BACK TO HAVANA

11th -13th Nov 2017

The former Presidential Palace. It now houses the Museo de la Revolución.

Back in Havana for my final three days. I booked back into Casa Niñita in the old town. Actually her daughter met me and booked me in. It transpired that she (the daughter) had made a 'beega mistayka' because they were already fully booked. Now, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but Niñita felt so guilty about this that she let me sleep in her bedroom. She moved out, understandably!

The first place I popped into was Sloppy Joe's bar. Infamous from pre-revolution days as the hang-out for all the mobsters and, mostly American, city luminaries. Lots of old photos of the likes of Frank Sinatra and other cronies decorated the walls. One thing notable about them is that they were all very snappily dressed which is more than can be said for the present day clientele, me included.

Right: Inside Sloppy Joe's. The name came from a form of 'sloppy' pork sandwich they served, and still do, apparently. Elegant surroundings. I ordered a snack of some sausagey type things. Not very nice.

They certainly weren't short of a bottle or two.

Just about every concoction you could think of was on offer.

Apologies; another pic of a car which took my fancy. I watched it with interest because it took a long time to get started; lots of slow, laborious starter motor noise then it burst into life belching black smoke and making a horrible noise before juddering off down the street. I got a 'video' of it which sadly won't transmit here. I record it purely for my own memory's sake.

That 'perro' again on Obispo Street. It had now taken to wearing dark glasses. I believe his name is Coco, or something similar.

More scenes from Obispo Street. Right: Some chaps with long wooden legs, followed by a band.

Left: In the restaurant where I had lunch. As well as the band there was this couple dancing a Tango. They also expected a tip.

...and a typical queue for Internet cards outside the ETECSA office. 

Whilst lingering in one of these I met a charming Cuban doctor who spoke good English. He was the medic to Cuban sports teams and was therefore widely travelled. A most civilised guy and it would have been interesting to learn more of his views.

Left: An unusual (3D) street corner decoration.

Right: More glamorous limousines to take tourists on rides around town.

I visited the Museo de la Revolución housed in the former Presidential Palace. Outside this, mounted on a plinth, was a self-propelled artillery piece (a SAU-100) which, according to the plaque below, was used by Fidel himself to shoot up an American ship.

......if you can read it, and believe it.

The display of the 'revolución' was not particularly inspiring consisting for the most part of rather sparsely populated rooms showing old uniforms and paraphernalia belonging to various revolutionary heroes with 'mucho propaganda'. There was a separate display devoted to Señor Guevara. I bought a cheap replica Che Guevara beret in the museum shop.

The interior must have looked very grand in its day. It was originally decorated by Tiffany of New York.

Most of the big rooms are now devoid of furniture and falling apart or undergoing restoration.

One room, and I was not sure which, was called the Room of Mirrors and designed to resemble the eponymous room at the Palace of Versailles. This one (left) had a few mirrors in it so maybe its the one. Who knows.

Right: The central courtyard.

Some rooms were restored to resemble the original offices and conference rooms. Left: The Presidential Office last inhabited by Fulgencio Batista. I like the gold telephone set in glorious isolation.

Right: Outside the Palace is an extraordinary glass sided construction housing the 'Granma', the boat which brought Fidel Castro and 80 revolutionaries over from Mexico in 1956. The glass is fronted by a wire mesh which makes it difficult to see inside. It is also guarded by a couple of soldiers. You can't go in, so it seems a rather pointless 'non' display.

Surrounding this were several larger exhibits from the revolution and Bay of Pigs 'invasion'. One of which, a Russian T34 tank was, again, supposedly used personally by Fidel to shoot up something American.

Other exhibits included this missile, the like of which shot down an American U2 spy plane in the 1961 invasion. The turbine engine of which rests underneath it. The USA refused to acknowledge that they were involved and it was only 20 years later that they accepted the repatriation of the pilot's remains; hence tacitly admitting that the plane was indeed theirs.

