Traveling to Cuba is (still) easier than you think


Even with the latest round of changes to the U.S.-Cuba tourism policy, American vacationers can still legally visit. Our reporter sets out on a weeklong cycling trip in the Cuban countryside


Robert P. Walzer, The Wall Street Journal


MY LAST TRIP to Cuba had been in 1997 when the country was still enduring the periodo especial—the euphemistically dubbed “special period” of deprivation after the Soviet Union’s collapse. At that time, traveling under a journalist visa, I noted roads devoid of cars and bare store shelves. Despair and paranoia pervaded the air, with Cubans miming a long beard when criticizing Fidel Castro rather than speaking his name out loud.


I found things distinctly different during my trip to Cuba two months ago, nearly two years into the U.S. government’s easing of travel restrictions. Cars abounded (new Japanese and Chinese models among the more common ’50s Chevys and Fords). Small private businesses were ubiquitous, especially the B&Bs called casas particulares and restaurants called paladares. Most Cubans were still struggling, though many had accumulated some wealth as capitalism made strides.


For weeks, I had planned a cycling trip in Cuba with my old friend Rob from London. We would meet in Havana and ride about 120 miles west on rented bicycles through small towns until we reached Viñales, a rural tobacco-cum-tourist town surrounded by farms and limestone outcroppings. Upon our arrival, it took Tito Servitje, the Spanish-Catalan owner of Bike Rental & Tours Havana, five minutes to talk us out of our plan. “You’ll waste a lot of time riding there,” he said. “Grab a bus to Viñales and then take day trips from there. It’s gorgeous.” After taking one look at the “good” bikes Tito had promised us by email—actually old, heavy, steel clunkers with worn tires—we decided this was sage advice. (Newer models have since arrived, I’m told.)


We rode our bulky rentals to Havana’s Viazul Bus Station, a microcosm of Cuba’s unpredictability and underdeveloped infrastructure. The experience involved waits on multiple lines, a broken computer and indifferent staff. Cuba has long had unique rules of engagement. But personal relations and humor helped grease the wheels of cooperation. So, Rob and I, who are both fluent Spanish speakers, chatted up various agents, baggage handlers and a bus driver for intel. We snagged two handwritten tickets, finessed our bikes into the bus’s hold and hopped on.


Alighting from the bus in Viñales we were swarmed by business-card-thrusting owners of casas particulares eager to host us. We took one of their offers and headed to Villa El Croto in a quiet spot outside the bustling center, where our affable host Tita rented us her two rooms for $19 a day, including full breakfasts. The rooms, typical of a Cuban B&B, were basic (mine lacked a toilet seat) but bright and clean, with air conditioning.


The next day, Tita contacted a friend to guide us on a walking tour in Viñales National Park. Cuba bans motorized farm equipment in the park’s Unesco-protected valley, where farmers guide oxen-pulled tillers through rust-red soil. The guide, 30-year-old Maikel Valdez, comes from generations of tobacco farmers but now works in tourism. He led us along a tree-shaded path past fields and fruit trees to a tobacco-processing facility, where we sampled cigars with the tips dipped in honey, as is local custom. Mr. Valdez praised Cuba’s universal health care and education, but frankly discussed the contradictions of farm life. His family owns their land, but must give the government 90% of their crops’ yield. They also own cattle and horses, but can’t slaughter them for food. “This is the only country where you can’t eat the animals you own,” Mr. Valdez said. “If you kill an ox you can go to jail for more years than if you kill a human.”

Taking a Spin Through Newly Open Cuba


The Cuban town of Viñales makes an excellent base for exploring some of the island’s sublime rural areas by bike


My journey from New York to Viñales, via Havana, was surprisingly easy. In the ’90s, as an American, I could only travel on a journalist visa through third-world countries with the help of foreign travel agents. This time, I booked my Delta ticket online, paying $480 for the four-hour trip. On the Delta site, I ticked the “people to people” education category and paid $50 for a visa. No questions asked. The week we were in Cuba, the U.S. rules changed (see “The Cuba Quandary Dissected” below) but independent travelers are still permitted.


A few years ago, President Barack Obama began to normalize relations between the U.S. and Cuba, culminating in the renewal of diplomatic ties in 2015 after a 54-year schism. President Donald Trump’s new rules and rhetoric against the Cuban government sparked angst in Cuba, where erratic internet and media censorship often give way to conspiracy theories and misperceptions. Many locals worry about the loss of dollar-toting Americans, hundreds of thousands of which have visited Cuba in the past two years. “People were starting to get more money and make more political demands,” said the owner of a casa particular in Havana. “Now we’re going back to the Dark Ages.”


Three days into our weeklong Cuba cycling trip, having barely mounted our bikes, we set off on a 40-mile ride northwest to the beach at Cayo Jutías. Several people warned us about the poor conditions of the road. But nothing prepared us for the giant potholes that forced us to perform a new sport: bike slalom. Yet the rural route’s scenery was sublime, with jagged mountains covered by fat-bellied palm trees and turkey vultures soaring gracefully above. We passed two farmers on a horse-drawn carriage enthusiastically belting out a song about “life as a vaquero,” and oxen dragging a lumber-filled sled.


Arriving hot and tired in the town of Santa Lucia, we rejoiced at the discovery of a shack where a man was pressing sugar cane stalks into juice called guarapo, with an old iron contraption, and serving it with crushed ice. Some time later we rolled up to the white sands of Cayo Jutías, stripped off our sweaty gear and plunged into the warm, clear waters. On a fall weekday, the beach hosted only a handful of people—mainly Europeans. We sat at a seafront food shack and enjoyed cold beers and fresh snapper as a live salsa band serenaded us.


