Cuba then and now

More than 50 years ago, society photographer Ray Bellisario paid his first visit to Cuba. On his delayed return recently, as a disabled person he found that, while much had changed and access left a good deal to be desired, one of his most abiding memories was still in evidence

It was with a degree of curiosity and trepidation that I made a belated return trip to Cuba, which I first visited early in 1958. Vivid in my memory were those awesome, rakish and immensely stylish American cars of the 50s era.

In those tumultuous years, Cuba was a troubled land. Though there then for just a few days, I was struck how the seriously mismanaged country reflected two distinct images; of wealth and privilege and of poverty and misery. Under the criminally corrupt dictatorship of President Fulgencio Batista, the rich – foreigners, mostly Americans, who filched much of the productive land and the country’s industries in flagrant mafioso style – disgracefully wallowed in luxury and high living while the exploited majority laboured long hours for pitifully meagre pay and lived in overcrowded hovels. Cuba was ripe for revolution and by that time rebellion, under the leadership of brothers Fidel and Raul Castro, Che Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos, was well under way with major insurgent attacks advancing from the south east of the island.

Arriving in the capital Havana 52 years on, one is struck by the impression that, despite the political and cultural change brought on by the upheaval of history, time has stood still; remaining are some of the outstanding images reminiscent of those eventful days.

The avenues of noble and graceful neoclassical houses still have their sentient aura but now their facades show neglect and want of maintenance with fallen plaster and only a flakey semblance of the bright peach, avocado, lilac, primrose and turquoise colours they were once so decoratively painted. Look closely and you see bullet holes pock-marking walls – evidence of the revolution’s street fighting.

Still rolling and bouncing along the streets are those flashy, ostentatious Yankee cars (ah, those Chevies, Buicks, Cadillacs and Dodges of yesteryear) that their previous owners hurriedly abandoned when fleeing the island in their panic-stricken haste to avoid the wrath of the cheated people at their hour of victory. Somehow the enterprising Cubans with their engineering skills have managed to re-fabricate spare parts to keep the old, highly chromed, garish, tail-finned , jalopies on the road.

Taking a ride in one of the old bangers along an empty suburban road, the driver suddenly stopped. He had spotted a blind man waiting to cross, he called out to the man, “it’s all clear brother, you can cross now, nothing is coming”. Clearly grateful for the driver’s kind act, the man safely stepped out. I too was touched by such thoughtfulness, rare in any country!

Havana is catching up with the 21st century. The capital is the busy hub of the nation and is the first centre of attraction for overseas visitors; tourism is a rapidly increasing industry, though the islanders would say not fast enough for the moribund economy which the US deliberately brought upon them with the paralyzing economic embargo – punishment for Cuba’s adoption of socialist policies.

My granddaughter accompanied me (her reward for successfully completing her law studies) and, wherever we ventured on our month-long excursion of the island, we were generously greeted with the warmest hospitality.

Mostly a wheelchair-user and having heard that Cuban roads and pavements are distinctly disabled-unfriendly, I chose to depend entirely on my walking aids and fortunately left my wheels at home. The chair would have been totally useless – the unrepaired roads, deep gutters, Everest kerbs and holed and broken, impassable pavements make a stroll along the street a very slow, tiring and painful exercise. Unless you’re careful, you can find yourself stepping into deep water, manhole covers go missing and pavements can be hazardous.

After a couple days of acclimatizing to the hot summer sun, adjusting to the relaxing Cuban pace and planning our itinerary, we left our Havana hotel and, with some difficulty for me, climbed aboard one of the fleet of very comfortable, modern, air-conditioned Chinese-built coaches of the smoothly operated Viazul national transport system which will take you everywhere (very much the same as the UK’s National Express).

Our first destination was Cienfuegos (translates as One Hundred Fires), a three-and-a-half hour ride that meets any visitor’s expectation, with fellow passengers happily singing to the Latin American CD music played by two choirmasters – otherwise known as our drivers!

