We finally arrived back in Havana around 9.45 last night and after retrieving the rucksacks we thought that while we were at the station we should find out about the bus for our next move to Viňales day after tomorrow. While we were waiting a couple of young Australians, overhearing, came over to us and recommended a Casa so I put the card in a safe place before we made our way out of the station and negotiated the fare for a ride into town. When we arrived at the Casa that we had stayed in during our first visit she told us that all her rooms were booked but she had arranged a room with a neighbour. The neighbour didn’t seem to speak any English and so Yolila told him all he needed to know and confirmed that we should take our stuff to her place first thing in the morning where she would give us the necessary receipt for us to renew our visas. We were shown to our room and after a quick brush up we gave him our passports and told him that we had to go and find some food.
Paul knew exactly where he wanted to go to eat, the paladar that we ate in the first night, and roughly how to find it. We were very nearly there but got a bit confused as to exactly where we were. Deciding to go for the precinct, we heard the familiar ‘where are you from?’ Realising that this was someone that talked our language we stopped, told him where we came from and then tried to get directions. He actually
wasn’t that helpful with the directions and successfully distracted us by telling us that he is the Cuban boxing champion and that he has been to England to fight and that he is going to Switzerland, again to fight, taking out his passport he showed us the visa! He told us that his next fight was on Sunday right here in Havana and we actually considered staying in Havana an extra couple of days as he was encouraging us to go and watch him around 10am. We managed to bring the conversation back to us needing to eat and he beckoned us to follow him. The establishment he led us into was not a paladar or a restaurant but a bar. He and his girlfriend sat us down and he ordered mojitos all round plus one for his friend. Paul tried to put his hand in his pocket but ‘the champ’ was at the bar with his wallet out and we actually started to relax. The mojitos arrived and as each bloke came into the bar they all greeted ‘the champ’ and shook his hand, then they would turn to us, shake our hands and point to ‘the champ’ and again reaffirm that he was ‘the champ’. One of these friends placed a bottle of dark rum on the table; ‘the champ’ sloshed some of this into his own glass and some into Paul’s, he offered some to me but I declined; the champ also poured some of this dark rum into a friends glass. There was still something in the back of my mind that said ‘if something seems too good to be true, it probably is’. I’m not sure who ordered the second round but a second round was ordered. More dark rum was sloshed into Paul’s glass and I could tell by his eyes that he was starting to feel the effects.
The champ, saying something about this is how he moved as a boxer and this is how he moved as a dancer then got up and danced with his woman. Next it was my turn, he invited me to dance a Salsa with him; how well he moved. He then invited a young woman on the next table to dance which she declined, looking decidedly grumpy. It was only then that I really noticed that there were other ‘westerners’ in the bar and I started talking to the older of the two women. Robin and Ashley are Canadian mother and daughter in Havana on a 2 day excursion from their all inclusive hotel on the coast at Varadero; the rest of the party were at the Tropicana, a place that friends of ours had already told us was not worth the money. When I told Robin that this was the Cuban boxing champion she asked me if I actually believed that; she then went on to tell me that they had just been stung with a $60 cuc bill and that what had just happened to them appeared to be happening to us. Almost the exact same scenario, only the male in her couple was not a boxer. She told me that her daughter had had to go back to the hotel to get more money to pay the bill and that their ‘new amigos’ had disappeared with the news that this particular Canadian ‘mojito machine’ had no more money. I told her we were not about to be suckered and I thanked her. She wondered how we were going to get out of this and said that she would wait, watch and then leave with us.
