A few months ago I stopped in surprise at the window of an unusual shop in the center of Barcelona. On its shelves were all imaginable types of globes, from tiny tabletop souvenirs to giant inflatable ceiling spheres. But apart from globes, nothing else was sold there. Intrigued, I went in and happily bought a small and cute replica of our planet, also equipped with a built-in backlight. That same evening began a strange period in my life. Before falling asleep, already lying in bed, I took this same globe in my hands, turned on the light bulb and, surrounded by complete darkness, looked for a long time, as if from orbit, at the unknown corners of the luminous world, dotted with hundreds of wonderful names.
After just a couple of days of such contemplation, I realized that the self-assessment of my geographical knowledge was unhealthyly exaggerated. I discovered gigantic areas of the earth that I had virtually no idea about just a week ago. At that moment I immediately wanted to travel, and definitely somewhere very far away. And for many subsequent evenings, before turning off the globe, I was tormented by a painful duality. One part of me was ready to run to the computer in the middle of the night for electronic tickets, and the other giggled cynically and coolly crawled deeper under the blanket. Weeks passed, I looked at the planet every night, and the evening ritual with the globe became more and more drawn out. Perhaps the secret lay in the soft, pleasant glow of the earth's crust and high-quality color printing. And at the end of the month I realized that I had to go somewhere after all. You may ask, why Cuba? I will answer without difficulty. Firstly, it’s very far away, but Russians still don’t need a visa, plus the Caribbean after all. Secondly, according to all the leading tour operators in Europe, it seems like it’s really cool, fun and cheap. And thirdly, there is the living Fidel, his charisma and his many socialist children! In general, let's go.
Road
The tickets had to be bought expensively, because only four companies fly from Spain to Cuba and all have approximately the same prices. On the advice of experienced travelers, thoughts of an economy class flight with a duration of more than ten hours were immediately rejected. And a decent daybed in first class round trip was priced at exactly two thousand euros per person. But there were no thrombosis, fainting and claustrophobia. In a comfortable electronically adjustable seat, passengers were able to stretch out completely, cover themselves with a blue standard blanket and continuously drink never-ending delicious alcohol from smiling flight attendants. By the way, we were fed twice during the flight, very smoothly and quite edible, and at the same time we could watch the scenes of the latest world blockbusters in laser quality on our personal 14-inch TV. Cute and tasteful. Overall, the flight was pleasant and fast.
Airport and taxi
The Cuban soil puts reasonable doubts in the soul of a pragmatist even in the air on approach to the airport. The contrast with European natural landscapes and urban areas hurts the eye. Havana from the air looks suspiciously monochromatic, but with bald spots of destroyed neighborhoods, as if after an uncertain art. shelling. Rural buildings in their squalor and devastation make one think of an epidemic that claimed the lives of all local farmers at least a decade ago. The airport building itself is small, with narrow, dirty corridors. Customs officers are suspicious, scrupulous and take out the passport from the crusts, looking at every page of everyone who has arrived.
Not a single person expressed joy at the fact that three hundred tourists appeared at the airport. Only the porter, dazed from drink, tobacco and heat, tiredly and hopelessly offered to help with my luggage in some way for fifty pesos. Scared me a little. Involuntary thoughts came that he might have something to do with the success of obtaining it. But he was bluffing. I go outside with my suitcase for free, and there it is late evening, almost night.
At first it seemed that I was caught in a dense stream of air from the external part of a split-type air conditioner. But no: it’s just + 38 C and 88% humidity. It’s good that the taxi arrived almost instantly. It was much cooler inside the car. I'm going to the hotel. On the way, the taxi driver is silent as a fish. Considering that I speak excellent Spanish, I try to liven things up. It’s strange, but a couple of my pathetic attempts to start a conversation are met with monosyllabic, rude, dissatisfied mutterings. So I silently look out the window the rest of the way. The landscape is impressive. If in 1979, if in 1979 more palm trees had been planted on the ring road of any Siberian town, and instead of alcoholics in sweatshirts and earflaps, black people in shorts and colorful torn T-shirts had been allowed in, then the result would have been exactly the “Airport - Havana” highway.
The roadsides are buried in darkness. Sometimes a dilapidated house flashes by, where a lonely fluorescent lamp flickers dimly on the ceiling of a dim room or on an open terrace. The whole family sits under the lamp in sagging wicker chairs and talks slowly and tiredly about something. Not far from them, on the edge of light and darkness, sloppy, grimy children are crawling in the ground. I found out that they were grimy the next morning, but even that night it was already clear to me that there would be no talk of children’s cleanliness in such a place.
Along the entire road in the same darkness there are people walking in both directions. Many with children. After a few minutes I understand that they are coming here, because there is at least some light from the headlights of passing cars.
We drove to the hotel for about half an hour. The entire suburb of Havana, and, in fact, the capital itself, rests in pitch darkness every day. Only a huge peeling poster at the entrance to the city with the inscription “Save electricity like your blood!” brightly illuminated and readable from a hundred meters away. Following him, a series of shields flashed with victorious slogans about the independence of the island, the health of the Commandant and with multiple portraits of young comrades of the immortal leader unknown in Europe. Illumination was also found near isolated government buildings (presumably embassy buildings of other countries), police posts, five-star hotels and at several major intersections in the city center. The embankment, which serves as the main transport route and also a kind of boulevard for mass night festivities, or rather seating, is also relatively well lit.
Hotel and dualism of temperature perception
The vast hotel lobby is crowded and not so hot, although it is far from cool. There are several 24-hour bars. A bunch of tipsy older men from different countries they scurry chaotically but busily between many low, wide and worn-out sofas. They perk up noticeably when any young woman appears. In other words, it was interesting to watch them, until a quick registration before check-in revealed to me the local subtleties of working with VIP clients. For the first time in my entire experience of visiting five star hotels in the world, I did all the paperwork for the hotel employee with my own hands. Like, they gave you a questionnaire, and then write down who you are, where you are from, why and how long you arrived. Having finished the bureaucracy and grinning sarcastically under his breath, he changed the money. The exchange rate of the convertible peso, as the main working financial unit for foreigners in Cuba, was 1.38 to the euro. A trifle, but nice.
The room turned out to be by no means a joyful part of the trip. It smelled of forgotten cigarette butts, old man's sweat and decaying synthetic upholstery. According to my extensive experience of repair work in abandoned old apartments, no one has repaired anything here for twenty years. The air conditioner, turned on at full power, whistled violently solely for self-hypnosis. Any manipulation of his wall-mounted control panel only made the situation worse. We only dream of the cold stream. That same night, in addition, I will also learn what oxygen starvation is in a closed volume under conditions of elevated temperature. According to the operating standards of the Melia Hotel Group in Cuba, you cannot open the windows in the rooms without the special permission of the shift supervisor, who ends his working day at six in the evening. Trying to fall asleep after a long flight, after ten minutes I realized that there was no fresh air left in the room. The night duty officer categorically refused to open the window at my request. I put everything valuable in the safe and slept with the door wide open into the corridor. Nothing seems to be missing.
