Part One. Streets in Havana, Cuban breakfast and cheap Salsa
That's cool! I am in Cuba! – these were the first thoughts that came to my mind on the way from Jose Marti International aiport to Havana. I kept my mouth open looking at exotic palm trees, black-color people and Soviet-made cars. “What will be next?” I thought. Things did not turn out that cool as I had thought first.
It is not easy to walk around Havana. Even our cab driver got lost trying to find the hotel. The problem is that there are very few houses in Havana that have the names of streets and house numbers. That's why the driver had to make stops and ask locals how to reach our destination. After making ceveral circles, he stopped near the hotel where my Swedish friends Per and Sarah had booked a room for me.
I had booked a private apartment through the internet - casa particular – one of the few legal private businesses in Cuba. It can be a room in an apartment with owners. It can also be a private house. I was lucky to spend my first four days in the whole house. However, the word "lucky" is not the best one.
The landlord showed me around the apartment. "On the first floor, there is a kitchen", she said. I had started learning Spanish just one week before my arrival. So I could pick only basic words. Sarah was giving a helping hand to translate from Spanish. "You can take anything you want", the landlord added. We climbed to the second floor with a bed-room and a shower. "First, you turn on the water. Then you turn this switch to let the hot water running. OK?" asks the woman. "ОК", I said. She collected soap and shampoo and walked away.
In the kitchem, I was not lucky to taste anything. The fridge was apparently not in use for several years. I could only find rotten onions, cucumbers, eggs and some unfamiliar vegetables.
In the morning, the woman came together with her husband. They live just one block away. I asked her to cook a Cuban breakfast for me. The breakfast included: a sandwich with fried eggs, fresh fruits and juice made from an egg and some fruits in a mixer.
- What kind of fruit is this? I asked in my broken Spanish.
- Fruta bomba, she answered.
- And this?
- Guyaba.
I am running up to get my pen and a notebook. I give them to her, asking to put it down in writing. She writes: "fruta bomba" and "guayaba". Fruta bomba means papaya. But in Spanish this word means vagina. That's why locals call it fruta bomba.
After communication was established, the owner of the house pulled out CDs. He was offering Salsa music at $3 per CD and at $5 per DVD. After I said that I was going to think about his offer, he inserted the disc into a player.
I was not keen on buying a CD and asked what I was truly interested in:
- How many Cuban TV channels do you have?
He started counting and said: "Five". Afterwards, our conversation was not constructive, because the command of my Spanish was poor. So I decided to walk around Havana.
To be continued...
It is not easy to walk around Havana. Even our cab driver got lost trying to find the hotel. The problem is that there are very few houses in Havana that have the names of streets and house numbers. That's why the driver had to make stops and ask locals how to reach our destination. After making ceveral circles, he stopped near the hotel where my Swedish friends Per and Sarah had booked a room for me.
I had booked a private apartment through the internet - casa particular – one of the few legal private businesses in Cuba. It can be a room in an apartment with owners. It can also be a private house. I was lucky to spend my first four days in the whole house. However, the word "lucky" is not the best one.
The landlord showed me around the apartment. "On the first floor, there is a kitchen", she said. I had started learning Spanish just one week before my arrival. So I could pick only basic words. Sarah was giving a helping hand to translate from Spanish. "You can take anything you want", the landlord added. We climbed to the second floor with a bed-room and a shower. "First, you turn on the water. Then you turn this switch to let the hot water running. OK?" asks the woman. "ОК", I said. She collected soap and shampoo and walked away.
In the kitchem, I was not lucky to taste anything. The fridge was apparently not in use for several years. I could only find rotten onions, cucumbers, eggs and some unfamiliar vegetables.
In the morning, the woman came together with her husband. They live just one block away. I asked her to cook a Cuban breakfast for me. The breakfast included: a sandwich with fried eggs, fresh fruits and juice made from an egg and some fruits in a mixer.
- What kind of fruit is this? I asked in my broken Spanish.
- Fruta bomba, she answered.
- And this?
- Guyaba.
I am running up to get my pen and a notebook. I give them to her, asking to put it down in writing. She writes: "fruta bomba" and "guayaba". Fruta bomba means papaya. But in Spanish this word means vagina. That's why locals call it fruta bomba.
After communication was established, the owner of the house pulled out CDs. He was offering Salsa music at $3 per CD and at $5 per DVD. After I said that I was going to think about his offer, he inserted the disc into a player.
I was not keen on buying a CD and asked what I was truly interested in:
- How many Cuban TV channels do you have?
He started counting and said: "Five". Afterwards, our conversation was not constructive, because the command of my Spanish was poor. So I decided to walk around Havana.
To be continued...
