A good Havana tourist

I took a city tour – one run by the same government tourism organisation that puts money into city renovation projects. (Brownie points for me.)

Still, tours are a mixed blessing. As Geoff rightly puts it, you pay to sit in an overly-air-conditioned bus and stare through the windows at what you could see for free wandering the streets. And in many ways he is right. There were only two stops on the bus part of my tour. The first was at the Plaza de la Revolutión, one of those vast empty squares dedicated to fallen heroes, with oversized pictures, slogans and flags.

The second was outside (not inside, note) the 18th century Fortaleza de San Carlos de la Cabaña. It would have been good to go inside the fort, as it is very fine - built by the Spanish to make sure the vile British never captured Havana again (they did in 1762 and the Spanish only got it back by swapping it for Florida). But we only stopped long enough for us to look at Cuba’s Guinness Book of Records-awarded longest-ever cigar (90m) and be encouraged to splash out on our own cigars and rum.

Still, while tours can be frustrating, I still believe they are worth it for the information you get. There are always some wonderful historical or other snippets to be had. My favourite on the city tour was the fact (so wonderful that I still find it hard to believe it’s really true) that the Spanish initially named the island now called Cuba “Jane”. After the daughter of the Spanish king. Or at least “Juana”, the Spanish equivalent. Sometimes “Juana la loca” (crazy Jane), though I couldn’t work out if it was the princess or the country considered mad. Only later did the colonisers realise that “Jane” could perhaps be the least cool name for a country ever, and they reverted to the indigenous Taino Indian name Cuba (pronounced Cooba).

Another interesting piece of information garnered from the tour was about the slave market. African slaves first arrived in Cuba in 1522, and were conveniently bought and sold in a market adjacent to the port. When the Catholics built a monastery and church dedicated to San Francisco de Asís on the same square, the priests and congregation complained. Not about any human rights issues involved in the trading of men, of course, but about the noise, smells and general disruption of having a slave market outside their place of quiet prayer and contemplation. They lobbied to have the market moved, and it duly was. Thus the power of the Catholic Church.

Cuba didn’t abolish slavery until 1886, 350 years after it was introduced. It was the second-last country in the Americas to do so.

A third thing (promise I won’t bore you with any more) is about the Capitolio Nacional building, a grand edifice built with Cuba’s post-WWI sugar boom money and extremely reminiscent of Washington’s DC Capitol Building. The entertaining thing is that due to some problems with the American building’s dome, Havana’s Capitolio is 5m taller, was completed before Washington’s and is more ornate. No wonder the US imposed that blockade.

Havana

The first thing you notice about Havana is much of it is falling down. Colonial houses with ornate plasterwork, pretty inner courtyards, carved doorways and wrought iron balconies are crumbling around their long suffering inhabitants. Another city might have knocked the whole lot down and started again in concrete, steel and glass – Bangkok and Shanghai spring to mind.  Not Havana. An enlightened City Historian the late 1970s started what has turned out to be an almost miraculous restauration push in the old town (La Habana Vieja) – especially miraculous given a period of involvement by the Soviet Union (not renowned for beautiful modern architecture) and then some dire economic times in Cuba.

The project started with the classy renovation of a few upmarket hotels (the Hotel Ambos Mundos, for example, where Hemingway is said to have written For whom the bell tolls, and the Santa Isabel, which was once owned by a Spanish count). Around 50% of the tourism dollars generated from these state-run hotels was funnelled into more renovation, with buildings around some of the beautiful central city squares being returned to their former glory. Pavement cafés and quality restaurants opened up catering for foreign visitors. And his in turn fed more tourism, and therefore more dollars for renovation projects. Clever, huh?

(Obviously there is a bit of a moral issue around creating an area of town where the local population can’t remotely afford the food, drink or accommodation on offer, but the other 50% of the tourism profits goes towards social projects.)

But what a task! Government estimates suggest a quarter of Havana Vieja has been restored, but that means there is three quarters to go. Plus some formerly lovely buildings lining the once-fine Malecón – Havana’s 8km seafront promenade - are in desperate need of TLC. And there are a myriad of other formerly beautiful streets outside the old town. Walk a couple of blocks from a Havana plaza where tourists drink beer and mojitos and eat seafood in surroundings that could rival what’s on offer in France or Italy, and you are back among the crumbling stonework, rickety balconies, dilapidated courtyards and precarious stone staircases. Some buildings have fallen down completely and the sites are now being used to dump rubbish, house skinny cats and piss against the wall.

 

Being the City Historian would be a seriously daunting job. But I for one really hope he is successful.

That Machu Picchu photo...

Before we left New Zealand, in that slightly manic, why-are-we-doing-this time preceding departure, we printed out a few bits of random information we thought might be useful. The plan was that as we got to the relevant place, we would have time to read at leisure. 

One of these sheets was a from a travel blogger whose name I have forgotten. This man had visited Machu Picchu with his family, when he probably should have stayed safely in Denver, or wherever he came from. He spends quite a bit of time describing the dangers, particularly to his wife and child, or falling off the various "death drops" around. For example:

"I conclude Machu Picchu Mountain would be a much better option than Huaynu Picchu, primarily because MMP is much less dangerous than HP and less crowded. From what I heard, there are still some scary drop-offs and places where you don't want to stumble, but it's not nearly as scary and life-threatening as HP. I like the sound of that."

Don't we all. Actually, I reckon you are probably more likely to die of a heart attack from spending two hours walking up steps at a 45-degree angle, and 3000 metres of altitude. We passed several people who perhaps shouldn't have taken the risk and instead stayed at the main site. And that blogger guy doesn't even mention that risk.

Then he moves onto some photographic advice. 

"Obviously it's very important to get some good pictures while you are there. Personally I think the most important picture is one with you and your party standing with Machu Picchu in the background... When most people think of Machu Picchu, they picture this one specific view of the ruins that you see everywhere in magazines and travel guides, with the Huaynu Picchu mountain in the background. You want that exact picture, except with you and your party in it."

And the first thing you think is "what a dickhead".

And then of course you go to Machu Picchu and you take that photo. And maybe a couple of others...