 By
seven thirty the next morning, I was back on the hotel balcony enjoying
my breakfast. After three cups of irresistible Cuban coffee, I returned
to my room to pack. As I handed my keys in, I felt a surge of excitement
brought on by the prospect of heading off into the unknown.
My
journey to La Isla would involve a bus journey of two hours and
then a three-hour ferry crossing. Arriving in darkness, I would
then have to find somewhere to stay. From here on in, I would be
staying in 'Casas Particulares' - the Cuban equivalent of a bed
and breakfast. Cheaper than hotels, they are an ideal opportunity
to experience life within Cuban society and a great way to improve
your Spanish.
The
market in Casas Particulares did not really develop until the early
90’s when the Cuban people were allowed to own and spend US
dollars. Now flourishing industry, it is closely monitored by the
State and subject to stiff licensing fees.
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The
beautiful colonial houses
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Out
on the streets, the people of Havana were busy with another day.
Mothers ushered young ones off to school, fruit and vegetable sellers
sat patiently by meagre stalls. Up above me Salsa music floated
off every balcony. The atmosphere here in the ‘Barrios’
(neighbourhood) is wonderful; a true reflection of Cuba’s open,
friendly society. However, step into the tourist zone and the magic
dies. Rounding the corner is like walking into another world; a
cacophony of horns, pollution, locals, confused tourists, and of
course the ubiquitous Jintero. "Taxi Amigo, guided tours, cheap
Casas, whatever you want…"
This
morning was no different. I grabbed the nearest available taxi and
was soon on my way Havana's central bus station, roughly two miles
away. As soon as we pulled up half a dozen hungry looking souls
mobbed the car, desperate to earn a dollar by carrying my luggage.
"Gracias, pero Soy joven y las piernas son fuerte." (Thanks
but I am young and the legs are strong).
I
then made my way to the reservation window to make enquiries about
the journey to La Isla. Just my luck, they were fully booked for
the next 48 hours. I pleaded but realised I was wasting my time.
Feeling dejected I made my way outside to see if the bright sunshine
could lift my mood. It didn't. What now, I asked myself. Could this
be a bad omen or am I simply letting a small setback get the better
of me?
I took
a walk back into the station and after a spot of lunch in the café
was feeling good again. I chatted with the owner, explaining that
I was at a loose end for the next couple of days. He suggested I
might want to consider staying in Vedado. Apart from being just
around the corner it was regarded as a place of great cultural and
historical importance.
Vedado
was originally a small colonial town. By the late 1890’s it
was attracting many of Havana’s North-American community. In
no time at all the area was thick with high-rise buildings, bars
and restaurants. The area boomed under the Batista era and soon
became a popular haunt for many of America’s East Coast mafia.
They set up strip clubs, gambling dens and other nefarious activities
designed to attract the tourists. Castro however, had other plans.
One of the first things to happen in post-revolution Cuba was the
immediate cessation of the ‘gangster life.’
Walking
into Vedado there is little to suggest this place had ever been
a playboys’ paradise. Many of the public buildings take their
names from great revolutionaries, the surrounding walls full of
socialist propaganda. But as you go further in more of these incredible
mansions appear, row upon row of beautifully styled colonial properties.
And after a while, it’s easy to imagine Lucky Luciano and Al
Capone strutting down these very blocks, on their way to some glitzy
function. But just like Old Havana, Vedado basks
in a faded glory of crumbling and neglected grandeur-of an era lost
forever.
Part
Four 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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