In one of the few Cuban works to offer a critical appraisal of outsiders’ views of the
island, Alfredo Prieto (2004: 7) reflects on a widely circulated US-produced poster from
the 1940s promoting tourism to Cuba, now recycled as kitsch: a smiling mulata with
stereotypical hat and maracas is seen leaping in the air as she energetically dances the
rumba. Beneath the image the text reads, ‘Visit Cuba. So Near and Yet So Foreign,
90 minutes from Key West’. The nostalgia that makes this image popular today is
a significant force driving contemporary tourism. Prieto points to a number of other
iconic symbols of Cuba that I have discussed in this article: antique American cars,
streets of Old Havana, Hemingway bars, and so on.
The Cuban revolution introduced new enticements to visit the island, attracting
solidarity travel that would promote the process of social transformation. In contrast,
the Special Period brought back mainstream tourism alongside the more politicised
tourism of intervening years, but still with the objective of supporting the revolutionary
project (Schwartz, 1997). Whether tourists wish to spend time relaxing at the beach,
hanging out at local jazz clubs, learning to dance the rumba or exploring monuments to
the revolution in the historic capital city, they are attracted to Cuba precisely because it
is not Miami Beach, because it holds the cachet of offering tourist comforts without the
onslaught of McDonald’s golden arches and crowded beach front properties.
© 2010 The Author. Bulletin of Latin American Research © 2010 Society for Latin American Studies
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Moreover, whether Cuba is resistant to or eager for change, the trope of the nation’s
‘waiting’ for change is a singular one expressed on both US and Cuban shores. The
grand prize winner in the 2003 Cuban Film Festival was Cuba’s Suite Havana (2003), a
melancholy and affectionate look at the everyday lives of ten city dwellers. The languid
pace and sad overtones conveyed without dialogue a sense of dreams deferred. A couple
of years later, The New York Times Travel section ran a feature article entitled ‘Waiting
for Havana’, presumably referring to a desired opening up of US travel to Cuba and to
(then-President) Fidel Castro’s passing (Lopez Torregrosa, 2005).
During my 2005 visit to Cuba, travellers told me that they wished to visit Cuba
‘before the embargo is lifted’ or ‘before Fidel dies’. These individuals were certain that
a transition was near and that, for better or worse, the Cuba of today would soon
be a fond memory. An older Puerto Rican woman told me she had always wanted to
come to Cuba, and on reaching the island it was perhaps already a memory; she wrote
in a questionnaire: ‘My expectations were met and it was with great awe that I saw
the exuberance of an era long gone.’ A young Canadian woman wrote: ‘I really didn’t
expect much, but to have a feeling of going back in time. With the people, the cars, the
architecture, the music, etc., time did go back.’
The change of Cuban leadership to Ra úl Castro in 2006 (he was made official head
of state in 2008) represented both continuity and change, but was not a transition of
the order imagined by many on and off the island. My most recent trip in December
2008 – January 2009 coincided with the 50th anniversary of the Cuban revolution and
was a time of record-breaking tourism. Despite the rather low value of the tourist dollar,
travellers were filling the streets of Old Havana. Some who came for the holidays barely
noticed the banners reminding them that, just as they were toasting the New Year, an
official celebration of ‘Fifty Years of the Revolution’ was taking place at the other end
of the island, in Santiago de Cuba. I was struck by the ambivalence of both Cubans at
their historic conjuncture and of tourists enjoying a rich cultural experience in a place
whose politics they were uncertain about.
Younger travellers to Cuba do not often share the long view of the revolutionary past
recalled by their parents’ generation, much less their grandparents’ pre-revolutionary
memories, yet they too describe Cuba as a romantic and distinctly different destination.
In filling out my questionnaire, a sixteen-year-old from the United States who was
travelling with a choir emphasised the contrasts in Cuba; what surprised her most was
‘the mix between old and new. To, for one moment, be in what seems like the heart of
a ghetto, and then be surrounded by a building built last year, or some beautiful park.
It’s very Twilight-Zone-esque.’ A twenty-year-old woman from the UK wrote: ‘I have
always wanted to visit Cuba. It has been one of my top ten destinations of the world
to visit because of its amazing culture, history, and of course, romantic ambiance’.
Travellers from the United States across the generations are often tempted by the
‘forbidden’ nature of tourism in Cuba; whether they come legally or not, many might
agree with a young man who told me he wanted to come ‘because the government says
I can’t’.
The nostalgia and ambivalent desire that characterise Cubans on the island and in
the United States, and that draw tourism to Cuba as a place where there is ‘a feel-
ing of going back in time’, may help to stabilize the state’s political economy. Besides
tourism’s success as a leading industry on the island, its distinct allure lends legitimacy to
apparently contradictory tendencies toward both enduring socialism and an advancing
market economy. On the other hand, the tendency for tourism to introduce more social
differences, to the point that Cubans have complained of ‘apartheid-like’ practices, may
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Che, Chevys, and Hemingway’s Daiquiris
serve to undermine the revolution’s claims to promoting social equality. Here I have
argued that the irony is that, for better or worse, the Cuban approach to tourism devel-
opment with all of its improbable features seems to be working. Providing vital support
for the economy and raising its international profile, Cuba’s encounter with tourism has
to a considerable degree enabled the state to continue the process that began with the
revolution.
At the historic Hotel Sevilla in Central Havana, tourists can pay $3.50 in convertible
pesos for a quick class to learn the secret of preparing mojitos. The sign announcing this
opportunity reads ‘Es vivir una fantasía’ (It’s to live a fantasy). This repeats the offer
made to those hiring a classic American car and Cuban driver, that they can ‘Rentar
una fantasía’ (Rent a fantasy). Not coincidentally, we find a life-size sculpture of John
Lennon seated on a park bench in Havana and his image appearing side-by-side with
Che’s on the tourist art market, idolising the two as realists and dreamers. This broad
appeal of experiencing and consuming a dream – whether that dream is of the early,
idealistic years of the revolution or the more distant past of life writ large in a tropical
paradise – sustains tourism in Cuba. When I met an older man from Spain in my hotel
wearing a Che T-shirt, he told me simply: ‘I’m in love with the Cuban revolution.’ As
the country sets another goal of welcoming a record number of tourists, many will be
seeking their nostalgic dream of Cuba. Still others, like a young Cuban American boy I
overheard on a charter flight back from Havana to Miami, will be glad to return home to
the pleasure of KFC, Kentucky Fried Chicken, which has yet to make its way to Cuba’s
shores.