Two weeks in Post-Castro Cuba: CUCs, CUPs, Rumba and Rum
My 1950s-era Red Chevrolet taxi cruised from the airport through the countryside to Habana Central. I had taken advantage of JetBlue’s $99 deal to fly from JFK to Havana, and rented a room online with AirBnb. I would be located in the Habana Central district for two weeks. JetBlue and AirBnb are among the few American companies to recently profit from the increasingly attractive Cuban tourist market. As a former digital staffer from the Clinton campaign, I invested in a post-Castro Cuba independent tour to satiate my curiosity — and cool off after a tough campaign.
On the way into town, my taxi passed a massive black roadside billboard, depicting a hangman’s noose. The headline read: “Bloqueo, el genocidio más largo de la historia.” (“The blockage, the greatest genocide in history”), referring to the US economic sanctions that had been in place since the 1950s. This was the first of many surprises, to learn that Cuba sees the US trade embargo as an act of genocide.
For a first-time visitor from the United States, Cuba can be disorienting. Lack of consistent Internet, two currencies (CUC and CUP), disintegrating Art Deco style apartments and malls, city streets teeming with mid-century cars and trucks; it was a vast contrast from the New York City I came from. The visible results of a decades-long blockade of American investment and stubborn governments are hard to miss.
My visit came just ten days after the death of long-time leader Fidel Castro. In a country romanticized for its clubs and music scene, the nights remained silent. Everywhere I went, I could see signs of his passing. During nine days of official mourning, military officials led a cross-country funeral procession, carrying Fidel’s ashes from Havana in the South to Santiago in the North. Typically, street names, signs, and statues resembling Fidel Castro are prohibited. But the day I arrived, idolized images of his face and iconic beard in the form of billboards, grand posters, and flags hung from edifices across the city. “Todos somos Fidel,” (“We are all Fidel”) “Fidel es entre nosotros,” (“Fidel is inside of all of us”) “Viva el gran líder Fidel” (“Long live Fidel, the great leader”). Even after the mourning period, some Cubans continued to memorialize the fallen leader.
One Sunday, I visited a well-known Afro-Cuban arts center where a group of local artists, musicians, and singers performed a vibrant outdoor concert featuring Santeria-style songs, with lyrics like “Viva Fidel” (“Long live Fidel”) and “Yo soy Cuba, Soy Fidel” (“I am Cuba, I am Fidel”).
The Cubans I met were incredibly warm and hospitable to me, and I was amazed to see that so many Cubans were black like me. As a young, Spanish-speaking African American, I could blend in with the average Cuban crowd, so I was fortunate to observe the island from an angle most tourists don’t see. My apartment in Habana Central was located more-or-less in “the hood,” I took the public bus instead of taxis, spoke pretty much exclusively in Spanish, and walked the streets knowing that I looked like any other Cuban. If I had questions, most neighbors and shopkeepers were eager to help. People showed me the city, invited me to dine in their homes, and shared their life stories with me.
At first, I was taken aback by the friendliness of people until I realized that it arose from pure generosity. For some, my near-Cuban appearance and Andalucían Spanish was perplexing, and guessing where I was from became an oddly amusing game I could play with new acquaintances. Because of my ability to blend in, I was fortunate to observe two co-existing worlds in Havana: the life of a Cuban and the life of an overseas tourist.
One of my first observations was that there was never a sense of urgency while I was in Cuba, not for me, nor for those around me. Most Cubans I interacted with were content with being mentally present wherever they were at that time, whatever they were doing. If we were at a bar, we paid attention to one another and the life inside the bar. If we were eating dinner, the focus was our meal. There was not a smart phone or tablet in sight, people created their own entertainment with lively conversations.
One hot Thursday afternoon, my host, Davíd, and I took the public bus across town. We waited. And waited. And waited. The bus arrived an hour behind schedule, and despite the fact that space appeared nonexistent inside, we nonetheless stuffed ourselves on board. I could hardly breathe. The driver didn’t bother to close the door. As the bus careened through the streets, one determined passenger clung to the bus by one arm and one leg, keeping his balance by grasping a strap on the door. Despite the late arrival and overcrowded conditions, a group of Cubans in the back of the bus took the situation in stride, and began dancing and singing as a way of relieving the stress.
There is a word I frequently heard to describe this nonchalant attitude: tranquilo (calm). Life in Cuba is tranquil, calm, stress-free. Everyone moves at his or her own pace. Work happens; busses arrive; food is prepared; everything happens when it happens. As my Cuban friends calmly explained to me, the bus comes “cuando quiere” (“when it wants”). I found myself becoming calmer and less stressed as the trip continued.
