Che, Chevys and Hemingway´s: Cuban Tourism in a Time of Globalization by Florence E. Babb - HTML preview

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The City Tour

In December 2003, I planned to take a city tour of Havana in order to see how

the guide’s scripted narration and the places visited would portray life in the Cuban

capital. When I was beckoned one afternoon in the Hotel Habana Libre by a Cubatur

guide rounding up tourists for a three-hour tour by minivan, I seized the opportunity. If

tourism is a performance of cultural authenticity (MacCannell, 1999 [1976]), I reasoned

that this tour could shed light on the way that Cuba is performing ‘the island nation’ and

its capital for the benefit of foreign visitors. More broadly, it could offer a view of how

Cuba is refashioning itself for tourism development – and, as a consequence, for its own

citizens (see Hern ández, 2003; Prieto, 2004). All that was on my mind as I settled into the

van with about fifteen fellow travellers from Belgium, Malta and Mexico. The guide told

us that he would use English and Spanish, although English was the common currency

of the group. He promised to take us to Revolution Square, the Capitol building, and

‘Colonial Town’ (i.e. Old Havana). As it was raining, we actually covered much more

of the city, infrequently leaving the van, while he kept up a steady monologue.

As we departed from the Habana Libre, our guide, whom I’ll call Francisco, noted

the symbolic importance of the hotel, as the new revolutionary government nationalised

the Havana Hilton and gave it a new name: Free (or Liberated) Havana. Driving

down well-known La Rampa, a street frequented by many tourists, he told us we

would first see the more modern Havana. On our way along the Malec ón, the city’s

emblematic seaside drive, he pointed out the Hotel Nacional and the US Interests Section

as two more emblems – the stately Cuban landmark and the hostile North American

presence. Teasing us in the manner typical of tour guides everywhere, he cracked jokes

that gradually became more politically risky, though they may have been carefully

scripted.

We drove on to the exclusive district of Miramar, the more recently built suburban

area known for its many embassies, large hotels and aspirations to become Cuba’s

equivalent of the Riviera. We were given the ‘inside story’ on a hotel built by drug

money and told that the broad and opulent Fifth Avenue in this part of the city was

built by an elite who wanted an area like the street of the same name in New York

City. Francisco pointed out a number of embassies and playfully alluded to social

© 2010 The Author. Bulletin of Latin American Research © 2010 Society for Latin American Studies

Bulletin of Latin American Research Vol. 30, No. 1

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Florence E. Babb

class differences, keeping us guessing about his own. This sub-text of references to

inequality and social difference, without giving the issues too much importance, was

present through much of the tour. There was an unspoken acknowledgment of visitors’

curiosity about how far Cuba had held to socialist principles and how far it had allowed

inequalities to develop in recent years.

Passing La Concha beach club, the Yacht club and Marina Hemingway along with

the Tourist Complex named Papa’s (after the Lost Generation writer), Francisco related

that there are separate marinas for Cubans and foreigners (an allusion to tourism

‘apartheid’). He called our attention to the Chan Chan nightclub, boasting of the

‘rhythm of Compay Segundo’, assuming universal knowledge of the Buena Vista Social

Club. We noticed a school for learning Marxist – Leninist Theory and Francisco quipped

that they practice this theory at the Marina. Telling us that Fidel was a personal friend

of his and that they often visited one another, he said with a wink that tourists were not

invited. His coy ambivalence about the presence of tourists in Cuba may have mirrored

the government’s deeper ambivalence, despite its heavy reliance on tourism.

Francisco talked about the old American cars used as taxis in Havana. Then he

smiled, saying that ‘poor’ people in this part of Havana can’t take the common bus

and must drive Mercedes. As for us, he said, we would all be required to take one of

the ‘camel’ buses ( camellos), truck-pulled train cars named for their distinctive shape.

