Before I went to Cuba, I “joked” that the main reason for my
visit was to find a husband. Whilst I did see many a man that I could have
happily taken to be my lawful wedded, what I ended up coming back with is far
more valuable than any of those pretty faces or Cuban swaggers.
Arriving at José Marti International Airport in Havana, the
first thing I saw was a sea of travellers waiting to be granted entrance
through the barriers by Cuban immigration control. Being the naïve westerner
that I am (was?) my initial move was to connect to the airport wifi and chat to
people at home on Facebook and Whatsapp. I soon discovered that Cuba and wifi
do not go hand in hand. In fact, Cuba doesn’t get on particularly well
with its telephone network either. But, what Fidel and Raúl’s old-fashioned
island state, with its cautious attitude towards communication technology, and reticence
to conformity, lacks in speed and modernity, it more than makes up for in warmth
and beauty, and I’m not just talking about the men.
During the entirety of my stay I used my phone a grand total
of three times. This is something of a miracle for me when I’m usually glued to
my phone, typing furiously, or scrolling endlessly through my apps just in case
something, somewhere might have happened. I realised that in Cuba, I didn’t
find myself trying to fill any void. Throughout my time there and even during
long, monotonous journeys down motorways left unfinished by Americans or
Russians, who had unceremoniously up and left once their interest in the
beautiful Caribbean nation had waned, there was always a stunning view to take in,
an interesting, funny, or poignant conversation to be had, or music to be sung
along and danced to. As someone who hates silence and is constantly trying to
fill it, what I’ll miss most about Cuba, is that you can’t go anywhere without hearing
(usually live) music. Looking back, it’s extremely fitting of the country. Cuban
people are vivacious, vibrant and warm. They fill silences and they colour their
lives; not with phones, apps, and extravagance, but with generosity, friendship
and expressiveness.
The largest island in the Antilles doesn’t have a lot.
Normally when people return from holiday they come back with suitcases heavier
than they left with, but somehow it didn’t seem appropriate to do that this
time. Apart from some small goodies from a market in Trinidad de Cuba, the
weight of my suitcase was constituted mostly by rum and music. The CDs I found
aren’t commercial records, they’re privately recorded and produced by local
artists who work hard every day, performing for tourists and locals alike in
restaurants and bars. I think that in itself represents the essence of Cuba; things
aren’t done on a massive scale, and people are humble and hardworking. They
don’t expect something for nothing, even today when it seems that often, all
people are concerned with is being there first and getting “what they deserve”
from someone or something.
Having only been there a short while, my perceptions are of
course only surface ones, but the humble generosity of the Cuban spirit was best
embodied for me in the simple gesture of one, hand-made cigar from our guide
Guillermo, to our twinkly-eyed driver Pedro. The gift wasn’t expensive or
shiny, but it was a small token of friendship and gratitude from one compadre
to another, and it really resonated with me. This compadre-ship isn’t
just reserved for fellow Cubans though. When I fell ill halfway through our
trip and needed to go to hospital, our guide and driver interrupted their
breakfasts and timetable in order to take me to the closest one and make sure I
was okay. Then, on our return to Havana from the disappointingly commercialised
tourist zone of Varadero, driver Pedro invited my mother and I into his home,
so that we could see what a typical Cuban house looked like on the inside. I’ve
often found myself wondering why people are so keen to make grand gestures,
when acts of genuine warmth and kindness, albeit simple ones, are so much more
meaningful. I honestly don’t think many people would take such good care as was
taken of me in Cuba, if they, like Pedro and Guillermo, had only known me for a
few days. I think we have a huge amount to learn from these humble people of music, warmth, simplicity, and beauty, of course.
