The full set of Trinidad images can be found here
We arrived in Cuba desperately needing a break, which sounds odd after having a six week holiday through North America, but even just being a tourist can be tiring and those long days in the Californian National Parks took their toll. So rather than head straight for the dance floor in Havana we decided to take the bus to the beach instead. Trinidad is on the south coast of Cuba about five and a half hours by bus from Havana. That is five and a half hours on a Cuban road which very quickly changes from the six lane freeway that the Soviets built (even though half the lanes are too rough to use) into a single lane each way highway of lesser quality than most Australian country roads. Add to that a million guys on bikes giving lifts to their girlfriends or kids, tractors and numerous horses with cart attached, not to mention big old Soviet trucks that are now used as buses for the locals making them look like cattle being taken to slaughter. Fuel is so expensive for locals that no-one drives much unless on business. It’s hard not to feel guilty as you whiz by all this in half full air-conditioned coaches that the locals can’t afford to buy a ticket on. The menagerie on the highway slows progress slightly but given there are barely any other fast moving vehicles there is simply a lot of overtaking. Cuba also has a very efficient road kill cleanup system. There are dozens of vultures circling wherever you go in the country ready to pounce on whatever carrion is lying lifeless on the road. This could be a good idea for Australia – we have such a good history with imported species that one more can’t hurt.
We arrived in Trinidad and were immediately caught up in the maelstrom of touts asking whether we had a casa reservation. It’s not hard to find somewhere to stay in Cuba as everyone knows someone, but in this case we did do some research and had decided to stay in Casilda a little out of town. Although the backyard pool didn’t quite live up to the photos, being more like a large waist deep wading pool located in a dog poo infested (but lush) backyard, we still had a separate bungalow room above the dining area so we quickly started getting acclimatised to Cuban time.
Cuban time is due largely to the heat. It beats me how anyone had a revolution in this climate. It’s much more suited for lounging around drinking rum and maybe some strolling around when the heat has gone out of the day. Casilda was a tiny fishing town, just a street really, leading down to an inaccessible dock. In other parts of the world this would be a grim part of town but in Cuba there is still green grass everywhere and horses grazing, kids playing football and people just gathered on their porch having a chat.
We shifted after a couple of nights to the slightly bigger tiny fishing town called La Boca which is on the water south of Trinidad. La Boca is where the locals come on holiday, drinking rum and playing loud music near the rocky shore. We stayed at a lovely casa called El Capitan which has a porch out the back with an uninterrupted view down to the sea. The sunsets were amazing and we had one day just sitting on the porch and looking at the fishing boats and spear gun snorkellers go about their work, which we ate for dinner later that night. At dusk the crabs emerged from their holes in the sandy soil next to the house and we watched them without moving, then waved a hand to see them all freeze before scurrying back to their holes. I’m sure they got sick of us interrupting the start of their day.
We were served meals at the casa by Jesus, a wizened middle-aged man who chuckled softly as he brought each item out. He was effectively teaching Sarah the Spanish words for all the items which he seemed to find very amusing. Either that or he just found serving food a humorous activity. Sarah is fantastic at talking with the locals but her Spanish is more functional and it’s hard to have in depth conversations. Some of her clangers have been: “We need to touch the taxi tomorrow”; on hearing someone’s age: “I thought you were more Thursday”; and “It’s name is Sarah”.
The other bonus in this area is Playa Ancon, the best beach on the south coast. It is truly like stepping into a brochure for the Caribbean with blinding white sand and matching turquoise water, deck chairs and palm thatched umbrellas. Very kind gentlemen drop by every now and then to sell beer, mojitos and pizza. One guy came around selling coconuts and bananas. We found out his name was Elbis, which is the Spanish pronunciation of Elvis (Havana is known locally as La Habana). Elvis looked like an Australian beach bum with dreads partly dyed golden by the sun. It felt incredibly indulgent but was just the thing to recharge. We had a good couple of days reading and having dips in the sea. On our first day there a storm rolled in and while all the (all-inclusive) resort people dashed back to their rooms we stayed out swimming while the rain fell into the ocean. We literally got caught in the rain after having pina coladas. It was incredibly peaceful. It’s one of those moments which I’m sure will float back to us even after we rejoin the rat race.
