Stumbled across this ebook by an Israeli photographer. Amazing photos and the settings felt so familiar, like I’d been in that house and drove along that street. I’m almost certain we have stood in the exact same place as each other two decades apart. (I also didn’t have the pleasure of standing in front of the naked Cuban men in the photographs in case you were wondering.)
I left Cuba pretty confused. I wasn’t sure if I loved it or hated it or fell somewhere in the middle. The more time passes since I’ve left and I still find myself pretty fascinated by the country. I still can’t forget the day Tomas and myself checked out the revolution museum. After a two hour accidental detour we found the place and as we approached the building I noticed a dog that looked like it was chewing on a big piece of meat, rolling it around in his mouth deciding on whether or not he wanted to eat it. I walked past the dog and then turned around to notice another female dog sitting in the gutter about 2 metres away. She looked exhausted and had her belly facing upwards exposing her nipples and it was then I realised that the first dog held its newborn pup in his mouth and was trying to bring it back to life. Around them, taxi drivers stood hassling tourists and the police across the road stood in silence looking rather bored; everyone was just doing what they had to.
Our second week in we found a book at one of the casas with the following quote;
“All journeys have a secret destination of which the traveller is unaware.”
-Martin Burber
Underneath written in sharpie was a message from my friend Mahmoud;
“I leave this book for all the brave travellers who have travelled this route to discover Cuba and its people despite all the problems they have.”
As you’ll see below it looks like he has crossed out the word warmth and replaced it with people, which is something I’ve only noticed months later.
(Havana to Vinales via local ‘bus’) 
I don’t know how much rum we consumed or how I got back to our room last night but I can tell you I was still wasted when I woke up. Next thing I remember is Tomas being there and Zag and I packing our bags whilst shouting at each other about something. Then we were on our way to a local bus which we caught with ease this time, then 40 mins later another bus, then 20mins later standing on the side of the highway in what felt like the hottest day in Cuba.
My head was throbbing and Zag who wasn’t speaking to me (and wouldn’t for the next day), had found a tiny patch of shade to hide under. It just covered the width of his body so he had no other choice but to lay down in order to fully protect himself from the sun. As bus timetables or signs don’t seem to exist in Cuba we sat there waiting, waiting waiting for a truck to come past which we would flag down as per our instructions from Magnolia, the host from the hostel. Nobody seemed all that enthused with our presence on the bus, giving them the benefit of the doubt, could be a result of the fact that being herded around like cows was part of everyday life for them. They probably couldn’t imagine why a few tourists would want to get around that way especially in this heat. 
I can’t get over the run down state of the schools here. There seems to be an abundance of people working on tourist attractions while their kids are at schools with smashed windows, lucky to have one ring on their basketball courts. The next few days were by far the most confronting. We’d been in Cuba for nearly two weeks now and the isolation was definitely starting to get to Zag. I’d been lying if I said that I wasn’t feeling it myself but for him being on his first trip overseas I imagine it would’ve been full on. 
The three of us boys had decided that we would get around from town to town by hitchhiking, only taking taxi’s when we had to. After one night in Vinales we took a truck to Santa Lucia a town close to the east coast of Cuba. The first day we got lucky and managed to score a lift to the beach with an old french couple in their rental car. The beach was beautiful and parts of it were relatively empty. The couple were even nice enough to take us back to town in the afternoon, we didn’t ask but they offered. Day two we were not so lucky. None of the locals would pick us up and the tourists in their rental cars weren’t stopping. After about half an hour in the hot sun we took shelter in a bus stop and took turns in flagging down cars. For local vehicles you point to the ground and rentals you stick the thumb out, the western way. Another half hour went by along with a few squabbles over who’s turn it was to stand in the sun and point and finally a couple of Spanish girls stopped and agreed to take us along with all our luggage to the beach. 
Trinidad.
Varadero was fun. We spent the days at the beach and the nights at the Casa Del La Musica(House of music). The best night was probably their version of a uni night as there was tons of local people there and not many tourists. Tomas met up with a Chilean girl we had met at the beach who conveniently for Zag had lots of friends…one in particular that looked like she’d just jumped off the cover of a magazine. The worst night there was the tourist night, the cover charge tripled and the place was full of Canadians learning how to salsa. Plus side? Open bar, I think we smashed about 10 Mojitos each and a few beers then bailed(with about 5 beers stuffed in our pockets as they weren’t opening them.) Cheers!
Our taxi driver from Veradero to Trinidad was a rude ass, piece of. After charging us more to leave at a certain time of day, he was two hours late and then spent the whole 5 hours screaming into his phone while the four us of tried with varying levels of success to sleep. My iPod JUST managed to drown out the sound of his voice until he started slapping me on the leg asking for something. I had no idea what it was and Tomas(Who was even angrier then I) told us that it was paper. I got my notebook out of my bag, open a page which he grabbed and tore out a piece of paper before yelling “PEN!”
The following day we walked out to the cascades or waterfalls. Most people take a tour which includes horse riding but we opted to walk(The horses are in pretty bad conditions). Took us a little over an hour and we arrived to discover that due to the time of year there was no waterfall. Massive waterhole though which we jumped in an swam around for a bit.
In complete contrast to most displays of Cuban Hospitality, the man living across from our Casa was a top bloke. After chatting to Tomas across the street from his first floor balcony to ours, Pedro invited us over for and sent his two daughters off to get a bottle of rum and his wife brought out snacks. It was cool getting to know some locals, he worked as a maintenance man at one of the hotels and his daughter was studying whilst working at the Casa Del La Musica. I’d heard a few people talking about the ‘Mountain Club’ in Trinidad so was really excited to check it out however she informed me it was ‘closed for renovations’ which, being in Cuba, could mean it would never open again. Pedro challenged us three boys to a push-up competition after a few rums which he drew with Tomas and Zag. This is my way of saying that I lost.