First entry into the field
Woke up early, went down and tried to have breakfast at the hotel. But even my gloomiest expectations about the quality of local food turned out to be overly optimistic. I didn't find anything edible in the morning buffet. Many dishes looked like replicas of European recipes and attracted the hungry guest of the island of freedom. But, happily biting into the omelette, I immediately became sad about my immediate gastronomic future. Already going out into the street, by an effort of will I forced myself not to think about the terrible things for now, took a taxi and asked to be taken to the historical part of old Havana. Along the way, it became clear that the hellish chariot had risen from the dead, the clutch was roaring like a Tyrannosaurus rex, the shock absorbers remained in the afterlife. Every bump on the road is known to my back as if it were my own. I humble myself in the frenzied shaking and thoughtfully immerse myself in the Tao of contemplation. Enlightenment comes about five minutes later, when I see other means of transportation in the city and begin to understand my inexhaustible luck.
More than half of the cars in Cuba left the Mexican car cemetery, but not yesterday, but thirty years ago. I pay 5 pesos for a twenty-minute ride on a cart.
I arrived at a small tourist market at the end of the city embankment, where they sell fake cigars, kitschy gouache for American farmers and other nonsense for any money. Any, because if you bargain for a long time, then there seems to be no limit to the price reduction. The trick is that the wild heat will not allow your body to allocate enough energy for the process of arguing with a boorish and pushy salesman. All the body's energy during a day's walk goes to cooling the brain. I bought a straw hat. It partially protects against heat stroke.
During my half hour at the market, I received a lot of useful suggestions from the local population. Wild, stocky guys ran up and shouted very loudly right into my tender ear, like a deaf-mute, and even in Russian: “hey, Rushki, you bought cigars and cigars and they’re much cheaper!?” Other unpleasant guys at the same moment tried in English (that is, almost silently and grabbing my hands) to push me into various smelly horse-drawn chaises for “please, please, friend, believe chip, romantic voyage!” Following them were thin middle-aged men with bulging eyes, who, with the help of apotheotic gestures, convinced me to eat every living thing in the best restaurant in Cuba “next across the road.” And fragile teenagers with dilated pupils followed me throughout the entire walk and mysteriously whispered to me about various drugs and Viagra, for some reason constantly turning away. There was also an elderly woman who appeared every five minutes from behind different objects and from a distance of about a meter, in a mournful guttural baritone, howled a strange mantra: “Russians, Russians, nada deushka, maladai-maladai, raznay, if you want, go, go…”. Having finally gone crazy from the hospitable tin and the scorching sun, I hastened to hide in the quieter streets of the old city, which at first glance seemed so. But in vain the traveler entertained the dream of peace.
Streets of Old Havana and their inhabitants
When you enter the old quarters of Havana, there is a fleeting feeling that you are walking past the facade of a ruined building that is about to end. But it doesn’t end, neither after ten minutes, nor after half an hour, and you realize that there have been no entire buildings here for a long time. All of old Havana, from the point of view of the European idea of metropolitan architecture, is one big ruin, in the remains of which sad people, long tired of everything, scurry aimlessly. And these natives themselves will not please the traveler’s eye with either originality or original energy. In general, it is better to look at them less, because any impulse of attention from a foreigner is perceived by each of them as a clear reason for petty immediate extortion.
Perhaps the most unpleasant emotions a tourist in Cuba experiences is precisely from the horde of street beggars of various stripes. They are all very tired of life since childhood. Boundless poverty, poor nutrition, eternal stuffiness, lack of basic amenities, an incessant stream of smug, well-fed faces with cameras near your half-destroyed home, your children in torn pants and a wife who hates this world more than her unhappy fate. Where can they find a reason to rejoice? But each of them still needs to do something every day. We must try to fish out of the pockets of these snickering idiots our crumpled convertible pesos, damp from tourist sweat. Then go to the city center and buy normal edible beef or delicious frozen imported sausages in one of the stores for foreigners.
In Old Havana there are a dozen main streets that serve as daytime destinations for tourists, formed naturally, like how rain flows on a gentle hillside. A large fraternity trades on them, within which there is clearly a fraudulent hierarchy, division of labor and primitive corruption with street guards of order. At the government level, of course, no one here is specifically concerned with anyone; no one cares what really happens inside the city, except perhaps to suppress cases of obvious criminality.
The police vigilantly monitor only particularly active individuals from among the local population, so that they do not become impudent and snatch bags and photo cameras from the hands of vacationing foreigners in broad daylight. Other acts of disrespect and rudeness towards guests of the capital do not bother the police. And in general, there are not many reasons for crime here. The life of a local swindler, not without the participation of the government, is organized in such a way that it is difficult for him to decide on any more or less serious offense. When examining the physical condition of the population at close range, the residents clearly have a clear lack of protein and fat components in their food. Let's add here all year round sweltering heat. We multiply this by the complete absence of commercial advertising in all areas from newspapers to television, which, to be honest, is the source of the main temptations and reasons for anti-social elements in other parts of the world to search for quick money. And from above, let’s sprinkle the entire everyday cocktail in Cuba with an endless sea of worthless rum, which fills all the worries in the head of every self-respecting Cuban on any corner. In other words, it is difficult for Fidel’s children to want something so badly that they would start robbing you right in the middle of the street for the sake of it. In any case, this is the real situation today. More will be seen over time.
Among the pleasant impressions, it is worth noting the University of Havana, where the brightest minds of the island study. Having visited it, I can say that people who want to visit a provincial Soviet institute in 1978 should go there. Amazing preservation. Even the smells are the same. Nearby, by the way, is the famous Capitol, around which you can take a decent walk. This is a small part of old Havana, which is maintained in decent condition with the last efforts of the ruling elite. There are historical monuments, a couple of museums and several shady parks with cobblestone squares. Walking on polished cobblestones brings physical pleasure. There are also many miniature souvenir shops with more modest traders. They sell cute souvenirs inexpensively. There, on the steps of the university, I met a man named Alexander the Great. He even showed me the documents. There are generally a lot of historical clones in Cuba. There are a lot of namesake heroes and colossi from all historical eras. What to do, Cubans like to have such names. Macedonsky, in the end, talked me into buying several boxes of good cigars. But we must give him his due, all the goods turned out to be of first-class quality, equipped with excise stamps, holographic certificates and seals. He also told us why you shouldn’t buy the same cigars at tourist markets. There they simply stuff a completely different type of product into beautiful boxes and sell it to gullible visitors, stunned by the heat. Good advice, good buy. Alexander the Great, having received his commission from the underground trader, admitted to me that for him this was a huge amount of money and now he could rest carefree and well-fed for two whole months. I gave him another ten pesos so that he would be completely free until the fall.