Excusing myself, I turned to Paul and quietly confirmed that our fears were reality. We told the couple that we really did have to go and were presented with a bill for $54 cuc. Preferring to think the best of people he dipped into his pocket and pulled out 60 national pesos; the main man in charge, the owner(?) said 'no no no cuc only'. He then went over to the bar and brought over the till drawer again saying ' cuc only'. Almost in unison but using different words, we both rose and loudly told them we were not paying this outrageous bill and that they should immediately get the police. The owner of the bar came over and slapped down the menu proving that the tariff was the correct one, but still we point blank refused to pay demanding that someone call the police. The bar owner went out with Paul and went up to a policeman; the owner stating that this customer was refusing to pay his bill to which Paul replied ‘I’m refusing to pay that bill, I’m quiet happy to pay for what we have consumed’. The cop didn’t speak any English to which Paul demanded that he get on his radio and get someone here that does speak English; suddenly, the owner backed down. In the meantime, I was left alone with the locals! Attack being the best form of defence, I chastised him repeating the phrase ‘shame on you’. Walking back into the bar the owner tried to negotiate that we pay half the bill, some $27 cuc and still we refused; the first mojitos we had in Havana were $4cuc each and they were in the ‘tourist’ area in a ‘swanky’ bar; this was a local ‘dive’ and should not have cost more than $2cuc each. We gave him $10 cuc which is a fair price for 4 mojitos and we left with two new Canadian friends in tow.
Knowing that they were both skint we offered to go buy them a drink and we trundled off down the road. On the way Paul made another new Cuban friend; us three girls were a tad contemptuous and disbelieving, but as it turned out, both he and his wife, who we came across crouching and peeing in a shop doorway, were just very friendly and very pissed. We found a bar and serving mojitos at a much more reasonable $2 cuc each, we checked before we sat down, and we bought them a couple of drinks. We even taught them the Spanish word ‘pinga’ with roughly translates as ‘fuck off’, a word Ashley liked very much and kept practicing.
Robin, it turns out, also teaches English as a foreign language and is a ‘qualified’ editor and is looking to escape her home town of Vancouver. She also wanted to dump the other Canadians on the ‘all inclusive’ package and travel with us. She settled with communicating with us by email, possibly coming over to England and when we told her that we were hoping to go to Norway and sail over to Denmark with Mick this summer she begged to be counted in. If nothing else comes of it, which we both hope it does, she gave me some very useful information regarding teaching English and recommended that I look into the works of Betty Azar who has written the bible (well three actually) and suggested that with a degree in English I may not need TEFL or TESL or the Cambridge version of the course. We will see. On the way back to their hotel, a young guy came up to us asking if we had a light for his cigarette and, the by now much more ‘merry’, Ashley practices her new Spanish word to which he burst into laughter and told her ‘she couldn’t say that'! We finally arrived back at our Casa at 2.45am but our host was very gracious. I set the alarm for 7am and then fell into bed. Why the early start? Because we have been warned that renewing a visa in Cuba can involve hanging around for up to 5 hours and can be very tedious.
We didn’t really know how much the stamps were, the guide book stated $25 cuc each but the prices given in this book have usually been incorrect or, to be charitable, out of date. We found the bank easily enough and were confronted with a queue of locals (crowd might be more accurate) but we managed to get inside with the next lot they let in as they only let in so many at any one time. We new arrivals were seated on the right hand side and we noticed that there were signs up directing customers to inform the official of the type of business they wished to transact and we noticed that this ‘official’ asked everyone else and didn’t even make eye contact with us. After we had waited a reasonable amount of time we pushed ourselves forward. Our Spanish is not good enough to explain what we needed so with the help of sign language and producing the visa we managed to convey our requirements. She then took us straight to the correct counter. The clerk half asked and half stated that it was $25 each so I just went with the flow. We had to produce the passports and the visas and sign the banks copy of the receipts and then we were on our way!
The immigration office is a long way, at least by foot, so we hailed a taxi and again negotiated the cost. I thought he asked for $10 and offered $5, Paul said he never heard him say 10 and so I may actually have negotiated a higher price than he was asking – very clever – never mind. We arrived and were pointed in the right direction. We thought we were in the wrong place to start with because there were only a handful of people waiting. I handed over my passport but she refused to take Pauls because he was wearing a vest top! Luckily he had a T-shirt in his bag. My turn came to be processed and Paul still hadn’t given in his passport; feeling a little apprehensive I nagged him to force the document into her hands and then took my place at the desk. He must have made himself clear because he was soon at my side and we were processed together. From entering the building to leaving the process took only 30-40 minutes, the worst part had been getting the stamps before we arrived.
