Note: The American Embassy in Havana re-opens today, 14 August, after 55 years. This is the day when Switzerland, now my home country, ends the longest “protecting power role” mandate it has had, a job that involves representing two nations who are not on speaking terms. It’s a moving moment, a time when common sense and diplomacy pay off and outweigh decades of political jabber to let neighbours learn to respect their differences and to share their corner of the world.
Viva la diferencia !
The heat is on
HAVANA, CUBA – The week before flying to Havana I was back to riding 60 kilometres a day regularly and my decades-old road sense had returned, that feeling that you and the bike are one and can react quickly, the knowledge that you can pedal steadily with no extraneous body movements to be able to cover long distances without exhaustion.
It turned out to be the hottest July since Swiss records have been kept (1856) but I was able to ride in 36C heat at noon, just taking care to drink plenty of water and avoid sunburns. Ready to roll.
I was still caught out by Havana’s summer heat. My second day in the country, after cycling a relatively short 25 km the previous morning, I woke up to a fine little case of heat exhaustion: a head like lead and stomach cramps. The recommended medical solution is to ease up on sports and stay out of the sun for two days – not exactly what I’d signed up to do. You can try to prevent it, but sometimes it sneaks up on you and it’s wise to listen to your body. Younger people tend to try to tough it out, but one good thing about getting older is you know this comes with a price. So I spent the next day and a bit on the bus, savouring the higher view over fences and bushes.
We arrived in Havana in the evening, enchanted by the famous old American cars at the airport and then throughout the city. The high humidity made the air thick and heavy, but it wasn’t as sticky as Hong Kong in July.
The cycling tour, as planned
The following morning we donned our gear, took our bike helmets, sunglasses, gloves and water bottles, and smeared number 50 Nivea sun cream on exposed skin, moving up from the no. 30 that did the trick in Switzerland but would never work for pale skins, closer to the Equator.
In a parking area behind a 4-star hotel we and 16 other cyclists met our “guide” (the term doesn’t do justice to his job as leader, fixer, laggards sweeper, mediator, organizer, sometime-mechanic and storyteller) Laz from UK-based sustainable travel firm Exodus Travel. A mechanic was there; he would stay with us for two days, checking tires and chains and gears regularly. Two bus drivers, Alberto for the bikes’ bus and Tuna for the people bus, were also looking us over. They, too, turned out to have job descriptions that barely suggested what they did.
The plan: cycling for 10 of 15 travel days, at a “moderate” pace described as 65km a day on average, at about 13km/hour, but with a bus always available for moments when you wanted to opt out, and no pressure on anyone.
Trek mountain bikes would be our closest friends for those 10 long riding days. Pet names were painted on the side: mine was S3 and Nick had XL12. They turned out to be a wonderful surprise. I’ve never had a mountain bike and the sproinnng! of the suspension is just what you need for Cuba’s endless potholes and uneven road surfaces. No need to go off trail for rugged riding in Cuba, although off-trail was on the menu, mainly to allow us to see the countryside hamlets that are home to 25% of the Cuban population. In 1960 nearly 60% of the population lived outside urban areas, according to IndexMundi, but, as elsewhere, people have headed towards the cities in search of jobs over the past 50 years.
Drifting through Havana, seeking the clichés
You need time to get to know a bike, a couple of hours, so we headed out for a 25 km drift around the capital of Cuba. It’s a great way to forget about jet lag, too.
Travelers I’ve met tend to take one of two approaches. They either try to dislodge the clichés about a place and their preconceived notions, replacing these with new things they learn, or they seek to confirm the clichés, making travel a kind of treasure hunt. The second is more relaxing and comfortable, a bit like ticking off a list. The first can be uncomfortable and even hard work, but I’m convinced the understanding we gain does more in the long run for the places we visit than the short-term injection of our cash into the local tourism industry. It’s my raison d’être for travel.
But fresh off the plane, we’re all alike – we look for the things we believe we’ve come to see. We Havana cyclists sought out and weren’t disappointed to find American cars galore from the 1950s and 60s. We looked for colour and found it everywhere, for Che and Fidel and they, too, were everywhere. History was ever-present and the present seemed muted. Music marched up to our table at dinner that night, and it never left us for the next two weeks.
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We found heat and erratic air conditioners, not always the healthiest mix. Lunch on the waterfront in Havana included a serenade by the first of what would prove to be too many buskers playing “Guantanamera“, but heat and sometimes unwanted music turned out to be virtually our only complaints during two weeks, as a group.
We piled into a cool bus and drove some 100 km to Matanzas and the Cubas of our imaginings – for there was more than one. At that point the things we expected to find veered off in several different directions, as did the way we expected to cycle around the country.
If you’re looking for tips on replacing flat tires in Santiago, you’re in the wrong place, although my buddy S3 will get some mentions in this series.
This is a tale of Cuba re-found and mentally remodeled by one person pedaling along country roads in Oriente and Tuna and Trinidad. I’m old enough to remember the Cold War and the tension around downed American U2 pilot Francis Gary Powers right before Kennedy became the US president, the Bay of Pigs one year later, the Cuban blockade – and to have had a preteen crush on a Cuban refugee in the US. I never dreamed then that one day I would carry a Swiss passport and I would be proud of the Swiss role in Cuban-US relations, in keeping the lid on a boiling international drama.
Next: Cuba imagined, 1960-2015
The series, Ellen’s bicycle diaries