Outsider In Cuba: Lessons from Havana in 24h

In October and November 2016 I spent three weeks travelling around Cuba.  I returned home just days before Fidel Castro died.  These posts are written from the scribblings I made in my notebook throughout the trip.

I’m in the taxi from the airport. My extremely accommodating driver is my first Cuban voice into the Cuba of today and the changes the island is going through. His words are accompanied by dark, damp urban views affording me a frustratingly low-key visual entry into the country: I glimpse palm trees, squat blocks of houses, a few other cars.

He explains that now having internet access, and the opportunity of meeting more tourists and speaking with Cubans who travel, have given him a newly positive view of his country. The free education and healthcare, so frequently cited, for example. Now that private enterprise is allowed there’s also generally a lot more hope. Being enterprising seems to be in the Cuban nature. He tells me that he taught himself English from scratch, and driving tourists to and from the airport every day is how he practises. He works seven days a week and has taken just eight or nine days off this year. His English is excellent.

Reaching Old Havana, we pull up in a back street. In the drizzle and low lighting, everything is a picture in sepia until I step inside my casa. This first casa particular, akin to a bed and breakfast, is quite something: marble staircases, furniture from 19th to mid last century, highly decorative tiles all worth taking pictures of (so I do), and ceilings three times the height of an average person. This house also happens to be chock full of religious (Catholic) paraphernalia.

I don’t ask too many questions of my hosts; my Spanish is frazzled, as am I. My low key start to Cuba continues in the same vein with bed calling. The spectacular, I hope, will start tomorrow.


Morning one and it’s pissing it down with rain. Biblical levels of rain. Most of the streets have turned into small rivers. Spectacular scenes, yes, but not quite what I was hoping for. Committed to a walking tour of Old Havana that I am already on, we find ourselves taking shelter in a warehouse type building that happens to be hosting a jiu jitsu and taekwondo competition for children and teens. I notice that there are some blind and partially sighted participants as we watch the warm ups and tumbling exercises across the multi-coloured mats.

Waterfalls are cascading in through the windows, doorways and holes in the roof. Small lakes spread across the concrete floor threatening the activity but the Cubans are unfazed.

A judo instructor befriends me and gives me some tips on where I can find salsa clubs to go dancing. He doesn’t ask me for anything untoward in exchange but perhaps a donation towards the martial arts centre. He doesn’t insist, though, and is quite happy just to chat and then leave me be.

Sheltering in the martial arts warehouse turns out to be the best insight into Cuban life of the day, as the rest of it is spent… surrounded by tourists. The centre of Old Havana seems strangely quiet save for the sheer masses of guided walking tours. I find myself mostly observing other tourists in horrified fascination. Being part of the mass of tourist numbers doing guided tourist things was, ignorantly, and arrogantly perhaps, an experience I wasn’t expecting.

One sight I had been expecting, and am not disappointed by, are the promised classic cars – American, from the 50s and 60s, mostly Chevrolets and 80s Russian Ladas. At the airport, my taxi driver had pointed out a car that used to have the honour of being a security vehicle for Fidel Castro. Russian built, bullet-proof, apparently. Now it carts tourists around.

By the end of the day I am having my first in depth chat with a young Cuban. Denis is 28, Afro-Cuban. Very quickly going past the pleasantries, he is telling me about living conditions and his views on Cuba. With so few jobs around, he feels young Cubans have become unmotivated, and just do what they can to get a fast buck. He tells me that he is opposed to the government, describing it as a dictatorship. Despite having trained as a nurse, he no longer works in the profession and, instead, goes house to house selling bleach. He makes more money this way. It also means he’s not working for the state.

We talk about housing conditions. In fact, it was in catching me taking a picture of his house that our conversation started. I saw a photo opportunity in the dilapidation. He, along with many others crammed into the space, has to live in the dilapidation. I don’t go inside but through the glassless barred windows I can see that the state of reparation is appalling. In fact, driving back out of the city, past more and more buildings, it strikes me that never before have I been somewhere where such a great proportion of the buildings are in such dismal condition.

Eventually Denis and I come to be discussing the dream many young Cuban men have – escape from the island via a foreign woman. Marriage to a foreigner is the best passport for leaving the country to a more economically secure and democratically free life. It seems that love is an unnecessary bonus for the Cuban men who salsa their way into the beds and hearts of these women but for him, he tells me, it must be the basis of any relationship. However, when five minutes’ later he’s telling me that he may be falling in love at this very moment on the street, I decide it’s time to bring our conversation to a close.

