Wilmer reaches over and fiddles with the radio dial. The excitable chatter is barely audible through the crackle of static. Occasionally I am able to decipher the words “Viva Cuba” and “Viva la Revolucion” but not much else. He lets go of the tuner and gives up with an exasperated sigh.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to get you any closer…”
The traffic in central Havana is bumper to bumper with no sign of moving. Wilmer nervously fingers his rosary beads while looking for a gap in which to squeeze his creaking Chevy. He’s fiercely proud of his car; It’s original metallic blue slowly being eaten away by the pools of orange rust radiating across the exterior. It had been off the road for the last 3 months while Wilmer waited for a single replacement part. This is his first run out in it and I’m surprised that he had offered me a ride.
I reach over to the radio and twist the dial, hoping to hear some information fizzing through the ancient speakers.
“There are a lot of people here…” I muse, pointing towards the buses filled with uniformed Cubans; Nurses, police, agricultural workers. He nods dismissively, lost in the vehicular chaos. I had been told that almost a million people would be descending on Plaza de la Revolucion for the May Day march. I had an inkling that the numbers were an inflated estimate, a propaganda stunt, but the traffic tells me otherwise.
The morning sun is beginning to illuminate the crumbling facades of the brightly coloured townhouses of Habana Vieja. Voyeurs sit on the ramshackle balconies waving paper flags at the crowd. On the pavements below, people dance to small, battered-looking stereos blasting out reggae-ton and son music.
There had been a week-long build up on all the front pages, state-sponsored news, and posters around town. We had spotted workers erecting the stages under the watchful eye of the plaza’s huge Che mural over a week before. By that point, flags and streamers had already covered the streets.
I try to probe Wilmer a little firmer this time, asking him about the busloads of workers brought into the city to march. Wilmer shifts in his seat and gives me a look, one that says that he still doesn’t want to talk about it. His opinion on the Cuban government is clear, if deliberately unspoken. He had studied economics at university before giving it up to become a tour guide, telling me the previous day that ironically “There’s no money in economics… not in Cuba anyway.”
A lot is said about how the Unions and the government force workers to attend, threatening to dock pay and slash bonuses of abstainers. To some outsiders, May Day in Havana is all a show, a PR stunt to demonstrate how happy the population is with both the regime and their working conditions.
“A lot of people want to be here,” he reassures me. “Some for the fiesta, others to support Castro.”
I reach down to wind up the window; it’s easier to take the stifling heat inside the car than the sooty exhaust fumes emanating from the street. “And you?” I ask him. Wilmer squirms again. “No…I think….” he trails off, not wanting to say any more. He continues to rub his crucifix, staring into the street.
I leave Wilmer to deal with the congestion and walk the remainder of the journey, squeezing through the metal barriers to merge with the pulsating river of red, white and blue flowing down Paseo Boulevard towards the imposing Jose Marti Monument.
It’s a carnival atmosphere as the crowd descend on the square. ‘La Bayamesa’ rings out from the tinny speakers lining the avenue, and the crowd sings along in a deafening chorus. Dancing Cubans grip my shoulder and exclaim, “Welcome to Cuba!” thrusting their half-empty bottles of Havana Club towards me. Despite Wilmer’s misgivings, In this part of Havana at least, the revolution is still very much alive.
3 Responses
Hey Dave thanks for this great article. I want to visit Cuba how’s it this period of year? Can you tell me some tips what to visit there?
Thanks for the great read, drivers always have the best stories don’t they? How was Cuba? It’s somewhere I really want to go, but haven’t quite made it to you.
Cuba was fantastic. It was interesting to talk to locals and see how they feel about the government and what is going on in the country. As a lot of people worry about speaking their mind, it can be hard to see past the propaganda sometimes!