I like Cuba, I have been there often. I love the Cuban people, whom I find cultured, curious and sunny. I like the mix of architectural eras and the color of the houses. I love the history of this island, dark and rich at the same time.
I say that as if I know Cuba inside and out. It’s archival. I know Cuba like someone who spent a few summers in the Bay of Chaleurs, between Carleton and Bonaventure, and who claims to know the whole of Gaspésie. I only know a fraction of the country.
It’s by reading The old Man and the Sea that I wanted to discover Cuba. I dreamed of going to see with my own eyes the island that had so inspired Ernest Hemingway, and, frankly, it was an affordable destination for an acrobat with uncertain income.
I like to learn about the countries I am going to visit: history, politics, social issues, famous artists and essential works. So, from my first trip, in 2004, I knew that it was in fact on Cuban soil that Christopher Columbus set foot, in 1492, when he discovered America. I also knew that its indigenous peoples were decimated by the conquista Spanish. I had also read about how quickly tobacco became the island’s main source of income, followed by sugar cane behind the famous Cuban rum.
I even had some knowledge about the Ten Years’ War and the abolition of slavery, decided in 1880, as well as the quest for independence, involving among others the poet José Martí, before the island fell under a form of American guardianship. I tried to understand how the revolution with Che as the figurehead, the establishment of Castro’s communist regime, the alliance with the Soviet Union, the Bay of Pigs landing, the missile crisis and the embargo, but as a dilettante, not in sight of a university exam.
In short, I had some ideas to better understand the unique side of this Caribbean island. I understood that I was more likely to come across Ladas and old convertibles from the 1950s than the latest Ford model. This is what immediately appealed to me about this country, its eclecticism mixing Spanish fortifications, vestiges of American opulence from the first half of the 20th century.e century and the rigorism of a Soviet-style regime. All this bathed in a suave, dancing, and I would dare say carnal culture. An improbable mixture of cheerfulness and poverty, sobriety and festivities, sadness and hope.
I discovered new facets of it in each of my trips. I was blown away by the resourcefulness of its inhabitants, who lack everything or almost everything. Approaching a pretty floral-looking garden gate, I understood that it was made of iron rebars used for concrete that had been curved, welded and painted. I thought it was ingenious to transform pallet wood! Another time, looking at some magnificent succulents hanging in a porch, I saw that the baskets were… protective grilles from pedestal fans. I smiled stupidly as I thought of the aisle of neatly hung planters at my garden center.
Not to mention the Cubans, whom I find deeply friendly and endearing. Tourism being the country’s biggest source of income, they do everything to please us, of course. But there’s more than that. They are playful and they like to laugh. Strangers I met in the streets made faces to make my children laugh or made them dance. When I told them “ hablo español as a child of three years » (“I speak Spanish like a three-year-old child”), they complimented me on my beautiful accent, despite my obvious lack of vocabulary and my poorly conjugated verbs. Finally, they threw me “ view of vernos and mejoraras, mi love » (“come back and see us, and you will improve, my heart”). I translate the expression as “my heart”, because they use it here as a nice word, not as a statement, nor as flirting.
I wasn’t fooled though. I knew well that even if these people were resilient, even if they were lucky enough to have free education from primary school to university, their daily lives were not much enviable compared to mine. I could see that the shelves in pharmacies and grocery stores were bare. If you can buy a plant holder, you can’t buy ibuprofen. So I brought some, I left school materials, clothes, medicines and other useful items, telling myself that if every tourist did the same thing, it was so much snub to the embargo and the policies. which are the cause.
This year, it was not the same. There seems to be a lack of everything, everywhere, these days in Cuba. In some shops where I went to get juice, there was nothing left except a little rum and canned tomatoes. There was the pandemic, then inflation like everywhere else, but it seems that Cuba did not have the necessary reserves to withstand all that.
The tourists lack nothing, of course: we can find food and drink, but it is more limited than before. One day there is ham, the next day there is no. One day there is mint for the mojitos promised in the photos, the next day, no. Even if the Cubans are still dancing in their colorful costumes, even if they are still smiling at the tourists who come back in dribs and drabs, for the first time I glimpsed a poorly concealed pain in their eyes, that of a people and of a land with immense potential, a place where dreaming of better days has become even more difficult.
If you like Cuba or want to discover this island, go there. Tourism remains its greatest source of income and salvation. This magnificent country deserves to regain its smile. And you will undoubtedly find yours there too.