When you travel to Cuba, do yourself a favour and leave your American Express behind – it’s useless on the island. But don’t leave home without toilet paper, hand sanitizer and … a lot of patience!

The utmost unique mix of the laid back Spanish-style attitude and a non-motivating socialist system has produced one of the most exceptional and extraordinary societies that no travelogue would be able to fully describe. From Santiago to Montevideo and Buenos Aires to Colonia, I’ve learned pretty fast that in a Spanish-speaking country, nothing gets done fast and nobody is in a hurry to serve you (or even take your cash). Cuba, however, surpassed any and all of my “waiting” experiences across Latin America. Over the two week period I probably ended up cumulatively waiting for about a day: in the restaurants, shops, money exchange offices, bars, travel agencies and museums, waiting was always part of the experience. For example, one day I was getting money exchanged, and the lady behind the counter took my money and buggered right off. The door to the back office was open, so I could see what she was up to … and wouldn’t you guess it? Somebody had brought in something for sale and she got busy checking things out. 15 minutes later she came back and picked up right where she had left me off. In another instance, the lady who was issuing my bus ticket just got up in the middle of it and started chatting with a fellow she had spotted on the street. Then she came in and made a phone call, after which she ran across the street and got her business done. Forty-five minutes later she finally managed to finish issuing my ticket and all along she kept smiling at me and acting like it was all part of the deal! Funny? I thought so, and unless you look at these things with a sense of humour, you may just lose it … and Cubans will tell you to be their guest - literally! That’s the kinda folk the Cubanos are. They are indescribably hospitable, deeply loving, extremely joyful, and tough. Very tough!

What made this trip to Cuba very special was my ability to get right down to the Cuban reality and stay at homes of the common people, witnessing how it is that they are living day in and day out. Everywhere I went, I stayed at Casa Particulares, which are homes of the ordinary Cubans who are licensed by the government to host foreigners. In all instances, I had my own room and a bathroom, and the prices varied from $15-$30 depending on the location. I have to admit that my family in Havana wasn’t all that warm and treated me more like a paycheque than a guest, but throughout the rest of the country it was a completely different story. No five-star hotel or a world-class resort will ever be able to replace the love I've received from these families, the meals I have shared with them, the pictures we’ve taken, and the long good-bye hugs and kisses I’ve been sent away with upon leaving.

My first stop on the island – which, in the last 400 years hasn’t seen a decade when it wasn’t in the middle of some kind of political controversy – was Havana (or as its known to the locals – La Habana): only three hours, yet worlds away from Toronto. I find it pretty ironic that the airport code for Havana is HAV. This city is more about HAV-not’s than HAV’s and all you need to do is a take a short walk through central Havana to understand why.

As soon as I exited the customs hall (where I made sure that my passport *was* stamped), I was attacked by what seemed like a furious mob of revolutionaries (no pun intended) offering me services, taxi rides, accommodation and Lord knows what else. Very few of them took a “no” for an answer and I rushed outside of the terminal just to get away. Little did I know that over the next 14 days I wouldn’t be left alone by these people – not even for a minute! My pre-arranged ride from a host named Humberto Acosta stood me up, so I had to make it downtown on my own. There were plenty of taxis kicking around (no bus service to the airport), but not one of them was willing to bargain. My choices were: Yes or No, and … 30 dollars and 30 minutes later I was at the Acosta residence in Havana Vieja – a colonial part of the town, which would become my home for the next five days.

I wish I could describe Havana with one single word. The city is all over the
map when it comes to pretty much everything. It’s dirty, its poor, its rich and its beautiful at the same time. It’s a city that will make you fall in love with it without ever understanding what it is that drags you back to it like a magnet. If anything, Havana is overwhelming. At times, it can be overwhelming to tears.

As little as hundred years ago, Havana was a happening playground of wealthy Americans seeking unrestricted alcohol and cheap sex. Today, though, the city is more like a dirt-covered diamond waiting to be polished so it can sparkle and show off its true self once again. In the littered streets of Havana Vieja, where many of the residential buildings are missing walls or are standing roof-collapsed, one can still see the old grandeur that these structures had once upon a time. If things had gone the other way, I don’t doubt, even for a second, that present Havana would be one of the world’s blooming cities right up there with Barcelona or Paris. It would be the Queen in the Caribbean that no other city in the Americas could measure up to. One of these days, I am sure, it will get a facelift. For now, though, walking around Havana is a bit like looking at an old lady and vividly seeing her long past beauty in between her wrinkle lines.

