They have replaced the Russian ’gazelles’ and charge 20 pesos per trip.
14ymedio, Juan Diego Rodríguez, Havana, 9 July 2025 — Today, like almost always, my journey from La Virgen del Camino to El Vedado threatened to become eternal and suffocating. But I was lucky. I caught one of those little yellow buses we used to call “gazelles” — after the Russian brand that makes them — and that some of us have now started calling “Fotons.” Honestly, I don’t care if they’re Russian or Chinese; the important thing is that they get me out of the bus stop and take me to my destination as quickly as possible.
My watch read twelve noon. I’d already calculated how many people were in front of me, and things weren’t looking good. When the Foton arrived, on its second day of release, I thought the usual rush and killing would ensue. But, strangely, some decided not to get on and push their way into the line.
“I got the impression they couldn’t afford to pay the 20 pesos the fare costs.”
The only ones who refused to get on were two elderly women. They said they preferred to wait for the inspectors to stop a state vehicle*. In reality, I got the impression they couldn’t afford to pay the 20 pesos the fare costs. Although the price of the Fotons seems affordable, for many it is still unthinkable to shell out that amount every day just to get to work.
It was a blessing to feel the blast of cool air against the sweat pouring down my face and back. The air conditioning was set to more than half its setting, which, in Havana in July, is a miracle.
A woman insisted on getting on when the minibus was full. She said she could sit on the floor, no problem. But the driver responded without hesitation: “You’re crazy! Today is the second day this has been operating. I don’t know who’s riding up here, and I don’t want to be in the newspaper.”
So we set off.
The new buses are comfortable, with fresh nylon, and have a capacity for fourteen people. Luckily, I didn’t get the seat next to the door. The person sitting there becomes the involuntary copilot. Whether they like it or not, they have to open and close the door every time someone gets on or off. And they also have to contort themselves to let someone in.
The driver had someone next to him who seemed to be training to become a Foton driver. They spoke in low voices, but I heard them whispering about their daily earnings: between 2,000 and 3,000 pesos. At that moment, I felt the treacherous urge to quit my job and learn to drive. That driver earned more in a single day than my mother receives in a month from her retirement check.
Although the trip was quick and comfortable—40 minutes from La Virgen del Camino to El Vedado—I have a feeling the service won’t last long. It was only the second day of operation, and some of the vans were already starting to break down.
“I heard them whispering about the daily earnings they made from it: between 2,000 and 3,000 pesos.”
Passing by the José Miguel Gómez monument on Avenida de los Presidentes, we saw a Foton out in the middle of a roundabout, a real hazard.
“What happened to you?” asked the driver of the van I was riding in. “It quit by itself,” replied the other driver. Our driver advised him: “Don’t do anything. Don’t touch anything. Call.”
I got off at the last stop, after falling asleep with my head pressed against the window. The brutal heat of Havana’s streets reminded me once again who I am and where I live. I don’t know if I’ll be as lucky with transportation tomorrow. In today’s Cuba, making plans for tomorrow is complete nonsense.
*Translator’s note: Drivers of state vehicles are required to stop and pick up passengers at designated stops — waved down by inspectors — although the drivers don’t always comply.
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