On the streets of Havana there are several main types of public establishments, replacing each other in each quarter. The first type is bars or restaurants for tourists. There are not many of them, they are easy to spot, they are located mainly on crowded streets, they have large signs and huge blacks at the entrance, and the Cubans themselves do not go there. Of these, it is worth visiting a certain “Floridita”. There, behind the bar you can still drink a good ice-cold daiquiri for Bruderschaft with a full-size bronze Hemingway. It’s curious, but it was in this establishment that for the first and last time in ten days of my stay I noted the high-quality operation of the air conditioners. There has never been such coolness anywhere else.
There is a second type, also not often found in the city, these are bars of a mixed nature, where both locals and tourists can drink a glass of rum in the same room. They are already dirty, unsanitary and smelly, dishes are not washed, tables dry themselves after customers leave. The quality of alcohol is on the verge of poison.
None of the visitors would even think of going to the ubiquitous bars for the local population. They resemble small rural vegetable warehouses that have long been in need of major renovation. But the half-naked, sweaty figures of dark-skinned people find their pleasure in spending many hours under the dim, greasy light bulbs inside these rooms. Although, perhaps it’s just a little more comfortable for them to sit there than on the stone thresholds of their dilapidated shacks?
The last type of public point is some point of distribution of essential products, in which the real breadwinners and wet nurses of Cuban families shop using gray pieces of paper that guarantee each cell of society a set of minimum edible kilograms per month. Here, in exchange for coupons and ordinary domestic pesos, a Cuban housewife will be given some disgusting quality rice, lentils, legumes and other bulk bases for a large, tasteless pan for every day.
By the way, it is precisely these old aluminum pans, mostly Soviet-made, that can be seen on the stove of most Cuban families. In them, heated over low heat, a sticky slurry gurgles from the above ingredients with the addition of whatever God sends. If during the day none of the family members manage to beg or otherwise deceive a few convertible pesos from a softened foreigner, then an eternal pelvis awaits him at home. From it, before falling asleep, he can always grab a couple of hefty spoons of the disgusting mess. And then slam down a glass or two of vile domestic rum.
Likewise, a Cuban, if he is not yet sleepy, can go to the city embankment and sit with friends and girlfriends on the endless iron-concrete fence that stretches for many kilometers along the entire surf line of Havana. By the way, there is no beach in Havana. And this embankment replaces it as best it can. They fish from it, make acquaintances on it, get drunk, copulate, pass out, wake up with the first rays of the sun, and return to it again the next evening.
This is where the positive emotions in life for Cubans end. Any type of satellite television, Internet connections and other information joys of the twenty-first century are categorically prohibited by the wise leader. Colored paper media such as magazines and newspapers from outside world come to Cuba only with tourists. So don't be surprised if your maid walks around your bedraggled playboy like a fox around a chicken coop. All types of consumer goods end up on the shelves of squalid shops, undergoing severe censorship for political correctness and friendliness to the ruling regime. This usually ends especially low quality and a complete lack of design. The faceless batteries I purchased ran out six times faster than any European ones, and they cost thirty percent more.
Also in Cuba, the legislation punishes especially harshly the carrying or possession of any type of piercing, cutting, crushing, and, especially, firearms. For all types of manipulations associated with color and black-and-white pornographic images or narcotic substances, a Cuban can spend the rest of his days in a prison that is terrifying in its asceticism. So there's not much fun to be had in Cuba. Therefore, there is no crime here, no one craves anything much, and the days are similar to each other, like coconuts on the same palm tree.
A little history or true motivations of patriots
Don’t argue with molesters on the streets, don’t try to explain anything to them, don’t worry about pitiful lonely old women with outstretched bony palms, don’t feel sorry for thin young children in rags who squeakily fiddle with your clothes. Do you have nowhere to put your small money and want to feel like a noble savior? Give them two or three pesos each and enjoy your vast true nobility. Just keep in mind that your pennies won’t help them in anything. All these people, for the most part, are hopelessly doomed, completely and brilliantly disfigured at the genetic level. They became lifelong hostages of a complex political fuss on a planetary scale, in which, ironically, everyone lost, with the exception of a handful of relatives and henchmen of Camandante, who form the backbone of the modern junta.
After the end of active hostilities and the subsequent internecine struggles for power, for several generations the population of Cuba was talentedly instilled with the timely role of holy fools, deprived and all-devoted heroes. After all, such fearless fighters are supposed to urgently and free of charge help with food, weapons and other items useful for the revolution.
And when everything had calmed down relatively at the top, the heroes who had defeated their enemies were insidiously offered only two options for the development of events. The first is to continue to sluggishly fight for abstract ideas of revolution on invisible and physically non-existent fronts. That is, go to the pitiful salaries of the police, firefighters or military. The second is to be a civilian cog of a revolutionary island and meekly follow the paranoia of your decrepit leader, living in absolute poverty and oblivion. Some chose to serve, others to sit stupidly at their house, but just like both of them, they do not strive to fully follow the ideas of Cuban socialism. But there were no people willing to speak on the central square of the capital with their own fateful proposals regarding the third path of development of the state. The dramatic example of a bloodily interrupted amateur performance under the leadership of Comrade Che convinced everyone for a long time. Since then there has been complete internal stagnation, an all-consuming swamp of social paralysis, a feeling of a meaningless eternity behind and ahead. This is an unhealthy atmosphere.
So those now living on the island of freedom are, in fact, quite worthy of their fate. All those who wanted to leave here, with the exception of minors, had long since left their sad and hot homeland under cunning pretexts. And the rest are voluntary lazy captives of an allegedly unhappy fate, daily and impolitely claiming to receive manna from heaven, quite prudent, mercantile in a modern way and well aware of their true, rather vicious goals. They say that with a high probability in the near future, all citizens of Cuba will be able to obtain their own personal piece of the sweet tropical island in order to rent it out to overseas entrepreneurs and finally lie down quietly under their favorite palm tree for many years of well-deserved rest. So it’s not a sin to endure a couple more generations, begging with the whole family in front of white tourists.
Here, it is worth recalling that when four hundred years ago the ruthless, greedy Spanish conquistadors in forged armor sailed to the island and killed all the local Indians, the next step they brought blacks from Africa, who subsequently began to actively reproduce mixed with their slave owners. Now this is the modern population of Cuba. And, as we know historically, Africans have never been particularly zealous for hard work, nor for mental research. And from their Spanish ancestors, the Cubans borrowed all the qualities of life, on the one hand, the most pleasant in terms of daytime pastime, but far from advantageous in an evolutionary sense. The conclusions, applicable to modern times, suggest themselves.
