“No famine has ever taken place in the history of the world in a functioning democracy.”
— Amartya Sen, Nobel Prize Winning Economist
“[Yemen's] environmental disaster was born in the 1970s when the oil/construction boom exploded in the Persian Gulf, and some two million to three million unskilled Yemeni men left their villages to build Saudi Arabia. “As a result,” said [Abdul Rahman al-Eryani, Yemen’s former minister of water and environment], “the countryside was depopulated of manpower.” Women resorted to cutting trees for fuel and the terraces eroded because of lack of maintenance. That led to widespread erosion of hillsides and the massive silting of the wadis — seasonal riverbeds — whose rich soil used to support three crops a year, including Yemen’s famed coffee. The silting up of the wadis crushed the coffee business and led Yemenis to grow other cash crops that needed less fertile soil. The best was qat, the narcotic leaf to which this country is addicted. But qat requires a lot of water, and that led to overdrafting of groundwater.
“...Qat drank all the water, and the easy oil money seduced the rural manpower into leaving for unskilled jobs. But now that most of the Yemeni workers have been sent home from Saudi Arabia, they are finding a country running out of water, with few jobs, and a broken public school system that teaches more religion than science. As a result, what Yemen needs most — an educated class not tied to an increasingly water-deprived agriculture — it cannot get, not without much better leadership and a new political consensus.”
The follow interview is taken from McKinsey Quarterly's Rethinking Infrastructure. It lays out a clear, honest explanation of the type of challenges and thought processes that go into successfully creating and inhabiting a city built from scratch.
The King Abdullah Economic City is a critical component of Saudi Arabia’s effort to diversify its economy, attract foreign investment, modernize its society, and provide jobs for citizens, 65 percent of whom are under the age of 30. The city is one of four such Saudi urban megaprojects, similar to China’s flourishing special economic zones. It will contain a port, expected to become operational this year, that will rank among the world’s ten largest such facilities, an industrial sector to support energy-intensive industries, a business district for local and international tenants, a tourism center, hospitals, schools, and a residential district with more than 300,000 apartments and villas.
In this video, CEO and managing director Fahd Al-Rasheed describes the vision behind this massive infrastructure project and the challenges of moving from the drawing board to implementation while keeping the goals of growth and sustainability squarely in mind. This interview was conducted by McKinsey’s Rik Kirkland in Istanbul, Turkey, in November 2012. What follows is an edited transcript of Fahd Al-Rasheed’s remarks.
King Abdullah Economic City: A new model
The government of Saudi Arabia is thinking about what does government look like in the 21st century in terms of delivery to citizens of the private sector. And they’ve implemented that. Now, the city itself is based on several components. One is a port that, in my mind, will change the logistics map globally. The trade routes will change, stoppages, et cetera. And it will have a very positive impact on transportation costs over the long term. It will be one of the largest ten ports in the world, and the first phase is going to be opened end of next year [2013]. It will have a logistics back end to it.
The second is the industrial zone, which is focused on what we can do best, which is energy-intensive industries. We are trying to attract many of those. We have a very competitive advantage. The third, really, is tourism. And we understand we can’t compete with Paris, Dubai, and New York, but we are still the 17th most visited country in the world because of the Hajj and Umrah for Muslims. So we’re trying to address how can we serve these visitors in a more elaborate way and provide them with tourism opportunities around their religious experience.
And then there’s housing. The population of the kingdom is 65 percent under 30. We need to build four million housing units over the next 20 years, so we need housing, and we’re set up for that. If we get 10 percent of that market, we’ll build up the city, end to end, by 2030. We’re targeting two million people. It’s the size, physically, of Washington, DC. The port will be one of the largest ten ports in the world.
While I have not yet done my full due-diligence and fully read up on the situation, here is my initial thoughts on the passing of Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez:
It will be interesting to see how the political situation in Venezuela shakes out. Already the Vice President booted US Diplomats from the Bolivarian nation. Might this be a sign of another power grab stranglehold? Or is it an honest attempt at avoiding foreign tampering? I remain skeptical and err towards a fight for power.
Originally Chavez took control via coup and then spent a decade and a half shooting down political opposition. After his death, there will surely be a mystery as the question of what happens next unravels. A new set of democratic elections would surely be best, but it is likely that someone else from within the inner circle will try to fill the power vacuum -- someone less charismatic than Chavez who will likely not have the same support of the people that the socialist leader had. A new power grab will probably lead to unrest and uncertain times in Venezuela. My guess is that it will take a handful of years and a few bad leaders before the country can right the ship after the past decade plus under Chavez. Think of Egypt -- it's hard to reestablish political cohesion after strongman politics disappears instantly. Expect the same in Venezuela, where public support for socialism is polar split, the economy constantly flirts with runaway inflation, and the high-stakes game of oil is too lucrative to ignore.
Venezuelan President Chavez Pronounced Dead: Initial Knee-Jerk Reaction
This political documentary tops my list of films to watch. Danish director Mads Brügger "attempts an even more complex and daring stunt by purchasing a Liberian diplomatic title and infiltrating one of the most dangerous places on Earth -- the Central African Republic (CAR) -- as an ersatz Ambassador. His purpose? To expose the illegal blood diamond trade -- and the corrupt world of CAR officials, bogus businessmen and shady European and Asian diplomats that it benefits." -- The Huffington Post
Talking about the Olympics, a friend noted the US was beating China in
the medal count. "In China they give athletes military positions so they
can officially hold jobs while still competing as amateurs. But we still beat ‘em" This conversation
reminded me of Cold War rhetoric and how times have changed. In the Cold War,
Americans never complained about how the USSR gave special treatment to their
citizens. When the Soviets sent a man to space, the US made it a national priority
to send a man to the moon. We used all our resources to ensure that the United
States of America stayed the most competitive power on the planet.
Now, with China climbing the rankings and growing into the world's
second largest economy, the US confronts this opponent with a passive mindset. Outcries call for China to stop manipulating
their currency and complaints rain about their below market value, state-backed
loans. The US “diplomatically” pleads
with China to stop the practices that led the Red State to a golden age. Responses to China’s growing power are passive
at best. What ever happened to America’s
Cold War mentality of taking all steps necessary to out-compete rivals?
