About the project
By Mia Taylor
TheStreet
The opening scene of the novel Dreaming in Cuban could not have been a more appropriate allegory for our journey.
Sitting on her front porch in her best housedress and pearl earrings, protagonist Celia del Pino vigilantly scans the ocean with binoculars, guarding Cuba’s northern coast against the yanquis.
“The Yankees have arrived Celia,” I thought to myself, as I read the book while approaching the Cuban coastline.
We arrived, in typical American fashion, with much fanfare and spectacle, sailing right into the heart of Havana aboard the Fathom cruise ship Adonia earlier this month.
Carrying nearly 700 passengers, including a horde of media members, the Adonia made history as it pulled into port at the tiny island nation, the first leisure cruise to sail from the United States to Cuba in decades, breaking down barriers that seemed unthinkable as recently as one year ago.
The ship arrived early on a balmy, opalescent Monday morning, bringing automobile traffic along Havana’s bustling Malecón to a near standstill. Crowds of people lined the busy waterfront boulevard waving, taking pictures, whistling and clapping. And just behind the rows of people, there was the vibrant palette of the antique cars I’d heard so much about. Blues, pinks, yellows, a scene almost surreal in its confection of color and time warp imagery.
The scene was a small precursor of what was to come.
Throughout the course of Adonia’s brief visit to the island, interactions with the Cuban people were easily the most memorable takeaway. But they were among the many highlights. Cuba is a canvas with many colors, someone told me during the trip. And that canvas, at least what I saw of it, also includes crumbling but hauntingly beautiful architecture, a seemingly endless parade of antique automobiles in colors you never knew were possible, picturesque mountainous countryside, small fishing villages, charming beaches, unexpectedly quiet coves and provincial cities – there was much to take in during our whirlwind journey.
The Adonia stopped in three Cuban ports, giving its travelers a mere three and a half days on the ground to explore this fascinating destination. There was two full days in Havana, a half-day in Cienfuegos and nearly a full day in Santiago de Cuba.
Still, as brief as it was, the journey accomplished its mission – reintroducing the Cuban and American people and setting the stage for the ramping up of commerce and interaction, which will include continued regular visits from Adonia.
What would Celia del Pino think of it all? Or more importantly, putting aside the fictional character, what do real Cubans think of this warming of relations with the United States and the flood of Americans about to descend upon the country? I received something of an answer as we disembarked from the Adonia in Havana on day one.
The sunlight flooded in through the exit of the narrow and cavernous port and customs building where Adonia was docked, making the scene outside hard to define and fully absorb initially.
But as we stepped from the building onto the sidewalk, what unfolded was nothing short of remarkable.
Throngs of Cubans, three and four people deep, if not more, lined the opposite side of the street, barely contained by the traffic passing between us, spilling into the street in a mass of enthusiastic humanity.
The arriving Americans stood on one side of the street. The awaiting Cubans on the other. For a few brief moments, we all stood looking at each other, drinking it in – a scene that to a bystander must have appeared simultaneously puzzling and fascinating.
Then as waves of Adonia passengers began crossing the street into this dense crowd, spontaneous cheers erupted from the Cubans. The sea of awaiting Cubans parted slightly to let passengers make their way through, but locals remained close enough to shake passengers’ hands, exchange hugs with us and take pictures and video of each new American face.
In the absence of shared language for many of us, communication took place through through smiles and eyes filled with warmth that spoke volumes. “Hello old friend,” they seemed to say. “So nice to see you after all these years. Welcome.”
It was like walking a red carpet; we were all celebrities to the Cuban people in that moment. And the remarkable, heartfelt exchange continued for hours as hundreds of passengers emptied off Adonia.
For the remainder of the week, there wasn’t a passenger I came across who didn’t mention that morning and that greeting. It was an experience none of us will soon forget.
The next two days were spent quickly touring Havana and its outskirts. Each group followed a different itinerary, as is the case with cruise ships and the various excursions offered.
