My friends and I had always wanted to go to Cuba. Maybe it was the romantic air of idealism and the refusal to submit to imperialistic US oppression, or our own deep-seated student rebellion tendencies surfacing from a sea of contemporary apathy. Whatever it was, we decided to see in the new year in the Communist state of Cuba.

We had decided that we were to see the real Cuba, to find the heart of the country and by all means avoid the tourist traps. We had heard of the famous beach Veradero and were sickened by the fact that it was strictly off limits to all Cubans who were not working at the nearby hotels, in order to preserve it for tourists. We were not going to be herded like cattle into tourist honeypots, lifted upside down by the ankles until our pockets were emptied. We wanted to see the REAL Cuba.

We arrived in Cuba amidst a tidal wave of confusion, at a tubulent time, where nobody actually knew whether Fidel Castro, leader of the country since the successful revolution in 1959, was actually still alive. Nothing had been seen nor heard from him in some time and the tension was so thick in the air on the ground at Havana airport that i could have cut it with my rucksack. All of us were pulled aside, we did not exude the air of rich tourists, rather four hung-over Brits, with well-used backpacks and a battered old guitar. We were searched, one by one, everything taken from our luggage as other, wealthier looking Europeans idled through immigration virtually unhindered.

Standing on Havana’s Malecon, the angry, invading sea tries to break down the newly renovated sea defenses. Originally built by the Americans in 1901, tourist money has recently helped the Cuban Government fund the much-needed reparations. I watch as the heavy, rolling, Straits of Florida-borne waves crash against it sending up a cloud of spray, which soars over the wall and onto the cars passing by on the busy road below. Normally the Malecon would be lined with Cubans at 6:30pm, singing, chatting and drinking rum, but tonight a steady, gray, December rain falls. The majority of the old pastiche buildings lining the road hold none of the glory they once knew. Ramshackle, these uninhabitable wrecks show all tell-tale signs of habitation, washing hangs out the window of one house, making the most of what remains after the onslaught of almost yearly hurricanes, Wilma in 2005 was especially devastating.

Walking West we come upon Hospital Nacional Hermanos Ameijeiras, a tall beacon of the proud health service that Cuba boasts. I wonder about the ill Fidel Castro, who has not appeared on television for more than four months since he handed over control of his country to his brother, Raul. The sky above the hospital holds five turkey vultures, puppets of death, which circle the building, eventually landing on the ledge of the highest window. Perhaps they are death’s messengers keeping tabs on The Man’s progress, if indeed he is in Havana at all.

Nobody is certain about whether Fidel is alive or dead. Nobody is willing to say. I walk with an acquaintance, Ulysses, perhaps so named by his parents after the James Joyce book, which appears to be extremely popular here, a rarity of sorts because it is on the short list of accepted foreign fiction by the Revolution. As we make our way through to claustrophobic streets of Centro Habana I ask him if he thinks Castro is still alive or not. “I would tell you but I can’t say anything out here in the streets” he says in a hoarse whisper.

We can't help but see some of the sights in Havana, the famous Plaza de la Revolucion and the Museo de la Revolucion are among some of the Havana sights that are simply unmissable. The museum especially lays testament to the achievements of the Cuban Communist government under Castro and is as much a propaganda tool as the numerous signs and billboards adorning every corner pronouncing 'Venceremos!' (We will triumph). Americans at any point on the tour of the museum are noted only as 'Yankees' and couple of ex-Presidents even make it up on to the museum's prestigeous 'Corner of the cretins'.

The centre also houses many beautiful churches and squares that have a weather-beaten and yet very romantic atmosphere. The famous Capitolio building is modelled on the United Stated Capitol in Washington D.C. but no longer houses the Government. Statues and monuments line every street, more often than not of revered figures adopted by the state for purposes of propaganda, such as that of Che Guevara and Jose Marti, an influential intellectual who led the Cuban independence revolt in the 1890's and became a martyr when killed in battle.

People in Cuba lack many of the freedoms that we in the ‘free world’ often take for granted. A few examples are the ability to leave one’s country, the freedom of political association or the freedom of speech. A quarter of Cubans belong to the Comité de la Defensa de la Revolucion (Revolutionary Defense Committee), which is essentially a network of snitches who alert the authorities to any unconstitutional acts perpetrated by Cuban citizens, including anything remotely anti-Castro or anti-Communist.

Cuba is classed as a Third World country, particularly after the fall of Soviet Russia. After 1991, Cuba entered what was known as the ‘Special Period’ where strict rationing was imposed upon food and petrol. Today, principally tourist money has helped lift Cuba out of near liquidation. Every Cuban receives from the Government food and clothing rations, enough to stay alive, and extremely cheap accommodation. The average wage is roughly $15 per month.

The U.S. embargo certainly makes life hard, but if America wants to be rid of Castro, they are going the wrong way about it. Ever the opportunist, Castro uses all of the bad fortune landed on Cuba as propaganda to strengthen his own position. There is a saying that goes around which is “One man’s dream has become the nightmare of the 11 million Cuban citizens.” The embargo only strengthens Castro’s rule but makes life for ordinary people very hard.

Tourism in effect has been the saving grace for Cuba economically, but could essentially be the Revolution’s downfall. There is an apparent lust in many people for money. Many people are prepared to break the law in order to make money off foreigners. Old men walk the streets selling copies of the only newspaper in Cuba, Granma for 24 times the prices they pay for it, in order to supplement their meager pensions. It is nearly impossible to walk for more than five minutes without being approached. Often the opening line will be “Are you looking for something?” The Cuban tact is not to sell something out and out, for which they could get into trouble with the policia, but to offer something in a friendly way and expect underhand payment for the service offered. Another form of service offered to tourists is encountered in the form of the jinterias. Prostitution is a form of consumerism here in Cuba, and sex tourism is a grave problem that the Government fails to recognize.

Sitting out on the verandah in a rocking chair, smoking a cigar bought illegally from a street tout, a man passing by notices my distinct ‘whiteness’ and stops to chat. Frank, a tall, black, athletic looking man of 30 years seems out of place as a Cuban. He is wearing fine clothes and has an mp3 player.
“What line of work are you in” I quizzed.
“I teach salsa four days a week” he replied, giving me a little demonstration.
“So it must pay pretty well then?”
“No, no, but I have a German girlfriend who gives me money and this mp3 player” he interjected. There was a slight pause as I took this in. I had heard of this situation before. A foreigner meets a Cuban on holiday, the Cuban then feigns love, gets married to the foreigner, which is essentially their get out of Cuba free card, then files for divorce. Unprovoked, Frank continued, “I don’t love her, she is 54. I am only 30! But my family needs the money.” He pauses shaking his head at his difficult situation. “If …(Makes the beard gesture with his hand to denote Castro) dies then I might be ok, but until then I must stay with this woman.”

Cuba is not all negativity, but many younger generation Cubans find themselves in a position of near-desperation thanks to tourism which has inevitably highlighted the comfort of the capitalist world. There are so many positives to take from the city, chldren play happily in the narrow streets, music always fills the air, the fresh, rhythmical sounds of salsa get the hips swaying. As a foreigner, the cars and the people are all very beautiful. The Caribbean lifestlye is relaxed, fun and energetic all at the same time. The sense of cameraderie and of being a part of something big is impossible to escape, but at the same time one feels as though they are on the cusp of great change, the calm before the storm as it were.

By Paul Stafford