A Landrover which was involved in the revolutionaries' entry into Havana. Lots of bullet holes in it. I'm so proud that they had chosen to buy British.

...and another van, requisitioned by the revolting heroes. According to the plaque alongside there were 40 people in it at the time. Even more bullets had riddled this. I'm surprised anyone managed to get out. I don't suppose the bullet holes could have been planted later?

...........?!

Left: An aircraft requisitioned by Fidel's forces. I think it is a Sea Fury. Not sure what they did with it, or when. No doubt Fidel personally flew it and shot up more American invading forces.

Right: Another (similar to the one at Santa Clara) eternal flame lit by Fidel in memory of fallen comrades etc.

Left: At the end of the square in front of the ex-Palace was another statue dedicated to that 'famous' revolutionary philosopher (see Cienfuegos) José Martí. I get the impression that he was not a very good horseman; his seat in the saddle looks rather insecure. I don't think he would win many prizes in the dressage arena.

......and , of course, he had the mandatory pigeon sitting on his head. What is it about pigeons and heads of statues?

Left: A view of the city taken from the top floor dining room of the Hotel Sevilla. It looks west over the Capitolo building towards the Malecón sea-front.

Right: Another view of the ex-Palace from the back. Quite an impressive building.

Left: 'Sharing a joke' with a local senior citizen sitting on his doorstep. Not that either of us spoke much of each other's language.

Despite the benevolent Socialist State, Havana has its fair share of beggars. This blind old chap was shaking a plastic cup and hoping for the best. I donated.

....and I saw this this old lady on several occasions sitting on Obispo Street or nearby. She looked in a pretty bad way. Another donation was forthcoming.

On that happy note I sign off for now.

Still more to report from Havana.

GUANABO, PLAYA DEL ESTES.

10th - 11th Nov 2017

 Hotel Deluxe El Grande at Guanabo

I read that the Playas del Este, 70 miles west of Varadero, was a 9 mile stretch of attractive palm-fringed beaches, Havana's Riviera. Guanabo at the eastern end was advertised as the 'rustic Cuban end of the strip'. Well, I'm all for a bit of 'rustic'.

First, myself and a German couple had to convince the bus driver at Varadero to stop there. He agreed, eventually, if reluctantly. The bus was full and unfortunately there was a group of about 6  young  Canadians and Americans on board. Nothing wrong with that, per se, but they were very loud and had that irritating way of talking, at great volume, with the word 'like' thrown several times into every sentence. They also talked non-stop with, like, every utterance being greeted with, like, hysterical giggles. What on earth can be so funny for so long? I was seriously tempted to stand up and shout "please shut the f..k up!!". If any of you read my account of the bus trip in Laos from Vientiane to Vang Vieng in January this year you will get the gist. Where do they learn to speak like this,.. like? Maybe I'm just becoming a grumpy old git.

Anyway, the bus did stop, on the main road, and the German couple and I got off and collected our wheely cases. It was drizzling with rain (and there had been heavy rain the previous night). What we soon realised was that we were a good couple of miles from Guanabo town centre. The bus driver must have dropped us there out of spite for some unknown reason. A passing bandido taxi or two tried to tempt us with outrageous prices for a lift. We resisted and walked and got wet. Dodging main road traffic and eventually reaching Guanabo's main Avenue, known optimistically as 5th Avenue, I separated from the Germans and battled my way to the far end of town over broken pavements and around floods. The place had the feel of the Wild West about it. Not an auspicious introduction to, another guide book quote, "Havana's unspoilt Riviera". 'Unkempt' would be more apt

The Casa I had chosen, Elena Morina, was off the main Avenue up some muddy side-streets, some of which were flooded and impassable on foot and involved diversions. I eventually found the place and it had taken well over an hour to get there. It felt longer. But at least the rain had stopped.

The Casa was, however, excellent and I was shown into my own four room apartment by a charming man who told me he was 'minding' the place for the lady owner, Elena, who was away on holiday in Mexico. So, she must be doing OK, and able to leave Cuba. Influential connections perhaps. I was given the keys and told to help myself. An old guy and a couple of fat dogs were on guard at the front gate.