US (blue) vs China (red)
Confronted by China's cheap currency, unfounded inflation fears cause US
inaction and leave Americans stuck with 8% unemployment (four years into the economic
crisis and the US still has below-target inflation!). Instead of worrying about
China's decisions to subsidize infrastructure investments with low interest
loans, Congress weakly passes base-boned stop-gap transportation bills and continues
to obstruct the formation of our own infrastructure banks (a novel proposal to
leverage public/private partnerships and spur investment). While cheap Chinese labor strips America of manufacturing
jobs, proud Americans focus attention on strengthening high-end service professions
and skilled labor. But cutting teachers’
pay and decreasing education spending undermine any movement towards these
lofty ideals. This is not the America
that worked to ensure its superiority against a Communist foe.
Instead of outcompeting China, America fights a losing battle against itself
from within. The US fails to address aging infrastructure. The Fed sits idle, indecisively
postponing important action. Our country
needs to rethink its misdirected complaints about China. America needs to abandon its passive mentality
and actively invest in a prosperous
future.
In a fascinating explanation of why the caste systems persists in India, Kaivan Munshi of Brown University explores how generations-old social networks perpetuate an 'unbreakable' class hierarchy:
"In the stylized world described by introductory economics textbooks, the market provides insurance and credit for people to invest and make purchases. Workers find jobs instantaneously and are paid a wage in line with their ability. The real world, especially a developing economy, does not function in this way. Market insurance is unavailable to a large section of the population. Bank credit is also unavailable without collateral, either because banks cannot observe whether borrowers are creditworthy or because they will refuse to repay their loans even when they can. Finally, many individuals do not get the jobs they deserve, either because they don’t have the money to invest in costly education or because potential employers have no way of knowing how able they really are and so will be reluctant to hire them.
"In such an economy, social networks will often emerge in response to market failures. Members of a tight-knit social group, living in the same neighborhood or sharing kinship ties, are well aware of the creditworthiness and the ability of each other. Members of such groups can also be sanctioned for reneging on their commitments. This allows social groups to form informal ‘mutual insurance arrangements’ and to provide loans to their members. Employed workers can also help capable unemployed members of their group find a job by providing referrals. Social networks thus work in parallel with the market economy, supporting the economic activity of their members in many different ways.
"In India, individuals continue to marry almost exclusively within their (sub) caste or jati. [Less than five percent of the respondents in all the surveys I have conducted, in rural and in urban India, marry outside their caste.] Given the segregation along caste lines that continues to characterize the Indian village, most social interactions also occur within the caste. The jati is thus the natural social unit around which networks would crystallize in India. Indeed, rural insurance arrangements and urban job networks have long been organized around the jati. It is this relatively unexplored feature of the caste system – the ability of the caste to provide major forms of economic support to its members – that I believe has much to do with its persistence in modern Indian society."
In this TED Talk with Bjarke Ingels, the world renowned architect demonstrates how innovative design can creatively integrate buildings with society. A new city hall in Thailand incorporates government transparency and public participation in physical form by making conference rooms open to public view from the outside. A waste-to-energy plant in Copenhagen draws a mountain form into the Copenhagen skyline (with rooftop ski slope included!). The power plant also raises awareness of carbon emissions by releasing the gaseous byproduct in equally measured smoke rings to give residents a psychical interpretation of one ton of CO2. In what is most likely the first Just a Thought...post on architecture, the cultural implications and the pure "wow" factor of the Bjarke Ingels Group's works speak for themselves. Expect to see new Bjarke Ingels inspired constructions across the world in the 21st century.
Good looking out to Mr. Pomeroy for finding this video.
The middle class is the biggest driver of economic growth. Promoting this class is the most surefire way of lifting vast groups of people from poverty. Emerging markets (as well as many developing nations) are starting to experience economic expansion driven largely by the middle class.
The Economist recently published the above graphic to show Russia's re-entrance onto the world stage (while at the same time arguing contrarily against Putin's power). I imagine other BRIC countries have similar stats to those listed above.
Portland, Oregon constantly wins Best City awards. CNN named it in their 2010 Best Places to Live. Popular Science ranked it “The Greenest City in America.” In his essay The Capital of Good Planning, Carl J. Abbott boastfully walks readers through a 30 year history of Portland’s planning and policy initiatives. But despite successfully executed initiatives, Portland must attribute the bulk of its current urban landscape to a convenient lack of political conflict.
Due to its distance from the South, after reconstruction the northern migration of African-Americans never reached Oregon in the far Western corner of the country. The greater metropolitan Portland records only a 3% black population. As a result, Portland never experienced suburban white flight, naturally segregated neighborhoods, nor exclusionary zoning laws. With racism a non-issue in Portland’s political arenas, mixed income residential zones never encountered paralyzing opposition that so often limits progressive policies. Tellingly, policies force the few existing suburbs to provide “appropriate types and amounts of land…necessary and suitable for housing that meets the housing needs of households of all income levels.” These regulations mostly pointedly restrict suburbs, quintessential symbols of white flight, from enacting exclusionary zoning laws. Without this “push-factor,” Portland’s residents never abandoned the center city.*
Portland's Urban Growth Boundary
Without suburbs, statewide political discussions evolved into a system of two distinct powers: rural farmers and city dwellers. These two demographic forged a usually unexpected coalition. One side seeks to protect the state’s agricultural economy while the other wants to promote city density. Agricultural Republicans fight off dominating pressures from suburbs. Environmentalist Democrats work to limit sprawl’s land consuming impacts. The two create a powerful alliance with a common goal to concentrate development in the Portland’s center. State programs advocate for the preservation of farmland alongside strict definitions of urban growth boundaries. Since agricultural and density ideals are not in conflict, as often times these politically polarizing topics can be, the Farm Bureau and the city-centric Democrats established the Land Conservation and Development Commission, forging a convenient, yet cohesive marriage in Oregon.
