Cuban Hustle
Stranded at the airport in Cuba.
Ten days into entering this country and it was time to leave. We bought tickets on a whim at the customs desk in Bahamas and arrived with little research into a very complicated ecosystem.
There’s something about the nostalgia of oil, cigars and old cars that feels romantic even in a city like Old Havana where hustlers will walk with you, talk with you, invite themselves to dinner and make you pay for the drinks.
We landed early evening and immediately found ourselves stuck in customs unable to communicate while being interrogated by five passionate officers - who only spoke Spanish.
There’s little English spoken here which feels refreshing (and intimidating) and with little to no access to wifi, difficult to express the simplest things.
We quickly found that the Cuban peso was a currency only valuable to buy food and if you wanted to actually see Cuba, you needed USD or Euros to flip the bill. And we only had… Australian dollars.
Side note, it turns out AUD is basically unexchangeable through the majority of the Caribbean. Something we should have taken seriously after spending almost an entire day scouring the Bahamas for a currency exchange that would take our cash.
The thick of a Havana is something that leaves you spinning. At every corner ATMs that wouldn’t accept our bank cards (or if you were lucky enough to have a government issued card) and ran out of money in minutes of opening. No eftpos facilities. No internet or access to bookings online. A complete ban of the western privileges we’ve grown used to.
“I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers” Tennessee Williams must have known something about this place.
So much of Old Havana is falling apart, privately owned by the citizens who are running the streets trying to convert their pesos to USD to buy outside of their designated rations.
Swindlers posing as fake tour guides, people in need and good samaritans who genuinely want you to have a good time, serving you with kindness and just as swiftly emptying your pockets.
With a deep history and being an UNESCO listed heritage site, the only buildings that are maintained are commercial enterprises - tourism and government funded buildings. I’ve never seen a place so juxtaposed in rich culture and poverty intertwined together.
The funny thing about a place like Cuba is the stark contrast of repression of government versus the people. A place where the streets come alive, where whole communities will gather and party in the park waiting for a band to kick on at midnight but in reality know that they won’t actually start until 1:30am. Everyone wants to leave their country. And everyone deeply loves it. As it turns out it’s almost impossible to leave, no matter how many pesos you’ve saved they become worthless as soon as you pass customs at the international airport.
If you’ve ever used the phrase “money isn’t important to me” like I have, many, many times entering a place where your livelihood is cut off will make you think again. Money isn’t important, until it is.
I booked us one of the bougiest apartments I could find. Salt breeze wafting into shutter doors and Cristo de La Habana blessing us across an ocean view. Vintage cars rolling down the strip, the best coffee I’ve ever tasted at every doorstop and a house-man who I could only describe as heaven sent. I’m not quite sure how we would have wrangled the second part of our trip to Vinales without him.
Ten days later, at the airport, Valentines Day. Heading to Miami for a one night bender before sailing the Grenadines to tick the bucket list of island adventures.
“I’m so sorry. You can’t board this flight. This visa is valid to enter the US from every other country in the world… except Cuba”
We lost thousands here. No flight. Forfeiting accomodation and connecting flights. Only two options out of the country to book with the worlds sketchiest internet that requires someone half way across the globe to meet the banks the two-factor authentication rule or you’re sleeping on the street.
The money isn’t important, until it really is.
We came into the country brimming with excitement and left feeling like we we’re in a toxic relationship.
Cuba feels a like going back in time. A reminder of how much technology has helped shape things and also, how beautiful it is to live simply.
A place where dancing was essential. A place that shocked me and bought me to tears. A place that I would 1000% return to with this in mind:
Bring cash. Everything you expect to spend in USD or Euros and don’t bother exchanging it
Pesos are really only good for food. You can’t book anything else with it (not even tours of the Capitol!)
Book your accomodation ahead of time. With the US embargo sites like Air BnB and PayPal do not work, and even if they did, you’ll have a hard time finding wifi fast enough to process your request
Drones are illegal in Cuba. And things that are confiscated customs are likely to ‘get lost’ at customs. One sad and costly oversight.
You cannot leave Cuba and enter the US unless you are a US citizen or a Cuban with a B1/B2 visa
If you drink with the locals, you pay for the locals… and tip them for their company
I feel like I should hate this place, but I really love it. It’s complicated. Weird. Wild. Beautiful. And I think seeing it explains it better I ever could.
Do your research and travel with a buffer friends x
Snapshots of Old Habana and Vinales
