Matanzas/The clock strikes 11 and the sun falls strongly on the Matanzas national bus terminal. In front of the small office of the Travel Agency, Yamila fans herself with a piece of cardboard and sighs. It is the fifth time in less than two weeks that he has come to try the same thing: buy two round-trip tickets to Holguín. “When it’s not the lack of power, it’s the computer system crashing. This situation already makes me very tired,” complains the woman, who has been traveling to the east for fourteen years to visit her family.
Next to Yamila, her niece moves restlessly. “The proof of the current disaster is that there is no line,” says the frustrated traveler, “when it was always full of people from seven in the morning.”
The name Agency sounds like an office with air conditioning and comfortable chairs. But the place has just two square meters, an old computer and an employee who fanns herself with a notebook, exhausted by the heat. “It is not easy to come on foot from the other end of the city to find this panorama, without power and without hope of being turned on. Of course, this makes it easier for them to resell the tickets,” adds Yamila.
/ 14ymedio
The heat punishes without mercy. Customers take refuge in the shadow of the cement wall or lean against a rusty metal fence that acts as a door. Behind them, the terminal has remained closed for months due to the danger of collapse; only the Agency survives in what was previously a railway communications sentry box.
“Let’s see if the same employee is there. Last month I was able to solve it,” says another customer, looking out the window. The woman repeats her name, identity number and destination – Sancti Spíritus – in the hope of getting a seat on one of the buses that leave only twice a week. “If I don’t do it this way, I wouldn’t be able to go until next month. The bus gets bad to catch,” she explains resignedly.
A year ago, the magazine Bohemia published devastating figures on interprovincial transportation in Cuba after an interview with the head of the National Bus Company, Aidel Linares. Of the 1,000 buses that the entity owned then, only 603 worked. From those we must subtract 128 that move under lease, so we only really have 475. To top it all off, between breakages and lack of fuel, about 230 remain in the terminals. The situation since then has only gotten worse.
The Viajando application, which was supposed to speed up digital purchases, has become a resale maze. “On Facebook there are groups that offer tickets to any part of Cuba, charging at least a thousand pesos above the original price,” says Mariana. She, who prefers the window to digital risk, says it firmly: “Through the networks one risks being scammed; here at least it is giving and giving.”
Jesus has not seen his parents, the elderly and the sick in Las Tunas since last year
A few steps away, Jesus waits his turn with an envelope in his hand. His eyes are tired from insisting so much. “Another big problem is that they only sell 30 days in advance. You can’t plan anything. And when there is finally power and the system starts, there is nothing left, neither by bus nor by train,” he laments. He has not seen his parents, the elderly and sick, in Las Tunas since last year.
Inside the cabin, the keyboard resonates slowly, key by key, while the employee writes with a single finger. “What could be done in seconds, she turns into minutes,” says the man from Las Tunas. “And meanwhile, anyone more skilled in technology can buy from another part of the country through Viajando and resell the ticket.”
Shortly before noon, the official turns off the monitor. “If you turn on the power, I’ll be back at 1:30 pm. Otherwise, come back tomorrow,” he announces, in the tone of someone who has already done his part. Blackouts last longer than fleeting moments of hope among customers.
“I’m going to have to sleep here like beggars,” says Jesús, looking at the cement floor, “to see if I can buy a ticket that way, I just have to wait.” At the Matanzas Travel Agency, traveling has become an act of faith.
