By Ken Ringle
Washington Post Staff Writer

HAVANA

However crumbling Cuba's economy, the Cuban people have much to teach us about transportation ingenuity.

Much has been written over the years about the seeming immortality of American cars on Havana's streets, and it's true that in the course of a few days a nostalgic
auto buff can spot almost every U.S. model from the 1950s, even Nashes and a 1959 Corvair.

But some of the automotive resilience is deceptive. The most famously durable U.S. models from prerevolutionary days, Cubans say, are the 1955-1957 Chevrolets.
The 1958 Chevy, scoffed one Havana cabdriver, "was caca." The second-favorite name brand appears to be Buick, particularly the 1957 Roadmasters, which
rumble along in splendor and profusion as both public and private vehicles.

But most of the old Dodges and other Chrysler models have long since been fitted with Russian diesel engines, Cuban drivers say. Other models are powered by
tractor engines, generator engines or anything else that will run, and spew enough soot on acceleration to single-handedly overwhelm the Kyoto accord.

Cuban resourcefulness in transport, however, goes far beyond American cars. Those needing public transportation, for example, can choose from at least five
species of taxi, plus an assortment of buses, vans, people-packed military trucks and an alarming elephantine device that looks like a tractor-trailer with a bad back.

This last vehicle, which offers a rock-bottom price of 40 cents a ride on irregular routes, is usually so massively packed with bodies that arms and faces appear
mashed against the windows as if bound for some nearby processing plant. Cubans refer to such rolling packing crates as "Camels," for their humped appearance, or
as "Saturday Night at the Movies," forthe adult nature of what often transpires in all that compressed humanity.

"You don't want to get on those with your purse, your wallet, your panties or anything else you value," said one young Havanan. "It's not just that you can't stop the
hands moving over you, you can't even locate their owners."

Cubans wanting a step up from that experience can flag a bicycle-powered rickshaw, a horse and buggy, a motorcycle taxi, a small non-air-conditioned "peso taxi"
(usually a sagging Japanese import) or one of the '50s sedans operating for hire. All charge different government-set rates.

They also can hitchhike -- a nearly universal practice -- sometimes waving a peso note to signal their willingness to contribute to operating costs.

At the top of the transportation chain roll the air-conditioned Mercedes sedans that ferry dollar-dealing foreigners to and from the poshly restored Hotel Nacional,
the Tropicana nightclub and other tourist haunts. They accept only dollars. Peso-wielding Cubans may not apply.

The recent and most ingenious addition to Havana's public transportation system is the Coco taxi, a three-wheeled motorcycle housed in a bright yellow hemisphere
of fiberglass that might have been spawned by Toys R Us. Introduced several years ago to put more tourist taxis on the street with minimal additional crowding, the
Coco taxis scored an instant hit with visitors -- such a hit that drivers of more traditional taxis grumble that Cocos get all the business.

Offering both an exhilarating open-air ride and access to Havana's narrowest alleyways, Coco taxis trade on the most seductive aspect of the tourist come-on:
irresistible cutesy. Not only do visitors love to ride in them, they buy tiny yellow gourd-bodied replicas by the hundreds from street-corner craft vendors. The Coco
taxi has become nothing less than the new emblem of Cuban tourism, softening the grimmer face of socialist Havana with a kind of rolling smiley face.

The government, of course, owns the Coco taxis. Drivers work eight-hour shifts for about $12 a month. They must log and hand in every dollar of every fare, but
may keep their tips, which can lift them enviably above the threadbare lot of the average Cuban. If they stop for a fellow countryman they face enormous fines, job
loss or worse. More mundane taxis are reserved for that.

Outside of Havana, the most common motor vehicle appears to be the motorcycle with sidecar -- specifically, the Jawa model made in the Czech Republic and
occasional Russian copies of German BMWs.

Three and even four generations can be seen roaring along on these three-wheeled conveyances, frequently with a windblown toddler balanced on the handlebars.
Sidecars haul chickens and pigs to market; concrete blocks to construction sites.

But fuel is so scarce and expensive in Cuba (it costs $50 to fill the tank of a rental car) that even the major highways are used more by bicycles, ox carts, horses,
horse carts, tractors, tractor carts, donkeys, cargo tricycles and, of course, pedestrians -- all traveling long, dusty miles often at night without lights. This gives driving
in Cuba after dark a distinct flavor of Russian roulette.

Given the other privations of Cuban life, road surfaces seem surprisingly good, absent the occasional cataclysmic pothole, and drivers racing past blink their lights
perpetually to warn of police ahead. The warning, Cubans explain, is not just for speeders.

"The police apparatus is the only thing in this country that works efficiently," explained a one-time Fidelista long since out of patience with the Revolution.

Regular police roadblocks routinely halt trucks filled with Cuban workers for questioning, license checks or some other reason. Tourists pass by unmolested. In fact,
it's easy to get the impression that the police are on the side of tourists and against the Cuban people, which does not exactly polish the popular socialist image.

Yet the enduring impression of the Cuban highway is the resilience and resourcefulness of the Cubans themselves. Whether it's a Russian army truck hauling a trailer,
which, in turn, pulls a motorless busload of people, or a bicycle hauling a trailer containing a live pig, Cubans find ingenious ways to get people and goods from place
to place, usually with good, if weary, humor.

On Saturday night in Holguin, pretty girls in bright dresses and high heels hop lightheartedly on the crossbars of their boyfriends' bicycles for a bumpy, dusty ride to a
holiday dance. Roadside vendors cycle with immense loads of sugar cane on their fenders. An ox cart bearing a double bed signals an upcoming wedding.

At major country crossroads, crowds of people wait patiently for hours for public transportation -- a canvas-topped Russian military truck -- that may or may not
arrive, and, if it does, probably won't be on schedule. Young women dress alluringly and stand demurely apart to increase chances for a ride in the truck cab, rather
than in the gritty, standing-room-only cargo bed behind.

The entire country seems perpetually on the move, but it moves at a 19th-century pace.

"We've been doing this so long we're used to it," said one professional in Santiago, when asked about Cuba's highway ingenuity. "But every tourist rental car that
speeds by, every tourist who snaps a picture of our 'quaint,' primitive ways, reminds us of the difference between our condition and that in the rest of the world. It
reminds us how much the Revolution promised and how much it has failed to deliver."

                                               © 2001