So from love, to food, which actually is a love for me. Unfortunately, it is currently only remarkable in that I’ve eaten virtually the same bloody thing for every meal since touchdown: sandwiches. My midnight snack on arrival at the casa was a reconstituted ham toastie.  Breakfast included a roll with egg.  Lunch was a tuna sandwich.  My afternoon snack, a round hot crunchy bread with sweet tomato sauce and cheese, masquerading as a pizza but folded into a sloppy sandwich.  And dinner? Cheese and ham toastie. Lesson learnt – when you have the choice don’t go for a sandwich because there are probably many occasions when it will be the only thing available to eat!


Looking back, I can see that, in under 24 hours, I had stumbled across some of the main themes that were to recur throughout the trip, onto which I would build a bigger picture of Cuba today. The positive and negative aspects of the revolution in evidence: good health, socialist practices and education; disenfranchised youth, but a hope for the future; the important feature of tourists to this isolated country, offering a means of escape from poverty or a literal escape from the island. The friendliness and willingness of Cubans to talk and share, and to praise and criticise Cuba – and flirt! – in equal measure. And the former glory, the faded grandeur peeking through crumbling facades and infrastructure…

I was determined that the food situation was going to get better, though. I wasn’t eating just sandwiches for the next three weeks!

Outsider In an easy(ish) ride with Italian car hire

I step up to the Budget car hire desk in Turin airport in trepidation, tensed in expectation of the Inevitable Issue.  Just next to me, a group of young British men have already encountered theirs: despite having paid for their luxury class automatic drive Audi, the named driver needs not one, but two, credit cards to cover their worst-case-scenario-deposit.  They can sum up two credit cards between them but nothing can be done; it was written in the small print.

With slight stomach butterflies and sweaty palms I hand car hire voucher, driver’s licence, passport and (one) credit card over the counter.  The first question I’m asked is whether or not we have much luggage.  Well, we do a bit, I think, slightly perplexed: skis, snowboard, three cabin bags and a sizeable suitcase. That’s why I’d opted one up from the “mini” class of cars when booking.  After much deliberation, I’d reckoned that we could jam all our gear into a Ford Fiesta ‘or equivalent’ and so splashed out on an “economy” range of car, a whole £20 more than the dinky Fiat Panda (or equivalent…) that I’d otherwise been considering.

“Because a Panda is very small, eh?” the Budget car hire lady continues.

Erm… what?  Oh, ok, so it appears we have found my car hire issue…

Despite the hours (and hours, very literally) researching, comparing, reading reviews, recommendations, dos and don’ts, and tying myself in knots – what insurance do I take?, should I go for snow tyres (double the cost!)? or just make do with snow chains (gah – will it snow or no?!)?, and which brother-fudging car will fit all our gear?! – it seems that I have still missed a trick on my first go at being responsible for hiring a car abroad!


Oh well, I have nevertheless learned some general points always to be considered and, for my own future reference more than anything, I’ve included them here:

  • Go for the most basic insurance that the car hire company offers you (always included in the price) because you’ll pay an arm and a leg for full coverage with them.  BUT
  • Choose car hire where you pick up and return the car with a full tank.  Everywhere says to do this, so I see no reason not to comply!
  • For sure go through a comparison site to find your car hire deal cheaper but do be aware!  Autoeurope.co.uk offered far more categories of car than existed for the individual hire companies, e.g. seven, as opposed to Budget’s three.  In my case, I’d opted for a slightly bigger car at a more expensive hire cost to only find myself with the too small car that I was trying to avoid but could have paid less for at the outset, and all my crucial, mental car packing completely come undone!  (I’m still waiting to see what Autoeurope have to say about that!).  Double check on the company’s site to not get caught out!
  • Paper counterparts to your driver’s licence are becoming obsolete, so you may need to get a code from DVLA to give to the car hire company which shares the extra information not included on your driving license card.  Super easy and quick to do here.
  • Finally, expect the unexpected.  If you’ve covered all the above, then you shouldn’t have too many nasty surprises other than a different car from the one you booked… the more unexpected bit, however, was that, although car hire companies have a reputation for giving you an unpleasant sting somewhere along the line, that doesn’t mean the employees behind the desk have to: our Budget car hire lady saved the day by throwing in a ski rack for free (!), taking pity on our too much luggage for a Fiat Panda situation.

Remaining calm, polite and even friendly probably helps matters, I think, as I walk away from the desk, leaving my compatriots with their credit card mishap still wrangling with a now slightly angry Italian car hire man.

I am relieved.  I was expecting worse and, although we still have to play Tetris with our luggage, it should now all fit.  My relief is but momentary, though.  Slight stomach butterflies and sweaty palms rise again as my thoughts turn to the next, probably even more stressful step ahead: car picked up, I now have to actually drive in Italy.