Left: The apartment had a smart bathroom, kitchen, sitting room (with telly) and comfortable bedroom. I show you this photo because, as you will come to realise, there wasn't much else of interest to take photos of.

The main, and really only street of note (right), was lined with uninteresting and dingy bars and cafés. Some of the restaurants looked OK. 

Other than the normal car wrecks and 'pedicabs' most of the traffic consisted of horse-drawn wagons. It sort of reinforced the 'Wild West' feel.

I started by taking a walk along the length of the street. The first thing I noticed was that there seemed to be very few tourists (OK, this is Cuban rustic) and that there was none of the jolly music so prevalent elsewhere. The only music appeared to be recorded electronic and often loud Afro-rock  stuff which, I was told later, was probably 'Reggaetón' and western 'disco'. I suppose it made a change. The only two smartish offices on the street were the Tourist Office and the bank. They were both closed (at 3.00pm each day). In the course of this wander I bumped into the German couple who, like me, had been searching for something of interest to see or do. They had at least been able to find a shop where they had bought a supply of Heineken beer. They had booked into their Casa for four nights! I think this was being a bit optimitic in terms of amusing themselves.

The beach, reached by walking down debris strewn tracks, was not exactly the sublime 'soft white sands and clear aquamarine waters' that I had been expecting. OK, they had received the tail end of hurricane Irma which would explain the filthy debris strewn beach and toppled 'fringe' of palm trees, but not much effort seemd to have been made to clear up. Perhaps because it was not the tourist season. I also noted that the pavements were torn up in places (you had to rock-climb up some) mainly around the palm trees on the streets. Again, hurricane Irma perhaps? No, I was told by a resident Canadian I met later, the hurricane hadn't helped but most of the damage was due to the over-growth of the trees and the expanding roots.

Left: Another view of the palm-fringed beach. Not really a place I would choose for a picnic. In some places there were sharp shards of tree trunk sticking out of sand at the water's edge. Reminded me a bit of the anti-personnel stakes on the Normandy D-Day beaches. Could be a painful landing for any intrepid surfer (not that I saw any). I half expected to stand on a mine.

The derelict abandoned building at the top was at one end of this beach. That isn't hurricane damage. Perhaps it is just undergoing refurbishment.

Right: This, the Hotel Gran Via, was the only hotel I saw. Very tasteful, hmmm, but I suspect my Casa was a better bet.











Left: The Parque Centrale. The only WiFi hotspot in town. I didn't bother.

Consulting my book, I found a recommended restaurant to visit, if only for a beer; El Cubano, the Top Rated restaurant in town. I was the only customer. I think I rather surprised the 'staff' who had been enjoying an undisturbed break and game of cards in the kitchen. It was not an inspiring place. I drank my beer and left.





Right: I passed another restaurant and forgot to note it's name. I expect they are making every effort to gain that Michelin star that has so far eluded them.










Left: Perhaps the most impressive and smartest building in town is the filling station.

Afer dark the place takes on a different atmosphere. The grotty bars along the main street fill up with more customers, but mainly with prostitutes. I called in at one for another beer (no glass provided) and was, within the space of 10 minutes, accosted by two fat and one skinny black tarts. It wasn't even as if they were half-way attractive. And the music; loud and electronic heavy metal with ear-bashing drums.

It was noticeable that by now there was a strong police presence on the street. Not the sign of a safe and welcoming environment. Also, the little streetside booths and shops which sold groceries and beer were all fronted by strong metal grilles. You could only do your business through a small opening in the cage. There was a sort of supermarket which I went into to buy some soda water (for my rum), but they didn't have any, or much of anything else for that matter.

