list unfortunately. I won’t labour the obvious – no, the internet doesn’t really work; no there isn’t a consistent phone signal; no the long distance buses, trains and flights don’t really work; yes there are daily electricity blackouts. But I knew all of that before I came.

Sorry but it’s a people thing. At time of writing I’ve been here 2 weeks and have yet to interact with a single Cuban who isn’t after my money. Not one.

Most of the time it’s obvious and annoying – amigo buy my rum. Sometimes it’s insidious and harder to spot – my first night in Santiago I was followed down the street by a guy who claimed to live in the same building as me, who claimed to work in the big hotel, who claimed that the restaurant I was walking to was closed for refurbishment, who introduced me to his mum in the park, who later introduced me to his wife. None of which was true. I mean, surely he must know I’d find out? Those that are not actively trying to fleece me actively ignore me. I honestly don’t know what’s behind this, in every other country I’ve been to there’s at least a little politeness or more often a genuine natural curiosity. Not so here.

There aren’t really any shops. Well, not shops as l’d recognise them. People sell whatever bits and pieces they have to hand from their house windows or in the street or in little booths. Some of my accommodation has cooking facilities but I wouldn’t know where to start to find food that I could cook. I’d probably have to visit 4 or 5 little booths buying an item from each. There are other places that might be shops but none have signs outside to tell you what’s behind the blacked out windows, many have big queues.

The main roads aren’t. The primary reason why every one of my bus trips is tortuously long is because the ‘highways linking the major cities are nothing more than a pot-holed single carriageway. At best, my busses can only muster 50mph and often it’s a lot less than that.

The ugly

Santiago is clearly a destination that attracts what I will politely call ‘pleasure tourists’. In all of the main music venues its very common to see fat, balding, badly dressed 60 year old white guys with beautiful, well-dressed, 20 year old black girls. It’s bloody creepy. Now I don’t know the basis of every arrangement, maybe it’s for one night, maybe it’s for longer – I see some ‘couples’ around town for days after. Maybe its just another kind of work. When I’ve spoken to locals about this, they mostly shrug and accept it as a normal fact of life here. Some have told me of friends who have managed to emigrate as a result of such arrangements. Maybe I’d mind less if the age gaps weren’t so obvious, but for me it’s an abuse of a financial mis-match (“so what first attracted you to millionaire Paul Daniels?”). Interestingly, it’s not just the men at it. I’ve also seen plenty of white older women with younger black men, particularly in the salsa dancing places. In any case, I still find it pretty uncomfortable to be around and it unfortunately distorts the social scene inside these places.