The final day we spent at the beach. The beach in Cuba is a huge lure for tourists and Cubans alike; summer is approaching, and the heat becomes “insoportable.” We all got a little burned despite applying and reapplying sunscreen countless times, but it was worth the crystal clear water and relaxation after spending the previous days running around.
We packed up in a rush, gathering receipts, exchanging money, and sharing photos in preparation for our exhibition. Aldenis arrived to hand off his girlfriend Lucy’s t-shirt to bring to her, and we ended up saying goodbye to him and Mitra about ten times each. Soon enough, we were speeding down the carretera in an orange 56, the sun setting behind us.
Evyn and Aldenis outside our ride to the airport. The driver and Aldenis spoke about the car together for a long while, to the point where we thought Aldenis might ride with us to the airport to continue conversing.
When advertising trendy vacations to Cuba, every article describes old cars, bright but crumbling buildings, blissful island vibes, and music pouring onto the Malecón. Countless media outlets, including the New York Times, describe Cuba as being “a time capsule” and “on the cusp of change.” American tourists, previously unable to visit, lament wanting to visit before the country is “ruined” by capitalism. Visitors leave Havana with a distorted view of socialist society, viewing daily hardships through rose-colored glasses. As stated in one opinion article, “For these Americans, Cuba exists solely as an idealized socialist paradise, in almost complete stasis since the Cold War, which has yet to be befouled by the corrupting influence of other Americans. For them, the island nation is the land of the noble savage on the verge of contact with the advanced but impure outside world, sure to despoil its backward, but charming, ways. These people don’t want to see the real Cuba. They want to be able to say that they were there before it got Americanized.” But what is the reality of Cuban life, and how can we, as visitors, be aware of our positionality and participate in ethical tourism?
As a student of CC’s Latin America Program in Cuba, I certainly lived a charmed life in Havana — beautiful island weather, a loving host family, laundry done for me, and meals provided or bought cheaply made life seem simple. It’s easy for me to look back fondly of my time there. I fall into the trap of what psychologists call “rosy retrospection” — because my experience as a whole in Cuba was positive, I talk of my time there more positively now than when I first left. This effect only grows with time and distance. The reality is, I confronted daily the harsh truth that my idyllic life was at the expense of constant hardship for the Cubans around me. My host mom Angelita did not serve us spaghetti until my last week because she insisted she needed to serve it with cheese; however, she had not received any cheese rations in ages and she could not purchase it because all the restaurants had been buying it up to serve to tourists. She would not go out to buy food, or “comprar comida”; she went out to look for food, or “buscar comida.” While Angelita does reasonably well financially, serving tourists, the reality is most Cubans, on average, earn $24 a month. And because the economy is so reliant on tourism, taxi drivers are earning more money than are doctors or teachers. This has created a paradox that illustrates tourism as a double-edged sword. While access to the tourist economy has greatly improved the lives of many Cubans, it has also made things, like basic food items, even more inaccessible for others.
Ironically, despite these struggles, tourists still romanticize the Cuban people and their country. There is a strong belief of “resolver” in Cuba: the sentiment that no matter how difficult life becomes, all will be resolved. Thus, hardships are framed in a deliberate way. Long lines waiting for food, internet cards, or money are “worth the wait;” having limited access to internet (which is also highly censored) allows people to be “disconnected” and focused on face-to-face interaction; as a result of the Revolution, most basic rights (such as healthcare, education, food and shelter) are free, but often extremely lacking in resources. Meanwhile, tourists don’t even realize the underlying stress Cubans endure dealing with these issues on a daily basis, instead fixating on white sand beaches and shiny vintage cars.
The romanticization of Cuban life presents a form of cultural imperialism — as Americans, it is easier to view Cuba as a sort of “Cold War museum,” rather than assessing our own role and effect on Cuba’s economy. As a psychology student who has studied the phenomenon of “rosy retrospection” and had the opportunity to spend several months in Cuba, I hope to examine myself and my own viewpoints in the context of broader experiences. I believe I can learn to engage with the tourist culture in Cuba in such a way that appropriately supports the Cuban economy while also recognizing the problematic role I play within it. Through this, I hope to answer several research questions:
How is Cuba viewed from a global perspective? How is it idealized in a damaging way?
How does this affect tourist experiences and local psychology?
How does this affect return?
Is tourism damaging or helpful?
How is my presence problematic?