Nightlife and other hardships of a vacationer
After enduring the heat of the day, surviving an attempt to have dinner in the city, and taking a short rest in a stuffy hotel, I managed to dig up the strength to want the nightlife of Havana. Having enlisted the support of two Muscovites, who had prudently met me in the hotel lobby in the morning, I decided to organize a group outing to a local night disco. For their part, Muscovites, having learned about my advanced command of the Spanish language, perked up and warmly supported the idea in its entirety.
But the first bad omen for our enterprise was a strange conversation with the night porter right at the foot of the hotel. Seeing three snow-white vacationers lathering up to go out at eleven at night, a man black and blue, like Donbass coal, in a classic porter's frock coat rushed after us into the darkness of the taxi stand. Quite intrusively, he began to explain to us in a mixture of lousy English and obscene gestures that we would not be able to get back to our rooms with the muchacha (girl) even through the drainpipe, because he himself had locked all the windows from the inside. And, after that, he nervously and often shook his head and bulged in a frighteningly significant manner. Somewhat discouraged, we tried to understand what he was driving at.
At this moment, one of the taxi drivers suddenly intervened in our non-verbal communication, having discovered in-depth knowledge of the Russian language. He quickly explained that in Cuba, local residents, especially young girls, are strictly prohibited from entering hotels under any pretext. But that our dark-skinned friend is trying with every fiber of his merciful soul to correct the conflicting oversight of the legislation. And that it will cost us only fifty pesos per snout. I still don’t understand why exactly “on the snout”, but this particular term came from a spontaneous translator. I mentally counted the alcohol I had drunk during the day, adjusted my favorite Panama hat and involuntarily wanted to look in the mirror. Looking at my innocent companions and the figure of the blue-black savior, I did not know how to explain to the aborigines that for now we were not going to look for their prostitutes. My attempts were not crowned with even a shadow of success. Nobody believed me. The vulgar grins of the receptionist and taxi driver pointedly refused to trust me. Out of despair, I seemed to agree with everything with a wave of my hand, at the same time inviting Muscovites into the belly of the humpbacked giant Chevrolet of 1954. The happy receptionist, smiling idiotically, ran towards the hotel, shouting his name and the end of his duty. Circumstances were heating up.
There was no fabric upholstery inside the car, the rusty frames of the doors scratched fingers and stained clothes, not a single light was on on the instrument panel, and the driver drove the car purely on personal intuition. At that moment, for the first time in the last fifteen years of my life, I suddenly remembered a fragment from my deep youth, completely erased by alcohol intoxication. Then, after our first year at the collective farm, we drove very drunk at night to buy vodka on a stolen Belarus tractor without headlights and with a trailer for transporting animal feed. Even in that situation, I think the risk of an emergency collision was significantly lower.
Along the way, I tried to find out how the owner of the car manages to operate it in this condition. The answer was an unhealthy short laugh and deathly silence. Stephen King would have loved the expression of the situation being created.
To begin with, we ordered to be taken to the best restaurant in Havana. The taxi driver took off like a rocket and along the way listened to where we should go, grunting, nodding and apathetically peering into the distance. Then, thinking slowly for another ten minutes, he said that in Havana there are not many restaurants for foreigners. And suddenly, as if waking up, with an enthusiastic scream, he sharply turned the steering wheel, almost driving into a brick wall at full speed. I was already imagining myself, bloodied, sandwiched between the rusty, twisted fragments of a prehistoric body; a major news story on the Lenta.ru home page about the deaths of Russians in Havana even flashed before my eyes. But in the next seconds we screeched to a stop at a high-rise building. With a sigh of relief, I left the ancient Chevrolet.
The restaurant was located on the top floor of a building built by the Soviet military for strategic purposes against America. The militaristic power of thought was visible in everything. But the Cuban government, like any dictatorship, takes a constructive approach to the exploitation of empty facilities. Nobody here bothered with any interior. They stuck tables made of unpolished chipboard, threw crumpled tablecloths on top, collected different cutlery from ruined estates, and here you have a restaurant of the highest category.
During dinner, one of the waiters told me that all restaurants, bars and cafes in Cuba are 51 percent owned by the government. And that this is the only possible form of work today. That is, you open a restaurant, everything is as usual, but 51 percent of the profit, then you give it to Fidel. He does not participate in expenses. If you don't like it, you won't have a restaurant. Graceful and fatalistic. For the first course they tried to feed us rotten octopus carpaccio. Followed by a lobster that died on the grill from dehydration. And finally, for a bottle of cheap, filthy Chilean red wine, we were asked for an additional sixty pesos. And the whole process of our meal was decorated with deafening Homeric laughter from the neighboring tables. A suspiciously similar group of two or three Europeans well over sixty and three or four fleshy, busty Cubans no older than twenty-five were having fun there. And, as I understand it, the elderly gray-haired gentlemen did not at all prevent the language barrier and inedible food from having fun, and the broken ladies didn’t care what they guffawed at, throwing their heads back and sticking out their tits. Hungry and puzzled, we left the high-rise building. Oh, horror, to top it all off, a light blue 1954 Chevrolet was guarding us at the exit.
Cuban women and other ways to survive on the island
After a deadly transfer from a toxic dinner under the clouds to the coolest disco in the city, the nervous system of each of us urgently demanded to drink something strong. Having paid, we hastily left the hated landau. The entrance to the establishment was guarded by a suspiciously large number of people. At the “gate” stood about fifteen identical Cubans, all wearing black trousers, white shirts and overweight. It was clear from their faces that they were all financially interested in what was happening, but they were damn hot. Entrance cost us five pesos per person.
Inside the entertainment establishment, something terrifying and brutal awaited three white people. Imagine hiring a dozen trucks on a bad autumn day and driving along the Moscow ring road, collecting the most disgusting dirty sluts from the bushes on the side of the road, and then dumping them all to the bottom of an empty Olympic swimming pool. But even then it will not be possible to organize such an amazing flash mob. I have seen a lot in my life, but it was at this point that the insignificance of my knowledge became clear to me. Just in case, I automatically and without the slightest hope asked the huge security guard at the entrance if we were at the wrong address. He gave a false, greasy grin and ominously confirmed that this was the best disco in Havana.
Hundreds of hungry eyes, sparkling with a thirst for profit, stared predatorily at three men in white standing timidly at the entrance from the depths of the spacious, smoky hall, rumbling with forgotten pop music of the nineties. In front of us were about three hundred practically naked female aborigines, thirsty for blood. The females had been lonely and bored with nothing to do for several hours, and when prey appeared, they frantically glared at the fresh meat. A pleasant trembling ran through their ranks and they began to slowly approach us in a hypnotic dance, stretching their trained thighs along the way. Their tiny swimsuits shimmered menacingly with plastic rhinestones on their stocky bodies, and their dark, muscular but not beautiful limbs arched predatorily to the raucous rhythms from ancient speakers. We, cowardly holding our breath, slowly and synchronously backed away towards the saving door, still harboring the pitiful illusions of escaping. Hope is the last to leave the doomed.