There is one little oasis of excellence; El Piccolo Pizza restaurant. I had read about it. It seemed a long walk out of the eastern part of the town. I set off to find it and had to negotiate some badly or entirely unlit streets. Despite having a map, I had to ask for directions on four occasions (helpful locals) and after 45 minutes eventually found it, hidden away in an otherwise nondescript backstreet. It was a revelation. It is, apparently, owned and run by a real Italian. A smallish, tastefully decorated place it boasts a very friendly and helpful staff and the most delicious, and enormous, pizzas. There is a vast choice and they are cooked in front of you in a proper stone pizza oven. I am not a pizza expert, but these tasted very good to me. I couldn't finish mine (too big), so they wrapped the remainder up and I had it for breakfast the next morning. A notable improvement on most of the food I've experienced to date.Very reasonable price and good wine too. This is where I met the Canadian guy who told me a bit about the place. So, if you ever want a reason to visit Guanabo, this is it!

The next morning (after finishing my delicious re-heated pizza) I visited the Tourist Office. They were not exactly overworked. I was looking for an escape route to Havana (20 miles west). I was told a bus left the end of the street every half hour and ended up in the centre of Havana. It would cost .25 of a CUC (about 20p). This was too good to be true. I went to book out of the Casa....that was another (the other) excellent establishment I found, and dragged my mud encrusted wheely suitcase to the bus stop. Sure enough, within 5 minutes a bus, with plenty of space and empty seats, arrived. I handed over my CUC .25 and off we went. It was a relatively comfortable hour's ride stopping off at lots of places before depositing me outside Sloppy Joe's famous emporium near the Old Town in Havana. Just where I wanted to be.

OK, maybe it is not the hight of the tourist season, and Hurricane Irma didn't help any, but I thought Guanabo was a 'hick town', a dump frankly; a bit of a bomb site. Rustic Cuba, maybe, but apart from  El Piccolo and a pleasant Casa I couldn't find anything to recommend it. Perhaps the other Playa del Estes beaches to the west are more akin to the advertised 'Palm fringed Riviera'. I really couldn't be bothered to find out. I wonder how the German couple got on during their four day stay. By the way, doesn't the name 'Guanabo' suggest 'bird-shit'?

Sorry, another car which took my interest. A polyfilla special with a splendid DPM colour scheme.

 ....and another horse and cart.

Two more days to explore Havana further. There is lots that I want to see.

VARADERO

8th - 10th Nov 2017

An 'all inclusive' hotel at Varadero. Or it might have been a nuclear power station.

On up to the north coast, about 80 miles east of Havana, to the resort town of Varadero. The town itself is at the western end of a 14 mile long narrow peninsular or spit. On this peninsular are in excess of 60 hotels (and increasing) which cater for the 'all-inclusive' holidaymakers who like to swim and sunbathe during the day and eat and get pie-eyed in the evening. Not my sort of holiday and you might as well be on any other sunny beach in the world. Anyway, I was keen to see it.

I sometimes wonder how these all-inclusive joints don't lose money. The simple answer is that most nationalities choose to, or can only, drink in relative moderation. North Americans, I am told, are normally fairly abstemious  and when given unlimited alcoholic access they fall over after only a modest few sherbets. On the other hand, a typical British holidaymaker has considerably more appetite, thirst and endurance (practice?). After a day's ardous basting he/she will happily drink about 25 pints of wallop before supper, get raucously drunk, but still manage to carry on boozing well into the night, or early morning. I suspect it must balance out somehow. You can tell 'all-inclusive' guests because they wear colour-coded wrist bands.

I stayed at another very pleasant Casa in the town. The charming lady owner, Daniella, had another of these omnipresent Dachshund dogs. This one was called Jago and was rather stand-offish which was fine by me.

The town itself is very pleasant, clean and tidy with many relatively decent bars, cafés and restaurants plus a large underground shopping 'mall'. At first I couldn't see the street signs because I was looking upwards. In fact they are set into robust and tasteful little stone pyramids at ground level at the end of every 'calle'. Again, I spent a bit of time buying another ETECSA internet card and then trying to locate the WiFi hotspots. There was one in the shopping mall which conveniently had a few cafés to sit in.

