For Cubans, “living under a bridge” means having fallen from grace and being mired in misery. However, the daily movement of merchants, buyers, dealers, pickpockets, drunkards and fortune seekers under the 100 and Boyeros bridge, in Havana, belies the old saying and makes that candonga an anthill where everything, even prosperity, is for sale.
It is mid-morning and the traffic is at its point. Boyeros is one of the main avenues of the city and extends from Carlos III towards the José Martí airport: it is the entrance route to Havana from the west. In the 90s, the candonga (Angola’s original name for street markets) was a clandestine and improvised space. It was said that if a fugitive managed to reach Boyeros, he could consider himself safe from the Police. The agents could arrive at any time of the day and the vendors began to collect tables, blankets, umbrellas, roofs and merchandise. Then run.
What saved the candonga It was that, from nearby Boyeros – where all kinds of vehicles pass, including air-conditioned tourist cars – the hustle and bustle is impossible to see. Today, with the continuous movement of mules from Florida, Panama and other places, it is the largest open-air commercial area in Havana. It is only shadowed, perhaps, by La Cuevita de San Miguel del Padrón.
You may be checking a pair of sneakers or handing over a thick wad of cash when suddenly all eyes are looking up. A trailer moves down the elevated and the concrete structure shakes. Little, it is true, but enough for the imagination to do its own thing and everyone realizes the fragility of those booths, located under the bridge to avoid the sun and, when it hits, the rain.
Fear, however, should not numb attention: beware of the boys who, under the badly painted sign at the entrance to the commercial citadel – “Welcome to the self-employed marketing area” – wait for any distraction to slide your hand behind someone else’s kidney and reach for the wallet.
An almost clean and very well lit tunnel communicates the candonga with the other side of the avenue. If no one has taken the tubes of cold light, it is because they are too high, unreachable for the bandit without resources.
It goes without saying that, obeying another of the Cuban sayings –”What you are looking for is here”–, in the candonga there is everything. From a fan to death boxes, from a light bulb to a candle, sellers extend the usefulness of their offer to the afterlife.
However, do not be under any illusions. You sell what you can, and what you can is buy cheap abroad and put an outlandish price on it in Cuba. There is a label for this type of junk that, however, there is no choice but to buy: “Mickey Mouse” products, plastic objects that break easily, like in a Disney movie.
But not only: in the candonga there is raw and cooked food, spare parts for everything –if you are willing to pay the price, perhaps even prostheses–, handicrafts, imported clothing, bicycles, helmets, cables and canned goods.
The law that prevails among sellers is that of the jungle. Nobody is anyone’s friend and that principle is reflected in the prices: an electric shower that costs 5,000 pesos in a kiosk, is 4,500 in the neighbor. With the client, the same, although with a little less hostility if you’re lucky.
The price of some sneakers can go from 2,500 to 8,000; the flip-flops, 2,000; handmade footwear, the best quality, from 1,000 to 2,800; short stockings, 400; some adjusters -they will not be very firm-, 700; horns bluetooth, 25,000; nuts and bolts, at the exorbitant price of 10 pesos for each unit.
As for food, it is the most variable. Mangos are usually 20 pesos a pound, cassava 60 and each hand of plantains 160. A small bottle of water costs 300 pesos while meat, whether chicken or hash, belongs to a variable territory: it is hawked by merchants. even more informal and depends on haggling.
Some traders do not mince words and react badly to the questioner. A young man was looking at a pair of sneakers for 2,500 pesos from a distance – too cheap – and wanted to know if they were original. “Of course,” the saleswoman replied without hesitation. “I can see them?”. When the shoe came into her hands, she saw that the brand was not correct and she returned it. “Well, for that price you know you’re not going to get them original,” the saleswoman snapped and shrugged.
One of the keywords of the candonga is “one size”: stretchy clothing that fits a thin body as well as a plump one.
One of the keywords of the candonga is “one size”: stretchy clothing that fits a thin body as well as a plump one. The merchant’s trick is to ask the size of the interested party and return with any item of clothing and a smile: “If it doesn’t say a size, it must be the only one.”
In order not to forget the occasion, there are those who offer photos that reveal at the moment.
It comes out of the candonga exhausted, with a box full of purchases and dodging pickpockets. Outside there are the inspectors, making signs in the middle of the road so that the cars with state plates – always so reluctant to stop and pick up strangers – load up with those who are waiting to leave. The advice of the most experienced, however, is to save money and luck: you will need to find a taxi.
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