Saturday, April 6, 2013

Cartagena 2013




Cartagena  Colombia 2013.  I had a hard time starting this.  Many years ago I realized that I was a poor Canadian. Both in terms of money and the Canadian notion that winter is "The real Canada".  I have not spent a whole winter in Canada since I discovered Latitude and longitude.   Much of my youth was spent in Colombia.  I love Colombia so I travel there occasionally and this year I went to see if I might care to return for some extended time.
Colombia today is not the Colombia of the eighties. The whole drug issue has gone legit. People say that the drug trade has moved on but I think the deals are the same, it's just that the deals are now done in office towers and the street scene has been abandoned.  The day I arrived in Cartagena a ship was busted with 400 tonnes of coke in La Bahia de Cartagena.  This headline dispelled the notion of a country renewed by a bustling textile industry.



Cartagena has become very popular with both the wealthy internationalistas and the back packing adventure crowd. What hipster doesn't improve his social standing by means of a Colombian stamped passport. So I was a bit adrift here. I fit neither of these demographics and felt oddly at odds with a city that was once my home. One night at a cafe with a Colombian friend she looked at me and saw my disappointment with the scene around us.  Rude of me to be disappointed to see people living well and enjoying themselves but she saw what I saw and said... "tu requerdas cuando Cartagena era nuestra?".  Do you remember when Cartagena was ours?  I knew there was something missing but she clarified the point. Cartagena grew up and so did I.  What was missing here was my youth.

It was a bit of a weird winter of travel. Cuba was not to my liking and now Cartagena was adding to a growing belief that I enjoy the road more than the place. The destination seems a small part of the more important event of getting there.  The good result of this understanding is that there is always more getting there than being there.







My Colombian experience was further tainted by a very thorough search of my person and personal history as I departed the country.  I was finger printed and then forced to submit to a full body xray with a machine that looked as if it had been purchased from a garage sale in Chernobyl. They then unloaded my luggage from the plane and examined it 3 more times.  I finally boarded the plane after yet another interrogation.  The poor passengers waited for my final questioning.  As I said the drug deals are now done in office towers.  The customs agents were polite enough as they hunted my things and history but It did leave a mark. 

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Cuban Confusion


                                                                                                                                                               



  • Places in transition are always appealing. You just never know what is going to happen or how your plans will become irrelevant and rearranged.  Impose prejudice at your peril.
I arrived in Cuba a few weeks ago and like so many others I was there to see what all the talk of transition was about.  It is a hard country to get to know.  I read as much as I could,  "Cuba, a New History" by Richard Gott,  "History of Cuba" by Jose Canton Navarro and the ever delightful Dervla Murphy writing "The Island That Dared".  It's good to do your homework.  There is also a great canon of literature on Cuba but I didn't find much of this really helpful on the ground.  
 I wanted to see the eastern states and get off the very well defined Havana,Trinidad, Santiago trail. This proved to be somewhat interesting. The Cuban Government has made it easier to get around as an independent tourist but you are never able to forget that you are a tourist.




Back street in Trinidad



I arrived in Varadero, the very heart of packaged Cuban tourism. A long stretch of white sand devoured  by a long string of all inclusive hotels.  The local Cubans I met called it a tourist ghetto. I arrived here as it is the cheapest point of entry from Canada. I left immediately but found that the tourist ghetto travelled with me.  Via Azul is a very efficient bus line that is exclusively for tourists. So in my attempt to get out of tourist centre Varadero I was on a bus full of camera clicking Europeans.  This was not what I was looking for.  I tried the next day to board a long hall bus from Holguin to Santiago that was not the tourist bus. I was quickly informed that foreigners were not permitted to ride the subsidized Cuban buses. While this makes sense as there is no reason for the Cubans to subsidize tourist travel I really did not want to get back on the bus that carried exclusively my own likeness.  So stubbornly I contracted a driver at hefty expense and continued.  This was a good choice as I got a little more insight into the daily life in Cuba. The driver was overeducated and as I was to discover over and over again as he, like most Cubans I met was very proud of Cuba and while he wished for more opportunity he fully supported Fidel and Raul Castro.  This is the thing.  People feel they have done their bit.  They are very proud of their grand experiment but now they want to see some variety in their lives. I met no one who claimed they would change socialism for a x box and flatscreen TV, but they are yearning for a little more.  This is interesting as unlike many other places Cuba is not confronted by fellow citizens doing much better than they.  They see Fidel Castro and his cohorts living modestly and there is a general sentiment that for better or worse "we are in this together:.









I decided on a night out at a local "Casa de Trova" in Santiago.  It was all it was supposed to be but the night before I was lucky enough to have been a guest at a similar venue in Holguin that was far more interesting. I was the only Gringo in the Holguin music and rum grotto.  The music in both places was as enthusiastically played as it was received. Dance and drink are the main entertainment everywhere in Cuba.  My luck in Holguin was the result of the usual misadventure.  I arrived well after sunset in the pouring rain and was without prearranged accommodation.  A middle aged woman returning from work noticed the dull gaze of the clearly lost and escorted me to a Casa Particular owned by one of her friends.  The small home was all I could have asked for.  Quiet and clean.  I later met the same woman in the town plaza.  At this point I should explain the "jinetera/jinetero issue in Cuba.  Jinatera means jockey as in those who ride the tourists.  It can be a problem but sometimes it is just as simple as a desire to get into a tourist coffee shop or exchange conversation and local knowledge for ice cream or a beer.  If this issue appalls you Cuba will be a challenge.  She informed me that she was a singer. I soon realized that she was somewhat famous as people kept stopping by to chat.  It was she who invited me to the tiny Holguin club. I was introduced to the band and some local writers. This was to be one of the few times in Cuba that I felt I was seeing the way Cubans live.

I travelled around the south eastern part of the island for a couple more weeks and I have to say I never did get close to understanding Cuba. Obviously on a month long trip you are foolish to think you can find the heart of a place.
Outside of the serious tourist areas you become somewhat invisible. Locals in very recent times were not to speak to foreigners. There is a nasty version of neighbourhood watch that still exists in Cuba.

The embargo is rightfully blamed for many of Cubas problems but along with the recent overtures to "market forces" there likely will arrive a corresponding change in attitudes to the big world we all now live in.
















I think Cubas brave face will prevail. The new market forces will be governed by Cubans but some element of internationalism is clearly arriving. You see it in the dress of the young and salsa competes with hip hop at many a street corner rum shop.

The one thing I did learn in Cuba is that no island is an island.