No one even had time to blink an eye when they found themselves in a seething abyss of naked female bodies rubbing against you from different angles. From all sides, dirty, ugly hands with thick, short, knobby fingers reached out to me from the darkness and roughly pinched my private parts through my clothes. A variety of women, from eighteen to thirty-five years old, replaced each other, as if in a round dance. Each of them in turn pressed themselves to my ears from different sides and declared small amounts in convertible pesos in a hoarse voice. At the same time, she tried to deliberately touch me with her wet lips and bust. At the slightest careless movement of my head, which the applicant interpreted as a sign of my interest in her services, she pushed aside her rivals, hung on my neck and communicated in an intimate, hot whisper in my ear the details of the perverted forms of intercourse expected with her. My companions were in a slightly better situation. At least they didn’t understand what exactly was being said to them. I realized that I had to immediately flee. But to my panicked surprise, Muscovites were interested in the local offer. They, drowning in a mess of naked bodies, smiled idiotically and wanted to sit longer. They looked around enthusiastically for about two minutes and then, giggling stupidly, asked me to order a drink.
A bottle of seven-year-old rum, which is sold on every corner for six pesos, here cost them seventy. For such a purchase, the bartender seated us at a sticky metal table from the socialist times of Leonid Ilyich Brezhnev's summer cafes. Two hooting bacchantes jumped onto each knee towards us with lightning speed. Even through my jeans I felt a greasy, unwashed body.
Fortunately, we didn’t have to wait long for decisions. Three minutes later my companions had already agreed on everything. The rum remained untouched and we all went to the hotel. I repeated many times that I preferred proud loneliness, but no one believed me and two girls, like guards, stubbornly and firmly held my hands and pants, not wanting to stay at the bachelorette party. Muscovites were in a similar situation. But upon leaving, I had to go through a mysterious ritual. The girls finally separated, releasing their stranglehold, and we learned from the guards that in Cuba prostitution is considered a terrible crime. Therefore, the ladies will go to the hotel separately from the gentlemen, and the police will bite their elbows in the thickets of bamboo, unable to catch the criminals red-handed.
At the hotel, I wished my compatriots success on the sinful front and went straight to bed. My companions were left to fight in angry convulsions on the front steps. On the way to the elevator, the porter, who sympathized with women's grief, fussed around me anxiously, not wanting to believe that I would not pay him for the sluts who pestered me. I gathered my remaining strength and quite clearly made it clear to him that on this hot night he had to limit himself to the fee from my companions. I really wanted to take a disinfectant shower as quickly as possible.
I slept anxiously, I dreamed of grimy Cubans who wanted to eat me. In the morning I went for a drink instead of breakfast draft beer in the hall, where immediately behind the same counter I met frowning and rumpled Muscovites. Over a mug of life-saving drink, they told me that Cuban women do not use soap, ignore condoms, extort money, do not ask a man about his desires, smoke in bed during sex and are not at all worried about the successful completion of a paid enterprise. Moreover, a Cuban date begins with promises of an endlessly hot and passionate night, but ends much cooler and long before dawn.
About thirty minutes after the girls appear in the room, the priestesses of vice suddenly lose their love fervor, they begin to grumble about the severity of the profession and insufficient pay. And after another ten minutes of such conversations, a caring receptionist calls the room and in a stern voice informs about the impending sudden check, and the urgent need to escort the ladies outside as quickly as possible. And in the morning it turns out that the shaving kit, fresh magazines and a carton of cigarettes are missing. What was most amazing was where could, in fact, naked women stuff so much into themselves in order to take it out unnoticed?
So we can say about Cuban girls, women and even aunties that they have reached the extreme stage of moral decline in their general mass. Not a single pretty Cuban living in her homeland will refuse sex for money. It's already in the blood. Those who tell you “no” are either seriously ill or have already worked today. Ladies who, to one degree or another, are related to a representative of the ruling elite and have long been provided with everything, can also refuse. All the other girls in Cuba have an incredibly natural and understandable position on this issue. They view sex for money as an easy, prestigious and fantastically well-paid job. But the paradox of their mentality is that they ungratefully consider all consumers of their intimate services to be complete, stupid and lustful idiots, without even trying to hide it. For a Cuban woman, sleeping with someone for forty pesos is something between a friendly pat on the shoulder and a request for a cigarette. Moreover, for the insidious Cuban woman, before leaving to extinguish her cigarette butt on the pants of a generous gentleman, it is deeply honorable and pleasant to explain to the man that his tobacco is rare shit, and he himself is a floppy asshole. There are certainly exceptions to the rules, but they are insignificant and it was not even theoretically possible to identify them in the general den in ten days.
In general, in Cuba, every single local resident sells themselves in a harsh manner, including men, old people, children and even dogs. Almost every islander will literally or figuratively lower his ragged pants for a couple of convertible pesos if you ask him to do so correctly. Everyone here has their own price, but the prices do not vary that much, at least not as much as many Cubans would like. If you put moral pressure on them, try to appeal to higher feelings, ask why they do all this and are humiliated like that, then the answer will be unequivocal - about the lack of choice, poverty and large families. In fact, this is not entirely the reason. Cubans for the most part really like simple solutions. For example, to drive stupid white people around a little and charge them ten times the price, and to do it so boldly and impudently that they foolishly will pay - that’s very cool. And then for a couple of days, sit quietly drinking rum under the fence and, smiling proudly, remember how you beat the scoundrels. And what these foreigners will think about you when the deception is revealed is actually no longer important.
But there are exceptions to all rules. It is timely here to mention some randomly born new Cubans and Cubans. This is a newly formed superstructure in the mossy society of the island, unexplored and few in number. On the one hand, they are no longer afraid of criminal liability for all types of violations of Cuban law they commit, because the police never dare to arrest those who provide everything necessary for their own families. And on the other hand, they are already well enough settled to take too many risks and riot, jeopardizing their sweet routine of life. Such individuals are found only in Havana itself. They always have cash, are slightly tipsy, they eat every day, dress in bright colors and without holes, and are also extremely fond of gold and all shiny objects in its range. You can even find in them a desire to receive new information every day. Some of them read world news on English language at least once a week. On the street, among their less fortunate relatives, they stand out from a kilometer away with their outfits, but this is precisely what brings them indescribable satisfaction. A toothy smile and vulgar manners distinguish especially nosy specimens who love to communicate with foreigners, borrowing from them gestures, facial expressions and slang words. What to do, capitalism is terrible in its infancy.