Some of the options included walks through Old Havana (a UNESCO World Heritage Site), coffee in Plaza Vieja with a local café owner who discussed the role of tourism in the city, visiting San Francisco de Assisi Square to discuss the role of religion on the island and walking through a famous booksellers’ market in Plaza de Armas to peruse antiques.
On day two in Havana, we visited Plaza de la Revolución viewing colossal, iron sculptures of some of the country’s most historic figures including Che Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos. Next there was a tour of Havana’s 140-acre Cementerio de Cristobal Colon, a cemetery filled with baroque-style mausoleums. Other options included Havana’s Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, (home to some of the country’s best examples of fine art) as well as visits with local artists or lunch at an organic farm.
My personal favorite was an afternoon visit to the blink and you miss it town of Cojimar, just a few miles east of Havana. Made famous by expatriate Ernest Hemingway, who used the small fishing village as the setting for his book Old Man and the Sea, Cojimar is an opportunity to escape the heat and hustle of Havana and spend time wandering quiet, dusty streets to converse with locals who see far fewer tourists.
As I meandered down one of the few roads dissecting the town, I noticed a man sitting on the front porch of a modest, single-story house, the color of pistachio ice cream. He stared at me with curiosity, smiling. As our eyes met, he waved me over.
Though the language barrier proved challenging, we communicated enough to trade names, our ages and for him to explain to me that he was a watch repairman. Mostly we just smiled, basking in the warmth of even the minimal exchange we managed.
Continuing down the street, I passed the La Terraza de Cojímar restaurant, a famous Hemingway haunt, typically frequented by the legendary writer after he would go out to sea on his boat, the Pilar.
Next, I came across a one-room building painted the color of a sunflower, with a giant slab of meat dangling in its open window. Again the interaction was limited by language, but in the end, as I turned to continue my meandering exploration, the shop’s clerk came from behind the counter to send me off with a giant hug and kiss on the cheek.
A few doors down, there was a single-story home with its doors and windows thrown wide open, revealing two rooms filled with artwork. The artist was a young man who lived in the home with his elderly mother. My travel companion bought one of his paintings and then more people trickled in and began snatching up his creations, much to the young man’s pleasure.
Around the same time, yet another travel companion spotted actress Tilda Swinton walking around town, having arrived in Cuba for a fashion show taking place later that evening in Havana.
In the days during our visit, the world seemed to begin quickly descending on Cuba in a way that must have seemed surreal for locals. Designer Karl Lagerfeld cordoned off an entire street in central Havana to stage a fashion show with the likes of Gisele Bundchen, Swinton and Vin Diesel. Yet not a single article of clothing displayed in the show is available for sale in Cuba. Nor would any of it be affordable in a country where the monthly salary, we were told, remains somewhere between $28 and $40 for the average person.
The day after the fashion show, several members of the Kardashian family arrived in the capital, touring the city in a convertible, stopping to pose seductively at various local monuments in their skintight designer clothes, posting selfies on Instagram.
Ah yes, here we come Cuba, the good and the bad. Was this the invasion Celia del Pino was hoping to guard against?
Adonia’s second stop was Cienfuegos, a small city that I quickly became smitten with. Known as “La Perla Del Sur” (or The Pearl of the South), Cienfuegos is said to be one of the cleanest cities in Cuba.
“La ciudad que más me gusta a mí” (the city I like the best), Cuban singer Benny Moré wrote of his home city in the song “Cienfuegos.”
In contrast to the hectic and urban energy of Havana, Cienfuegos has a beguiling provincial feel. Walking through its center, visitors get an up-close and colorful view of daily life, which carries on uninterrupted by the passing tourists: ration shops, barber shops, food carts selling sliced pork sandwiches, pharmacies where locals buy subsidized medicine, shoe shops and galleries filled with hand-signed paintings. The rhythm and energy is simultaneously bustling and relaxed.
On street corners, crowds of young men sit on folding chairs and crates, playing the country’s favorite game – dominoes – on makeshift tables. Meanwhile, in the parks, locals congregate to use the public Wi-Fi, making video calls on their iPads or phones to friends and family around the world.
