PROLOGUE – CUBA IN CONTEXT
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Ruthlessly propagated as the Vegas of the Caribbean, Cuba has had its fair share of tumultuous history that plunged the country into a series of scandals and misfortune, and that stripped its populace of an autonomous voice, liberty and democracy. Columbus’ conquest for the Spanish crown in 1492, British occupation and colonialism during the 1700s, and the US government’s informal imperialism and infiltration of controlled crime and corruption into the layers of Cuban politics in the first half of the 20th century are all just a handful of examples that attest to the fact that the island has been comprehensively deprived and depleted to the enrichment of the West at the expense of the Cuban people. Left at the mercy of gangsters and the American Mafia, Cuba – with Havana at its epicentre – was strategically moulded into a haven of infinite possibilities and became the world's stage for cockaignesque spectacles and glamorous misconduct, where the music never ceased, the liquor flowed in streams, the girls of easy virtue were ample and the boys of equal likes were too. Prostitution, drug trafficking, gambling and modern slavery all threw the country into a sequence of economic crises Cuba is yet to recover from today.
A glimmer of hope spread among the Cuban people when Fidel Castro entered the country's political landscape in the 1950s and marched into Havana backed by a 9000-strong Guerilla army in 1959 to fight for independence. The revolución Cubana - forever syphoned to Castro’s communist rhetoric, Che Guevara’s tender face and their vision of a Cuba libre - might have sparked a desire for self-governance and change in many, but ultimately failed to ever truly fulfil its purpose;
Cuba only gained independence pro forma, but still remained a US protectorate and a geopolitical playground for corruption and illicit business.
What is left today is a nation wounded by the effects of decolonisation and corruption, a country consumed by passive despotism and a population that has been deterred to join global progression and innovation time and time again. The history of Cuba is, in many ways, an example of poor institutional leadership, failed diplomacy and fraudulent political alliance on part of the rest of the world that turned a blind eye to the physical, cultural and economic exploitation Cubans have had to endure for the benefit of white supremacy and - ultimately - tourism.
A glimmer of hope spread among the Cuban people when Fidel Castro entered the country's political landscape in the 1950s and marched into Havana backed by a 9000-strong Guerilla army in 1959 to fight for independence. The revolución Cubana - forever syphoned to Castro’s communist rhetoric, Che Guevara’s tender face and their vision of a Cuba libre - might have sparked a desire for self-governance and change in many, but ultimately failed to ever truly fulfil its purpose;
Cuba only gained independence pro forma, but still remained a US protectorate and a geopolitical playground for corruption and illicit business.
What is left today is a nation wounded by the effects of decolonisation and corruption, a country consumed by passive despotism and a population that has been deterred to join global progression and innovation time and time again. The history of Cuba is, in many ways, an example of poor institutional leadership, failed diplomacy and fraudulent political alliance on part of the rest of the world that turned a blind eye to the physical, cultural and economic exploitation Cubans have had to endure for the benefit of white supremacy and - ultimately - tourism.
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Embedded in this context, I welcome you to my new blog series on Cuba. Rather than a half-hearted attempt to create another travel guide (of which there are plenty on the web), I have decided to assemble an introspective collection of travel writings excerpted from the pages of my journals composed whilst voyaging across the Caribbean island.
The short chapters that will be published over the next few weeks and – perhaps – months, all recount a tale of personal development, trial and error, infatuation and disillusionment, naivety, fear, courage, hope and discovery both through the eyes of me as a female solo traveller and as a citizen of the world.
Whilst I may, occasionally, bat my eyes at surrealism, all names, places, thoughts and occurrences mentioned are anchored in true events.
If you should find yourself in awe, in doubt, in fear, repelled or entirely intrigued by my writing, then please do let me know. Otherwise, this is the end of my introduction. May you find inspiration in between these lines, and may your mind take you far across the ocean.
With all my love,
Hilary Fierce
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CHAPTER 1: THE JAUNT ACROSS CUBA
After having spent four weeks travelling across Cuba last year, I felt quite compelled to immortalise my recollections by putting pen to paper. I just could not quite fathom how to approach such an endeavour. Rather simple queries such as
What was it like?
Did you enjoy it?
or
Did you feel safe?
posed by fellow travellers, strangers, friends and foes someway seemed to cause a marginal existential crisis followed by extreme heart palpitations and paralysis in regards to the questions’ answers. Now, approximately nine months and a considerable amount of quarantine seclusion later, I appear to have finally matured sufficiently to answer at least some of the enquiries that have been thrown at me during my vulnerable state of prolonged post-traumatic-Cuban-disorder.
So? Was Cuba worth it?
- A hundred times yes.
Did I enjoy it?
- Extraordinarily.
Was it as beautiful as everyone claims it to be?
- Definitely.
Would I ever go back?
- Not. Even. If. Someone. Paid. Me. For. It.
Yes. You read correctly.
Now let me explain.
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Cuba threw me with the same degree of ferocity the salty, raging waves break on the shores of Havana’s Malécon. Nothing short of captivating, it equally frightened me – to the extent that I now struggle with putting my sentiments into words adequately. You see, as much as Cuba is undoubtedly easy on the eyes, it is twice as harsh on one’s mind. To describe the matter in the words of a close friend of mine, Cuba may, in fact, be quite possibly one of the only places on earth that holds the power to beguile its visitor with its charming vivacity, unpronounceable beauty and infectious joye de vivre, whilst shaking one’s core, devouring one’s spirit and shredding one’s soul to pieces.