For all other Cubans, working honestly for years, wanting to naturally achieve good fame, creating successful enterprises, and in general, in other words, straining in life in any way - this is not for cool, smart, dexterous Cuban guys and girls! Only second-rate losers can work this way, who fly to this earthly paradise on large planes, from which they need to quickly get their pocket convertible pesos with the help of petty meanness and tricks. And organize a crazy fiesta with your friends! By the way, Cuban women, when there is no foreigner nearby, will gladly sell their butts to a compatriot, of course at a friendly rate, but, nevertheless, for money. One of the young taxi drivers said that finding a bride for a Cuban on altruistic sensual principles is practically impossible. For each date with continuation, the lady will ask for cash.
After my fourth pint of Cuban Cristal beer, my soul felt lighter. I was drawn to conversations with the bartender. He listened patiently detailed description nightmare that happened at night, gloomily and knowledgeably snapped: “Go guys to Baradero! You won’t like anything here anymore...”
The road to Baradero and the piece of paradise itself
This time I decided to take the issue of transport seriously, and preparing for the taxi ride took half an hour. The tender for the right to carry tourists was won by a modest five-year-old Hyundai with air conditioning and a puny old grandfather driver, a sweet and very educated man. By the way, along the way he told a lot of objective information about real life in Cuba, without unnecessary euphoria and dramatization. The trip of a little over two hundred kilometers took about three hours and cost eighty pesos. Along the way I learned more about the real Cuba than I had in the last four days.
Let's say in the abstract, what if Havana itself is a big, old, non-functional neon sign of a bankrupt theater, which onlookers from all over the world still come to look at. This is the province, this is the very inside of the building, with the sky instead of a roof, with collapsed ceilings, a rotten stage and the rusty skeletons of spectator seats overgrown with bushes. Cuba spoils the mood from the inside. It is full of slow agony, endless suffering and calm hopelessness. Throughout the entire trip, I did not see a single normal building, nor did I find any of the local residents who were relatively decently dressed. Along the road flashed the ghostly skeletons of once luxurious mansions with partially broken windows. Few of them still had gray, flaky skin of faded paint, with dubious signs of inner life.
But there were plenty of police on every corner. We were stopped twice and the driver's licenses and documents were checked. It reminded me of how a greedy village grandmother feels the udder of a goat grazing behind the house. The driver said that life in the province is very difficult for the people. Most work for 20 euros per month. There is nothing to eat, nothing to wear, nowhere to work, and if you try to go to work in Havana or another tourist place, you can get into serious trouble with the law. The glorious Comandante turns out to be some very unloved children.
Baradero was greeted with bright road signs, arrows with the names of hotels and restaurants, as if someone was trying to change the sad music to cheerful. According to the organizers of the show, everything was supposed to be fine for tourists here, and troubles and hardships had to be left behind a high, opaque fence for the Cubans themselves. A tourist is obliged to walk carefree and have fun. It wasn’t like that! Perhaps, eight years ago, this strategy worked flawlessly, but an economic embargo, multiplied by the senile insanity of the leader, does not lead to anything good and eternal. The hotel was impressive with its architectural size and scope of infrastructure; the surrounding area was crammed to capacity with swimming pools, sports grounds, restaurants, park areas and entertainment attractions. But over the next two days, to my deepest disappointment, it turned out that all this was beautiful and sparkling about ten years ago.
As of today, everything is maintained on the verge of a foul. Food and drink especially hurt the nerves of the guests. I don’t know where they get their food and who prepares it, but it’s not possible to eat it even in a state of deep alcoholic intoxication. Everything seems to be saturated with something disgustingly tasteless and gets in the throat in the literal sense of the word. The booze is lousy, and the world-touted Cuban cocktails by the pool turn out to be disgusting and a guaranteed cure for heartburn and migraines.
Old-timers who have worked in the Cuban tourism industry for more than ten years confirm that it was around the late nineties that all this happened. “It used to be cool, but now we can’t even eat here ourselves...”: they remember with a sad smile. Over the course of the week, from time to time I interviewed vacationers from among casual acquaintances about their impressions of the hotel and services. People, spitting saliva and having difficulty restraining their overwhelming indignation, began to list a long list of monstrous discrepancies between what was declared and what actually happened. From such a reaction it was not difficult to guess that it was unlikely that any of them would return here again.
The day was drawing to a close, my journey to the finals. Sitting on the high boundary wall of the hotel complex and admiring the bright blue waters of the Caribbean, I thought that I could express everything that happened and saw in one cruel, but very correct phrase: “There is no Cuba.” There are isolated bright flashes of relatively pleasant emotions, as there are snow-white beaches, a gin cocktail mixed right inside a freshly harvested coconut and a blue whiting that you might be able to hook with a giant spoon. But this is disproportionately small in relation to the natural expectations of a person who has listened and looked at the waterfall of advertising about fantastic Cuba for many years of his life. And then I realized that this was a brilliant scam. Tour operators are silent because they need to sell tours and tickets, and inflated travelers do not confess to anyone out of banal resentment and shame. Who wants to spend several thousand euros and then announce to everyone that you essentially just threw them away. So begin the stories about a magical beach holiday in Cuba and heavenly pleasures under the caressing rays of the Caribbean sun. The sun, by the way, is so vicious here that, after going out for fifteen minutes, even with a powerful cream on your shoulders, you turn into a perfectly fried shrimp and then sleep for a couple of nights as if on a cooling frying pan. It's all funny and very human.
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Not everyone knows that there is not a single supermarket in Cuba (in the usual sense), most products are sold with coupons, the famous Havana Club rum is drunk by the poor, and the most beautiful beaches are not in Varadero, but in Maria La Gorda. And that's not all.
Currency
There are two types of currencies in use in Cuba: cookies (CUC) and Cuban pesos or cupas (CUP). Cookies are for tourists, kupas are for Cubans. The exchange rate for cookies is the same throughout the country and is approximately equal to one dollar. It makes sense to buy cookies in large hotels; this will save you from huge queues at city exchange offices.
You can’t just buy kupas, since they are not intended for tourists, but if you’re lucky, they can give you change in the store. One kuk is equal to approximately 25 kupas. Externally, the currencies are very similar, only the cookies are brighter and the kupas are paler.
Kupas are convenient for paying for hotels, gasoline and restaurants, but with kupas it is profitable to buy bread, vegetables, fruits, as well as any products that are mainly intended not for tourists, but for the local population. When paying with cookies, the price of the product can be four times higher!
Transport
Public transport in Cuba is rather poorly developed; Cubans themselves prefer to hitchhike, which is very popular here. The taxi mainly consists of retro cars, which are good not only for their intended purpose - driving along Cuban roads, but also as a generator of likes on Instagram and Facebook.