Cuban Adriana Pinelo, 28, tells me that the arrival of Internet access (under Raul Castro) profoundly changed life for many people, allowing them to see pictures of relatives on Facebook and make video calls to family and friends not seen in years (and the video calls are actually cheaper then an international telephone call.)
Cienfuegos gave us a chance to see this new development in action. Unfortunately, we only had about three hours to explore this charming city, not nearly enough.
On our final day in Cuba, we awoke in Santiago de Cuba. The sounds of the singers and musicians could be heard floating from the small port where the ship had docked earlier in the morning.
Located on the southeastern end of the island, Santiago was founded by the Spanish in 1515. It’s the second largest city in Cuba and an area known for colonial architecture and revolutionary history. It’s also known for its distinctive Afro-Cuban cultural influences, which can be seen in the artwork for sale here, heard in the music spilling into the streets from bars, restaurants and dance halls, and witnessed in the faces and stories of the people.
All of which is fascinating, but our ability to explore the city and the region in the brief time we were there was severely limited by a downpour during the first half of the day.
When the rain cleared, I made my way to the rooftop terrace of Hotel Casa Granda, in the heart of Santiago, to enjoy the panoramic view of mountainside, the square below and the sea beyond.
There wasn’t much of a chance to interact with locals in Santiago, because in addition to the rain, we were guided around on a tightly scheduled bus tour led by police escorts.
Nevertheless, as I sat on the Hotel Casa Granda terrace, I reflected on what I will remember from my visit to Cuba. What I will take home with me is memories of the warmth of the people, their inquisitiveness, the seemingly endless stream of antique cars, and the dizzying array of colors – not only of the automobiles, but the buildings and houses, the hillsides, the artwork and the ocean.
It was a brief introduction, but one that convinced me that Cuba is a place I will visit again and again. The country has a way of getting into your heart and immediately taking up residence there. And that’s exactly some Cubans are hoping for.
In the conversations I was able to have, either through a translator or with those who spoke English, I was told again and again about the optimism of Cubans and their hope for the future, when I asked about the blossoming, renewed relationship between Cuba and the United States.
Jose Cardosa, a 48-year-old resident of Santiago de Cuba told me that in the months leading up to Adonia’s arrival (after local news had reported that the ship would be coming), the buzz on the street was all about the impending arrival of American tourists.
“Americans are coming, Americans are coming” could be heard in one conversation after another. As the day of the ship’s arrival grew closer, more and more Cubans could be seen wearing t-shirts and hats emblazoned with the American flag.
“Cubans love Americans,” Cardosa explained. “Because in a sense we are from the same continent…We are much more similar then Europeans and Cubans. Our cultures are closer. There is a link between us.”
Perhaps that was the narrative Cubans were expected to tell us, because it was a sentiment I heard expressed nearly identically from other people I encountered.
And if there was one criticism I heard about the way things have begun, it’s that many of the tourists arriving right now spend most of their time being shuttled from place to place on government-run bus tours. The taxi drivers and other average Cubans would like to see Americans be able to get out and explore more on their own while here, spreading the wealth around. I would like to see this happen as well.
But Cardosa expressed optimism about this also.
“The buses are for now…Then you will come back again on your own and explore independently and people here will have more opportunity to benefit from Americans visiting,” said Cardosa. “I have high hopes.”
As Adonia pulled out of port in Santiago de Cuba to begin its journey back to Miami at the end of the week, the sea wall facing the ocean was once again covered with Cubans waving and shouting. The tiny spark of flashbulbs could be seen over and over again as the crowds took pictures of the departing ship. I even noticed the staff from the waterfront restaurant where we had lunch earlier that day, running out onto the patio and dock in front of their building, waving goodbye.
Cars driving along the island’s perimeter stopped and the occupants scrambled out, stood on the cliffs facing the ocean and waved. One car followed the ship for what seemed like miles, stopping every few minutes to get out and wave again, and then drive onward to follow the ship until it was no longer possible to drive any further.
As I watched this car, the final parting words of Cardosa ran through my mind.
“Remember, we are waiting for you,” Cardosa told me.
We will be back, that’s a promise.
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