Within the city proper, another unlikely union thrives, as both business and community interests benefit economically from a compact Portland. Portland’s planning initiatives “focus activity on downtown. In turn, a vital business center would protect property values in surrounding districts and increase their attractiveness for residential reinvestment.” Property and business owners reap the financial rewards. But communities also benefit as the central district’s “economic prosperity would support high levels of public services.”
Density inherently keeps infrastructure costs low, so the city can provide more for less. This circularly keeps residents close to public parks and public transportation networks, which then increases the city’s ability to provide even more public services. An uncharacteristically high 43% of Portland’s workforce travels to jobs using the city’s bus and train systems. In another West Coast capital, Sacramento, that percentage drops to 11%. A survey polling residents about their fears of the future of Oregon found one of top responses “becoming like California.” Oregonians take pride in the society they have developed for themselves.
Further allying business and residential interests, mixed-use neighborhoods in Portland create a common goal atmosphere in the central business district and in communities. This leads to the view that anyone within “five miles of the central business district” shares in the benefits of center city development and city-centric allocation of resources. While highways typically encourage suburban sprawl, Portland’s freeway loops around the central business district instead of connecting the city to a suburban system of outer rings. This inner-city freeway promotes the further establishment of the prominent city center. Without adhering to suburban stakeholders, the city’s density mutually serves business and community wellbeing with one single set of jointly beneficial resources.
However, pacified political cohesion keeps the city’s development model and growth strategy from becoming a replicable standard in larger metropolitan contexts. The same is often used in critiques of similar small cities like Vancouver. Portland’s demographic make-up discourages suburbanization proponents as those voices get pushed to other cities in the region (the NIMBY, Not-In-My-Back-Yard, problem.) Existing political coalitions builds unconquerable hurdles for opposition (like when voters “overwhelmingly” opted against paying for a trans-Columbia rail track). Suburbanization will happen; just not around Portland.
Hopes of reproducing Portland’s idealistic successes expose questions as to whether or not Portland’s growth model could sustain larger scale implementations. Conventional thinking would suggest that a city that wins so much praise should provide an example of development and growth that others try to emulate. But with a unique ability to build with a single, cohesive political vision, Portland efficiently invests its resources back into a city center – a home to businesses and residents alike, a home to one of America’s “most livable” cities.
*“Pull-factors,” such as the post-WWII economic boom that generally led to US suburbanization, also failed to reach Oregon, as the state experienced an industrial decline during this pivotal time period.
“Taxation without representation” still rings true for many libertarians. The possibility to break off from a mother country to create an autonomous self-governing city-state is a possibility that is gaining traction and funds from wealthy backers. Since governments lay claim to all land across the globe, wealthy libertarians, like Peter Thiel, the founder of PayPal, and Patri Friedman, the grandson of Milton Friedman, assembled a think-tank, the Seasteading Institute, to study the feasibility of creating a floating, off-shore city that remains out of reach of national governments. “Our Mission,” writes the Institute on their website, “to further the establishment and growth of permanent, autonomous ocean communities, enabling innovation with new political and social systems."
Source: Seasteading.org
The Seasteading Institute explores cruise-ship style offices, apartments, and retail centers, which unfortunately cannot withstand the storms of the high seas. Oilrigs provide other platforms, but can cause seasickness when they rock with waves. And cities built above small island foundations raise problems with international law, as these would fall within the grey area of countries’ territorial waters (12 miles offshore) and their exclusive economic zones (200 miles offshore).
A futuristic shipyard in outer space Source: OnRPG.com
While libertarians are quickly written off as fanatics who wish for the yesteryears of 1776 colonial rebellion, those who dream of cities in space are accepted by society as sci-fi futurists – yet the two concepts are extremely similar. A leading presidential candidate has even suggested the building of "a massive new program to build a permanent lunar colony to exploit the Moon's resources." Ocean city designs would most likely draw ideas of self-sustaining agriculture and energy uses from prior outer space living competitions. Likewise, future space cities would adopt successes and note failures of condensed sea living. While the libertarian city on the sea dream attempts to break barriers to free market concepts (like the uninterrupted movement of labor that could be lubricated with the elimination of visa or immigration laws), those idealists ignore the more cost effective existing terrestrial zones that already cater to libertarian freedoms.
Source: The Economist
Pushing political views aside and looking at cities on the sea from the Seasteading Institute’s point of view as a creative exercise, these think tanks get funding to conceptualize what it would take to build a new country from scratch in the modern era. They also get to explore designs of how to feed and sustain populations disconnected from traditional terrestrial living. While floating metropolises may be only slightly more realistic at this point than building a real life Death Star in space, ocean-based cities rethink traditional models of urban living. At the very least, the Seasteading Institute’s studies will demonstrate ways to integrate sustainability techniques with underlying urban infrastructure.
Here’s a short story taken from today’s NYTimes.Today, the largest county in Alabama filed for Chapter 9 Bankruptcy.To avoid sounding too bias, today’s post consists solely of quotes taken directly from the article.
Jefferson County, home to nearly 700,000 people and to the city of Birmingham, is an extreme case. The seeds of its fiscal collapse were planted more than a decade ago when the county was ordered to rebuild its dilapidated sewer system…
Several officials were convicted of taking bond-related bribes, including a former county commission president and Birmingham mayor…
The complicated bond-and-derivative structures [which paid for the sewage system] did not work out for the county: they failed during the financial turmoil of 2008, leaving the county with a $3.2 billion debt.
The debt crisis was then compounded by a budget crisis when one of the county’s biggest sources of revenue, an occupational tax, was struck down in court and Alabama’s Legislature balked at letting the county replace it with a new tax.
That forced Jefferson County to slash its budget by nearly a third: it laid off more than 500 workers, closed several court houses, and stopped maintaining its roads.
Now officials say they will have to come up with an additional $40 million in cuts by Jan. 1. Given that the sheriff’s department is no longer responding to car accidents on county roads, county officials said, there seems little left to trim.
Who needs overstepping government sending police respondents to car crashes anyway?