You can rent a vintage car only with a driver. There is absolutely no need to go to a special agency to buy such a car; owners of rare cars offer their services everywhere. On average, a trip over a distance of 10 kilometers will cost 5 cookies (≈ 300 rubles). When traveling a longer distance, it makes sense to bargain.
And we also have
Is there Internet in Cuba? Yes, there is Internet in this country, but it is not as free as we are used to. If you stay in a hotel in Varadero or another popular resort area of Cuba all the time, then most likely you will not have problems with Internet access (you will only need money for this). But if you are planning a trip around this country with accommodation in several places, then getting online will not always be easy for you.
Internet access via Wi-Fi in Cuba is different from access in Russia and many other countries because:
- There is no free Wi-Fi in Cuba
- Internet access in Cuba is limited and controlled by the government
How to get Internet access in Cuba
There are currently three ways to access the Internet and Wi-Fi in Cuba. You can access the Network at ETECSA communication centers, designated areas and at your hotel.
However, to gain access to any of the three locations above, you will need to purchase a card from an ETECSA telecommunications center or a hotel with Wi-Fi access. The card should cost 1.5 CUC. This price may seem high, but back in 2015 the card cost 4.5 CUC. So the cost of Internet in Cuba is falling. In any case, the card gives you the opportunity to access the Internet in Cuba for one hour. However, when you go offline, the countdown timer stops, so you can use the card again later.
As far as I know, in addition to 1-hour cards for 1.5 CUC, Cuba also offers 5-hour cards for 10 CUC. The cost of such cards, of course, is unprofitable, but in some cases, purchasing them has its advantages.
ETECSA Centers
Not all cities have an ETECSA telecommunications center, and not all hotels have Wi-Fi. Very often you will see a queue of locals near the ETECSA center. For some reason, foreigners are not supposed to queue, so you can walk past the line of locals if it doesn't bother you. However, in some ETECSA centers in Lately foreigners still have to queue. At ETECSA centers in Cuba you can not only buy a card for Internet access, but also use computers.
Since 2016, Wi-Fi began to appear in some private homes in Cuba. Most likely, this trend will continue.
In general, the Internet situation in Cuba is changing quickly, but for now you still need a card to access the World Wide Web.
In 2015, ETECSA opened eight Pay-for WiFi Hotspots in parks in major cities, where you can access the Internet for 2 CUC per hour. Such hotspots have appeared in Pinar del Rio, Cienfuegos, Ciego de Avila, Las Tunas, Matanzas, Villa Clara, Mayabeque and Sancti Spiritus. Currently, there are access points in some other cities in Cuba. Most of these points are in Havana.
Internet in Cuba in hotels
Almost all decent 4 and 5 star hotels in Havana, Varadero and other popular places have Wi-Fi. These hotels typically sell Nauta Wi-Fi cards, but the cost may vary depending on the hotel. I saw cards for 2 CUC in a hotel in Varadero and for 8 CUC in a hotel in Havana. The price depends on the greed of the hotel.
Typically, hotel Internet access in Cuba is only available in certain locations. Usually this is the lobby and some other public areas. There will be no signal in the rooms or on the beach.
Signal strength and communication quality
Wi-Fi signal strength in Cuba is usually low, even if you are close to the signal source. Internet in Cuba is slow in most cases, and connections are often interrupted. Sometimes money is lost because of this, since if the connection is interrupted you do not have time to log out of the system. True, in Varadero and Havana I did not experience such problems, but in cities in the center and east of the country, sometimes there was no Internet for days.
How to login to the Internet
The ETECSA Wi-Fi card has a username and password under a protective layer, which must be entered to enter the Network. When you select Network, a login and password request will appear. When you enter them, you will need to click on the “Accept” button.
To log out, enter 1.1.1.1 in the address bar. Once you reach the withdrawal request page, you will need to confirm your intention by clicking on the “cerrar sesión” button. If you haven't used your full hour, you can use the remaining time again. In general, remember that 1.1.1.1. Used to log out of Wi-Fi system and save money. If you don't log out, your time will simply be wasted.
Remember also that the use of special cards remains in Cuba for now the only way access the Internet via Wi-Fi. Don't fall for scammers.
Not so long ago, I could not imagine a situation where one of the tourists looked at his profile on the social network VKontakte while traveling on a bus not on an excursion. Now the situation has changed a little for the better. One of the largest 3G operators in Cuba is Digicel with its Digicel Cuba Roaming product. Digicel has been connecting people in the Caribbean, Central America and Asia Pacific for over fifteen years.
Can I use 3G in Cuba? Yes, Cuba already has 3G capabilities. This fact may surprise some tourists.
What is a Digicel Cuba Roaming SIM Card? This is a SIM card that works with unlocked phones (this is important, most phones require unlocking, check with your provider before you go to Cuba). There are 3 different prepaid traffic options: 100 MB, 300 MB and 500 MB. Each package includes free incoming SMS so you can receive text messages from family, friends and colleagues outside of Cuba at no additional cost.
You will need to activate the SIM card in Cuba (Cuba only) by dialing *120# and following the instructions for APN/Registration (iOS or Android).
Where does 3G work in Cuba?
Digicel says its 3G coverage is available in all 15 provinces of Cuba. Coverage in the most densely populated areas is reported to be most effective. Since Digicel uses local Cuban networks, the operator cannot guarantee high speed connections.
3G prices in Cuba
As mentioned above, there are three packages. The price level depends on the volume of traffic.
100 MB - 25 cookies
300 MB - 50 cookies
500 MB + 40 minutes calls to anywhere in the world - 100 CUC
Since one card gives you the opportunity to use the Internet for a limited time, it is important to use this time wisely. Therefore, I decided to finally give some tips that will help you use the allocated time to access the Internet very effectively.
- Various translators, guides and maps can be downloaded to your smartphone in advance and used without having to go online. If some application requires access to the Internet to work, then check its functioning in advance so as not to waste precious time setting up and getting to know this application.
- Immediately designate a list of priorities before logging in so that you don’t get drawn into researching VKontakte and Instagram.
- Messages for social networks, Whatsapp, etc. You can type them into your notes app first, and then just copy and paste them once you're online. This will save you time.
- Set a timer on your phone as soon as you log in. Time flies very quickly while surfing the Internet.
- And my other advice is to turn the problem with the Internet in Cuba into an advantage and enjoy your holiday without social networks, blogs and emails! Maybe this situation with the Internet is a good opportunity to read a book on a sun lounger or spend more time in the pleasant waters of the ocean?
Now all the hopes of Cubans are directed towards Venezuela, which is financing the construction of an optical cable between its territory and Cuba. It is believed that this will lead to faster and cheaper Cuban Internet.