Next door to immigration is a little café and so we decided to have a cup of coffee while we worked out what we were going to do with the day. Before long we got the male voice asking ‘where you from?’ We looked at each other but decided we were not going to be rude and before we knew where we were he had sat down at our table and was trying to sell us the merits of his family restaurant; he even showed us where it is situated on the map. He then started asking what we were doing next. With a bit of a sigh I told him we needed to use the internet and were then meeting friends at 12 o’clock; the meeting friends was not true, but I had hoped it would get rid of him but still he tried his hardest to get us to hire him as a guide. When he finally accepted that his help wasn’t required he asked if I had a ‘present of $2 or $1 cuc for him as food is very expensive bla bla bla!’ I firmly told him ‘no’ but had to repeat the ‘no’ before he would go away.
We decided that we would go and visit the cigar factory first which although a little
overpriced at $10cuc each for a 35 minute tour was, nevertheless, quiet fascinating. The cigars are 100% handmade and they produce some 25,000 per day with the producers all on ‘peace work’. We were shown where the leaves arrive and are counted; they are then taken to the next department where the spines and veins are removed. Then it was onto the rolling room. They produce quiet a few different types and, apparently, the workers do not know which ones they are producing, the difference is in the leaf. But we watched as they took the leaves and rolled, stuffing a little more here and there, before placing the near finished cigar in shaped tray for pressing. The cigars are ‘pressed’ for a total of 30 minutes although they are taken out and turned periodically. Once they have reached the correct consistency they are rolled in the final leaf (the best looking leaves) they are ‘glued’ only at one end using a rice and water mixture. Each process is highly skilful and the best and quickest can earn up to $40 cuc a month – a pretty good wage for a Cuban.When we arrived, we were told that the next ‘English’ tour would be in 10 minutes and that we were to wait in the factory shop; we were astonished by the prices. As we were coming to the end of the tour Paul was offered some cigars, on the sly, by one of the workers for $10cuc and we jumped at the bargain price. It would seem that each and every employee is given three cigars each day out of the 2% of cigars that are rejected or made by the apprentices. We believe that these cigars are some of those rejects but we certainly couldn’t see anything wrong with them.
Once we were out of there we went over to the ‘locals’ food stands and purchased lunch, three rolls filled with some deep fried stuff which may have been fish or chicken (!) in batter with a slice of tomato. We also paid the ‘locals’ price – 5 national pesos each. Our next stop was the internet – bills have to be paid, money transferred and we also had to arrange for our home telephone to be taken over from talktalk to plus.net; this is a long and wearisome tale and nothing to do with Cuba so I won’t bore you the details, only that it had to be done.
The first place we went into, by mistake as it happens, was the original telephone exchange of Havana. The building was incredibly ornate inside and noticing that we were showing an interest we were quickly joined by one of the security guards who wished to furnish us with all the information he had. On the floor is a bronze plaque with a picture of Cuba being linked to Florida with telephone cables. Actually, the only information that he had which we hadn’t already worked out was the date. The security bloke informed us that the date was 1920 something and then, in true Cuban style, asked for a tip.
We then went in search of the place we needed and bumped into Robin & Ashley, sharing tails of our hangovers; Ashley had recognised the only guidebook in Cuba to be covered in brown paper! An old wizened Cuban woman pushed into our little group, begging; I gave her the phrase I was taught by the lady in Baracoa – ‘no moleste, por favor’ which she sarcastically repeated before moving on. Then Ashley remembered her new word which she repeated several times. Robin and Ashley, regretfully, were on their way to meet the coach to return to their Varadero resort (Robin is definitely not an 'all-inclusive' type of person) and we continued our search for the internet service.