How can I engage in a way that is self-aware?
To conduct this research, I want to interview many people, the first being tourists. I’m curious to hear their impressions of Cuba — have they been before? Why did they choose to come back? What do they think they’ll remember most from their visit? Perhaps tourists from different parts of the world will be more or less cognizant of the social issues in Cuba, or perhaps they will all point to the classic 50s cars and “son cubano” reverberating in the streets.
Next, I’d like to speak with those with a similar experience to mine: CC students from the Latin America Program, specifically Mitra Ghaffari and Lucy Marshall, who have lived for a prolonged period on the island. In what ways do they sense solidarity with Cubans, and in what ways do they feel permanently estranged? How do they reconcile the economic and social discrepancies between themselves and their Cuban friends? Does it deter them from staying, or compel them to return?
Finally, I must talk to Cubans themselves. What do they think of tourists? Is everything just one grand show, or do they genuinely like engaging with foreigners? What do they wish they could change about tourism in Cuba, and what do they appreciate? I’d like to speak with Cubans from all neighborhoods — not just Old Havana (tourist town), but also Vedado, my home neighborhood and business/family district, and Los Pocitos, a marginalized neighborhood in which the Semester in Latin America students have volunteered. In addition, Evyn Papworth, the Political Science paraprofessional, will also be in Cuba and join me for the project. She has spent significant time in Havana as an alumna of the CC Latin America Semester and as a recipient of the Davis Project for Peace Grant. Her connections within Havana will greatly help me conduct my research.
The project will be divided into four themes, one per day: Disconnectedness, Aesthetics, the “Authentic” Experience and Cultural Imperialism, and Ethical Tourism and Daily Life. Each day will encompass interviews and site visits as well as relevant readings related to the theme.
As a psychology major, this project provides me with valuable experience conducting fieldwork to better understand and apply academic theory. This project is also uniquely personal, because I have been guilty of this same romanticization. By getting a broad range of perspectives, I can better understand the ways in which my presence is problematic and how I can best engage in a respectful way that recognizes my privilege and does not patronize Cuban society. This personal growth translates to a wider international scale, and seeks to evaluate the way we as Americans interact with Cuba, and how this is indicative of our shared oppressive history. The island is not a museum, and deserves to be approached from an informed, self-aware perspective. Rosy retrospection, while beautiful and nostalgic, does not paint the full picture. By seeking to engage with Cuba through a more respectful tourism, we can begin to change our imperialist relationship.
Naturally, no matter how much careful planning one does, things may turn out far differently than expected — this is especially the case in Cuba. In the end, Evyn and I conducted our research more flexibly, perhaps not tackling one theme in full per day, but rather broaching several but less in-depth. We also essentially only interviewed Cubans, finding the conversations to be much richer and revealing than those with tourists would have been. Tourists’ problematic behavior is very easily detected through simple observation and eavesdropping. The following is not exactly a presentation of our findings, so much as a daily travel log, including the conversations we had. It’s more personal, but I hope it is eye-opening in some sense, nevertheless. Que te disfrutes.
We touched down in La Habana at 9:30 p.m., the lights of the city less all-consuming than that of most cities. Our American pilot griped about the lack of gates — as if waiting for a gate were uncommon at any airport — and the Cubans around us remained stoic, accustomed to waiting. We de-planed and made our way through Jose Martí International Airport, the humid Havana air feeling welcome, the painstaking lines through immigration, baggage claim, customs, and currency exchange received with resignation. When at last we found ourselves seated in a taxi racing toward the city with our gregarious driver bumping and singing along to Ozuna, we felt at peace.
We met our friend Mitra at her apartment on Calle 23. She lives essentially on the border of two neighborhoods, Centro (University district) and Vedado (business district), and has been working as an editor for Prensa Latina. It was nearly midnight, but we remained up and talking for a short while, discussing the travel and Mitra’s experience thus far being back.
Though things are largely the same on the island, the lack of resources has grown. Mitra explained that Cuba is entering a second “Special Period” of sorts. In the 90s, the Special Period was an era of extreme shortages of food and basic necessities. As tourists continually consume the best resources available, Cubans struggle to meet their own needs. Their struggle is exacerbated, Mitra says, by Venezuela’s practically destroyed economy. Now that Guaidó, a democratic president, may fully assume power over socialist Maduro’s Venezuela, Cuba may lose the support of the fellow socialist country it relied on most. Which would spell even larger problems for the country. Mitra explained that Cuban television has essentially covered up all the problems in Venezuela, only presenting positive news — if there is any — coming out of the country.
