We were Cuba when Cuba wasn't cool

Since this weekend marks Peter and mine's 12 year anniversary, and with all the talk lately of President Obama relaxing travel restrictions to Cuba, I thought a look back at our own honeymoon trip to Cuba in the summer of 1997 would make for a fitting Flashback Friday.

(Scanned image of postcard we sent to our families from Cuba)

The idea was formed and the decision was made before I even moved to California in the spring of 1997 to marry Peter.  It was during one of the several trips he made to New York City to visit me during our engagement that we decided we would go to Cuba for our honeymoon.  

It seemed like a very intriguing place to us, Peter had already spent time traveling in the Dominican Republic and Haiti, I think we were both a bit freaked out at the idea of settling down and never going anywhere ever again, and his fluency in Spanish would make getting around there all the easier. 

The way we understood it was that it wasn't technically illegal for Americans to travel to Cuba, despite the decades long travel/other embargo that had been placed against Cuba by American presidents. What was illegal was spending US dollars in the country, which, of course, was the only currency that the Cuban Government was allowing any visitors from anywhere in the world to use there. 

Getting there was actually not a big deal at all.  We went to Cuba two months after we were married during July, celebrating Peter's 29th birthday while we were there.  Since we were at this point living in Pasadena, California, we simply had Pete's parents drop us off in San Ysidro at the US/Mexican border where we walked across, jumped in a taxi and headed for the Tijuana airport.  We had purchased a small travel package from a Mexican travel agent which included airfare and a three day hotel stay in Havana then transportation to the resort community of Varadero where we would stay for another three days.  (Pete would have been happy to backpack across Cuba, but I insisted on a bit nicer accommodations, this is my honeymoon after all!!) 

After our flight (which stopped in Monterey Mexico both ways for some sort of security check)

we arrived at the Havana airport a bit late in the evening.  We were taken to our hotel in the city which used to be owned by Hyatt we were told, and was now run by a Spanish Corporation (as was many things in Cuba we discovered).  It was a very nice high rise hotel, and I remember we slept for a long time before awakening in the morning to head out and meet the people and places of Cuba. 

We did a lot of walking through the streets of Havana.  Above is a typical semi driven public transportation bus system which the Cubans called "camels". 

Most buildings throughout Havana looked like this - completely stopped in time faded glory from the colonial days. 

And the cars, oh my goodness:


Vintage 50's eras Dodges, Fords, Chryslers, etc. all lovingly maintained by their owners - vital pieces of transportation found ALL over the city.  This man proudly posed with his baby when we asked him to. And check out that sweet roof rack on the next wagon over. 

Although I came to understand that a man named Jose Marti was the real hero for Cuban independence, the iconic image of revolutionary Ernesto "Che" Guevara was to be found everywhere in Cuba, including in this giant iron rendering of him near the capital building hanging next to the Cuban flag. 

Che and Pete (and yes, Jose Marti in the middle of them)

Most afternoons in Havana we would walk over to the massive "El Capitolio" building and buy a $1 soft drink and sit at the tables overlooking the square.

Here's Pete reading our Lonely Planet Cuba guidebook which I had given as a gift to him

the previous Valentine's Day

And if you're wondering did we stick out like sore thumbs while walking around the streets of Havana, with our backpacks and sneakers and cameras, the answer is a very loud Si!  People were continually addressing us or coming up to speak with us or asking us where were we from (Canada? Australia? Spain? very surprised and delighted to hear America) and in more than one instance asking us to help them obtain medicine for a sick family member or some other such favor.  We brought home at least two letters given us to mail to family members in America (one by the manager of our hotel in Varadero!) and in the case of Dr. Luis Garcia, we were invited back to his home to meet his family in Havana. 

Dr. Garcia approached us on the street one evening and we visited his home the next day. He told us matter-of-factly that his job was to perform abortions for the state at the hospital, and he lived with his wife and father and sister and nephew in one apartment. They are pictured above (I think the wife took the picture) Dr. Garcia is the one with his hands on Pete's shoulders. Unbelievably nice people who opened their humble home to us and treated us so kindly. 