Havana is also nothing short of a photographer’s dream. I am not a pro, and even I ended up taking 350 pictures! In ways more than one, the city is stuck in the pre-revolutionary era and if nothing else, you simply couldn’t miss the 1950’s American cars the streets are still packed with. They come in all makes, shapes and colours, and the fact that they are still flawlessly running made me wonder: are they really built like brick houses or did Cubanos find ways to prolong their lives, simply because they had to? I never did find the answer to my own question, but I sure enjoyed riding in a 1955 Chevy taxi. It looked impeccable from the outside, but the inside was just as grim and gutted out as the street I had hailed it on.

My first afternoon stroll through the very narrow and rather dingy streets of Havana Vieja landed me in front of Capitolio Nacional, a building that will put you in a complete awe with its magnificence! It will also make you realize how much influence the US had over Cuba (another blunt evidence of that very influence would be a pre-1959 peso. It looks just like a US dollar in Spanish). What at first may seem like a carbon copy of a US Capitol building in Washington, DC, this Capitolio actually has a lot more affluent architectural details and significantly differs in colour. If there were only one sight to be seen in Cuba, I would absolutely recommend this one. The inside of the dome is striking and the beauty of the ceilings around the building will leave your neck twisted!

Right next to Capitolio is Gran Teatro, and I am still in search for words to describe how beautiful it is – even the pictures and postcards don’t do justice to this architectural masterpiece. It has to be seen – up close and personal – to be fully appreciated and I spent long hours standing in front of it, trying to figure out how could anything of that brilliance be a product of a human imagination. Interior of the theatre, unfortunately, doesn’t quite match its stunning looks. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong, but you’d expect a lot more after the striking first impression. Being a theatre junkie I had to go in for a show, and only for $10 I saw a world-class production of Carmen – opera en cuatro actos :)!

And then … there was hunger! For the first two days, there was a lot of it, too! Like many island nations, Cuba struggles with food supply (ok, maybe Iceland doesn’t really count). Very punitive US embargo, of course, doesn’t help things either. For a cheap Charlie there aren’t too many options for food, and whatever is available at somewhat affordable prices can be described as plain and tasteless at best. The streets of Havana are full of little holes in the wall where you can buy ham and cheese sandwiches and pizzas, amongst other food of undetermined origin. However, when you opt for starvation rather than the food that’s available, you know it has to suck big time! So I starved. My supply of almonds and dried apricots only lasted me for two days, and liquid lunches – whilst extremely enjoyable – could only do so much! By the time I figured out that eating in was the only way to go, I had lost about 3 pounds! Families, who rent accommodation to foreigners, are always willing to cook you a breakfast and/or dinner if you ask in advance. If you ever go to Cuba do yourself a favour and use that option over any other. Decent restaurants can only be found in 5-star hotels and they will charge you 5-star prices for meals that are just ok. One night in Havana, the Acostas cooked me the biggest lobster I have ever seen in my life. It came with bean soup, rice, salad and bread and was perhaps one of the most delicious lobsters I’ve ever had. All for $12, which was not all that bad, I thought.

And just like New York wouldn’t have its charm without New Yorkers, Havana also wouldn’t be herself without Habaneros – people who are the city’s passion, her fire, her sin, and her smile. You’ll see hundreds of them, day and night, kicking shit on the streets from one end of the city to another. Habaneros absolutely love their street scene, and if they are not playing dominos on a sidewalk, chilling with neighbours on the front steps or discussing football in Parque Central, then they are at home with their entry door wide open so they might as well be on the street. Its one big tight community where, even as a foreigner, you can’t miss the love these people have for one another, or for others: never do I remember passing by a gang on a street that didn’t smile and throw an occasional Hola at me! Sometimes, though, it never ended with just an hola!

While Havana is an extremely safe city (police presence everywhere makes it so), there are jineteros that will annoy you like nothing has ever annoyed you before. These hustlers will be after you the minute they smell a dollar in your pocket and from cigars to prostitutes, they will offer you everything under the sun. The best thing to do is to ignore them … something I learned though a very painful lesson of engaging in a conversation with a first few. They are extremely friendly, know how to stroke your ego, and ask you all kinds of b.s. before they get down to their business. “Where are you fron?” – that’s how they always strike up a conversation, and after you turn down everything they have to offer – which takes about 5 minutes because they don’t understand what a “no” means – they’ll ask you if you have a dollar to spare. And the minute one is out of your hair (chest hair counts!!!), there is another one coming right at you.