On Halloween, what’s scarier than Thriller-like zombies, Jack Sparrow pirates, or scalpel carrying nurses? In 2011, October 31st also marks the symbolic day in which the world’s population reaches 7 billion.
Amazingly, the world can sustain such large populations. With technological advances in food production, medicine, and sanitation, humanity today can support over 7 billion lives. Population growth may slow, but by the turn of the next century, the Earth will already be crowded with over 10 billion people (the UN estimates that people will reach the 10 billion landmark even sooner in 2083).
While obvious concerns of overpopulation, increased inequality, and environmental impacts accompany any mention of population growth, the shear feat of man’s growth remains remarkable. People should celebrate that, in itself, 7 billion represents enough food and resources to keep people alive and reproducing at historically unprecedented levels.
7 billion is humanitarian. 7 billion is agricultural, technological, medical, economic, political, social progress. 7 billion is an incredible milestone to reach. The more complex our systems become, the more people humanity can sustain. Diminishing the negative effects (poverty, climate change, etc.) should be the goal of today’s generation. But by no means should 7 billion symbolize the fall of mankind. 7 billion is a reason to celebrate! Ignoring the responsibilities that accompany such large population growth is the sin.
The world’s population is expected to reach 7 billion later this month. In addition to the obvious strains this growth will place on housing and food systems, what does this mean for job markets in the 21st century?
One of my biggest fears returning to the States was reverse culture shock. In the past I've found that reverse culture shock is far worse than regular culture shock. Going to new places, I've learned to expect the unexpected and the sheer excitement of traveling usually overcomes any anxiety of immersion in new countries. On the other hand, reverse culture shock destroys the myth of Home Sweet Home. Home is supposed to be the one place in the world that never changes, where childhood memories freely exist, and the comfort of the familiar welcomes all its lost children back. Unfortunately, after living in a strange, far away land, our inner standards of normal shift. Home, on our re-calibrated standard, no longer feels normal. Things are off. With their guards down, travelers often fall victim to the depressive reverse culture shock.
When I first lived abroad for six months in Costa Rica and Nicaragua, I got lost in the abyss of reverse culture shock. For the cost of a single beer in a Boston bar, I could buy 20 beers in Nicaragua, or pay an entire week's wages of local factory workers. Instead of enjoying social nights on the town with friends, leaving my house became disturbing and mentally draining. The frugal me hid from the excesses of the American lifestyle.
This time, familiar with what to expect after two years away, I came back to Boston preparing for the worst. I understood that prices would be high. If I saw my peers paying for an absurdly priced sandwich, I knew that I should probably go along with the crowd and not worry about individual purchases. With this mentality, I overcame reverse culture shock.
But needless to say, this past month, there have been instances that utterly freaked me out. Of all places, nothing was quite as overwhelming as taking a trip to the supermarket. There, all the vegetables are perfectly grown: all gigantic, without any blemishes, colored with deep greens and reds, and all identically created. This food does not feel natural.
While I haven't succumbed to a cultural depression, strange nightmares about giant green peppers or attacks of the killer tomatoes might just be the preferable alternative to never leaving my house.
This is the transcribed, handwritten journal I kept while traveling in Cuba. Throughout my two-week journey, I saw one of the most fascinating places I've ever visited. While most Latin American countries share many similarities, communist Cuba has developed in a very different direction than its neighbors. Although my travels in Cuba were technically for pleasure, as always I concentrated my energies towards cultural exploration while I tried to understand the people, their history, and the government run economy that has driven this country to its current state.
In diary format, I document how my journey unraveled. Prepare yourself for unedited writing saturated in stream of thought. Instead of sifting this down to a few short essays, for better or worse my original scribbled words are left untouched.
Throughout this journal I will expose the mind of someone caught in a tourist world, while trying desperately to avoid the all inclusive, yet secluded, hotels and resorts, electing to stay with Cuban families and befriend local characters. Thus I was neither part of the tourist circuit nor the local mishmash. Stuck somewhere in between, this is how I saw island: a strange, strange place, where beggars earn more than doctors and the capital city looks like a colonial ghost town.
Without further ado, I present my adventures in one of the world’s last communist countries.These are my Cuba Diaries…
Day 1, Saturday: I walk off the plane down the stairs on wheels directly onto the tarmac at Havana International Airport. The humid tropical air tastes like Miami. The largest, most perfectly defined rainbow I have ever seen in my life stretches its ear to ear grin as a warm welcome to Cuba. Immigration painlessly lets me pass without stamping my passport (because US Department of Homeland Security would hassle me upon my re-entrance to the States) and a cab takes me to my home-stay -- an apartment behind Capitolio, a life-size replica of the US Capital Building. On the ride to the center of Havana, like a dog with his head stuck out the window, I marvel at all the storybook 1950's muscle cars and the hundreds of billboard propaganda still celebrating the feats of The Revolution.
At my home-stay, I know I'm out of Andean South America when my host dad and his father-in-law acknowledge that "You're from Boston, You must be a Red Sox fan!" It turns out future Sox shortstop Jose Iglesias played for a team two hours outside of Havana. Apparently all the talk out of the Cuban baseball world right now revolved around a kid the Yankees just picked up who supposedly throws a 106 MPH fastball. Unfortunately for me, Cuban baseball season only lasts from October to May and I won't be able to catch a game while I'm here.
Before heading out for the night to stretch my legs and see Havana, my host dad informs me that he's an ex-supervisor at the state tobacco factory; he can get cigars real cheap. The most expensive export, which leaves Cuba wholesaled at $250 a box (later marked up by middlemen and cigar shops), my host dad can pick up for $70. He boastfully welcomes me into his home by presenting me an authentic Havana.
Following my usual anti-tourist backpacker mindset, when I left the apartment to go exploring, I found a street party and befriended a local hip-hop artist. He spits me a few freestyles and I end up walking the moonlit Havana streets with him and his friends. Passing around a bottle of Havana Club, we sat outside bars taking turns beat-boxing for Toño's raps.