Travelling Cuba predominantly felt like fighting a perennial battle between myself, my set of believes and an adversary I could not quite locate. If I thought I knew who I was before setting foot on the island’s soil, Cuba sure taught my Western privileges and me otherwise. It was hard. Worth it, but hard, and quite frankly, exhausting in every possible way. Nothing came easy; not the overpriced coffee I used to order that would take two and a half hours to be served. Not the effort to prevent scams by keeping on top of the conversion rate between the tourist currency and the local moneda nacional, not the food shopping or lack of WiFi and most certainly not travelling across the country as a single, female solo traveller. Believe me – in case you haven’t already grown a pair before wandering about Cuba’s meandering streets and beaches, you’ll be leaving the island with four balls at your disposal by the end of your trip. But no te preocupes mi amor– relentlessly provocative, Cuba is a miraculous yet savage place, raw and unapologetic in its own right, fierce, all-consuming and - ironically - exactly what I needed to grow into the confident explorer I have become today.
Travelling Cuba predominantly felt like fighting a perennial battle between myself, my set of believes and an adversary I could not quite locate. If I thought I knew who I was before setting foot on the island’s soil, Cuba sure taught my Western privileges and me otherwise. It was hard. Worth it, but hard, and quite frankly, exhausting in every possible way. Nothing came easy; not the overpriced coffee I used to order that would take two and a half hours to be served. Not the effort to prevent scams by keeping on top of the conversion rate between the tourist currency and the local moneda nacional, not the food shopping or lack of WiFi and most certainly not travelling across the country as a single, female solo traveller. Believe me – in case you haven’t already grown a pair before wandering about Cuba’s meandering streets and beaches, you’ll be leaving the island with four balls at your disposal by the end of your trip. But no te preocupes mi amor– relentlessly provocative, Cuba is a miraculous yet savage place, raw and unapologetic in its own right, fierce, all-consuming and - ironically - exactly what I needed to grow into the confident explorer I have become today.
A ver. I would not claim that I would have ever considered describing myself as an oblivious, inconsiderate and naive traveller. On the contrary, I too have had my fair share of eye-opening experiences over the course of my existence that taught me a thing or two in life and that compelled me to approach my adventures consciously, mindfully and gratefully. I just never expected Cuba to be the one destination that would reveal the arrogance I had assumed towards my own existence in the process. I had grown to feel invincible and I remember embarking on my solo travels around the globe with a firm sense of confidence and the promise to immerse myself in all the cultures I would encounter without considering the consequences. For five months, I glid across Bolivia, Peru, Colombia and Mexico with such effortlessness and nonchalance, some even dared to argue I was born for it.
Let’s see what you’ve got in store for me Cuba, I recall thinking with a smug smile painted across my face as I observed the island drawing closer through the poufy clouds from the window of a half-empty plane. I had already shaken hands with the last Incas at Lake Titicaca, had trekked the Andes, ventured into the Colombian Jungle and explored the lost ruins of the ancient Mayans. I had made it this far – what could possibly go south at this point?
Ay cariños. I should not have jinxed it, you’d better take my word for it. I really shouldn’t have.
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Well then. The first few weeks in the country rushed by with such intensity I did not even have time to think twice. Engulfed in the spirit of voyaging, my new friends and I embarked on a sweeping adventure across the island, which led us to the valley of Viñales where majestic forests, horse stables, thriving plantations and waterfalls painted the canvases of our memories in scintillating colours.
Further, we travelled to Trinidad and its astonishing, graceful colonial architecture and equally mesmerising people. Cuba’s rhythms saturated with passion and sensuality accompanied our venture and cordially coerced us to salsa the night away under the twinkling, starry sky and the sweltering heat of the Caribbean, always led by a local dancer and his magnanimous smile that never judged our clumsy steps.
Ecstatic, we found ourselves raving to techno in flip-flops, thoroughly lost somewhere inside Trinidad’s naturally occurring caves until the rising sun tinted the firmament mauve, and swam in the miraculous, translucent waters on Santa Clara’s paradisiac beaches.
We had entered heaven, we told ourselves repeatedly, and swore to never return to our old selves we had left standing at the airport prior to our respective journeys.
We had entered heaven, we told ourselves repeatedly, and swore to never return to our old selves we had left standing at the airport prior to our respective journeys.
What can I say.
We truly lived our best lives, shamelessly, insouciantly and incredulously naively. This is fucking awesome! we screamed at one another as we ran through the narrow streets of a rural village, quite to the amusement of its inhabitants, convinced, that the splendour our life had become would never vanish.
I would have left it at that, you know. I would have gladly collected all the memories we had made piece by piece and left it at that. But alas, that was not the end of my journey in Cuba as you might have guessed by now, and the higher we rose from that moment onwards, the harder we fell in the weeks that followed. It was, in fact, only after I had parted from my friends and reached Havana that Cuba’s sparkling façade gradually began to crack one fracture at a time.
But I should slow down now, for I am getting ahead of myself.
I'll catch you in the next chapter -
hasta luego mangones
I'll catch you in the next chapter -
hasta luego mangones
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Check out my instagram @hilaryfierce for more travel photography and watch this space for Chapter 2. Love Love.
