 Eventually
I made my way out on to the main drag and took a stroll along the
Paseo Marti. This attractive marble boulevard runs almost half the
length of Old Havana. As I reached the seafront I was rewarded with
a magnificent view of the Castillo (Castle) de Los Tres Santos Reyes
Magnos del Morro. This rather splendid castle was built between 1589
and 1630. It was designed to protect the harbour entrance and was
once captured by British troops in 1762. The lighthouse (Cuba’s
first) was added in 1845.
To
my left I was able to catch a glimpse of Havana’s imposing
skyline, looking every bit the modern capital. But as I walked down
the Malecon (Seafront) towards the centre I couldn’t disguise
my disappointment. Even more beautiful buildings crumbling into
dereliction.
Just
ahead of me I caught a glimpse of a rather bizarre mural, featuring
the words, “Senores Imperialistas, No Les Tenemos Absolutemente
Ninguno Miedo!” (Dear Imperialists, we have absolutely no fear
of you!) This unusual poster was clearly intended as an upturned
middle finger to American interests. Not surprisingly the mural
lay just a few yards from the former US Embassy.
By
now the ocean was crashing into the sea wall defences and I was
getting sprayed so I turned left into the heart of modern Havana.
Once more the streets were busy with tourists and locals. But by
comparison the buildings were much smarter, shiny new Korean taxis
buzzed through the streets and the general atmosphere seemed much
more upbeat. In the distance I could see one building dominating
the skyline, the Hotel Havana Libre.” This was where Fidel
Castro first set up his interim government after the 1959 revolution.
It is now one of Havana’s smartest hotels and has a great deal
to offer the visitor-banks, shops, travel agencies and nightly shows.
Further
down my attention was drawn to a local flea market, selling carvings,
beads and other interesting artefacts. The nice thing about this
market was that stall holders were not in your face and the prices
seemed like good value for money. But as I perused the stalls I
could feel an aching in my legs and a growing desire to be somewhere
quiet, feet up and a good cup of tea. As my hotel was about two
miles away I decided it was time to catch a bus, Cuban style.
To
be honest, nothing could have really prepared me for this. It was
only as time went by that I was able to make any sense of this bizarre
ritual. It goes something like this; When you arrive at the bus
stop you shout “el ultimo” (The last). This helps to identify
who is before you; Cubans are far too laid back to bother forming
an orderly queue. When the bus arrives you should stick to your
marker like glue and fight your way on. Invariably the bus is already
fit to bursting and you envisage no hope whatsoever of finding a
place. But somehow, contrary to the law of physics you find yourself
squeezed in. Now comes the tricky bit… how to move down a severely
overcrowded bus and end up at the back doors just as it reaches
your stop. This was the bit I never mastered and found myself shelled
out prematurely on countless occasions. Mind you, how much of this
was a subconscious act of survival, a need for fresh air and personal
space, I’ll never know. Modern commuters, you don’t know
how lucky you are.
Back
at the hotel I decided Old Havana was too aggressive and commercial,
so perhaps it was time to move on. Over supper I perused some travel
guides and was entranced by the idea of catching a ferry to the
largest island belonging to Cuba, La Isla De Juventud. The book
promised white sands, lapis waters and an entirely
un-commercial experience for the visitor. Climbing into bed I felt
excited and encouraged by what lay ahead.
Part
Three of Pete's journey follows next week.
The
views expressed on this page are those of the contributor and the
opinions expressed are not necessarily those of the BBC.
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