We already felt the the effects of the shortages the next morning. Mitra had mentioned that eggs were recently scarce, and sure enough, one of our favorite cafes lamentably had none to provide some of their best dishes — arepas and tortilla. We still had a very tasty and filling breakfast, but it was discouraging to already encounter a shortage.
After breakfast, we headed down Calle 17 toward the communication center, ETECSA. The humidity was picking up steadily, and we found ourselves in an all too familiar situation: asking who was last in line (el último) and proceeding to wait in line (hacer cola) for a long time. I approached a friendly woman fanning herself while a young girl with her sat on a nearby bench. I explained the situation — we’re Americans here studying tourism in Cuba, could we ask her some questions? With every word of Spanish I spoke, her smile grew wider and her eyes grew brighter.
Evyn presented the perspective of most tourists toward the lack of internet in Cuba: “Oh, I love being disconnected!” They fail to recognize that lacking internet can be a real hardship for Cubans trying to access information, contact family, and get work done. However, this woman, Rosalia, didn’t seem to mind; she noted how tourists, in their home countries, consume, consume, consume. With limited internet in Cuba, she has the ability to be in contact with friends and family, but she’s not constantly checking things. In her view, life in the US is very “rápido, agitado” and for that reason, it makes sense that US tourists would want to disconnect.
Rosalia herself doesn’t interact much with tourists, being in Vedado. She’s content in Cuba, as it’s very safe. Children play in the streets without worry. Internet is improving, and 4G may arrive on the island soon. Would she leave Cuba? Perhaps to visit her daughter in Texas, or another country such as Spain. But she wouldn’t live anywhere else. And with that, she hurried into the air-conditioned ETECSA to take her turn and buy a WiFi card.
House outside the ETECSA, an example of beautiful Cuban architecture, worn down.
I sat down on a bench while Evyn headed inside after her. An older gentleman approached me, speaking half-Spanish, half-English, asking me if I was from New York. He must have heard me telling Rosalia. In any event, he said that he had grown up in Queens and his name was Sergio. His New York accent was subtle, but there. As we got talking, I learned that he had trained to be a surgeon in Cuba, and has been in and out of the country since the years of the Revolution. He has traveled the world as a surgeon and, now retired, recently bought an apartment in Cuba. He elected to make it his home base, but he still wants to travel, particularly to Peru, where he was born.
Evyn returned to us in conversation and introduced herself. We explained our project and he offered us his card, saying we should come by his house that week to check out some related books that he thought we’d enjoy. Then he thought better of it and just said, “You know what? I just have to get an internet card. Why don’t you all come back to my place now? It’s very close. My wife also speaks English. Then you can take pictures of the books.” He turned to go inside the ETECSA and it seemed he’d already decided we’d agreed. And so we went.
We walked north toward the Malecón (coast), and arrived at a tall apartment building. He took us up 18 floors to his lovely apartment, where his Cuban wife, Rosa, was watching TV and tasking a younger guy with rearranging some bookshelves. Sergio took us out to his balcony where he had a stellar view of Havana and a delicious breeze. Rosa immediately went to fussing over us, bringing us water and fresh guava juice, offering ice cream, too.
View from Sergio’s balcony.
Evyn and I sat down in rocking chairs with Sergio on the balcony, sipping juice and relishing the breeze. My first question for Sergio: “You’ve been traveling the whole world your entire life, and you chose, after retiring, to settle here. You made Cuba your home base. Why?”
Sergio explained that as a person, he’s just not accustomed to staying in one place. Though he’s settled here, he’ll still travel in and out. He came to Cuba for the first time in the 60s and ended up going all over the world, so perhaps living in the US was “for naught” after being being born in Latin America. Regardless, whenever he left Cuba, he’d hear “the most incredible things” about the island, which weren’t true. So, he tried to give people the reality of Cuban daily life.
He’s watched the country change immensely. He brought up the Special Period, saying that up to that point, Cubans were living under a practically artificial economy. There was no hunger, no homelessness. Free education and health care. And these are the things that Cubans always point to when you try to critique the Cuban government. Sergio believes that because the Cuban people were always very nationalistic, challenging their country’s principles “flexes” them. They’re used to Fidel’s rhetoric of comparing Cuba to capitalist countries and how it’s better. Still, Cubans are obsessed with northern culture — our movies, our music, etc. Sergio respects the triumphs of the Revolution, but he’s quick to remind Cubans that a lot of their “inventions” are things that have already been created. They’re behind.