The beach, on the north side, was most attractive with clean white sand and clear turquoise sea. It stretched the whole length of the peninsular.

Kite surfing was popular. There were little groups of these surfing aficionados dotted along the town beach.

After what seemed like a lot of complicated stringing together of their kites and harnesses they leapt off the beach and whizzed away. They made it look remarkably easy.

I did a recce of the local car/bike hire shop to investigate hiring a scooter tomorrow with the aim of travelling around the peninsular. A scooter would cost CUC 60 per day. Rather expensive, so will decide tomorrow.

There were some decent restaurants. This one, Dante's, was in a park at the eastern end of the town and I went there for supper. Quite a picturesque area with lakes and a few other bars. The head waiter was also a 'sommelier', spoke reasonable English and had a good wine cellar (or series of racks). He persuaded me to buy a bottle. He was a good salesman. I ordered, unadventurously, spaghetti bolognese, and it was rather good. A cut above previous Cuban fare. 

All was peace and quiet until a large noisy French family arrived with 3 children and sat at the table opposite. 

....and then, of course, the band arrived having been playing previously at a bar on the other side of the lake. Yes, they were very good. I resisted buying their CD.

The next morning I awoke to pouring rain; the first bit of rain I had so far experienced. At least it was warm rain. I therefore decided against hiring the scooter. Just as well, because Daniella told me there is a hop-on/hop-off 'tour bus' (as in all the other places) which for CUC10 does a round trip of the peninsular. I caught it and off we set on a trip around all the hotels. The sun had come out again by now. There was an extraordinary number and variation of hotels, and much building work on even more going up. Some looked quite tasteful and pleasant, and some, as per the photo at the top, didn't. It took about an hour to reach the easterly point with many stops and detours. At the eastern end is a large marina (right). The strange think about it was that there were almost no boats moored there. We are only about 80 miles from the nearest Florida Keys from here. Could that have something to do with it? To date I'm still not sure what the status of American tourists is. I think they cannot come here direct from USA, but do so via other countries (ie Mexico). I do know that it is very difficult for ordinary Cubans to leave, legally. Plenty of scope for 'people smuggling' but I know nothing about it.

There is a smart 18 hole golf course on the peninsular. At one end of it is this splendid looking Spanish villa (left), called Mansión Xanadú, built by the wealthy American Du Pont family in the 1930s. It is now an expensive restaurant and 8 bedroom hotel. I stopped there for a drink. It has been falling apart on the seaward side and is undergoing renovation.

Right: Looking east up the beach from Mansión Xanadú.
My poor camera does not show adequately the line after line of sun-loungers and occupants burning off the after-effects of unlimited alcohol which, presumably, stretch the full 14 miles to the far end. I expect with an easterly breeze the smell of simmering sun-tan lotion is overpowering.

While fiddling with my PC at another 'hot-spot' in town, a dance club called Casa de la Musica, I met two Swiss ladies 'on tour'. They had been taking Salsa lessons, they told me, and were waiting for the dancing to start so they could practice. "Would I care to join them", they enquired. I was not filled with enthusiasm. I did look in later and nothing much seemed to be going on. The two ladies were sitting alone with no dancing apparent. I decided not to spend the CUC 10 entry charge on that showing.

I must say, the variety of music and dance in this country is extraordinary. A lot with African influence, some from Spanish. I mention only a few. It ranges from Salsa to Rumba, Tumba, Milonga, Bomba, Samba, Bamba, Bamboula, Tambo, Tango, Cumbé, Cumbia, Candiombe, Danzón, something called Regaetón  and, for all I know, the Hokey Kokey and Dashing White Sergeant. With two left feet and little sense of the complex rhythms, I was not inclined to try.

I can't think of anything else of interest to say about Varadero. Nice enough place. Heading west along the coast back towards Havana next. I intend to drop in at the town of Guanabo en-route which, the guide book says, has some nice beaches. We shall see.