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The trade and economic embargo held against Cuba by the USA has lasted for some decades now. America has prohibited American companies and their subsidiaries trading with Cuban entities and prohibited its citizens from spending money in Cuba. (That’s right - I’ve always thought that US citizens were prohibited from visiting Cuba - however the various pieces of legislation that piece together the embargo actually only make it a crime to SPEND money in Cuba. SO for all those Americans aching for some April sun in Cuba I guess you just need to find a philanthropic friend to pay your WHOLE way.) As a result I naively thought that this may mean that American culture may be less prevalent in this tropical island nation. Disappointingly, as I jumped into the cab at the airport bound for La Habana the first song on the radio was not some great piece by the Buena Vista Social Club (I guess they are still touring Guatemala) but the great American ditty “Hotel California” by the Eagles. It was followed by Toni Braxton’s “Un-break My Heart” - a stirring melody that provided a great soundtrack as I viewed for the first time the crumbling streets of Havana.

Che is the New Coke

Patrick Gatland
2006-08-21 14:41:45

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the hustle or not she still managed to find us a great apartment opposite the university for a good price. So the sting wasn’t so painful after all.

One of the pleasures of living in a tightly controlling socialist bureaucracy is the maze of rule and regulations that you must adhere to. To stay in a Cuban’s house you must be registered for each night in an official homestay. Each homestay is strictly limited in the number of guests that they are allowed in their house at any one time. Human nature being what it is however(hang on, isn’t socialism meant to rid us of the tendencies towards greed and making money?) most families realise they can make more money by registering an extra person in their house and claiming that the two people are sharing a room - while in reality the two people don’t know each other and use a bedroom each. The family move out to relatives’ houses and pocket the profits. Everyone’s a winner and capitalism triumphs. Well at least that’s what I thought. Jorge rented me my room for three nights without enlightening me that for the government’s purposes I was sharing a room with some other girl who was living in the house. The next day when he popped around he casually mentioned that if anyone from the government stormed the house for a visit I had to refuse them entry, tell them that “Jorge has gone out to eat” and that I was sharing a room with this random girl. Every day Jorge would visit and tell me the same thing and every day my nerves would grow and grow as I expected some Cuban officials to drag me away because I could never remember the girl’s name. I had visions of being dragged off to Cuban prison all because I was hopeless at remembering names.

Ever the ingenious one, I came up with a foolproof plan to avoid capture. I figured that any country as bureaucratic as Cuba would mean that the government officials would keep government hours even more rigidly than the Australian public service. ...