One touristy thing we did in Havana was take a taxi to the outskirts of the city to Hemingway's compound where he lived and wrote for many years and has now been preserved as a museum. Here's us posing with a photo of Fidel Castro and Ernest Hemingway. 

On the fourth day we were loaded up in the mini-van and our guide Domingo drove us 60 or so miles to the resort town of Varadero on the coast.  This place was everything Havana wasn't - touristy and well catered to and full of foreigners.  Pete of course hated it instantly and we only spent a couple of hours total laying on the beautiful beaches and swimming in the warm ocean. 

Instead we walked down the road a bit and found a small car rental company, and after signing away our life, drove off in this adorable little Korean-built Tico Daewoo rental car. 

We got a map and hit the road.  We drove through small town after small town, visited an alligator farm, passed hitchhikers at every turn (no real reliable transportation system to speak of it turns out in rural Cuba), picked up hitchhikers, dropped hitchhikers off, picked up more hitchhikers (we mostly picked up woman and children and large parcels, there were plenty of those) and finally found ourselves near the other side of the island in the town of Playa Giron near the Bay of Pigs.  There was a small museum there devoted to the American invasion of the area (very pro-Cuban, natch) but not much else to see besides very small town Cuba.  Again, the people along the way could not have been more friendly, helpful, inquisitive and humble. 

Me on the shoreline near the Bay of Pigs 

One husband and wife hitchhiker (I call them that only because the people would stand on the corners or along the side of the road aggressively trying to flag down any vehicle that happened past to give them a lift) we dropped off at their family farm in a rural area along the road invited us to stay for a bit which we did - they set us up with mangoes and avocados freshly picked from their orchard trees - super nice people. 

And I came to quickly agree with Pete that driving around and seeing these sights and meeting these people was far better than laying on the beach all day sleeping, swimming and reading.  I will have these memories of Cuba and its citizens forever.  

in the doorway of "Casa de Al"

 an old restaurant in Varadero, reportedly a favorite

haunt of Al Capone's whenever he came to Cuba 

I got a bit sick from the paella.  Thanks Al. 

One last note: food was very very hard to come by in Havana, even for us tourists.  I've never seen a more needy society, except perhaps in Cambodia.  Every morning included in our hotel was a breakfast buffet which was, in essence, our only guaranteed real food.  We would eat heartily then stuff our pockets and bags with rolls and fruit to eat  throughout the rest of the day. I remember getting such a look from a boy as I ate an apple on the streets later, that I handed it over to him and he immediately devoured it.  There were very few supermercados, which had not much recognizable on the shelves, even if you could afford to buy it.  I also remember a couple of little outdoor fast food restaurants, one chain was called El Rapido, which served very suspicious "hot dogs" as well as "pizza" which was basically bread with ketchup on it. 

Luckily on our second night in Havana a moto-taxi driver told us about the Paladares.  These were small, family owned restaurants, basically an extension of their homes, where they would serve food to those who could afford it.  

This is the card from the Paladar that the moto-taxi driver took us to, down a side-street in Havana and through a small door.  For that service he charged us a dollar, which he immediately turned around and gave to the proprietor who served him a plate of food.

There was no menu to speak of, each Paladar must have served the same thing to everyone. At our place we received authentic Cuban food at its finest: half a roasted chicken, rice, beans and fried plantains.  I'd never had fried plantains and boy, were they yummy.  I must say that was one of the best meals I remember eating for a long time, better even than the outdoor beach buffets we were served every night during our stay at the resort in Varadero. 

As mentioned our flight home was uneventful, we disembarked at the TJ airport and took a taxi back up to the border crossing on a quiet Sunday morning.  Pete had in his backpack a copy of a Mexico travel guide just in case anyone questioned where we were coming from.  But the guards took one look at our passports and quickly waved us through onto the American side. 

Our fears were mostly unfounded, Pete and I have managed to have many adventures together since we were married.  But I still think that our first one together was absolutely one of the best. 

And if travel to Cuba from America becomes the norm again as I really really hope it does, Pete and I definitely plan to head back that way someday, this time with our whole little family in tow.  Viva la Cuba!