Merry Christmas from Santa Clara, birthplace of the Cuban Revolution.
This is one of the only majority Christian countries in the world, I’d guess, where Christmas isn’t really celebrated. From what I understand, up until a few years ago, Christmas was seen as a capitalist sign of excess and commercialism (which, to be fair, isn’t that far from the truth) and celebrating it in any way was frowned upon by the Cuban government. A few years ago, reforms under Raul Castro made celebrating Christmas no longer verboten, and now Cuba is starting to see some signs of the holiday here and there — Christmas trees and decorations at official shops and such. It’s only recently that Christmas was declared a public holiday, and it’s still not very big deal here, except perhaps among the younger generations. The older people didn’t really grow up with it, so they don’t have much of a tradition for it. Most people still prefer to celebrate the Revolution’s Birthday on January 1st instead.
Breakfast and bus
I woke up refreshed after a great night’s sleep. The Casa owners put out a small breakfast, with bread, pastries, fresh fruit, cheese, and — weirdly — cereal without milk. When I asked if they had any milk, it was oddly interpreted as this semi-frozen sweetened yogourt-like slop that tasted awful with the cereal. Milk is really scarce in Cuba, and what little is available tends to be the powdered variety. Also, there were no spoons. The coffee was good, at least. It’s nice to be travelling in a coffee country again; all the tea in Asia can’t quite compare.
After breakfast, I set out on a mission to find a necessity: bottled water. It was surprisingly difficult — probably the first country I’ve ever been to where I couldn’t readily find water everywhere. Of course, some shops are closed for Christmas, so that might have had something to do with it. The shop I finally found had a small stash of water, but tons of rum. Okay, then, maybe that’s the solution.
That accomplished, I grabbed my bags and got a taxi to the bus stop, where I got on the surprisingly modern, comfortable (and air conditioned!) tourist coach that I’d booked. Destination: Santa Clara.
The drive took about four hours along mostly empty highways. I arrived at the bus station in Santa Clara and was met by a representative from the casa I’d pre-booked, holding a sign with my name on it. I loaded my bags into his car, and drove the short distance to the casa, which was a couple of blocks from the main square. There was had a private rooftop terrace with deck chairs. Really quite nice.
Christmas with Che
After checking in, I set out with a girl called Marie from Norway, who was also staying at my casa, to explore the town. We walked up to the main square and got a taxi to take us to the Che Guevara mausoleum and monument, Santa Clara’s main attraction.
Ernesto “Che” Guevara, Cuba’s national hero and Fidel Castro’s second in command during the Cuban Revolution, has taken on myth status, both here in Cuba and abroad. The doctor, Marxist revolutionary, guerrilla warfare expert, and subject of many books and films like the Motorcycle Diaries, is perhaps second only to Fidel Castro himself in having achieved hero status. In fact, prior to last month’s death of Castro, I’d say Che might have ranked first. His film-star image is plastered all over merchandise ranging from t-shirts to license plates (the irony is certainly lost on them).
Santa Clara was the site of one of the key battles of the Cuban Revolution. Che Guevara’s victory there was considered a turning point that led to victory, and is commemorated with a big memorial. The monument, which was built in 1997, contains a big statue of Che, as well as a memorial to the 39 fallen guerrilla heroes of the Revolution. It stands atop a hill just outside the city. There’s artwork all along the memorial depicting battle scenes, a copy of letters written by Che Guevara to Fidel Castro transcribed in the artwork, and inside, a museum dedicated to Che’s life. The mausoleum is reminiscent of those to other Communist leaders like Mao Tse-Tong or Ho Chi Minh. You can’t bring bags or cameras inside; you have to keep walking steadily around the memorial, and you can’t stop or talk or laugh without incurring the wrath of the guards.
I’ve always felt that Communism misses the point with its railing against religion. This is their religion. Figures like Castro and Guevara are their gods. The images in the museum of Che Guevara’s death at the hands of the CIA make it obvious: he’s depicted basically exactly like Jesus on the cross. Every culture has its figures of worship, and this is obviously theirs.
After the memorial, we visited a nearby train rail yard, which was an important battle site. Guevara and his men derailed an armoured train and ripped up the rail line, capturing and defeating the men inside. Unfortunately, the site was closed, ostensibly for Christmas. So we just spent a couple of minutes walking around outside and snapping a few photos, before heading back to town.
Around Santa Clara
Back at the main square, we walked around a bit. We tried to check out the shops, but there really weren’t any to be seen. See, Cuba, unlike China or Vietnam, is still really communist, and not just nominally. Here, goods aren’t available, not just because of American embargo. After all, USA isn’t the only or even the leading manufacturer of goods these days. Cuba could import whatever it wants from Europe, South America or — especially — China. But private citizens can’t really import much under the Cuban system. They have to go through the government. And the government lacks the resources to provide much beyond the basics. So shortages of practically everything persist, and where goods are available, they’re priced out of reach of most Cubans. Think about having to pay a month’s salary for most things that we can get for a buck or two at the dollar store.
(Side note: A lot of people bring in extra items like toiletries and whatnot to give as tips to their Casa owners, but the licensed Casa owners are actually quite affluent compared to most people, thanks to their steady tourism income in CUCs. Many of those items end up resold on the black market. So it’s recommended instead to work with organizations that bring in items to help people who need it more.)
Back at the casa, I tried to take a shower, but the shower hose came right out of the wall. Oops. The casa owner seemed to expect it, because she came in and put it back in the wall totally nonplussed.
Mas mojitos, por favor
After dinner, I walked back up to the main square together with the Marie and with Sam and Rose, the Scottish couple staying upstairs. There were tons of people in the square, mostly trying to access WiFi. It looked like a giant Pokemon Go stop; everyone staring at their phones and not talking to each other. Again, people who say they want to see Cuba before it changes are missing the point. It’s already changing.
We walked up to a beautiful old building that we thought might have been a museum. I wasn’t sure if it was open but a guy motioned for us to come in. He turned on the lights and ushered us upstairs. With my rudimentary Spanish, I was able to finally understand that it was the Cultural Centre of Santa Clara. Every town in Cuba has one, where children get free lessons in dance, music and art, and where concerts and performances take place. It helps explain the passion Cubans have for their culture. I tinkered around on the piano — every house and building in Cuba seems to have one — and we walked around photographing the faded beauty of the old building.
We got some pre-drinks at the cafe, and then walked across the square to the Santa Clara Libre hotel. This hotel — a Hilton prior to the Revolution — was the site of one of the major battles for Santa Clara. The facade still has bullet holes as a reminder. They had a small disco nightclub going on the rooftop. It was slow at first, but s
lowly, people started to arrive and the party got going. I met some two Kiwi girls currently living in Vancouver, and some Jewish Americans from LA who got to talking with me about the absurdity of being Jews celebrating Christmas in Communist Cuba.
Anyway, several rounds of mojitos later — I lost count — and the place picked up. There was dancing, more mojitos, attempting to salsa with the local guys, and still more mojitos. We stumbled back to the casa in the small hours of the morning. So, all in all, a pretty good night.