Although he was not a ‘dictator’, he wanted each of us to choose to ride a pink, blue, or

red one – adding that red ones were for Communists. ‘Who wants to ride a red one?’ he

teased, and a man in the front of the van said quickly that he did not care to do so. The

tourists’ nervous disapproval of Cuba – or at least a performance of disapproval – was

clear, even as they eagerly consumed what its capital city had to offer. It appeared that

socialism offered a backdrop and local colour to be contemplated for its aesthetics,

from a safe distance.

When we passed a row of distinctly impoverished shacks, Francisco informed us that

these were the homes of ‘other ambassadors’. Was he reflecting a socialist principle of

egalitarian self-worth, calling attention to the presence of poverty despite official reports

of its absence, or mocking the residents? Or perhaps just smoothing over the evident

disparities in wealth? From there, we drove to Revolution Square and got out to admire

and take photos of the tall obelisk of Cuban marble, the Martí statue and tribunal where

(until recently) Fidel Castro made his speeches, the Communist Party headquarters and

the likeness of Che. Our guide joked again that ‘Fidel’ was not receiving tourists. His

intimate tone, allowing us to share in his affectionate, if occasionally cynical, view of

the city, had the effect of drawing in our group and conveying a sense that we were

getting an inside story.

In Central Havana, we stopped at the Capitol building, now housing museums and

an Internet café. When some of us got out to take pictures, we found photographers with

apparently ancient cameras on tripods ready to snap our pictures on the Capitol steps; the

instant photos they take evoke the nostalgic illusion of a time gone by. I was approached

by an aggressive cluster of men selling Che coins and the official newspaper Granma,

and vendors of popular hand-wrapped paper cones of peanuts. Then on we went,

looking out on Central Park, the Floridita bar, the old Bacardí building, the Museum

of Fine Arts, and the Museum of the Revolution, as well as remnants of the old city

wall.

We drove on to Havana’s Bay and Old Havana, leaving the minivan to walk around

the Plaza de Armas. Francisco provided a short history of the city and its oldest

fortress, which carries the symbol (La Giraldilla) now found on the label of Havana

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Bulletin of Latin American Research Vol. 30, No. 1

Che, Chevys, and Hemingway’s Daiquiris

Club rum. This provided a useful segue as we were ushered into the Café de Cuba, an

espresso café and shop selling Cuban rum, cigars, and coffee. He introduced us to the

classes of cigars, noting that Arnold Schwarzenegger, like Fidel, bought the best ones,

Cohibas – clearly, men of good taste, whether capitalist or socialist. While a couple

of us ordered espresso and others waited around, Francisco admonished us for being

poor consumers. He seemed motivated to encourage sales, whether or not he benefited

directly from purchases made in the shop. By this time, it was clear that shopping and

leaving tips for the guide were expected, if not required.

As we walked through historic areas of the city, Francisco asked us to admire the

Plaza de la Catedral as well as the newly refurbished hotels, restaurants and Hemingway

sites, including the Hotel Ambos Mundos, where I happened to be staying. What we did

not hear about was what urban geographer Joseph Scarpaci describes as the removal

of many local residents to marginal areas of the city in order to turn Old Havana into

a space for an uncluttered tourist gaze. Running counter to the government’s earlier

policy of favouring the grassroots over elite culture, ‘Socialist planning in the old city

has gone from an antiurban bias, rejecting a capitalist past, to one seemingly unable to

commodify the colonial city quickly enough’ (Scarpaci, 2005: 205).

As the rest of the group headed over to the Palacio de Artesanía, another shopping

venue, I said my goodbyes. Thus ended, for me, an excursion into today’s Havana

as packaged for tourism: a gateway to Cuba, constructed as an ‘authentic’, safe and

vibrant place that is at once proud of its history and culture and good-humoured about

its apparent social contradictions. Tensions are minimised to set travellers at ease and

encourage them to consume the pleasures of the island. The ambivalence about the

present is evident, but any cynicism stays within bounds – ‘Communism’ is thus made

safe for tourism by means of a calculated strategy for enhancing economic development

and refashioning the capital city and the state.