Several times, Sergio pointed to a “top-to-down” perspective of Cuba, worldwide. I interpreted in this in the psychological sense: in top-down processing, you make an immediate assumption about something you’re examining, then look to its details to corroborate that assumption. People assume that because Cuba is a socialist country, it must not function well, so they then point to all the reasons why this is so. On the other hand, in bottom-up processing, you take in the details of something one at a time until you form a sensible understanding of it. By using top-down processing, people are quick to say Cuba made a mistake going socialist, Sergio says. Rather than taking in the positives and negatives of the system individually.
Sergio thinks that Cuba is unlikely to relinquish its grip on socialism. If anything, the embargo has united the Cuban people more and more, and succumbing to any other sort of system will mean losing their power to some other country. Cuba was the first country to come out of the control of the United States during the Cold War; it’s proud of that. He iterated several times that the development of Cuba is just one of the reasons he studies history. He finds his life enriched greatly by history and is always seeking to find the truth, especially in this age of censorship and distortion.
After the interview, Sergio puttered around the house in search of countless books, while Rosa stood guard against him messing up her new bookshelf organization. Satisfied with a large stack, he placed them before us to photograph, making comments on each. Finally, he requested some selfies with us before we departed for the Malecón.
We made our way to the coast and walked west, watching the waves crashing the shoreline. Pausing briefly to check email outside the old hotels, we couldn’t help but feel that we had never left.
Next, we headed up our favorite street: 6. Calle 6 is home to many favorites: the juguería (juice shop); live music at the Bombilla Verde cafe; John Lennon Park and Submarino Amarillo; Casanoba, our favorite cafetería; Vampirito, the best pizza place; the stand with our local churro guys. But most of all, it is the street where our host parents, Angelita and Silvino, live.
Submarino Amarillo. Parque John Lennon.
We’ve walked 6 countless times and could never tire of it. Arriving at the red gate of their house, bearing “Angelita” in mosaic tiles, we couldn’t contain our excitement. Silvino buzzed us in, and in no time, we were back chatting with our Cuban grandparents.
They looked well; the house was clean and beautiful as ever, but had been renovated a bit with new grates along the windows — government order, for security. Silvino looked positively stylish in a pair of fresh New Balances, white-washed jeans, and a Hollister t-shirt. Angelita, on the other hand, was wearing a knee-length white dress with cartoon animals on it. She asked us if we had boyfriends (Evyn, the same guy as last year, me, no, thanks for asking) and surprisingly did not tell us we got fatter, like usual. We just got complimented on how beautiful we looked, and Angelita even said to Evyn, “Listen to how good Sarah’s Spanish has gotten!”
We learned that back in December, Angelita had an injury scare. She was at the airport picking up her daughter who lives in Miami, when some guy with a luggage cart knocked her over. Being 80, her body took the fall pretty badly, breaking her wrist and knee. She has since recovered and no longer has a cast, but she can’t walk far. She says it seriously affected her day-to-day life, but luckily, she could manage still having guests with Silvino’s help.
We had barely been there 5 minutes when she was already asking us when we’d be back that week for lunch. She had plans to order us a veggie pizza from the same place she used to when we were students with her: Ring Pizza. Absolutely delicious. I had actually been talking about it earlier that day, recalling how she’d order Evyn and I each a full — not personal, FULL — pizza. We were excited to return.
She asked us if it seems that Cuba is different, if we like it as much as we did. Of course we still love it, we replied, and it certainly didn’t feel much different. Angelita lamented how the US government has been telling people not to come to Cuba, though it seems that talking to other Cubans, Americans still keep coming. Having set dinner plans with Mitra, we had to depart. We said goodbye lovingly with intent to return.
Walking to the corner of 23 and 6, we breathed a contented sigh and prepared ourselves to hail a máquina (collective taxi). Pointing our fingers to the ground, the first máquina that appeared, a white Oldsmobile, pulled over and immediately agreed to take us to Coppelia, a landmark near Mitra’s. We couldn’t believe how easy it was, especially since people who look like tourists can get ripped off easily. I guess our clear knowledge of the system worked in our favor.