Tourism
It’s no surprise that the most promising economic opportunity for financially struggling Cubans is tourism. Americans have begun to descend upon the small island but still remain a rarity. German, French, and Canadian tourists are commonly found lounging in cafes and hotels, surrounded by smoke, rum, rumba, and bilingual Cubans in search of a small tip. For tourists, Havana is marketed as an international destination full of delicacies, old cars, beaches, shopping, nightclubs, souvenirs, and breezy restaurants on sun-filled terraces.
In truth, the average Cuban can’t afford many of these luxuries. One afternoon along the Malecón, I was a having lively discussion with a new acquaintance about Spanish fútbol, and offered to buy him a sandwich when I bought one for myself. He didn’t ask for the food, I just offered. But I was struck by his one request: he hoped I would give him a shirt. Not the one I was wearing, just any shirt. I had plenty of shirts, but it still was an odd request. It occurred to me that new clothing was more difficult to obtain than food for Cubans. Shirts like the ones I wear everyday would cost a full month’s wages for a guy like him.
Like my shirt-requesting acquaintance, individual Cubans have found a way to profit from the naivety of tourists. I witnessed street-smart Cuban entrepreneurs charge tourists a far higher price for services than they would have done for a traveler who passed as a local.
As I said earlier, there are two different worlds in Havana. When I visited shopping malls in Habana Central, I had to stand in line with all the regular Cubans to check our backpacks and bags before I could enter a store to make a purchase. However, after being severely chastised by storekeepers, I found that in Habana Vieja, I could walk right in with my backpack and shop without being followed. Where I stayed in Habana Central, many of the houses have corrugated tin roofs, stray dogs roam the streets, old buildings lay in decay, and Spanish is the only spoken language. In Habana Vieja, on the other hand, buildings are in better condition, restaurants with neon signs mark every corner, and English is frequently heard. As a matter of fact, German is heard more frequently than English in the tourist areas.
Economy
Before my trip, I researched the economic state of Cuba. The passing of the charismatic leader Castro will no doubt highlight economic insecurities from a closed economy.
There is a desire among the people I met for better infrastructure, such as housing, roads, plumbing, and sanitation. My Cuban acquaintances pointed to the many potholes in the street and explained that everything here takes a while to repair. “See that building over there?” my local bartender, Raúl said in Spanish, pointing to a two-story turquoise apartment just across the street. The second story roof had collapsed. I peered into the window of the first floor to see a fridge, chairs, a dining room table, and a woman casually cooking at the stove. I was stunned to discover a family was still living underneath the rubble. “It’s been under construction for a year now. They said it’ll be finished in a couple of months, but who knows?” Most toilets I encountered didn’t flush, not even in homes or restaurants. People have been promised repairs to the aging infrastructure, but in the meantime, repairs are slow in coming. I admired their patience; despite what I saw as problematic, they remained tranquilo.
Why? There are many benefits to Cuban citizenship. Homelessness is virtually non-existent in Havana, education is free, and the literacy rate is a staggering 99% (versus 86% in the US). Cuba has the third highest physician density per capita on the globe (6.72 physicians/1,000 pop vs. US 2.45/1,000)— and they train their physicians at no cost. Home visits from doctors occur at least once a year, even more frequently for patients with chronic conditions. Although the maternal mortality rate remains above that in developed countries, the infant mortality rate is 4.5 per 1,000 births (a lower rate than the US, 5.8). The average life expectancy is on par with the US, around 79 years old. Many Cubans I spoke with expressed satisfaction with their lives, especially praising the free education and free healthcare.
At this time, the existence of two distinct currencies reflects the contrast between the socialist economy of Castro’s Cuba and the capitalist economy of the US.
The “CUC” (Cuban Convertible Peso, pronounced “cook”) is the convertible dollar (approximately .96 CUC = $1). Following the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the value of the Cuban Peso plunged. So instead of pegging their currency to the ruble, the convertible was introduced in 1994 at a par with the US dollar.
The second Cuban currency is the “CUP” (pronounced “coop”), also known as the Cuban Peso or moneda nacional (approximately 25 CUP = 1 CUC), and is the most frequently used currency by Cuban citizens. Most Cubans receive government wages in CUP, not CUC, so this effectively creates two separate but unequal monetary systems. It can be confusing for tourists because Cubans use the word peso to denote both currencies. As a matter of fact, I was bamboozled after having imbibed the world famous Cuban ron on Day One. I mistakenly paid 10 CUC (about $10) for a sandwich instead of 10 CUP. My bad!
I tried to be smart; before I left the US, I converted my spending dollars to Euros because of the exchange rate advantage. Then, once in Cuba, I converted my Euros into CUC and CUP to avoid dealing with an additional 10% fee on US Dollars exchanged. I always carried both currencies since many businesses only accept one or the other.
