The Hershey Train

Of all the ways a chocolate bar has changed the world, this may be the strangest: an electric railway in the Cuban countryside. In the 1910s Milton S. Hershey — the Pennsylvania chocolate magnate — bought land east of Havana, raised a vast sugar mill and a model town he named after himself, and then, to move his sugar to the port, built a 92-kilometre railway from Havana's harbour to Matanzas. He electrified it with 1,200-volt overhead wire, American-interurban style, and opened it in 1917–18. More than a century later it is still the only electric railway in Cuba.

Nearly everything about the line is improbable. The town of Hershey was renamed Camilo Cienfuegos after the Revolution, but the railway never stopped being called Hershey — the name survives on the station sign. The original Philadelphia-built Brill cars wore out and were replaced in the 1990s by electric units bought secondhand from Catalonia, themselves already sixty years old: pre-war Spanish commuter cars, repainted green, clattering past royal palms. The classic journey began with a ferry ride across Havana's harbour to the tin-roofed terminus at Casablanca, and ended three and a half unhurried hours later beside the bay of Matanzas.

Then came Hurricane Irma. The storm of September 2017 wrecked the overhead line, and the through service has never returned; only the short Hershey–Jaruco branch has run trains since, a handful a day for the villages. In June 2025 the government announced a revival — with diesel traction, of all things, "when conditions allow". So this page is a portrait of a railway in suspension: partly a working country branch line, partly a promise, and entirely one of the most endearing railways in the Americas.

The journey — as it ran for a century, and as it is promised again — begins not at a grand terminus but at a ferry dock. From beside Old Havana you cross the harbour on the little passenger launch to Casablanca, the fishing quarter under the great Christ statue, where the railway's wooden platform sits almost on the water. A green electric car hums at the head of the line, Spanish-built in the 1930s, Catalan by upbringing, Cuban by long adoption.

The car pulls away and immediately gets to work, grinding up from the harbour and out through Guanabacoa into open country. This was never a railway in a hurry. It stops everywhere — concrete halts with peeling names, village platforms where the train doubles as the local bus — and in places it runs straight down the street, close enough to the doorways to trade greetings. Passengers board with shopping bags, chickens, bicycles; the driver collects gossip along with the tokens of single-line working.

Halfway comes Hershey itself — Camilo Cienfuegos on the map, Hershey on every tongue. The great sugar mill that justified all this is silent now, but the railway town remains: workshops, the junction for the Jaruco branch (the one piece of the line that has kept its trains), and the station where the surviving service turns. In running days the electric cars met here, mid-line, exchanging staffs beneath the wires their builder strung in 1917.

Beyond Hershey the old main line loafed east through Santa Cruz and Canasí, the country opening toward the sea, until the final descent brought it along the coast and into Matanzas — the bay spread blue below, the royal palms of the Yumurí Valley rising inland. Three and a half hours for ninety-two kilometres: a pace not of inefficiency but of intimacy, a railway that belonged to every village it touched.

That through journey is suspended — the wires beyond Hershey have been silent since Hurricane Irma — and whether the promised revival arrives with pantographs or diesel engines remains to be seen. But the Hershey Train has outlived its mill, its founder, and several eras of Cuban history. It would be unwise to bet against it.

Read this first. The Hershey line's through service — Casablanca (Havana) to Matanzas — has been suspended since Hurricane Irma in September 2017, when the storm wrecked the overhead electrification. No through trains run, and no reopening date has been set.

What has run since, as of the most recent reporting:

Even the Jaruco branch runs intermittently — Cuban rail services in the current crisis can stop and start with no notice, so treat the pattern above as indicative and confirm locally (at Casablanca station, or through any Havana travel desk) before making plans.

The promised revival. In June 2025 Cuba's transport ministry announced a rehabilitation of the line, restoration of the Matanzas station building, and an eventual return of passenger service — using diesel traction rather than the historic electric cars, "when conditions allow". No timetable, no date. We will update this page when — if — the first revived service runs.

For reference, the classic electric through journey took about 3½ hours end to end, with the cars crossing at Hershey mid-route.

Status as reported to mid-2026. On the Hershey line, more than most places on earth, the only timetable that counts is the word at the station on the day.

Ticketing on the Hershey line has always been beautifully simple, and remains so on the surviving section: buy at the station, in cash, in Cuban pesos, shortly before the train leaves. There is no online booking anywhere on the Cuban railway system, no reservations on the Hershey line, and no meaningful queue — the branch trains serve villagers, and fares are set at everyday local levels. We deliberately quote no prices: the Cuban peso's value shifts too quickly for any figure printed here to stay honest.

If the through service returns under the announced rehabilitation, expect the same station-window arrangement — most likely at Casablanca, reached by the harbour ferry from Old Havana, and at the restored Matanzas station.

Two practical cautions. First, carry small notes — change is a chronic problem in Cuba. Second, remember that the situation described on this page is fluid: before travelling any distance to ride the line, have someone confirm in Havana that trains are actually running that day. The ticket cards below link to Cuba's transport ministry, the closest thing to an official source of announcements about the line's future.

This is a short line through a small corner of Cuba, and almost everything worth seeing sits within reach of one of its stops — with Old Havana at one end and Matanzas at the other.

The one place the cards below leave out is the middle of the line itself. Hershey, renamed Camilo Cienfuegos after the Revolution but still known by its old name, is one of Cuba's strangest places: a Pennsylvania-model company town of ruler-straight streets and workers' houses dropped into the cane country, with the carcass of the great sugar mill beside it. There is no museum and nothing is signposted; for anyone interested in industrial history it is quietly fascinating all the same — an American company town, frozen and Cubanised.

Old Havana itself needs no introduction: the UNESCO-listed colonial core of plazas, arcades and pastel façades lies on the far side of the water from the Casablanca terminus, with the harbour ferry stitching the two shores together. Any Hershey line plan starts and ends there.

Base yourself in Havana. The whole western half of the Hershey story — the ferry, Casablanca, the start of the line — sits within sight of the old city, and Havana's accommodation scene is Cuba's deepest: everything from state-run grand hotels to the far more characterful casas particulares, the licensed private homestays that are the best way to sleep (and eat) in Cuba. A casa in Old Havana or Centro puts the harbour ferry within walking distance.

Matanzas, at the far end, has a modest but growing set of casas particulares in its old centre — a genuinely untouristed alternative to the resort strip — and the hotels of Varadero, Cuba's biggest beach destination, are a short ride away for those who want the fly-and-flop finish.

There is nowhere meaningful to stay in Hershey/Camilo Cienfuegos itself; it is a half-day visit, not an overnight.

A practical note that applies to all Cuban travel just now: book casas directly or through established Cuba specialists rather than the big international platforms, carry cash (euros or dollars to exchange, pesos to spend), and expect electricity and water interruptions with good grace — your hosts endure them daily. The warmth of a good casa particular is the constant that survives every crisis; count on it more than on any timetable.