After the warm rain cleared we headed out again to the Casa Del La Musica which we were told is the best in Cuba. Looked like a great space but was closed. Before moving on somewhere else I was approached by one of three young cuban guys dressed in what I could only guess was their attempt at looking….gay? Two of them were wearing these shiny tacky looking snapbacks and they asked me for a lighter despite all three of them having lit cigarettes in their hands. As we headed off to another club the one with beautiful blue eyes yelled out ‘I love you’ to me which I found hilarious as its totally something I would do. The rest of our night involved a tonne of rum, meeting some prostitutes who were relieved to find out I wasn’t interested in what they were selling, doing the Macarina around the streets and Kim and Zag fighting. The latter being the funniest, she started chasing him around the streets screaming at him about something….
Veradero, Matanzas, Cuba
Unless you can fully go undercover, looking and sounding like a Cuban, the best option for travel is to just get a taxi. After yet another struggle getting there, we spent the whole day at the beach in Veradero a tourist town located on the north coast of Cuba. The section of the beach we hung out on had a bar where the beers were $2 and the mojitos $4, you beauty. If your staying at one of the resorts the chairs and drinks are free which I guess if you have the ability to consume an excessive amount of alcohol could be worth it! The first half of the day consisted of Volleyball and swimming, the second half of drinking. Zag disappeared in the afternoon with a guy he met on the beach to go buy cigars and rum and we made friends with the lifeguards and police who were more then happy to share the rum with us.
Finally after nearly 48 hours of stopovers, we had arrived in Havana, Cuba. To my surprise there was a man at the airport, waiting, with a sign, that read ‘TOMAS DALTON’ which kinda freaked me out until I remembered. I’d organised a ride with one of the accommodations that I ended up cancelling. Whoops. If I’d known the extent of the countries disorganisation (From my own experience, not just from what I had been told), I wouldn’t have felt bad about scoring the lift and not staying at the hostel*. My initial thought on Cuba would remain the theme of my thinking for the entire three weeks; everything contradicted itself. The streets were full of beautiful old school cars and architecture just like I’d seen in pictures but everything seemed like it needed a paint job or renovation or both. There were murals everywhere of Che Guevara and Fidel Castro along with proclamations that the Cubans ‘Defend the Revolution’ which again, makes sense, but actually doesn’t.
We arrived at the hotel, signed in with our passports then headed upstairs. This is the only proper ‘hostel’ in Cuba in terms of dorm rooms/common area/kitchen etc. and probably the best thing to happen to us in Cuba**. There were about 5 people in the common room; an African born Canadian, a couple of girls from Europe, a young German boy and a man from Hungary also named Tomas. After the introductions they spent about 10 minutes giving us advice on food, the double currency, what not to do, where to eat…the list went on so long that most of the information, as invaluable as it was, became impossible to absorb.
We went for a walk around Central Havana, not finding anything to eat, instead finding $***4 bottles of Havana Club Rum which we bought and headed back to the hostel as it was getting dark and we didn’t know our way around. For the next 5 hours Zag and I sat around with Mahmoud, (the Canadian man) listening to his stories about Cuba and the rest of the world whilst drinking rum and looking through his pictures. He was a photographer and had seen a thing or two in his lifetime to say the least. About two hours into the conversation Zag asked him how old he was, I was thinking the same as he looked about 30-35 but the stories were not adding up. I’ll have what this guy is having, he was fifty fucking two years old and fit as a fiddle. I asked him what his age defying secret was to which he simply replied, “I walk everywhere.”
The others arrived back from dinner along with the addition of a Kiwi Chic and a cute guy from Argentina and the whole group of us decided to head out to a salsa club where the oldest gent in the hostel recommended us to go. I can’t remember his name but the image of his wrinkly body lying on the bottom bunk dressed only in his jocks is permanently burnt into the back of my skull.
The unlikely band of misfits took a local bus (costs less then a cent per person) to this salsa club which is right on the edge of the water. Cue purchase of another bottle of rum and within about 15 minutes Zag and myself were being taught how to salsa by the other lads there…..very unsuccessfully and very amusing for onlookers I’m sure. The rest of the night is a blur but basically involved another crazy bus ride home, walking to find pizza (which costs 30cents) and stumbling home to bed where I would be for the next 14 hours on account of my disgusting rum hangover.
*A pre-organised Taxi from the airport into Havana cost us $35CUC and I’d gotten quotes from about 3 different places prior to landing. I’ve heard the taxi should cost you $15-$20 if you just walk down the road and barter with a driver but if you don’t speak Spanish it’ll be a total fuck around. The local bus is super super cheap, maybe 20c but again signs and timetables are non-existent in this country so be prepared for an adventure if you choose that option.
**The hostel is called Hamel Hostel. Its located on Hospital Street, Central Havana about 15mins walk from Havana Viejo(Old Havana/Tourist Area). Its great to stay here as its $5CUC per person a night and its way more social then staying in one of the Casa Particulars. Handy if you are travelling by yourself or wanting to meet new people. The host Magnolia is really nice and can hook you up with accommodation in other areas of Cuba. Best way to get in contact is via couchsurfing.com
***The two currencies in Cuba can be confusing. The CUC is the convertible peso and is worth the same as the US dollar. They’ll fuck you over more with the US then the EU though so if getting euros is an option I’d recommend that(especially for aussies as the AUS isn’t strong against the US at the moment so you get double screwed.)