A few kilometres further north of La Boca is the more famous town of Trinidad. Trinidad is famous for its architecture and cobbled streets which truly are gorgeous. We took a break from the midday heat on the roof top of a museum and had a beautiful view of the green jungled hills surrounding the town, the brightly coloured houses and the sparkling Caribbean in the distance. Trinidad had a nice sleepy feel. Even the touts just had one go and respected your right to say no gracias.
Though we complain about the touts it is incredibly useful for getting around. As soon as you need to go somewhere you just hail a passing bicicletta and away you go. The biciclettas are like a modern day rickshaw. They are homemade vehicles, a bike with two seats attached and a tarpaulin over the top. They generally have really thick tires and low gears for pulling fat tourists up hills. In a hot country they are a refreshing way to travel, for us. On the journey from Casilda to La Boca, about 8 kilometres, I found myself mentally complaining about they way my sunglasses were pinching my nose, then looked up at the guy pedalling us in the hot morning sun and had one of those western guilt moments, but truth be told if I was stuck in Cuba I would probably be in the bicicletta driver business. A lot of the drivers we’ve talked to, both biciclettas and taxis, are ex-teachers and much prefer driving tourists around. It’s less stressful and the pay is better by an order of magnitude. We also had a couple of trips in the famous old American cars the Cubans somehow manage to keep running with adapted parts sent from relatives in Miami. For a long time there was a ban on buying new cars, and now people just can’t afford them, so the old cars are all over the place, some in better condition than others, but still rolling. It’s a reminder of either how good modern suspension has become, or how bad suspension can get when it’s old. These cars just barrel along at a leisurely place, errant springs poking your back, but they are definitely the coolest way to travel.
We do need to work on our bargaining though. We needed to get a taxi from La Boca to Playa Ancon one day, so we wandered from our casa into town looking for transport. One guy with an old-style car offered us CUC$7 one way or CUC$12 return. That’s a bit steep, we thought, so we said no thanks and wandered back a bit to ask if anyone else had a taxi. They pointed back to the guy we had just come from then yelled out “Hey, these guys need a taxi!”. We returned to the only taxi in town at that moment and funnily enough he had not shifted his price.
I read once that the people most likely to sweat the most, contrary to popular opinion, are skinny, fit and male. Tick, tick, tick. Sweating is a wonderfully efficient cooling system, a lot better than panting in my opinion, but it does show its weakness when you’re hiking in the jungle. 100% humidity totally jams the system. Instead of the sweat evaporating to air-cool my over-heating body it pools in my eyebrows. My fingers act like windscreen wipers to clear my eyebrows of build-up but there’s no help for the rest of my body. Ironically we had hiked down to a beautiful waterfall and had a refreshing swim in the pool underneath it. The waterfall is 70 metres high and cascades down the smoothed out rock in a graceful arc. It’s just a pity that the pool is not located at the top of the insanely steep hill as the refreshing effects of the swim were lost by the time we got back to the carpark for a free juice at the rooster bar. The rooster bar was very cool, more of an open-air shack located at the start of the trail. There really were chickens and a rooster hanging around which the bar man shooed away every so often. Rather than bar stools there were swings attached to the roof.
After the waterfall we took in a tour of the old sugar plantations in a place called ‘Valley of the Engineers’. This 30 square kilometre valley used to produce one third of Cuba’s sugar and you can still see why today. The land is incredibly lush and fertile. They don’t grow sugar here anymore as it moved further west in the country and this area is now very poor, relying mainly on tourism to survive. One of the tourist attractions is a 45 metre high tour which you can climb via very rickety wooden stairs. The tower has survived a fair few hurricanes so it seemed unlikely we would bring it tumbling down but it didn’t feel as solid as the CN Tower in Toronto.
After another amazing dinner and sunset at the casa it was time to hit to road again and head off to Camaguey further east.
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