Old Havana: A vibrant hub of Cuban culture

After reading Bob Bruinsma’s informative column in the March 27 issue of Christian Courier describing the week he and his wife spent at an all-inclusive beach resort in Cuba, I want to share with readers another side of life in Cuba that Judy and I enjoyed with my brother John and his wife Sarah.

Judy and I had visited Cuba, but always at the kind of beach resorts Bob describes, so this time we chose to get away from the cocoon of an all-inclusive and to experience life in Cuba as Cubans themselves live it. A stay in Old Havana jumped to the top of our list. Our intent was threefold: to mingle with the Cuban people, to visit the city’s famous cultural sites and to sample the local cuisine.

On Airbnb’s website we found a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment situated in the heart of Old Havana within walking distance of some of the best museums and tourist attractions Old Havana has to offer. The apartment turned out to be modest but comfortable.

We particularly enjoyed its balcony three stories above street level, giving us a grand view of happenings below. Bread, fruit and vegetable vendors pushed their carts through the street, and after several days we knew from his loud cry ending in a high-pitched “Oo-ooh!” that the bread vendor was selling his loaves and buns. Ladies would come out on their balcony, let down a basket on a rope, the vendor would take out the money, fill the order, and hand by hand the basket would be pulled back up.

People who visit Cuba soon discover how friendly the people are. We established a cordial acquaintanceship with a married couple living at street level three doors away, and, despite scarcely knowing each other’s languages, managed to conduct our conversations by frequently acting out the old party game of charades. No doubt we improved relations with our neighbours after Sarah handed out small gifts: bars of soap for women, coloured felt pens for children.

Fidel’s personal Jeep

Venturing beyond our street proved fascinating as well. Tasting the local cuisine in neighbourhood restaurants was a highlight, as we enjoyed pescado (fish) and pollo (chicken) for as little as 7.50 convertible pesos (CUC) per dinner, and langosta (lobster) for 15 CUC. We ate our dinners to the accompaniment of music, always music, performed by amazingly talented local artists.

Old Havana’s reputation of outstanding museums proved to be true. Our first visit was to the Museo de la Revolución, housed in the palace of former President Fulgencio Batista. The museum illustrates the history of Cuba and displays an interesting array of historical and Revolutionary artifacts. The first thing we saw inside were bullet holes visible in the main stairway, vestiges of a student attempt to storm the palace in 1957.

Other interesting memorabilia in the museum included Batista’s gold-plated telephone, Che Guevara’s tobacco pipe, leather boots worn by Fidel Castro and bloody, bullet-riddled shirts. The museum also features a Rincon de los Cretins (Corner of Cretins), with larger than life caricatures of “antirevolutionaries” Batista and Presidents Reagan, Bush Sr. and Bush Jr.

Behind the museum stands the Granma Memorial, which displays the 60-foot yacht that transported Fidel, Che and 80 revolutionaries from Mexico to Cuba in December 1956 to overthrow Batista. Surrounding the building stand Fidel’s personal Jeep (punctured by bullet holes), the ancient red truck that carried the students who stormed the Presidential Palace (once more with bullet holes), the SAU-100 tank used by Fidel during the 1961 Bay of Pigs invasion, and the engine turbine of a Lockheed U-2 spy plane shot down by Cuba during the Missile Crisis in October 1962.

Our next visit was to the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, Old Havana’s largest art gallery, where we discovered evidence of Cuba’s vibrant art culture. We spent the morning viewing modern and contemporary art, took a break for lunch in the museum’s cafeteria, then went back to view art of the colonial period – backwards, admittedly, and next time we might do it differently.

We also visited the impressive Catedral de San Cristobal, whose construction was finished in 1778, making it the oldest cathedral in the Americas. It’s reputed to have once held the remains of Christopher Columbus, and is still open for mass Sunday mornings at 9:00 a.m.

Churches in Cuba

This raises the question of how Christianity is faring in socialist Cuba today. Retired Christian Reformed pastor James Dekker, who has made numerous visits to Cuba since 1985 to teach, preach and study church-state relations, says that “the attitude of the Castro regime towards religion over the years has been a dynamic process from disdain, to hostility, to grudging acceptance, to cautious suspicion, to cooperation with the Cuban Council of Churches, to finally last year recognizing pastors as state employees and thus not officially parasites.” Especially since the island’s break with Russia, there is toleration, and even acceptance, of religion, says Dekker, except among some of the dying out generation of hardline communists.

While we did not visit an Iglesia Reformada in Old Havana, the Christian Reformed Church indeed has a presence in Cuba. Readers may be surprised to find out that Cuba has 14 organized Christian Reformed congregations. They are in ecclesiastical fellowship with the CRCNA, but are independent.

We enjoyed our visit to Old Havana immensely, but the city does have its drawbacks. Most evident of these, perhaps, is the city’s deteriorating infrastructure: dilapidated buildings and broken street surfaces are common. We also observed, however, that the city is completely safe. Even walking down narrow streets late at night, we never felt unsafe.

Cuba’s strength, it struck us, is its people. They truly are friendly and, to cope with their low monthly income, have developed an inventive and resourceful spirit. How else could they keep all those old Chevys and Fords running?

As we stood outside our apartment building waiting for the taxi to take us back to the airport, neighbours stepped onto the street with us and leaned from their balconies to see us off. We had no common language, nor did we use charades, for we did not need to speak. We all felt our common humanity.