By RONAN MCGRATH
Cuba's car population looks frozen in time.
Havana lies 90 miles south and 50 years from the Florida coast. It's a
beautiful place, filled with crumbling buildings dating back as far as
the 16th century, a promenade that rivals that of Nice, France, and
music that plays from 10 a.m. to dawn the next day.
Next year will mark the 50th anniversary of Fidel Castro's accession to
absolute power--which is when Cuba entered an automotive time warp.
Nowhere else on the planet can you see an endless variety of vintage
cars on the street every day.
Within five minutes of leaving the airport I saw a first-generation
Buick Roadmaster, a Soviet-era GAZ truck, a 1957 Hillman Minx, a white
'54 Cadillac Eldorado convertible… the show never stopped. Cuba has a
young population, and it is fascinating to see so many people cruising
around in cars older than their parents.
Indeed, Cuba's varied political history is reflected in the automotive
population. The '40s and '50s were times of great wealth (though
unevenly distributed) in Havana--with casinos, mansions and villas, a
car ferry from Florida, and multiple daily Pan Am flights hauling
gamblers to and from the island.
All of that activity brought with it expensive cars. Today, Cadillacs
and Buicks are common survivors, though I also ran across Packard
Caribbeans, an Edsel convertible and a Studebaker Golden Hawk. A
surprising number of British cars also survive, including dozens of Ford
Consuls and Zodiacs, Hillmans and Austins.
Extensively altered stretch limos are also here, as well as the largest
number of working station wagons and Chevrolet Suburbans from the early
'50s I have ever seen. Heavily overpainted woodies from the '50s are
common sights, as are the massively finned '59-vintage Dodges and
Chevrolets.
Time stands still
That's where the line breaks. All business in Cuba was nationalized in
1959, and the wealthy fled overnight, leaving lots of their wheels
behind. The next, much-reduced supply of cars seems to have come from
France and Italy, and you can still see many Peugeot 403s and 404s, the
odd tiny Renault 4CV or Fiat 500, and quite a few Fiat 126s, though they
are typically in worse condition than their American predecessors.
As the Soviet Union began its first steps into mass production,
Ladas--built on obsolete Fiat 124 production lines bought from
Italy--began to appear in large quantities in Cuba. Today, they are the
most common cars in Havana.
I also ran across a number of Moskvitches, some Romanian ARO 4x4s and a
few '60s Skodas. Many of the trucks are also Soviet sourced, though
older Chevy and Dodge pickups are common.
What every car in this wild mix has in common is home maintenance. Cars
are often painted with house paint--a vile shade of blue was in obvious
overabundance. Exhaust notes tell the story of plenty of old Plymouths
that now roll with four-cylinder Lada power.
Bondo is everywhere; roadside repairs are the norm. Radios and
instruments are long removed, and many cars sit on higher and harder
suspensions than new. You'll see old Caddy or Austin jacked up on any
given side street, surrounded by an array of tools, the owner's feet
sticking from underneath.
Yet they run seemingly forever.
No sports cars
The experience of seeing so many of these street survivors creates a
feeling of unreality; you expect to see "I Love Lucy" on the TV and hear
Elvis on the radio.
There are no sports cars are here, but auto buffs are: You see images of
the Ferrari prancing horse tacked to sides of an occasional Chrysler New
Yorker or Chevy Bel Air. Exotic cars were here. I have seen photos of a
Mercedes-Benz 300SL Gullwing coupe rotting somewhere in a garden. Is it
possible that out on this island there lays the odd Maserati or Bentley
Continental remains, hidden in a barn? Perhaps.
Getting a ride in an old car is as easy as hailing a taxi. I grabbed a
1957 Mercury convertible and toured. The driver proudly told me that the
motor was original, but he had personally converted the transmission
from an auto to a floor shift. We drove the graceful embassy
district--where the wealthiest once lived. The shock of the revolution
is visible when the Russian embassy's massive mushroom-cloud-shaped
high-rise suddenly appears, dominating all around it.
Beautiful as Cuba is, this remains a highly controlled society; more
than one person whispered a confided desire to leave it by any means
possible.
In Old Havana there is an auto museum--no more than a large warehouse
with unrestored cars from the '30s that includes a V16 Caddy and a
Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost. I could make out a dusty Mercedes 190SL
convertible stuck behind an indifferent Plymouth. The museum can't
compete with what rolls outside.
A modern future?
The regime under Fidel Castro's brother, Raul, is slowly loosening its
iron grip--Cubans are allowed cell phones and access to hotels formerly
limited to foreigners. Economic reform will, without doubt, come
eventually, and with it will come investment. Foreign capital will flow,
and the magnificent buildings will be restored. As prosperity returns,
the decrepit cars, not valuable or original enough to restore, will
simply disappear, and we automotive enthusiasts will lose the one
remaining place in the world where such large fleets of living
history--patched and endlessly repaired--still toil daily.
As access reopens to Americans, it will be possible to take a quick,
fleeting trip back into the '50s, to when these were just cars, not
overpolished classics, and to see them do what they were meant to do,
providing transport for ordinary people.
They are slow, battered, old things now, but I would bet a story exists
in each--from the glittering days of the '50s through half a century of
shade tree mechanics, and some day to the end of their long and
incredibly productive lives.
When that door opens, don't miss the chance.
Ronan McGrath is an AutoWeek contributor
http://www.autoweek.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080718/FREE/844003623
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