We were soon on the country’s only motorway, though you would hardly realize it as there appeared to be no special motorway regulations, everyone used it; villagers wandered along criss-crossing at will, heavily laden donkeys were overtaken by cyclists, at roadside stalls vehicles would pull up to buy fresh fruit and mango juice from local farmers’ children and at junctions groups of 20  to 30 would-be travellers stood waving Cuban pesos in unsuccessful offers for a lift. As we trundled through townships the bus would stop for anyone wanting to have a coffee and sandwich. Hardly National Express!

Known as “The Pearl of the South”, Cienfuegos is a clean and orderly town, a former Spanish port surrounded by sugar, tobacco and coffee plantations. The first task is to find suitable accommodation. A short taxi ride away from the bus terminal, we stop outside a sedate house bearing the white and blue plaque that indicates it is a “casa particular” (an official bed & breakfast establishment licenced by the authorities and regularly inspected to ensure high standard). We need look no further. Invited in by the owner Myleen, we see an impeccable, spacious bedroom and a gleaming en-suite bathroom. It’s ours for £10 a night with breakfast. (For another £5 per person she prepared a truly superb dinner.) With such a charming hostess, we gladly stayed three days as we explored the attractive shopping malls and vast enticing beaches of the warm Caribbean Sea.

There are plenty of shops but visitors shouldn’t expect to easily find what they want to buy, shelves have little on them as supplies are very restricted due to the US-imposed trading blockade; the island’s commerce and development is cruelly affected. Shopping for specific items is not simple and locals depend on word of mouth when shipments arrive; I searched for two days in 13 likely stores before finding one that had razor blades.

After an hour’s journeying along the winding road through sleepy hamlets of tiny houses, we pull into the crowded terminal at Trinidad, a gorgeously picturesque, cobble-stoned sugar port full of sweet, romantic influence shipped in by Spanish sailors of old – until you remember that often theirs was human cargo picked up enroute in West Africa for sale into enslavement on the plantations. But with its steep streets, it is today a tranquil idyll of picture postcard scenery, easy on the eye but hard on someone with mobility issues.

Though small, Trinidad at night buzzed with life and the sound of music from bars and clubs. It’s a Cuban trait, you find it everywhere. And the town has its ample share of beautiful, bronzed people!

Arriving in Camaguey’s Grand Plaza on a sun-drenched Saturday morning, the air was filled with the moving rhythmic beat of salsa, danced by teams of schoolchildren in a competition performance enjoyed by hundreds of strollers and shoppers. Paying guests of university professor Elena and her jovial husband Leonardo, we’d breakfasted well in their garden’s cool shade as he joked loudly with us and his wife. Quite convincingly, he repeatedly told us with warm sincerity, “You are family. Our house is your house”, a phrase we often heard at the casas particular. They were a lovely couple and we were treated royally. Little wonder that given such hospitality universally, we had no need to stay in expensive hotels and we got to experience much more of Cuban life.

Ours was a study tour, a venture round the whole island country in which we met for real the very human people in their simple and modest environs. We stopped off in many exquisite towns, Santa Clara, Bayamo, Santiago de Cuba with its rather claustrophobic, traffic-filled streets and narrow strips of quite unsuitable pavement to try to walk on, and to Guantanamo where my professional investigative intuition required me to check out its infamous American detention centre (in which I was profoundly unsuccessful as vast approaches to it are mined to prevent such invasion!). All had their own unique characteristics, buildings, colleges and universities, galleries, churches, museums and, most importantly, their own individual claim to participation in the history of the Revolution of which the Cubans are so justly proud. We saw its endless glistening beaches and travelled the roads through a countryside of magnificent, lush sugar, coffee and banana plantations and miles upon miles of mango trees.

Back in Havana for the last few days, it allowed time to learn more about the capital and the history, ancient and modern, that it holds; of its exploitation by early colonialists who landed stolen people to be registered at the Customs House and to then be herded into a nearby market place in the Plaza de San Francisco where they were sold into a life of enslavement; of dictatorship and maladministration, corruption by the unscrupulous and the resulting suffering of the people. A ride in a carrozza, a traditional horse-drawn carriage, from Parque Centrale under the guidance of a trained and knowledgeable driver like our Michel is a tour well worth taking.

INFORMATION

Ray and his granddaughter took an all-in package with Cubadirect - flight with Cubana, visas, Hotel Vedado for first three nights.

For two people: £1,000. £500 per person.