The mechanical artistas of Cuba

HAVANA -- On the road from Cienfuegos to Havana, Cuba's bumpy national highway, there's a beached car every 20 kilometres or so along the shoulders, its owner's body half visible as he tinkers under the open hood.

It is a common sight on this island of automotive relics.

Walking around Havana, you would think you've stepped into a time warp. Brightly-coloured 1950s-era American cars are everywhere. Anything newer is in the form of rickety Soviet-era imports, which often look just as old.

And in a nation where you would be hard-pressed to find a car made within the last decade, it is even harder to come across replacement parts. Some parts are no longer in production, and the 40-year-old U.S. embargo means there's no hope of importing anything even comparable.

Moreover, with Cuba's economy still recuperating from the economic shock that preceded the collapse of the Soviet Union -- which had provided Cuba with generous subsidies and inflated prices for sugar exports -- Cubans don't have the money to pay for such parts.

Because personal cars are considered a luxury in Cuba, the state does not pay for their repair.

"In Cuba, we consider mechanics artists," says Amado, the cab driver who is taking my partner and me on the 3½-hour drive from the small Caribbean-side town of Cienfuegos to Havana.

"That's funny," remarks my partner, Daniel, "in Canada, we call them crooks." The roadside artists are a symbol of the innovation that average Cubans have had to muster in the face of necessity. And necessity is the mother of invention.

Even Amado's cab ride is an illegal vice in an attempt to net some extra funds. Amado's is a private car, or carro particular, which is off-limits to tourists, but by far the cheapest way to travel between cities -- at $60 (U.S.) versus $85 for a bus or $120 for an official tourist taxi.

"Artista!" bellows a playful Amado, every time we pass someone under their hood on the side of the road.

Amado drives a 1984 Lada, which looks much older. He counts himself lucky because he is one of the few Cubans who are able to own a car. But about two hours into the trip, it is Amado's turn to play the artist. His car has overheated.

He stops at a farmhouse to get a bucket of water, and, in minutes, we can hear him sawing and twisting metal in the trunk. He fits his newly-crafted metal band-aid over the water main and within a half-hour of stopping, we are back on the road again.

"It's incredible what they do with those cars," says Camillo Garcia, press secretary at the Cuban embassy in Ottawa. "They have created their own system of making up parts or using parts from other cars. They've been doing it for years."

This kind of creativity is a product of the scarcity that has plagued the nation since the fall of the Soviet Union. In the early 1990s, times were so tough that thousands of Cubans braved the harsh, shark-infested waters of the Florida Strait, on rubber dingies or rafts (balsas) -- which earned them the moniker balseros -- in a desperate attempt to escape their poverty.

Since 1995, however, Cuba's economy has been on the rebound, with tourism booming and a controlled import-export economy creating new opportunities for investment. Blackouts, an almost daily occurrence five years ago, are uncommon now and people's material conditions are improving.

Nevertheless, the average Cuban salary is the equivalent of $30 (Canadian) a month, which does little more than pay for clothing, additional food and toiletries.

And even these are subject to shortages. Lisiana, a 24-year-old woman from Cienfuegos, admitted that some months, she has had to tear off a corner of a bed sheet when the pharmacy ran out of maxipads.

In Communist Cuba, people have always had all of their basic necessities provided by the state. Housing, medical care, education and basic food stuffs are all free, so salaries are seen as justifiably lower. But salaries were better in the 1970s and 80s. People had enough income to purchase cars on leasing programs.

Today, however, Cubans can only acquire cars if they are absolutely required for work purposes. Amado used to be a nuclear-energy researcher/technician, but any hope of nuclear power crumbled along with the Soviet Union.

He is a fervent believer in the revolution and is confident Cuba's current economic woes are hiccups that are slowly being overcome. He does not see trade with the U.S. as Cuba's salvation.

With recent moves by the U.S. to ease the Cuban embargo on food and medicine, one might imagine that Cubans would be more enthusiastic. However, many say they have learned not to trust their meddling superpower neighbours.

Comments Garcia, "We've made it this long without them, right?"