That night, we went to a nearby cafetería (cheap, local place). The evening air was pleasant. We split three dishes and got two desserts and two drinks for $5, total. If tourists knew how easy it was to get so much food for so little, they’d never spend time in Old Havana, tourist central.
Returning home, our friend Aldenis came to visit for a couple hours. He has dated another friend from our semester program, Lucy, since we arrived two years ago. Together, Aldenis and Lucy bought a car from 1940, supposedly owned by a famous jazz drummer. Aldenis has worked tirelessly for the better part of a year to restore it, removing its bright orange paint for a light blue in the process.
In his opinion, the car is one of the best ways to earn money in Cuba. He’s just no mechanic, so it takes more effort to get it in proper order. It took him about a year to get it up to speed. He was familiar with the world of cars, but this took him to another level.
We asked him what he thinks of the imbalance of earned salaries among Cubans — how drivers earn way more than state workers by gaining money from tourists. He said that yes, it’s unfair. Many people earning a state salary will engage in illegal activity to gain more money. That said, the car business isn’t necessarily secure, either — these cars could break down at any time. Moreover, drivers have to pay the state a lot of money for gas or petrol to get around.
Even though his car is completely ready to go, at age 20, he still doesn’t have his full license. Once he’s 21, he’ll be able to drive others around, but not tourists. That’s another 2 years. The car has to pass many tests to be qualified to drive tourists.
We asked him if thinks Cuba is changing, and he replied that he doubt it’ll change, at least politically. He likes Cuba, he feels safe here, and he doesn’t want to move. He has traveled — to Russia, South Korea — but doesn’t have grand travel plans for now.
By this time, it was 11:30 and had been a long day. It was time to sleep, but we felt good about our productivity.
The next morning we got an earlier start, heading to the Malecón for a morning jog. Evyn and I felt so free and happy as waves crashed over the coast, drenching us all the way to Hotel Riviera. We returned to take incredible cold showers.
Then it was off to Habana Vieja, Old Havana, tourist central. As soon as we arrived, we approached a couple taxi drivers waiting at Parque Central. These drivers camp out in the area with their particularly colorful, shiny cars, offering tourists driving tours of the city. The first man we approached quickly got distracted, trying to catch some tourists, so we ended up speaking with his friend Alejandro. Alejandro was short, maybe 5’5”, wearing jeans, a clean white button down, and a classic Cuban hat. His light blue eyes, contrasted with his tanned skin, looked at us directly and sincerely as he spoke.
He likes tourists, for the most part. Most people are very polite, but of course, like any job, some people are more “exigente” — needy. His job is a little like fishing, he says. Sometimes you catch a bunch of tourists, other times none. He takes them around the city allowing them to pick and choose what they want to see. If it’s someone who doesn’t speak English nor Spanish, he just does the best he can. Alejandro invests lots of time and money into his car, taking one day a week to do maintenance. “What will happen when these cars stop working?” I asked. “They’ll always work!” He replied with a dark laugh. He elaborated saying that like a transplant, they’ll need to replace the engines and other features with newer models so that the cars’ hearts keep beating. But they’ll always beat.
Is Cuba changing? For him, like others we’ve spoken to, political change is separate from day-to-day change. His life in the past 5 years (when Obama warmed relations with Cuba) hasn’t changed drastically at all. And, like most Cubans, he has no intentions of moving. He’d just like to travel. Just not to the US.
We continued around the square, past Capitolio, as Evyn tried to locate an abandoned theater she and Mitra encountered last summer. After doing almost a full circle, she finally spotted it. We had been hoping to interview a man named Reinaldo who actually lives inside the place, has cared for it for years. He had said he’d be displaced once the building got renovated.
Abandoned theater, Campoamor
Well, it’s going to be renovated.
The entire exterior was boarded up, with shiny placards detailing the restoration project. One sentence particularly affected me, noting how like many places in Cuba, the theater “is found in a lamentable state of disrepair.”
The final sentence: “Nowadays, [the theater] is found in a lamentable state of deterioration.”
Hot and sweaty and disappointed, we decided to get lunch at our favorite crepe place. I couldn’t help but note that eggs were available at this place in tourist land, but not in the neighborhood over. We had a lovely meal, aside from the tourists next to us unapologetically stating a bit too loudly and too slowly, “JUST. HAM. AND. CHEESE.” Without even attempting to say “jamón y queso,” clearly printed next to the English translation on the menu.
