Havana is one worn down yet equally vibrant city! It has a magic that immediately soaks into your pores. And what a contrast from the paradise beach-bubble of all-inclusive resort life of Varadero to the bustling city with exhaust fumes to rival the streets of New Delhi. Although there are far fewer - and far more unique - cars on the road than in Canadian cities, they are making a lot noise and emitting lung-choking exhaust. Almost no car is newer than the 1980s and many as old as the 1950s - Ladas, Chevies, Peugeots, Oldsmobiles, etc.

The bus from Varadero dropped us off at a five-star hotel a few kilometers away from our 'casa particular' (Cuba does not have the infrastructure to accommodate all the tourists so in 2011 the government began allowing people to open up their homes to tourists; apparently there are over 3000 casa particulars in Cuba). As with the first of any transactions in a new place, we paid double the price for our cab drive to our casa but learned quickly how the pricing dance works here. Cuban taxi drivers are kind souls who are just trying to make the most they can and are happy to come down to the fair price.

Our casa was in the part of the city called Vedado and the corner lot colonial home enclosed by a concrete fence with plant life warming its harshness, invited us walk through the with a decorative iron gate to explore further. The tree-lined street with alternating worn down homes with ones like ours created a varied look unlike most communities. We met Ferus, our feisty and service-oriented host, who spoke 'un pocito' of English, which when trying to communicate with our even worse Spanish, left us wondering what we had or had not communicated.

In sign language, punctuated by Spanish and a word or two of English, Ferus showed us the ropes – how the toilet and bidet worked, the canister where you placed your used toilet paper, all the details necessary to orientate us thoroughly to our new abode for 5 nights. The eighteen-foot ceilings and sparsely placed antique furniture evoked a clean, cool, historical and inviting place. The white painted iron rocking chairs that graced the outdoor patio and entrance to the house, reminded us of times gone by.

Another conversation that Ferus and I had consisted of a lot of Spanish, some English and a walllop of arm gestures and charades. He was pondering two words, which to him sounded exactly the same – beach and *****. How could beach be a lovely spot where everyone wants to go to have fun but sometimes the word (*****) is used when people are yelling at each
other? This 'conversation' went on for quite awhile until I understood. I explained '*****’ in terms of a female dog and also how the word was used to swear. A light when on for him and he said, "Ah! Sone of a beeeech!". In Spanish, the letters ‘e’, ‘i’ and ‘o’ are pronounced long.

We began our exploration of the city by taking the hop on/hop off bus tour that left from Centro and offered us an overview of the city. Baking in the sun on the top layer of the double decker bus, we saw from a terrific vantage point the ravaged infrastructure of the city – buildings falling apart, sidewalks lumpy and hard to traverse, roads with potholes to sink your car in. Yet, on this city goes gloriously flaunting its unique architectural beauty of baroque, neoclassicism, art deco and modernism...along with some splashes of Soviet concrete monstrosities. Havana life oozes out of its buildings onto the streets, intriguing visitors with its rawness, honesty and vitality.

Our second day scouring the city commenced in Vieja, the old city. There was a monster cruise ship in the harbour and immense tour buses lined the street where our taxi driver dropped us off. Tourists were everywhere. I walked tentatively along the cobblestone plaza using my crutch to support my equally cobblestone-like, worn out knees.

The 1608 church and monastery of San Francisco de Asis was before us. With a bronze life-sized statue of a man standing on the sidewalk, people were eagerly taking their photos beside it. About 5 meters further, in an alcove of the church where a large bell sat on the ground, there was another bronze statue of a man sitting down with his cello. I decided to get in on the photo action and tucked in behind the statue, demanding that Jim take a photo. He said to me, ‘he is real, you know’. I looked at him in confusion until, much to my shock, the statue gently shifted his weight. Still in character, he posed with me for a couple of photos; one where he looked deeply into my eyes and kissed my hand. It felt like a connecting moment - frozen across time and space.

Later in the afternoon while sitting at a café table, this man who sat across from us came over to me and handed me a card. Curious, I glanced up at him and within a second I knew his eyes – it was my statue man dressed in jeans with no make-up. We laughed in recognition of each other and the connection we had made. As Jim and I discovered later, these people who remain absolutely still (which anyone who has done dance or yoga knows how difficult it is to hold motionless for any length of time), dressed and made up to look like a bronze statue are peppered all over Cuban cities.These 'estatuas vivientes' are one of the many examples of the artistic life of Cubans.

Our ability to speak Spanish is so bad; it wasn’t easy navigating the non-resort part of Cuba without some functional language skills. We felt helpless and stupid, wondering if we really wanted to make our way around the country for the remaining 3 weeks. With almost no internet to help us problem solve, we were challenged more than we have been in many years of travel. For instance, we felt we couldn't make phone calls to book accommodations because, even if we could patch together a few words to be understood, with no ability to comprehend what the people are replying and no sign language to help us out, we simply cannot communicate. Thankfully, prior to coming to Cuba, we got connected to Susana, a woman who sets people up with casas and does all the ground work. Her English is great.

I, again, make the promise to learn Spanish when I return home. More on Havana in the next blog post.

All of Jim' images from Havana can be seen in higher resolution here:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/jimneale/ albums/72157663759237863