Cuba has spent more than five decades largely isolated from America, yet unable to escape its shadow. Cubans freely admit that the ideology and economic constraints of the past 50 years have left the socialist country with a fractured economy. At the same time, they’re fiercely proud of their gains in education and health care, and are determined to safeguard the soul of the country they love. This rare moment of transition, as diplomatic relations between Cuba and the United States resume, provides an opportunity to see old and new Cuba, past and future, through the same lens.
The sound of Cuba’s streets
Ubiquitous graffiti trumpets socialist resolve, but the country is already spiraling into two unequal spheres.
Restored cars, many with Japanese engines, line up in front of the old Capitol building waiting for tourists.
An apartment building with million dollar oceanfront views on the Malecón has been condemned for the past 30 years. It is filled with office workers and young children playing dangerously close to broken railings and gigantic holes in the floors.
El Hueco is a poor community under old railroad tracks on the outskirts of Havana that has changed little since the revolution. Sixto Fernandez adds to his income by making charcoal here under the hot jungle sun all day.
William Lopez and his 7-year-old daughter, Mailliw, (William spelled backwards) live in a small two-room home in El Hueco. He works in construction, but since there has been a slump, he's been doing improvements on his house. Lopez says that tourism may be good for Havana, "but it’s not anything we feel here.”
Juliette Fernandez, 10, lives in El Hueco in a one-bedroom wooden shack with her mother and two siblings. They just got electricity in the past year, yet they have no water or toilet. Her mother, named America, resents the growing tourist industry in Havana, she says: "I know that it’s happening. Why do those people have so much more money than me?”
The sea wall along the Malecón becomes the city’s biggest sofa as the sun goes down, left, and a single barber chair in a tiny wooden shack is the neighborhood salon, right.
Four-year-old Erianni Diaz has twice fallen through a hole in the floor of the condemned hotel where she and her grandmother live in the poor city of Matanzas. She is waiting for optic nerve surgery.
The capital of Matanzas Province was once home to writers and intellectuals and a hub of sugar cane and tobacco industries. Today many of the once magnificent downtown buildings are collapsing or shuttered.
The Martinez family has long wanted to welcome tourists on their small tobacco farm in Pinar del Río. Two months ago, they finally got a permit to welcome visitors. A full tour, which includes a cup of coffee and a Habano cigar costs about $1.75.
“We have never had any Americans here, but we are hoping they will come,” said farmer Roberto Martinez.
Gerardo Fernandez, 61, lost his leg to diabetes in 2013. He waited two years before he received his prosthetic from Germany. He has applied for a pension and physical therapy in his home, where he lives alone, but so far nothing has happened.
Port Esperanza is a poor fishing village at the dead end of a rutted road north of Havana. The small marina is ringed with barbed wire to discourage defections. Local villagers dream of a cruise ship packed with Americans and their money landing at Port Hope.
Doing laundry
Cuban ingenuity runs from duct tape to a new free Wi-Fi hot spot.
On a 100 degree day in Matanzas, a “Frankenstein” fan, made from re-animated Chinese and Russian parts, is put to the test.
Only 5 percent of Cubans have access to the global Internet. A 16-year-old travels two hours on a bus to reach a free Wi-Fi spot set up by a local artist, left. He joins a crowd sweltering under a tin roof to use the maddeningly slow service. Cellphones are used like beepers, right, because they cost 46 cents a minute. The average monthly salary is $20.
Cubans wait in a line at the state-owned telephone store to use the Internet.
Marie Tejeda uses a 40-year-old Russian washing machine that has no lid or working controls other than the power plug.
Yordayvold Rodriguez repairs washing machines, irons, remotes, phones, and computers. The only problem is getting the parts. “I can see what I need when I can get on the Internet, but I have no credit so I can't buy anything that way.”
How Havana hums
A 50-year blockade has created one of the most unique rolling museums in the world.
Diego Reyes helps his neighbor repair his 1953 Dodge.
A woman tries to hail a “straight arrow cab” -- a cab going in only one direction, more like a bus, and less expensive than the cabs for tourists.
Body mechanic Guillermo Wilson Chibas is in favor of President Obama’s initiatives, but wants Cuba to keep a socialist government. “We hope that the US will respect our conditions and our way of doing things…socialism has helped a lot of people.”
On the dance floor
Tourists and business executives are arriving by the planeload daily. The country is bustling with readiness and anticipation.
Bob and Alex Lonergan, from Atlanta, Ga., dine on the rooftop of La Guarida Restaurant.
The oceanfront Panorama Hotel gets a window wash.
The price of a meal at Havana’s top restaurants is out of reach for most Cubans.
Hotel lobbies bustle even in the low season, left, and the streets are repaired in front of the old Capitol, right.
Julie Narango, a waitress at a brand new Viñales restaurant has never met an American before. “All Cuban people are scared of the change. We have lived so quietly for so long, 50 years in the same system. We do want more, but it’s very hard to know what is coming.”
By Suzanne Kreiter, Elaina Natario, Russell Goldenberg, Emily Z. Fortier
