Best & Worst: Island Rides
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Best & Worst: Island Rides
Three journalists share their mis-adventures while traveling around Cuba.
JOE YOGERST: On assignment in Cuba, I rented a car and was driving from Moron to Santa Clara, and the map was unclear. It was late in the day and I was running low on gas. I picked up this young guy at a round-about, hoping he could give me directions. Right away he pointed at a road, and off we went. But as it started getting dark (and my gas needle kept dropping), I began to think I’d been duped. About 90 minutes out, we came upon this tiny village, where he asked me to stop: This was his home. He leapt out of the car without a word—wouldn’t tell me if I was even close to Santa Clara. I headed back to Moron, running on fumes and cursing my trickster hitcher the whole way.
JAD DAVENPORT: After the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, Cuba lost $6 billion in Soviet subsidies, and the public transportation system died. There were so few private vehicles and buses running between towns that people formed orderly queues at underpasses, offramps, etc. I stopped at an underpass outside Havana driving a Hyundai made for five small people. We crammed in 12. The cops waved me over and said, "Hey, you know it’s illegal to pick up hitchhikers?" I panicked; I was already in the country illegally as a journalist. “That’s OK,” they said, and squeezed in so I could give them a lift.
TONY PERROTTET: I hired a car in Cuba during its economic nadir of the early 1990s and drove to Pinar del Rio — mine was the only vehicle on the highway. At villages en route, dozens of Cubans were gathered at bus stations desperate for rides, so I often picked up hitchhikers. One woman kept asking questions. When I went into a store to grab some water, I came back to find her going through my notebooks. I guess she’d figured out I was a journalist. I went ahead and took her to Havana but got paranoid, thinking she’d report me to the secret police (which Cubans swear is the only efficient thing on the island).
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