Waiting for that Yankee Dollar

The move toward resumption of U.S.-Cuban relations continues to gather momentum. Last week, for the first time since Washington severed ties with Fidel Castro's regime in 1961, a U.S. diplomat arrived in Havana. Terence Todman, Inter-Assistant American Affairs, Secretary of spent four State days for there concluding fishing-and maritime-rights agreements. Expected soon: the opening of a "U.S. interests" office in Havana.

Before Todman arrived, TIME Correspondent Christopher Ogden ended a five-day stay in Havana. His report:

The excitement is pervasive. When Washington lifted the restrictions on travel to Cuba in March, Havana news boys hawking the stodgy daily Granma gleefully shouted, "The Yankees are coming!" At one store, the cashier closed her till when two Americans walked in and then escorted them to a storage area. She poured some glasses of pina, a local pineapple liqueur, and raised a toast: "Bienvenidos, felicidades."

Cubans like Americans--the people, as opposed to the government, a traditional socialist distinction. But Americans are especially bienvenidos now: Cuba's economy is in wretched shape. The major cause is the plunge in the world price of sugar, Cuba's chief export, from more than 50-c- per Ib. in late 1974 to just 7-c- today. The Russians are now spending nearly $4 million a day to keep Castro's economy sputtering along; that does not include military aid, estimated at $200,000 a day. Moscow also supplies almost all of Cuba's oil needs at bargain prices. But Cuba owes nearly $5 billion to the Soviets, plus $1 billion in hard currency to other countries. Agriculture has floundered, forcing Cuba to import beans, grain and meat from Europe and South America and rice from as far away as China. There is virtually no fish available: Cuba's entire catch goes for export cash.

Withered Garden. With monthly salaries ranging from $96 for unskilled employees to $144 and up for skilled workers, Cuba's per capita income is among the highest in the Third World. Because the regime has been willing to go into debt--or simply print new money--to "pay" for social programs, Cubans spend only 3% to 4% of their salaries for housing (6% for modern apartments); education and medicine are free. But worldwide inflation has made imports so expensive that Cubans have little to buy. New rationing rules allow citizens to purchase just one ounce of coffee a week, and one shirt, a pair of trousers and a pair of shoes in a year. In one food store in old Havana, near some posters proclaiming ALL CUBA IS A GARDEN, only some scrawny carrots and withered beets could be found on display. There is a thriving black market in food and clothing, and young Cubans regularly approach foreigners to offer money for their shirts, jackets, sunglasses and portable radios.

While the peasants' lot has greatly improved since the revolution, Havana has suffered--even more so lately from Castro's African adventure. One example: the regime sent hundreds of Havana bus drivers to Angola to drive trucks in the war zone. As a result, scores of buses sit idle, and the daily commute for some Cubans has increased by hours.

The Russians reckon that a resumption of U.S.-Cuban trade would ease their own burden of supporting Castro's economy. Though grateful for Moscow's help, Castro, now 49, wants to establish himself as a genuine Third World leader, not just a Soviet puppet. Recognition by the U.S., in his view, would provide the legitimacy he craves.

No Jeeps. If, or when, Americans join Cuba's now modest flow of tourists --65,000 last year, mostly Canadians--they will find Havana to be far from the raucous, profligate, cosmopolitan city that it used to be. One startling difference is the large Soviet presence. There are 15,000 to 20,000 Russians on the island, including some 8,000 technicians who help run harbor facilities and factories and do medical work. Their new Volga and Zhiguli cars contrast sharply with the 30-year-old De Sotos, Studebakers and Plymouths that still ply Havana streets. (Cuban officials, having long since given up their Jeeps, seem partial to Alfa Romeos.)

Gone are the brothels and the Mafia-run casinos; in today's sanitized Havana, the touted attractions are mostly outdoors--marlin fishing, scuba diving and tennis, frequently played on courts without nets. The old deluxe hotels have gone to seed; at the Nacional, where tuxedoed guests waltzed in the 1950s, Bulgarian construction foremen shoot pool in shirtsleeves.

Some new hotels are going up. The best is the Marazul at Santa Maria, 18 miles east of Havana. Although inconvenient, as well as spartan--no hot water in the sinks--it is clean and friendly. Guests who tire of the beach and tours of sugar mills and cigar factories can take a $9 taxi ride to downtown Havana and plan the rest of the day over a rum and lime juice in the El Bodeguito de Medio bar, Ernest Hemingway's old hangout. It is a short walk from there to Cathedral Square, where striking lithographs can be bought wet off the stones from artists at the Atelier de Grabado, or to the popular El Patio restaurant, where the tab for dinner for two, served in a stunning old Spanish courtyard, can be as light as $24.

By night, the part of Havana that glows most brightly is the Latin-American stadium, where Cuban teams play under lights. The chief reminder of the city's pre-Castro glitter is the Tropicana nightclub, where leggy but well-covered showgirls strut their stuff for tourist audiences. At movie theaters, the big hit is Jaws, the 1975 American shark opera. Castro himself has praised it as not just a thriller but a solid Marxist film. His reasoning: it exposes the greed of the "capitalists" who keep the beaches open in the face of danger.

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