We took off toward Plaza Vieja, where there are several galleries we enjoy. The first stop was the Fototeca. The first exhibit was a miniature display of crumbling buildings, entirely made from soap. It hit close to home.
Out in the patio was an exhibition of portraits taken in Morocco, very vibrant and fun. And finally, upstairs was a picture and video display by a Spanish artist protesting the effects of rapid technological growth on the economy. A little dizzying, honestly.
Moroccan portrait exhibit.
For this month in Havana, there is a big arts festival called the Bienal (biennial) going on. Across the plaza was a gallery showcasing work for the event. This exhibit was fascinating. Essentially, three Colombian artists traveled all over Cuba for 15 years. At each stop, they would take a group of 3-5 Cubans of different ages, genders, and backgrounds and ask them a question: “Where do you see yourself in 10 years, and what do you have to do to get there?” Then they were provided a set of colorful blocks and would have to make a construction representing their answer, assigning each color block a value. For instance, they could choose the red blocks to represent love, the yellow, friendship. The result was many unique structures, all with meaning of their own.
This structure was created by Arturo, a 70-year-old retired man, Arturo, a 47-year old landlord, and Milgro, a 46-year-old female chef. You can see that they chose yellow blocks to represent “family,” white blocks to represent “peace,” and red blocks to represent “money,” as an example. A large example sculpture. Some of the most common values that people assigned to the blocks, with a breakdown of related values comprising each. You can see the actually sculpture building blocks on the floor.
All of this was explained to me by Graciela, the old woman caring for the exhibit. I initially did not quite understand what I was examining, but she clarified in detail the project. After asking her so many questions, she eventually gave us a furtive glance behind her and said, “Come with me.” She presented us with a book on the Colombian artists’ collective, saying, “This is the last copy I have. Please, take it.” We were taken aback by her generosity and tried to dissuade her, to no avail. I suppose most tourists don’t take nearly as much interest in the work.
The rest of the gallery had some interesting works, but not nearly as cool as this one. Next was walking down Mercaderes, home of the famous Museo de Chocolate and their chocolate fríos on the way to Plaza de las Armas. Once we reached Obispo, the main tourist strip, we spotted a couple of Cuban women posing with tourists for pictures. They were dressed in classic colorful rumba outfits, their dresses ruffled and donning head wraps. Evyn suggested we approach, and though I was feeling lazy, I reluctantly agreed. I’m glad I did.
We did our usual schpeal about our project, asking one of the women about her experience with tourists. She had an official badge declaring her certified by the government as a “costumbrista.” She openly admitted that the tourists have gotten worse in the last 1-2 years. She couldn’t really pinpoint it to one behavior or group, just that people were less respectful. So many people pass her and take her photo without paying her, or say they’ll pay her, and then don’t. In general, interacting with tourists is fine, pleasant, but the vibe has gotten increasingly negative.
I said, “So, tourists take a picture with you and they bring it home. And that’s the representation of Cuba they have. Are you satisfied with that?” She looked at us with resignation. She simply replied that tourists will come and pay her whatever, $2, $5 (in fact, some tourists came by while we were talking and had the audacity to pay her in euros, as if she has time to wait in line to exchange them) and bring the photo home. They’ll frame it and it’ll be worth much more than what they paid. And it’s just unfair.
Unfortunately, we never did catch their names.
We had planned to tip her for simply speaking for us, so we thanked her for her time and gave her some CUCs. She then insisted we take a picture with her, which made us feel sheepish, but we did so anyway, to respect her wishes. I left with a sour taste in my mouth, wondering if tipping her a small amount or a large amount would be more patronizing, and how much a proper tip would even be to someone who spends her life taking photos with largely ignorant tourists.
The final stop of the day was at Clandestina, our favorite design shop and the only Cuban company that successfully operates in the United States, too. The cashier recognized us immediately (we really like their stuff…check them out: https://clandestina.co/ ) and spoke to us briefly, though the store was busy. They also operate in South Carolina and everything made there is shipped and sold in the US, while the same products are made and sold solely in Cuba. The Cuban government shut down their website, but they’re still going strong, the internet sales increasing. The store ebbs and flows, but overall has enjoyed good success, with about an equal amount of tourist versus Cuban visitors. We thanked him for his time and said we’d be back.