Once we had done what we needed to do we were free for the rest of the day and the
only other place we wished to visit was the Museo Del Ron, or the Havana Club Rum Museum. When we purchased our tickets we thought we were going to be in a small party but just before our tour started a bus load of English ‘all inclusives’ turned up – bloody tourists! Rum of a by product of refining sugar and we were taken through the process of production and some of the history involving the slaves. It was never mentioned that the beverage started life as a very course ‘slave’ escape beverage and that is was Bacardi that came up with the idea to filter the beverage making it far more palatable and therefore more profitable. The tour ended with a tasting of the 7 year old; I had started talking to one of the couples and she said she was teetotal and offered her sample to Paul. We then noticed that lots 
of the people on the tour had left anything from a couple of drops to virtually the whole sample in the little plastic ‘Havana Club’ cups so Paul and I cleaned up – it seemed a shame to waste the golden nectar and we wanted to get our monies worth. We also decided to keep the little plastic cups as a souvenir. We did go into the bar afterwards and spend another $11 cuc on Mojito’s and Barrel Proof and were just a little squiffy when we left. The temperature is definitely heading downwards and we were a long way from the Casa. With my tum starting to request dinner we headed towards the palader that we had intended to use the previous evening and when we got there we were the only patrons although there did seem to be a lot of comings and goings by various locals. It didn’t take long to decide what we wanted to eat; the menu for this particular palader includes the rice, and excellent salad and black bean soup, we also ordered a beer each. During our meal the other tables were occupied and just as we had finished eating even though we still had beer to finish a party of four entered and we offered to vacate the table and sit on the side while we finished the beer. While they were looking at the menu this party of 4 Canadians (there are a lot of Canadians in Cuba) asked our opinion on the menu and we started talking to them. Paul fancied a coffee so we ordered and when even more people came in I volunteered to vacate the dining chair and sit on a stool pretty much like a workhorse; then we asked for the bill. Now considering that we could have just sat there and finished our meal losing the restaurant these four people the bastards overcharged us by a quarter of the bill. It should have been $21 but came in at $26. We argued it, of course, and they bought it down to $23 not apologising for the overcharge and claiming the extra $2 was a service charge, a charge they had not made the last time we were there. I warned the Canadians to check their bill but we paid the $23 and left. We are now so sick of Cubans that when the next voice said ‘Where you from’ we both asked in unison ‘cuanta questa?’ meaning ‘how much will this cost me?’ ‘No no no!’ he said and then tried to get us to go to his restaurant ‘we have just eaten’ I told him – and still he kept on at us but we just kept walking and he gave up – eventually.
When we got back to the Casa there is an English guy, Derek, from somewhere between Liverpool and Manchester, who has spent the last three months going around Central America and decided to pop into Cuba on his way home; which he was hoping to finance with his MasterCard.
Since arriving he had not been able to raise any money because the bank his MasterCard is with is affiliated to an American bank! I could feel myself thinking ‘Oh god, here we go again’ only this time it’s a Brit after my dosh. We listened to his sob story for a while before extricating ourselves and retiring. The next morning, this morning which is Saturday, he is still having trouble; the 24/7 hotline will not be available until Monday (?) and the money will not be available until Tuesday (??) which is when he is flying home anyway. We both felt for him and the only way we could help was to offer him money; bearing in mind that we had just spent the last two days trying to dodge conmen, but we decided that if we never saw or heard from him again, the most we were willing to lose was $50 cuc or about £35 and he did have some money on him. Paul and Derek exchanged email and actual addresses but then we had to get to the bus station to catch the bus to Viňales.
We should have asked Yolila to phone for a taxi but we accepted that we only had to walk 100 metres or so to hail one. Our bags are very heavy and when all the taxis that went past were occupied I convinced a grumpy Paul that we had no alternative but to walk to the next busy road, particularly as it had now started raining, if we were ever going to get a ride. Paul finally managed to hail a Cubataxi (the most expensive ones) just before we hit the next main road. Both too peed off to care, we accepted his price and got in.
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