Havana is like a cruel and beautiful character from a novel; from gorgeous blue ocean views, to government-thug run communist hotels, to alluring alley ways bursting with live salsa, to friendly locals trying to con you for all your worth, to ware houses teaming with original art, to over-crowded tourist spots who snub anyone who isn't part of the cruise ship they were ordered to cater to.
Our hotel, BelleVue Deauville Hotel, was the worst experience we had in Cuba. I wanted to write about it so I could concentrate on all of the good things, later. I've stayed in places all around the world, from caves to hostels, from camp grounds to tree houses, and this was the least friendly place I have yet to come across.
At the forefront of the Havana Harbour, our hotel stood as a beacon of better times past. As of now, the elevators are 'out of order' (used for the staff) from 9 to 3, forcing all tourists, even the elderly and pregnant, to walk up to 15 flights of stairs. When you first arrive, it is highly likely that you'll be hungry, but when you ask the front desk for help in directing you which way a restaurant is, they grumpily say to ask the doorman, who in turns grumpily points you to every direction outside, until you are wandering down a random block, into a random grocery store, that only has cereal, rum, and water on the shelves because rationed food doesn't allow for a free-flow of groceries. So you go back to the hotel with a bottle of water, a bottle of rum, and stale tortilla chips and apologize to your travel-weary family that you were unsuccessful in finding any nourishment. You then ask the front desk for an internet card to research restaurants that could be nearby the hotel, but she angrily says to you that they are out of internet cards. When you ask when there will be more internet cards, she replies in an hour. When you come back in an hour, she says they are out for the entire day. When you ask where you can get internet, she says she doesn't know and walks away.
In the end you, you sum up to staff's behaviour to an awfully run government hotel where they aren't treated well. You try to remember this as they refuse to let you use the front desk to call the travel agency about your transportation, that you've been instructed to do when you were dropped off. And then some tears of frustration start to form and a man at the excursion desk let's you use his cell phone to call the travel agency, but he takes it out of your hand when you're put on hold and hangs up because he's worried that you're using up your minutes. You eventually are left to trust that you'll be picked up at 2 from the travel agency, so you elect to stray away from the awful hotel, but you trust something in your gut that is telling you to go back at noon. As soon as you arrive back at noon, the bus is there and your mom and sister are panicked thinking that you wouldn't be back on time. You thank god for your intuition, and that you have a way out . The last straw is pulled when a maid from the hotel chases your mom onto the bus accusing her of stealing a towel. And, for anyone who knows your mother, this offends her to the core. She had left it with the men at the pool, which she was instructed to do.
This experience illuminated the worst of Cuba. It was far removed from the rest of the experiences, which is why I wanted to write about it separately. As time moves on, I realize that what I value most is freedom. The experience from this hotel reflects what lack of freedom looks like. More to follow on everything that was good - which is the most important.