And speaking of a dollar, it needs to be mentioned that the double economy of a convertible peso (the only legal tender accepted from foreigners) and a regular peso (for the locals) makes prices seem quite weird and vary from one extreme to another. For instance, a ticket to opera costs $10 and so does an hour of painfully slow dial-up Internet access. Museum entrance is usually $1 or $2, but a drink of minty mojito is $3 or $4. All these pricing oddities make you wonder: is Cuba cheap or expansive? Even after spending two weeks there, I still couldn’t figure out a simple answer to that question!

When you think of cigars, doesn’t Cuba come to mind? I bet it does, and so it should! Never in my life have I seen such cigars galore. Everywhere you turn there is someone holding it, selling it, smoking it, or rolling it! They come in all sizes, brands, and strengths, and often the packaging is so attractive that it makes you want to try one, just out of curiosity. Did I try one? Of course I did! I was in Cuba after all. But I didn’t like it … AT ALL! However, I did love a tour of a cigar factory that left me astonished at how much work goes into producing a quality cigar. The tobacco leaves are washed, then dried, then sorted, then checked, and double-checked. And that’s just before they’re even sent to the upper floors of the factory where the “rollers” are.

Every brand name Cuban cigar is hand-rolled and goes through a vigorous quality control before it’s approved for packaging. They all consist of four different types of tobacco leaves, each separately responsible for taste, smell, burning rate, and the outside looks of a cigar. After it’s rolled, the inner tobacco density is checked in a vacuum tube. If it’s too dense or not dense enough, it’s sent back to the cigar maker for re-rolling. After that, a very important size test has to be passed! If it doesn’t perfectly fit through the wooden split on a quality control desk, again, it’s sent back to the cigar maker! Then there are “tasters,” who inhale the smoke to ensure that the aroma is just right. To me it seemed like the old man on a taster shift was having a great time at work … he was puffing away while smiling at us and showing off a couple of teeth he had left on his upper jaw ;-)!

Compared to average Cubanos, the cigar makers earn not a bad living. While the process of cigar making is painfully labour intensive, the competition for factory employment is rather fierce and only the best of the best are eventually hired after a 9-month training course!

Over the next few days I didn’t meet a lot of people. Maybe an occasional foreigner here and there (including two American “illegal aliens,” so to speak), but mainly it was just Havana and I on a lone date of a sort: I was walking miles, trying to soul-search the city, while the bedraggled city couldn’t care less about me. It has far too many problems of its own to care about anybody else, really. I did see a substantial number of sights and museums amongst which I have my favourites: Museo de la Revolucion – a former presidential palace which, along with Capitolio, adorns the city’s skyline. Even ones with little interest in history will appreciate the interior or this palace. Tiffany’s of New York decorated it after all! Then there was Museo del Ron that guides you through everything in rum making process from sugar cane cutting to aging to bottling. What I loved the most was the fact that a cover charge included a shot of 7-year old rum. Or two shots. Perhaps even three, depending how well you clicked with the guide! Once you’ve visited this place, never again will mixing of rum and Coke be the same. Honestly!

Absolutely not to be missed in Havana is Malecon – an 8km seawall that is a favourite hangout for locals and the visitors alike. Its distinctive romantic setting also attracts a lot of couples and at any given moment – day or night – you can spot loads of them sparsely scattered along the wall like pearls on a string. No strangers to Malecon, as well, are street musicians, children of all ages and countless, countless jineteros! On a windy day waves splash very high up over the wall, soaking anything and everything in the way. You really have to be careful not to get wet, unless you are as oblivious as one black Habanero couple I came across on my stroll. While they passionately kissed each other right up against the seawall, the powerful waves of the Caribbean kept drenching them from head to toe, as if blessing their love in its blue-green waters.

That is the last memory of Havana I kept on me. Early next morning I dragged my sleepy ass to a Viazul (bus) station, hoping to make it to Baracoa on the other end of the country. Please don't laugh and don’t ask, but even for a bus-ride in Cuba I had to go stand-by! Reservations on Viazul (until paid) are very iffy so if you REALLY want to “get on,” you’ve got to cough up your cash whenever you reserve the ticket! Lesson learned, not to mention that this flaky bus company would become my best travel buddy for the remainder of my trip, taking me through Trinidad, Santiago de Cuba and, ultimately, to the site of the first Spanish settlement on the eastern shores of Cuba. I was lucky enough to get THE LAST SEAT on that bus to Trinidad. And so I left Havana behind, thinking that I had seen it all. Little did I know that the best was yet to come!