To an outsider, the two different currencies with conversion rates of 25 CUP to 1 CUC (to €0.94 to $1.04) are difficult to follow at first.
How does this dual currency look on an everyday basis?
Let’s take an example of one commodity I frequently purchased on my trip: beer. For instance, in Habana Vieja, the neighborhood most frequented by tourists, a beer costs 1–2 CUC (25–50 CUP or $1–2 or €1–2). Using a different currency, in Habana Central, a beer is anywhere from 10–25 CUP (0.40–1 CUC or $0.40-$1 or €0.35–1). Even more striking, a great meal in Habana Vieja will cost 40–50 CUC (1,000–1,250 CUP or $38–47 or €37–47) while a great meal in Habana Central will only be 150–175 CUP (5–6 CUC or $5–6 or €4–6).
Confusing? Yes, but this is what happens when a booming, international tourist economy coexists with a working class population living on small, fixed government income.
Future
Based on my observations and interactions, people expressed general satisfaction about the existing social foundation in Cuba. Cuba is a young society; the overwhelming majority of citizens were born post-revolution, meaning that Castro’s Cuba is the only life they know. Although material wealth is not abundant and travel is expensive, many of the people I interacted with found little desire to alter the structure they currently have, but several did convey a desire to visit or move to the States.
One middle-aged Cuban told me the story of his escape to Miami in the 70s with four other people on a small boat. Tragically, his brother died before reaching the coast. He was undoubtedly motivated to flee Cuba because of his strident anti-Castro beliefs. He was the most impassioned person I met on the trip, and the only person who spoke candidly (in fluent English) of his hatred of the fallen dictator. “What do I think of Castro? I think he’s a fuckin’ asshole. Man, fuck that piece of shit. He’s a goddamn dictator. Under Castro, you couldn’t do shit, man. Fuck that guy!” He told me that after arriving in Miami, he traveled cross-country doing odd jobs here and there before returning to Havana over a decade later. He was happy to reunite with his adult daughter. She had grown in his absence, and the two had had limited contact over the years. This was in the days when communication between the island and the United States was limited. Today, the Internet makes it possible for Cuban Americans to communicate with their families, but service is sporadic.
Accessing the Internet in areas set aside for paid Wifi was always an adventure and I often succumbed to purchasing connection cards from black market street vendors. Still, service was spotty and prices fluctuated from vendor to vendor. Last year, the state telecommunications company, Etecsa, announced their plan to provide Wifi access along the Malecón by the end of 2016. By the time I visited in December, the number of Internet access areas had increased, but it was clear that they would not reach the deadline as promised.
“Hasta la victoria siempre” (“Until the victory, always”) read the small but prominent sticker on the glass front door of my AirBnb. Ironic, since this is a revolutionary Communist manifesto, yet AirBnb is the essence of modern digital capitalism. How will that revolutionary ideal fare once the island heads into the digital age?
When I queried my host and others about whether the system can continue without Fidel (sometimes referred to as “La Barba”), I got the idea that most were not eager to abandon his ideals or accomplishments. The majority of the people whom I visited, in the immediate aftermath of his death, were grateful that he brought health, education, a semblance of racial equity, and electricity to the struggling former colonial workers on the island.
For many, the system is…what it is, and they are in no hurry to dismantle it. “Espero que sí,” (“I hope so”) was the most popular response when I asked whether the system could continue post-Castro. Maybe a younger generation of educated Cubans will develop an economic vision that can retain what they have gained as a society while maintaining the essence of tranquilidad.
Questions
I returned from my trip with the expected rum and cigars, souvenir currency, vintage revolutionary newspapers, posters, and decorative gifts for friends and relatives. But I also left Cuba with a lot of questions.
Was I hearing the whole truth from the Cubans who opened their lives to me? What other opinions would I hear if I traveled further North or South? How will American tourism change Cuba? How will lives in Cuba change with the passing of Fidel? What happens when his brother Raul passes? How will globalization and the Internet change Cuba? How will Cuba fare with the incoming US administration? Who will benefit from changes in Cuba’s standard of living, Cuban citizens or foreign investors?
If the argument for capitalism is innovation, what can we learn from the Cuban Model? How can we have a less stressful, healthier, and tranquilo society in America that also retains an incentive to innovate? Is the reason Cubans appear relaxed because the basic necessities of life are provided by the state? Are the absence of homelessness, the presence of universal healthcare and free college education achievable goals for the US in the near future? How can I have a role in improving relations between the United States and post-Castro Cuba? What is my responsibility toward the gracious hosts who made me feel so welcome? What can I do to help? When can I return?
