The Machines of Cuba

Machina: n. – a) Spanish word for “the machine”

b) A car barely held together with dental floss

c) The best mode of transportation inside of Havana, Cuba

Ok, so this is how it goes: Machinas run up and down the main roads in Havana like very small, very crowded shuttle busses. These are ancient, run down cars from the 50s packed tight with passengers who hop in and hop out at different points along the side of the road. If you see a car that looks to shiny and too empty to be true then it is. Real machinas look like they’ve been to hell and back.

You know how everyone talks about how cool it is that there are old cars in Cuba? Did you have problems with your old car in college? No picture that times 10 with no available mechanics. Welcome to the picturesque cars of Habana. Basically nothing works, including doors. It’s like a fun new puzzle every time you get in. One machina we caught was stripped down to the bar bones of a car. No upholstery, no plastic, just rusty metal and exterior wiring. The first few times are pretty terrifying viewed through an American standard of safety, but it beats walking and the crowded bus so learning to ride machinas is a necessity.

I’ve gotten better at it in my two weeks here. The system for catching a machina is fairly simple. You walk to the closest main street stand on the side going the direction you want to go. You hold your hand out from your waist and wave it from the wrist while vaguely holding out fingers for how many seats you need. You have to stand out in the street so drivers will see you, one foot close to the sidewalk in case you have to jump back, and It helps to stand down stream of the other 10 people trying to catch a car at that intersection.

Cars pass. Some drivers signal back with how many seats are open and if it’s not enough you wave them on. If they have room the drivers will pull over to the side for you to lean down and tell them which general location you are going to. If they aren’t going by there then they just speed off, stone faced without a word. It takes you aback the first few times and then you have to start all over. It’s a lot like monopoly: pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.

Usually you can successfully get a machina within 10 minutes. Unless it’s raining. Or if there’s a fuel shortage. Or if you are traveling with too big a group. But usually you can catch one in 10 minutes. When you do, the driver leans back across the car to open the finicky door and the four passengers already in the car shift around to make room for you. You unceremoniously throw your body onto a seat made out of old springs and grandma’s blanket and slam the door shut. Then you yell the name of your desired street over the gasping engine and the car pulls out into traffic. Barely 30 seconds have passed.

It’s a fun, exhilarating mode of transportation. My favorite is riding a machina at night, crammed in with five strangers, your body halfway out the open window with the cool air and the dark city flying by. It feels almost magical.

Unfortunately, being a machina driver is one of the better paying steady jobs in Havana. Highly educated college graduates turn to driving because it’s the the only reliable means of supporting themselves and a family. One driver said that it was alright as a job, but he wished that wasn’t the case. This is just one of the instances of deep discontent which I have sensed running as an undercurrent to Cuban life. A general feeling that there should be more to life but it is completely unattainable.