The big turnoff of the night though was how pushy Cuban girls can be. They insist on cozying up to you for drinks, even if you refuse. They invite themselves along with you without any invitation. Tonight it reached the point where I was so suffocated that I called it an early night and went back to my apartment.
Under the steamy Caribbean night stars, with an eyelevel window opening up to the entire Havana skyline from my tenth floor penthouse, I took a refreshing shower while smoking my host dad's cigar gift from before. This is Cuba.
Day 2, Sunday: Cuba is a strange and fascinating place. After spending the entire day walking around and exploring Havana, I am truly amazed. Havana clearly once has massive amounts of riches passing through it. The colonial center is so extravagantly designed and the architecture so intricate. But the forgotten about upkeep has left sun-bleached paint peeling from the walls and decaying wood shutters falling from their hinges. If it weren't for the bustling black Creole faces shuffling through the streets, I would call Havana a colonial ghost town. The colorful 1950's cars add to the city's mystique. But people's outdated clothing styles just feel stuck in a 70's or 80's style drought. With horrible vintage fashion, it's no wonder that men are so quick to shed their shirts under the Caribbean heat and women to roll their tops to expose their starved stomachs to the coastal breeze.
After tiring of last night's hustlers, for the first time I felt extremely comfortable when I stumbled upon a closed street with pricey tourist shops. In Cuba, there are two currencies: tourist money (convertible pesos) and local money (pesos nacionales). It's this dual economy (as well as the lack of competitive enterprise) that makes tourism in Cuba so expensive. While the convertible peso is worth about a dollar, 24 pesos nacionales are worth one convertible. Most Cubans live on $8-$25 a month. But the tourist restaurants charge the low end of that for a dinner and the hotels charge twice the latter for a night stay.
On this tourist street that I fell in love with, my favorite vendor sold as souvenirs local currency of three peso bills with Che Guevara's face. I started talking to the vender, laughing at how he sold almost worthless currency (the equivalent of 14 US cents) for $8 each! The vendor was immediately impressed to learn that I had only been in Cuba for less than 24 hours but had already finagled my hands on pesos nacionales (in a drug deal-like hunt). The vendor explained to me his flawless business model: his product is completely liquid with no sunk cost investment, plus, he ends the day with compete profit on this arbitrage deal.
Now, as I scribble away in my journal, I am now back at my apartment where they treat me like a king. My host mom is about to cook me a lobster tail feast. I feel like I just discovered the shipwrecked treasure I saw earlier today on display at a Spanish fortress-turned museum. Thank you Yhovanna!
At night I strolled down El Malecón, the main drag that hugs the coast (think Lakeview Drive in Chicago). I met some guys playing dominos and played my first of this favorite Cuban pastime. I kept walking. I stopped by a stand for a bottle of water. A guy inadvertently cut in line. When someone said something, even though the cutter had already paid, he apologetically went to the back of the line, so as to only pick up his six-pack when he properly reached the counter. Another gracious man then bought the cutter an extra beer. Only in Cuba... When I continued and then walked by an ice-cream shop, I found an endless line wrapped around the entire plaza across the street. Whole families patiently waited hours just for a few cones. Is this an effect of the food shortages and rationing I've heard so much about?
To top off the quiet Sunday night, I grabbed a mojito at an ocean-side cafe and talked cigars (known here simply as "tobacco") with the waiter. With fishermen catching foot and a half long bass from the shore in front of me and the monumentally lit Spanish fort to my right, I blew out thick, smooth smoke from between my lips and casually soaked in the surrounding life in Havana.
Pinar del Rio
Day 3, Monday: Yesterday, I didn't understand why the ticket agency couldn't sell next day bus tickets after 3 o'clock. The store was still open and the bus still wasn't full, but arriving at 4, I was late and rules are rules. I ended up buying a ticket for an earlier tourist bus that left at 8 AM this morning. I'm so used to Bolivian companies promising more than they actually offer, and was pleasantly surprised to find that this company included more than advertised.
We stopped at a rum bottling factory in Pinar del Rio. We toured a tobacco drying house where the guy working there offered me a free beauty that he hand rolled in front of my eyes. When we stopped at a rest stop, I wandered down the road to another dry house, where I met a subsistence farmer who gave me a pair of tobacco leaves to play with and take as souvenirs.
On our tour, the guide talked the entire time, but a few facts really stuck out to me. First off, Cuban doctors are the most respected in Latin America, so it was no surprise to learn that with the dictatorial regime before 1959, there were 60 deaths per 1000 live child births. That number has steadily dropped to 4.6. Also, When Castro took power, life expectancy in Cuba was 55 years. It's now 77 years. As for other noteworthy social projects, we drove by a housing development in which prefabricated apartments were first offered for free to the rural factory workers who constructed them before being sent off the city dwellers. This socialist system is amazingly fascinating.
Me with tobacco leaves in hand.
When I finally reached Viñales, the gem of Cuba's famed tobacco growing region, I spent the afternoon watching a local soccer match. Since the field was really a baseball diamond, whenever the ball rolled across the infield dirt, it would unexpectedly jump when it crossed onto grass again. And the talent was extremely entertaining to watch, as everyone showed off their skills by showing off their exaggerated Latin gusto. Staring wide-eyed at the lacrosse style play (first go for the man, then go for the ball), I noted to the guy sitting next to me that this physical game wouldn't end well. Shortly after reaching that conclusion, the inevitable on-field fight broke out. I've seen bench-clearing brawls before, but never before have I seen a stands clearing brawl. Dogs, kids, women, and teenagers with bats all tried to join in to take out some cross-town rivalry aggression. Instead of trying to diffuse the situation, the officials just left.
At night I sat on my new host family's front porch in a Southern-style rocking chair. I capped off the night with a mojito and today's hand rolled cigar. All night I tried to analyze comments from my new host dad. I still have trouble grasping how he can have a TV, an iPod for his daughter, and a computer with internet, yet he still complains all the time about not having ANYTHING. He's clearly yearning for a capitalist system, but compared to everyone else in Cuba with $25 monthly salaries, help from his brother in Miami doesn't hurt. I'm starting to realize that everyone here who has money always talks about how little they have and those without money are always asking for it.
