roverred

Con la guardia en alto

On a guided tour of Havana, we drove past many of the city’s sights and took a brief walking tour of Old Havana. Like most cities, and doubly capitals, Havana can’t be experienced in a day let alone a few hours. I was able to get a broader feel for Cuba than “the compound” could afford and scratch the tourist itch of going to see where Ernest Hemingway spent time. I would have liked to return without the tour group in tow, as it’s a magnet for insincerity, but regretfully it didn’t work out. Below is a very brief brush with Havana.

: Taking a long bus ride into Havana we passed through many small communities which gave a different perspective than we had on the peninsula beyond the bridge

: Hitchhiking, a national pass-time our guide tells us

: This was the first day that the sun came out since we arrived. We planned this trip with the expectation of rain. Appears that no matter where you live, weathermen can’t accurately perdict the weather

: Más unidos y combativos defendiendo el Socialismo. Looking at this message, made me wonder how we celebrate our nationalism. Booing the opposing hockey team perhaps?

: The bus stopped for a bit so everyone could have a break. In Cuba, the sea is never far away. There was also the old man dispensing toilet paper, a few squares at a time, outside the women’s washroom. Don’t let that trouble you, the door doesn’t close anyway.

: One thing an outsider will quickly notice are the dogs. Not barking, jumping or vyingfor attention, but seemly caught up in their daily routine as if thinking themselves just another person busy running errands

: Monument to Máximo Gómez, military commander of Cuba in the War of Independance against Spain

: Havana town hall and tourist trap, there wasn’t room for the whole title on any of the stationary, so don’t bother looking.

: Trucks, trollies, trains and boys on bikes.

: Yellow license plates indicate privately owned vehicles, while blue shows it’s own by the government. Another interesting fact is that everyone is a mechanic. Given a suitable Japanese part, a hammer and some form of adhesive, any Cuban worth their salt will have the car running for another 50 years.

: Apartments in Havana. At first they may appear run-down, but you soon realize that they are merely used. Seems that most Cubans have more important things to concern themselves with than the Jones’

: Devout Catholicism and historically atheistic Communism side-by-side

: Yet another form of human transport. If it moves you see people in, on, around and through it.

: Plaza de la Revolución, used for political rallies by political figures, namely Fidel Castro, to address the Cuban people

: Speaking of which, here comes an indigenous Cuban now

: José Martí Memorial

: Stephanie in Revolution Square. Ministry of Interior Defense in the background decorated with the image of Che Guevara, “Hasta la Victoria Siempre”. Incidentally, this building is not the only thing emblazoned with Che’s image in Cuba. You may have a harder time not finding his face on those little nic-nacs you haggled down one or two Cuban convertible pesos

: For lunch in the city we were brought to a restaurant and treated to food, drink and covers of Cuban classics like Hotel California and Zombie from a local band. In all seriousness the flamenco dancer was gorgeous

: My very inspired Havana Cathedral shot

: Oblivious to the foot-traffic, street dogs in the city rely on the kindness of passerbys. If you are at all squeamish do not view this full size

: Hotel Ambos Mundos, vivio durante la decada del 1930 el novelista Ernest Hemingway. An old poster boasts the most beautiful view of Havana while you enjoy lunch for 75 cents and dinner for $1. Things change, and like the prices and American dollar is gone

: A view from inside Ambos Mundos.

: Taking a brief tour of the Museum of Havana. Hope I have that name right, as there are a quite a few museums in the city. Managed to get myself into a awkward situation involving the exchange of my convertible pesos

: On the sea wall, waiting for the bus. “Jesús Cristo, would you check out that statue!”, were his exact words (or not); as he looked out towards Casablanca. In the background, El Morro can be seen

: She had little interest in the cookies Patrick provided, the only food we could scrounge. On my flight back home, I should have remembered to tell the flight attendant that Cuban street dogs don’t have the stomach for their cookies.