The next day we set off from Viñales southwest by bike with two destinations in mind, the Caves of St. Thomas and the Mural of Prehistory. The color-saturated mural—painted in 1959 on a massive rock face by Leovigildo González Morillo, a Cuban disciple of the Mexican muralist Diego Rivera—depicts natural history up until the age of humans. We found it garish, and viewed it briefly from a distance without paying the $2 entrance fee before moving on. Further outside Viñales, about 11 miles from the town, we arrived at the Caves of St. Thomas, the largest cave system in Cuba. We joined a group of Germans and Norwegians for a guided tour, donning helmets with headlamps, then walking up a steep forested path to the cave opening. Inside we saw unusually shaped stalagmites and stalactites, bats, blind crickets and underground pools. Deep in the cave, the guide instructed us to shut off our headlights for a few seconds of delicious darkness.


Biking back to Viñales, we stopped and chatted with a man roasting two pigs on a wood fire alongside the road. He invited us for lunch at his family-run paladar, Finca Emilio, and we spent the next couple of hours chatting, drinking Bucanero beer and eating a farm-to-table feast of beans, yucca, rice and a wild pig that was reared on the area’s nuts and herbs. Rosa García Martínez served us the food and a tea made from local herbs. We sat on a wooden deck looking over the spectacular Viñales Valley where Ms. Martinez’s husband toiled in the fields just below our perch. It began to rain and a rainbow arrayed across the valley. “We are simple people, not educated,” she said. “We do what we can to survive.”


Her words lingered the next day as Rob and I crammed, along with several others and our bikes, into a ’50s-era Cadillac hearse converted into a taxi for our journey back to Havana.


THE LOWDOWN // A Self-Guided Cycling Trip in Cuba




Staying There: To see how a typical Havana family lives, try Casa Jorge Coalla Potts, a simple B&B on a residential street in the centrally located Vedado section. From about $45 a night, For more luxury, book the Iberostar Parque Central in Old Havana. From about $448 a night, In Viñales, Villa El Croto, a few blocks from the main drag, provides basic accommodations. From about $19 a night, 53-048695979,


Cycling There: Reserve wheels ahead with Tito Servitje at Bike Rental & Tours Havana (about $15 a day, or try one of several small, informal bike rental outfits in Viñales for about the same price.


Traveling There: For help with reservations or an organized tour to Cuba, try Cuba Education Travel with offices in Miami.


The Cuba Quandary Dissected


Visiting the island nation is simpler than most American travelers realize. Here, the essential intel.


Is it legal to travel to Cuba on your own?


Yes. New Trump-era rules allow individuals to visit Cuba in “support for the Cuban people”—one of 12 categories of travel that require no special authorization.


How can I arrange such a trip?


Simply visit the website of any airline that flies to Cuba, including American, Delta and JetBlue , and make a reservation just as you would with any other flight—then choose “support for the Cuban people” when the airline website prompts you.


Does Cuba require a visa?


Yes. It’ll cost $50 at your U.S. airport check-in. Be sure to hang onto it. Cuban immigration authorities will require you to show the visa when you leave the country.


What did the Trump administration change?


In November 2017, the administration tweaked the policies established by the Obama government. The new rules bar independent travel under the “people-to-people educational travel” category, now requiring people who choose that category to travel in guided tours booked through U.S. agents. But you can still travel as an individual under the above-mentioned “support” category. “It’s a misunderstanding that you must only travel to Cuba with a U.S. company or representative accompanying you during your travels,” said Manny Kopstein of California-based Cuba Travels Adventures Group.


The Trump government also banned Americans from patronizing about 180 Cuban military-associated entities, including hotels and some products (check the Cuba Restricted List at Among the better known are the luxury Gran Hotel Manzana Kempinski and the former Ernest Hemingway haunt Hotel Ambos Mundos, two state-owned lodgings in Old Havana. Certain products such as the rum brands Ron Carney and Ron Varadero also are banned.


How can I avoid running afoul of those rules?


It’s easy. Still permitted are the private B&Bs, known as casas particulares, and restaurants, called paladares, among many other businesses. Not on the banned list, for example: The Sheraton Four Points Hotel and Hotel Inglaterra as well as the Gran Teatro de la Habana and the famed Havana ice cream parlor Coppelia. The rules require American visitors to have meaningful interactions with residents, a policy aimed at spurring democratic change in the communist country. Visitors must keep proof of their interactions with Cubans for five years. Receipts count, as do selfies with locals. “You’ll be ok if you just make sure you stay in private lodging and eat at private restaurants, or visit a gallery or a community project,” said Collin Laverty, owner of Miami-based Cuba Educational Travel.


So, why are some people worried about traveling to Cuba now?


After Trump first issued threats and later acted to modify the Obama-era policies, many Americans, confused about the new rules, canceled or postponed trips. It didn’t help that, in September 2017, the State Department issued a travel warning after U.S. officials said American diplomats in Havana were attacked with sonic weapons, and then reduced the American Embassy staff in Cuba.


What remains of the Obama-era détente with Cuba?


Most everything. The U.S. and Cuba retain diplomatic ties. Airbnb still operates there. U.S. airlines still fly to Cuba, albeit on more limited schedules since reservations have fallen in recent months. Still, locals worry. One B&B owner in Havana told me, “It’s like a Michael Jackson dance: Sometimes it’s hard to say whether we’re stepping forward or stepping backwards.”


What’s the risk that a sudden U.S. policy change will ruin my trip?


“Changes in policy rarely take effect overnight,” said Michael Baney of iJET International, a risk management firm. “And there isn’t significant desire, momentum or even ability in Washington to effect an immediate change.”



Cubanálisis - El Think-Tank