Grandpa Rene rolling his savory cigars.
Day 4, Tuesday: Today I went horseback riding through tobacco country. Under the hot, but not humid, sun, I silently let me horse walk slowly down his relaxing route for five hours. The ride ended at my host mom's dad's house. Grandpa Rene poured some amazing mojitos (2 tbs sugar, 2 tbs lemon juice, mint leaves, 1 shot white rum, mix, add half a glass of H2O and a squirt of honey (the family secret ingredient), mix again, then top off with ice). I watched in fascination as Grandpa Rene rolled his own cigars. These smoked so smooth and tasted so sweet. Before drying, Grandpa dips his tobacco leaves in a concocted mix of lemon, honey, vanilla, and rum to create the best Cuban cigars I've smoked yet. All afternoon I spent hanging out on Grandpa's porch, smoking Cubans, drinking home grown coffee, and listening to sexually frustrated rancher friends tell some explicitly dirty jokes.
When I got back to my house, my host dad was watching a TV. He was tuned into a channel named TV Rebelde (Rebel TV), one of the four state controlled stations. I asked myself, How can they still have new documentaries about the Revolution? From what I've heard through the grapevine, the first four to ten years of Castro's speeches were new and insightful. Now, everyone's heard the same stories enough times and the once revolutionary ideas are already old news.
Sitting around the TV, my host brother explained to me how he got his new house. The first step is easy, applying for land that the government allots. Then, to build a house, you can't just hire contractors, you must buy every single bag of cement and build your own house yourself and with family and friends. The host dad chimed into the conversation. To him, this is a huge burden, saving for one to two years to buy enough cement for the entire house. Cement is too expensive.
The host dad continued his anti-communism tirade. "Life in Bolivia is surely better than it is here." I told Dad that even though minimum wage was $100 per month in Bolivia, four times hire than in Cuba, less was provided by the state. I understand that monthly rice rations aren't nearly enough, but 22 cents of a national peso (less than one US penny) per pound of rice is still better than $1 per pound in Bolivia on a $100 a month salary. People in Bolivia watch sports games from the streets outside bars and electronics stores. Here, people at least have TVs and cars and houses. Young people, like my host brother, don't live at home with their grandparents, like they do in ALL other Latin American countries. Is packing eight people into a one room, dirt floored, mud brick adobe house really living the dream? My host dad, having a brother in Miami, has had a taste of the other side and clearly wants more. But of all those who complain about hardships (and everyone I've met here does), this man, able to give his daughter an iPod Touch, is too privileged and makes too many outrageous claims to take as seriously as other, struggling people I've talked to.
Day 5, Wednesday: This morning was extremely frustrating.Trying to be a backpacker in Cuba’s centrally planet tourist industry is not just difficult, it’s nearly impossible.Buried only 10 km outside of Viñales rests one of the largest cave systems in the Americas.Since tourist buses and taxis were overpriced (and way out of my budget) for the hour-long tour of the biggest cavern, I tried to hitch my way over to the caves.First, there are a few things you must know about travel in Cuba.Bus seats are cheap, but scarce for normal Cubans.It’s also illegal for anyone other than air-conditioned tourist buses or certified tourist taxis to drive foreigners.Therefore tourist prices are absurdly high.In response to the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of Russian subsidized oil, Castro responded by establishing state run hitching stations known as “amarillos” on the edges of major roads out of every town.An elderly lady in a yellow uniform passes out hand scribbled numbers to establish a line.Whenever a car passes and wants to stop for a nominally small fare, he can pick up the next guy in line.After an hour and a half of waiting at the Amarillo, with #23 stuffed in my pocket, I decided that based on the slow progress of only moving from #3 to #4, I would not get to the caves today.Cursing this damn country’s dual economy, I set out to hike to the smaller alternative cavern a short walk away on the other side of town.After a 15-minute rushed walk though the natural hole cut into the limestone mountain, equipped with an underground river and waterfall, my morning of caving passed its climax too hurriedly.In my sour mood, I started the walk back home under the blistering sun.No sooner than I had reached the main roadway in front of the cave’s entrance, a sympathetic driver pulled up beside me, “Do you want a ride?”
At night one of my host sisters explained how marriage works on the island.Nobody has sufficient money for wedding celebrations and although everyone has God in their lives, nobody is religious (Castro kick out the church when he came to power).Therefore, instead of having official ceremonies and parties, couples just start living together.When they eventually have kids, the couple is considered to then be a family.There’s no defining moment when people become married.It just happens over time.My host sister has been living with her boyfriend for two years and they’re not married, but her brother and his girlfriend have shared a house for five years and they’re married.
Me with Grandma and Grandpa
Day 6, Thursday: It’s my last day in Viñales, my last day in the Latin American countryside, el campo.This definitely sent my mind dreaming about Bolivian Samaipata last night.Since arriving to Viñales, I’ve been meaning to go back and hang out with my host mom’s dad, Grandpa Rene, ever since I promised him I’d be back after spending time with him and his buddies on his front porch after horseback riding.I borrowed the family bicycle and headed to the farm.Grandma welcomed me back with an excited hug and insisted on brewing me a coffee (they grow their own).She introduced me to her mother (my host great-grandma) who is 99 years old.She’ll complete her first century of life in five month.That’s Cuban doctors for you.
Grandpa Rene came out of the field to welcome me back.His short break evolved into four hours of cigar smoking and talk about The Cuban Revolution, Fidel, and Che.Rene’s most potent comments were his analysis of the younger generations’ frustrations with the socialist system:
People in the countryside don’t face the same hardships as those in the cities and town centers.You see, with a small plot of land, a campesino, a small-scale farmer, grows his own fruits, vegetables, beans, coffee, pigs, ducks, and chickens.Yes, he must also grow a cash crop for the state (usually tobacco or sugarcane) and donate the mandatory 90%, but he keeps 10% for his own personal use (Rene rolls his own cigars).With a sustainable piece of land and basic needs already covered (or easily bartered for, ie, these tomatoes for that chicken), government rations are extras and monthly stipends are disposable income spending cash.With a rural population (as mainly existed during the revolution), communism works.Urbanites, on the other hand, (at least those who don’t have families working small plots) rely solely on their $15-$25 a month in “welfare checks” for both spending cash and for basics like food.It’s not enough.That’s why street beggars in tourist areas make more than doctors and hotel waiters working for foreigners’ tips are some of the wealthiest Cubans.