In addition, Barack Obama recently signed a law according to which Cuba has the right to connect to US optical cables passing near its shores. True, the reaction of the Cuban government to this permission is still unknown.
A few months ago, Cubans were allowed free entry to cyber cafes on hotel premises. However, this news hardly made them happier, since the Internet is sold in Cuba for the price of gold. One hour of connection to the global network here costs on average 6-10 CUC (convertible pesos), or $8-12, which is equivalent to the average worker’s salary for 15 days. Thus, 30 hours a month will cost one Cuban 180 CUC - the amount of his earnings for a year and a half. This is why, despite official permission, few people in Cuba today can get real access to the Internet. Perhaps on the “black” market, where 1 hour on the World Wide Web costs 2 convertible pesos, or in some post offices where there are computers, at a rate of $1.5/hour.
In addition to the exorbitant prices, there is constant censorship and filtering of sites by the government in Cuba, as well as restrictions and strict supervision of users.
Internet in Havana, Varadero and other cities
Most Havana residents connect to the Internet once a week at the United States Mission (SINA), which has an office near the Havana waterfront. Its employees provide the public with free and censorship-free navigation on the world wide web.
Other information-hungry Havanese turn to the embassies of the Netherlands, Sweden, Poland and the Czech Republic, which offer two free hours of internet per week. The Capitol of Havana, home to the Ministry of Science, Technology and environment, provides a network connection, although not free, but still cheaper than in hotels or cyber cafes: 5 CUC per hour.
Many hotels in Havana have access to the Internet and Wi-Fi. So, at Hotel Saratoga one hour online costs 10 CUC ($12), two hours costs 15 CUC. Here you will also find 24-hour Wi-Fi. There are a total of 3 computers in the hotel, available to tourists from 8 am to 5 pm. Although, if you have your own laptop and a card purchased in advance at the hotel, you can connect to the Internet at any time.
At the Central Park Hotel the cost of 1 hour online is 8 CUC ($10), 5 hours is 35 CUC ($40). Navigation speed ranges from 60 to 80 kilobytes.
You will find the fastest internet at the Meliá Cohiba Hotel. Its speed reaches 120 kilobytes. Using a government-owned computer costs 10 CUC/hour, and to work on your own laptop with Wi-Fi connection you will have to pay 12 CUC ($15).
In almost all hotels in Havana, prices for one hour of Internet fluctuate between 8 and 10 CUC. Although navigation speed has improved slightly in the last year, it is still not fast enough to download large files and videos. There are hotels in Old Havana where Internet access cards cost 6 CUC per hour, but the connection is very poor. In addition, they use software called Avila, which is rumored to be a spyware program that copies users' accounts or blog passwords.
Other hotels with Internet connection and Wi-Fi in Havana - Chateau (Miramar), Montehabana (Miramar), Panorama (Miramar), Occidental Miramar, Sevilla Hotel (Old Havana), National (Vedado), Hotel Habana Libre (Vedado), Hotel Inglaterra (Old Havana), Hotel Nacional (Vedado).
In Varadero - Sandal Royal Hicacos and Barcelo Solymar, in Santiago - Melia Santiago, in Guardalavaca - Paradisus Rio de Oro, in Trinidad - Grand Hotel.
Access to the Internet in Cuba is also possible in the offices of telecommunications companies Etecsa and Citmatel, in the business centers of the Palco and Neptuno hotels, and in the Gallery of World Cities in Havana (Galería Ciudades del Mundo).
Mobile 3G
Mobile phones with 3G generally function well in Cuba, with the exception of Internet captcha, which can sometimes be "caught" and sometimes not. Moreover, no one knows what it depends on. The best telecom operator is Cubacel. The only problem is the cost of calls and SMS.
Sending one message will cost you approximately 1 euro, and a minute telephone conversation- from 3 euros (depending on Russian operator). As for roaming, it is better to turn it off altogether due to too high prices and a future invoice, which upon returning home may be much larger than usual...
Cuba is one of the countries where the Internet is still a scarce product. It is expensive and can only be used in special places, after standing in line for a couple of hours or by purchasing a special card from resellers. How the Internet works in Cuba - in a photo report by Maria Plotnikova.
The text was prepared with the participation of Alexey Mitrakov
The Internet appeared in Cuba in 2011, when the cable from Venezuela was completed. At first, only government employees could use the Internet.
The Cuban state telecommunications company ETECSA, founded in 1994, remains a monopolist in the Internet sector.
On June 3, 2013, 118 Internet cafes opened in the country, where the cost of an hour of Internet was $4.5. Considering that the average official salary in Cuba is still $20 per month, the Internet remains an expensive pleasure for most Cubans.
Mobile Internet appeared in Cuba in 2014. It is issued using a card system and only works in specially designated areas (for example, in parks). Cards for 1-5 hours of connection will cost $1.5 per hour or $7.5 for five hours.
In April 2014, ETECSA announced the expansion of Internet access and the creation of affordable home internet. The price of a 1 Mb/s dedicated line for an office now varies from $150 to $250 per month, depending on the location of the office and the connection method. The cost of home Internet is $60 for 220 hours, $0.3 for each additional hour.
In the parks where it works Wi-Fi network, many resellers. They offer hourly Internet cards for $3. Despite the fact that an hourly card at the ETECSA office costs half as much, the services of resellers are in demand, since purchasing a card at the office can take several hours due to constant queues.
Many hotels in Havana and Varadero have access to the Internet and Wi-Fi. Prices for one hour of Internet connection at the hotel range between $0.32 and $0.4. Internet access is provided with a special card that must be purchased.
Those interested can use the Internet at the Ministry of Science, Technology and Environment of Cuba, which provides Internet connection for $0.2 per hour, which is cheaper than in hotels or Internet cafes.
If a resident of Cuba cannot buy a card or pay for the Internet at an Internet cafe, once a week he has the right to use the Network for free at the US Mission (SINA). Also, two hours a week of free Internet access are provided by the embassies of the Netherlands, Sweden, Poland and the Czech Republic.
Despite the development of the Internet in Cuba, it is not very stable and has a slow data transfer speed, from 150 Kb/s to 1 Mb/s, depending on the location of the connection and the time of day.
An Internet user, when purchasing a card or visiting an Internet cafe in Cuba, signs an agreement, one of the clauses of which states that he undertakes not to use the service provided for “actions that could be considered sabotage or pose a threat to public safety.”
There is a list of sites that are prohibited for Internet users: Cubaencuentro, Cubanet (specialize in writing analytical articles about the state of affairs in the country) and Revolico (distribute advertisements).
In the photo: local residents use the Internet in the city of Varadero
In the photo: local residents use the Internet in the city of Baracoa
In the photo: local residents use the Internet in the city of Trinidad
In the photo: local residents use the Internet in the city of Matanzas
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