At night, after taking the damn tourist bus back to Havana then arguing with a cab driver (no, it’s not his God given right to drive me if he treats me like cattle and they guy behind him in line offers a better fare), I welcomed myself back to the hustling and bustling capital.While stretching my legs, I befriended a group of men playing dominoes.The invited me to sit down and offered me a Cohiba (a factory brand cigar after dabbling all week with artisan rolled ones).I played for hours and had some early success, although, I have very little idea of how strategy works in Cuba’s, informal titled, national game.I think I might stop by here again tomorrow to play some more.
Day 7, Friday: I’ve been here a week!Today was “Wandering Day.”From the Center, I walked to Vedado, the supposedly posh section of Havana.In reality, it was just more of the same, but with crumbling 1970’s style high-rises instead of colonial charm.I entered a tourist market.I think I might buy some art if it weren’t for the $30 export certificate I’ll need (more than doubling the price of any painting I buy).I marched into the Hotel Nacional, a relic of better days, but still one of the most expensive hotels in Havana.Trying to blend in, I was embarrassed to ask the price of one night stay (I’ll bet it’s upwards of $200 a night).I did book a reservation for Saturday night’s Buena Vista Social Club concert.
Havana Vieja (The Old Quarters)
I crossed back across the center of the city to Havana Vieja (The Old Quarters).Ironically, the Old Quarters are the most modern section of the city.The old churches, colonial plazas, and picturesque alleys are newly painted and restored.There are a lot more older, white, European tourists here as well as $20 a plate restaurants and a plethora of museums catering to all interests.I stopped into one that has a 1:5000 size replica of the city.The heart of Cuba is more massive than it feels walking from end to end.
Plaza de la Catedral
After a siesta break from the exhausting heat, I found myself back on the edge of Havana Vieja.Here I found the Plaza de la Catedral.It’s small and maintains its salt stained stone façade.I sat at a table in the bull’s-eye of the plaza, where a fountain would be in any cobblestoned square larger than this.I sipped on my refreshing mojito, which tried to overcome its steep price by sacrificing taste to become overly strong.A conjunto plays hypnotic salsa that echoes off the enclosed walls of the surrounding buildings.This quiet spot has officially become my favorite plaza and place to escape in Havana: Plaza de la Catedral.
When I got back to the apartment, I walked into heaven.My host dad was watching the national baseball team play Venezuela on TV.We spent the late afternoon/early night watching this beautiful sport and talking about the game.I couldn’t have been any more at peace.
Even watching baseball is very telling of national culture.The strutting Cubans played in a Venezuelan tournament.It was only too telling when the telecast experienced an hour delay with mid-game blackouts, the stadium lights went dark, accurately representing Venezuela’s energy shortages.
The home cooked meal tonight was another feast.I then topped off the night with my old domino-playing buddies.I’m starting to get good.Maybe I’ll have to bring this pastime back to the US.I was proud when a new friend passed by.“Are you guys playing with this Yuma (a derogatory term for Americans, like Gringo)?”“No, he’s cool.He lives in Bolivia and is actually real good at dominos.”
Day 8, Saturday: I finally visited the National Revolution Museum.While the ex-presidential palace was filled with photos and trinkets from militia soldiers who fought Bautista, I was just reminded how important Che Guevara is in Cuba.Here, Che is a national hero and not just a t-shirt design like at home.He’s the Abraham Lincoln of Cuba.I kept imagining the rest of the world having an obsession with the symbol of the dead president in a top hat and the slogan, “Honest Abe.”That’s how we treat Che.
As part of my Saturday night on the town, my night to splurge, I finally took one of the classic American Chevy/Plymouth/Ford taxis.Before, I always assumed that these iconic Cuban vehicles would be the expensive tourist taxis.Apparently, these are the cheap ones.I can’t understand why.Tourist taxis are just stripped down 1980’s and 90’s Soviet cars.I would much prefer to pay up and ride the classic hotrods as opposed to unanimated generics.1950’s cars represent the charm of Cuba.I’m surprised it’s not the tourist choice.
As I rode with my head out the window of the taxi down the ocean-view drive, we stopped by the Hotel Nacional to see Buena Vista Social Club.Since I arrive a bit early, I walked down to El Malecón to absorb the good vibes of street parties on the coast.Much like in Cali, Colombia, there was a drummer, slapping away on a cardboard carton with a group of 100+ accumulated passerbyers singing and dancing to popular Latin radio songs.That is the true joy that local Cubans love to live.
Back at the Hotel Nacional, as a Cha Cha Cha band took the stage, I learned something about Buena Vista Social Club.It’s actually a music association, not just a band (which the rest of the world recognizes by the original founders of the association).The only original was the old bongo player who led his orchestra.Even though it wasn’t what I expected to see, it was still a fun novelty to see an over-rehearsed show at a five star hotel.
After leaving the show and still craving more street music, I tried to find some more locals having fun on El Malecón.It’s sick and sad how I cannot just meet Cubans.Everyone in Havana just clings like leeches and treat me like moneybags.There are no “pleases,” no “thank yous,” just guilt trips and nagging.Jinatero is the Cuban term to describe these people that literally means prostitute.In reality, jinatero encompasses both male and female, leeching gold diggers.I can’t escape it.In all my travels, I’ve never before felt that I couldn’t wipe off the dollar sign from my forehead.
Day 8, Saturday: After a week I’m finally getting the hang of taking some local transport.I took a shared muscle car taxi to Guanabo, one of the Playas de Este beaches.Lonely Planet describes Guanabo: “For those who dislike modern tourist development or are keen to see how the Cubans get out and enjoy themselves at weekends, Plays del Este is a breath of fresh air.”And yes, the beaches were overflowing with thousands and thousands of dark skinned Cubans.Walking up and down the 9 km of beach, the remains of hurricane induced concrete ruins felt like a post-apocalyptic movie set.There torn down concrete buildings were more plentiful on the edges of the sand than palm trees.
At the end of a day of beaching it up, I’m as red as a delicious Cuban lobster.I’m also appalled at how the locals leave so much trash in the sand.It looked like a hurricane disaster with so much left behind.I know developing countries love to boast how “green” they are.This just isn’t true.Developing countries only have a lot of trees because these areas haven’t yet been industrialized.They don’t burn a lot of oil and release greenhouse gasses simply because the people can’t afford to travel or produce as much.None of this is because citizens treat their lands with better care.Mostly, people don’t think about the environment at all (with the exception of rural farmers).Not just in Cuba, all over Latin America people litter and turn beautiful places ugly with a lack of concern for public space and one’s own surroundings.
With night came the tide, which cleaned the beach and washed away all the empty cans, glass bottles, plastic bags, chicken bones, and nut shells (or at least made them someone else’s problem).When the sun goes down, all the weekend trippers leave.Finally alone in the sand, I lit my cigar and enjoyed the calm, salty breeze.The cool winds even blew a few shoot stars across the sky.
Day 10, Monday: Burnt! Burnt! Burnt!Instead of the lone white guy amongst a sea of black bodies, I’m now the lonely red guy.It’s bad enough that I had to leave the beach early at two in the afternoon to head back to Havana.
With all the wacky things about Cuba, one of the strangest is that they are clearly in the wrong time zone.The sun is strongest and directly overhead at 2:30 PM and the sun doesn’t set until 8:30 at night.
Back in the capital, I hopped around a bunch of art galleries.I found the remains of “The Wall” that surrounded Old Havana and was closed every night to keep the pirates out.For the late Cuban sunset, I strolled down the always-crowded Malecón waterside street and soaked in the cool ocean air.I did some reflecting.
"...one of the noblest ways to serve one's country is dedication to work."
In Cuba, I’m amazed at how suppressed the informal economy is.There is nobody peddling anything without having a government-registered name card.Street vendors, all registered.Peso pizza shops operating through apartment windows, all registered.Even the few small restaurants that are limited to 12 patrons, all registered.The Castros have really stamped out even the smallest of the informal sector.
One of the main raids in the central district is El Prado.In its glory days, it must have been the wealthiest street to place a mansion.Now, the lanes of traffic are divided by a basic promenade leading the spine of the street toward the beach intersection at El Malecón.The slum-like state of the decaying architecture and shadeless walk under the strong sun leave this prominent pass largely vacant.The entire afternoon and night I spent dreaming up revitalization projects…maybe a future school case study…
A Cuban Missile
Day 11, Tuesday: It’s July 26th, National Rebellion Day!This day marks the anniversary of Castro’s failed attempt to storm Bautista’s Moncada army barracks in 1953.When put on trail, Castro gave his famous History Will Absolve Me speech (transcribed into an immortal manuscript).From then on, and this to this day almost 60 years later, Castro’s revolutionary movement has been known as M26 (Movimiento 26).Back in his prime, El Comandante would bless the nation with public speeches that would last five hours.I’ve been told, “These were captivating for the first ten years, but now, we all know the history behind the revolution.”Instead, Raul Castro gave a short televised speech in a far away province.It’s astonishing that no new blood is part of Fidel’s government.Every important post is run by 80 year old men!
To celebrate, most Cubans just stay home and relax.In better days, those in the countryside, like Viñales, would have pig roast festivals.At the Moncada barracks in Santiago (the other side of the island), they host a reenactment, which I watched on TV with my host family.I then went to see if anything was happening at the Plaza de la Revolucion (which is still referred to by its pre-Castro name, the Civic Center), where all the government offices are located and is marked by the Jose Marti Monument, the tallest structure in Havana.The place was empty and I couldn’t even take the elevator to the eagle’s next lookout at the monument because off government businesses (ie the entire island) is closed today.
On my defeated walk home, I found an art exposition at the old port/central train station.For a country where speech is repressed and the government own the only newspapers and all four TV stations, artists take surprising liberties pushing these boundaries.Photos of propaganda slogans behind dumpster divers and paintings of Cuban flags wearing conquistador outfits enslaving poor Cubans really make unsubtle statements.Thanks to Castro’s love of poetry, he has successfully promoted Cuba’s literary and visual arts in an otherwise repressive regime.
Watching the nightly baseball game, I saw one of the rarest set of plays.I witnessed most likely the only 5 out inning I’ll ever see in my life.With out number three resulting in a passed ball strikeout and a subsequent stealing on first base, the pitcher laughed at his wasted K.When the next batter reached base on the exact same strikeout play, the pitcher just shook his head.With the fifth out of the inning coming on a fly to center, the entire team surrounded the pitcher to congratulate his four strikeouts (and one pop out) in the inning.
Day 12, Wednesday: Back in the days of Spanish gold and looting pirates, Havana built fortresses and a meter and half think wall to enclose and protect their jeweled city.Every night at nine o’clock, right after the sun goes down, the city closes its gates and seals out the bad omens for the night.To this day at the same time, the ritualistic cannon shot that shakes across the Old Quarters sounds off.On my last night in Havana, I watched the sun set over the Caribbean waters from my perch by retired cannons at the most prominent Spanish fort (where Bautista and then Che executed prisoners).At 8:40 the cañonazo ceremony began, and at nine o’clock on the dot, the lone cannon shot exploded.
When the show ended, I hailed an over crowded bus to go back to town to pack my bags for the last time.While the radio quietly sang tunes, the entire bus bellowed along like a choir in unison.It was a perfect goodbye to Cuba, watching shirtless men packed in like cattle, standing and singing; listening to old women, seated with two children on her lap, singing to her boys; just hearing the group working together to pass the time.As uncomfortable as the bus ride may have been, the Cubans transformed it into a liberating place to let loose.This is Cuba…
